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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 2 years

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Tying You To Me — Part 3

Summary: Spencer's trip the therapist gives him something to think about. New friendships are made and a new fluffy edition is added to his tiny family of one.

Content Warning: Cursing, a drunken kiss that is rejected, running themes of infidelity and cheating, prose so purple it's Red TV, an unhealthy amount of Taylor Swift references because I decided to write this while crying to Red at 3:00AM on Friday morning.

Word Count: 6500

Author's Note: This chapter turned out much sadder and more angsty than I intended and it's all Taylor Swift's fault. And thank you to @reidslibrarybook i love you Nat :)

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Did The Love Affair Maim You Too?

“So Dr. Reid, what brings you in here today?” Dr. Cruz asks, sitting across from Spencer in her comfortable chair. Her office is decorated with pictures of State Parks and the warm yellow paint makes him feel relaxed. It’s all mind tricks, though. He knows it because he uses it, but when it’s being used on you it feels a little different, “What made you want to go to therapy?” she asks again.

“It’s Spencer, please, I’m just Spencer here,” he corrects, “You know, I think the obvious answer is Rebecca cheating on me with our neighbor”

“But is that why you’re here, Spencer,” Dr. Cruz asks, prompting him to look a little deeper, “And if formality isn’t an issue with you, you can call me Valentina,” she tells him, placing her clipboard on the side table next to her. She’s a little older than Spencer, which is comforting in a way, and reminds him of Penelope.

“No, I guess not,” Spencer says, “I guess, I really don’t know why I’m here. Other than my friends, Luke and Penelope telling me I should have gone after I got out of prison. I mean, I did, but just so I could keep working at the BAU, but I guess that’s not really a good reason to go to therapy,” he says, his thoughts muddling through his mind, “So, I think with everything that happen since then I kind of have felt a little lost,”

“Can you tell me more about that feeling, Spencer?” Valentina asks, “What do you mean by lost?”

Lost. Such a fickle word, Spencer thinks. It’s a vague term that, in Spencer’s case, has a murky history going back nearly 15 years. Has he been lost since he met Gideon and came to the BAU? And what was that, if not filling that father-shaped hole that William left in his heart? Does everything stem from him? His failure as a husband is because he didn’t get to watch what a good husband looks like growing up. But does that excuse Rebecca’s infidelity? Does that make her wrong, right?

“Spencer,” Valentina says, “Spencer, I think you need to separate your professional mind from your personal one,” she suggests, “You can’t think like an agent. You’re treating your situation like a case, and you can’t do that. Not when you’re so emotionally invested in what’s happening,” she tells him, reminding Spencer of the times that he’s gotten way too invested in cases, many of which usually don’t end well or leave him with life-long scars.

“Okay, I can try that,” Spencer says, wishing that turning the part of his mind that’s always on overdrive was easier said than done, “Rebecca, I met her through my friend Derek and his wife Savannah. When I met her, she really seemed like my last chance at happiness. And for what it’s worth, I think we made each other happy, even if it wasn’t for a lifetime like I wished for,”

“So why do you think she was unfaithful?” Valentina asks, “In our last session, we talked about what you went through in prison, but I want you to think about what you mean by lost yourself. Do you think your marriage had anything to do with that?”

He knows the answers that can get him out of here in under three weeks, but like Valentina said, he has to separate the professional from the person. Which is hard, when her personal life is so intertwined with her professional one.

“I think she lost herself too,” Spencer answers, “I love my wife, or loved. Or still love, I’m honestly not really sure, but all I know is that at some point she was the most important person in the world to me. And I thought I was to her, but I guess somewhere along the lines we slipped through the cracks,”

“There’s that word again, Spencer. Lost, you know, when a lot of people come to me saying that they’ve lost themselves two things are the most common: divorce and unemployment. In a way, but are mourning something. You’re mourning the life that you thought you had, Spencer. And that’s okay,” Valentina reassures him.

“I never thought about it like that,” Spencer says, picking at the frayed strands of fabric on his chair. He’s no stranger to grief and loss. But is losing Rebecca the same pain as he felt when he lost Maeve? He feels the heaviness on his chest, but he feels a strange sense of relief too, “I did lose a girlfriend, she, uh, she died. A couple years before I met Rebecca. It feels similar, I suppose,” Spencer says, not fully ready to talk about Maeve with Valentina.

“You’ve been through a lot of loss, Spencer,” she comforts, “Feeling this sense of loss, this sense of uncertainty, after having the rug swept up from your feet, is normal. So you felt lost, Rebecca felt lost, but she cheated,”

“I was married to my work more than I was married to my wife,” Spencer ventures, feeling that familiar tightness in his chest whenever he feels uncomfortable, “And it fucking sucks because all I ever dreamed of is having a family and a partner. I never wanted to be like my dad, to be married to my job, but here I am,”

“So that’s what you fear, turning into your father?” she asks, “And do you think that’s come true? Are you the same man as your dad,”

“Well, no. Maybe, I’m not sure anymore, Dr. Cruz,” Spencer laments, still feeling the lump in his throat as he looks across the small coffee table at his therapist, “And if there’s one thing I hate it’s not knowing the answer,”

“From what you’ve told me about you father, Spencer,” Valentina starts, “You’re nothing like him. Your marriage to Rebecca isn’t like your parents’ marriage. All marriages are different, Spencer,”

Y/N’s ghostly haunted face, not unlike Spencer’s, flashes across his mind’s eye. As much as he can relate to his former neighbor, Spencer doesn’t know what exactly happened behind closed doors. She can’t always be the vengeful woman drinking wine as she kicks her husband out of the house for infidelity, nor can she be the mysterious neighbor with a broken heart at the bar. Maybe she’s lost herself as well, maybe they are just two ghosts standing in the place that was once home.

“I’m scared that I gave up on Rebecca like William gave up on my mom,” Spencer confesses, “Maybe I should have tried harder, spent less time in the office, maybe if I didn’t let her slip through the cracks she wouldn’t have cheated on me,”

“You know that’s not true, Spencer,” Valentina says, “Your marriage ended because Rebecca was unfaithful,”

“Yes, but, what if I tried harder, I could have worked less. I could have done more to save my marriage,”

“Dr. Reid, there’s no buts. Let yourself grieve your marriage without casting blame on yourself. Let yourself mourn the life you dreamt of, but don’t dwell on it. If you dwell on it, it will consume you and then you’ll never move on,”

“Move on?” Spencer asks, his voice hollow and hardly recognizable. In that moment he can pinpoint the exact meaning of lost. He is lost. He feels loss. But, he can’t let it consume him, he knows that. He saw the way that Hotch felt after Haley left him, how he was when she was actually gone. He’s been through that, to some degree, with Maeve.

“How do I do that?”

“Find yourself, Spencer,” Valentia says, “I’m going to give you a little homework,”

Homework. Spencer likes homework, but something tells him that this homework might be a little more difficult than Math 50 at CalTech.

“Have a conversation with a friend. And they can’t be from work,” Valentina tells him, “Go for coffee, a walk, to a museum, but have a conversation with someone. And don’t talk about work, or your divorce. Just be Spencer. No facades, no masks hiding you,”

“A friend?” Spencer says skeptically thinking that this is probably the hardest homework assignment he’s ever gotten.

“Yes, you know that it’s important for us to have identities outside of our marriage and employment. And from what I’ve noticed, you lack in those categories,” Valentina gauges, reading Spencer, not unlike Spencer reading unsubs during interrogations.

“Friends have never been my area of expertise,” Spencer confesses, “I’m not sure how I exactly go about this, but I uh,” he says, wondering if this will be the worst mistake of the year, “I have an idea of someone I can talk to,”

“Then you should call them,” Valentina says, “And next week we will talk about your conversation,”

“My therapist said I should make a friend,” Spencer says, sitting across from Y/N at the cafe table. Aster sleeps in the stroller next to her, silently snoozing as they stare at each, neither brave enough to bring up the elephant in the room.

“A friend,” Y/N deadspans, her eyes playful, yet guarded as she scans Spencer over. He flits his gaze downwards, knowing the situation is awkward for everyone involved.

“Yes, well, outside of work and anyone that Rebecca and I were friendly with during our marriage,” Spencer explains, taking a bite of his muffin as Y/N nods her head, taking in his words.

“So you choose the woman whose ex slept with your ex, and who you hooked-up with too,” She analyzes, catching Spencer off guard with her astute commentary.

“Well,” Spencer says, licking off the sugar from his fingertip, “I don’t really have many friends outside of work as it is,” he tells her, “And you seem like you need a friend too,” he says, venturing to read the woman across from him. It’s easy when he can recognize the way that her smile seems to naturally fall into a frown. He can look into any mirror and know that what they are, are ghosts of who they used to be.

“At least I know that I didn’t accidentally give you the wrong number, Spencer,” Y/N challenges, her true words stinging his cheeks, reminding him of that night, “Look, Spencer, I get it, we were a little buzzed and sad and lonely. We fucked and you didn’t call. I’m a big girl,” she rushes, tapping her fingers against the table, “I’m not mad, Spencer. I just, that night we had, I’m scared it meant more to me than it meant to you,”

It meant something to her? He wouldn't have thought that, he would never think that it could mean something to her, that it could mean something to her like it meant something to him.

“Sex isn’t something that I’ve ever taken lightly, Y/N,” Spencer whispers, daring to hover his hands over her’s, “I’m just, I haven’t had much experience in love or relationships and with all that’s happened with Rebecca, I’m just not sure I can take another heartbreak,” Spencer professes, his words echoing in his ears with the dancing ghosts of Ethan, Maeve, and Rebecca forever haunting his heart.

“So friends,” Y/N says, squeezing his hand, “Friends who occasionally, sometimes, maybe seek to release certain frustrations together,” he offers, laying on the proposition without saying it directly.

A friend with benefits with his neighbor whose husband slept with his wife is a recipe for disaster. But, Spencer can’t deny the way her hand fit into his perfectly his, or the way her eyes glazed over with pleasure when she cried out his name. She wasn’t perfect, she was like him. Maybe fractured hearts need fractured hearts to learn how to heal again.

“I think I can do that, Y/N,” Spencer says, placing her palm facing up on the table and drawing shapes on her skin, “We can figure it out together, Y/N,” he says, offering a smile, that, while it can’t patch up her broken heart, it might glue it back together, leaving the tapestry of jagged lines in its wake.

“Tell me something interesting,” Y/N says, breaking the tension, “I’m not really sure what friends talk about but, tell me something interesting,”

“My godson, Henry, is trying out for the soccer team,” Spencer says, unsure himself as to what to talk about. It doesn’t take much for him to realize that his conversations circle primarily around work, “I think he takes after his mother, she was a soccer player back in high school,”

“Is Uncle Spencer going to be coaching?” Y/N teases, rocking Aster back and forth in the stroller with one hand and lifting the cup of coffee to her lips with her other, “I know for a fact that you’re deceptively athletic, Spencer,”

“Deceptively athletic,” Spencer repeats, feeling his cheeks blush at her insinuation, “I don’t know where you get that idea from. Besides, I don’t know much about soccer,”

She laughs into her drink, her eyes darting up from the rim. He doesn’t know what he said was particularly funny, but neither does he get the impression that Y/N is laughing at him. For the most part, he spent a good portion of his life trying to decode if people were laughing at him or with him. It’s hard for him to decipher their true intention, but right now it’s not.

“What about you?” Spencer asks, “Do you have hobbies, I mean I haven’t had a hobby since I was 10,” he says, thinking back to the last time he played as a little kid.

“I don’t really have time for hobbies,” Y/N answers, “Between the firm and Aster and putting up with James’ shit, it’s hard to find time to enjoy things,” she says sadly.

“I know what you mean,” Spencer says, carrying on the conservation effortlessly. He wonders if it’s always been this easy to talk to people or if he just needed to find the right person to talk with, “I’ve been with the Bureau since I was 22. It’s hard to recognize myself anymore. All I feel like I do is go to work, go home and sleep, and do it all over again,”

“It gets monotonous, you know. But it’s not my job that made me forget who I was, it’s James,” Y/N says, the venom in her voice reminiscent of how she was in the bar all those nights ago. Spencer really can’t think about that night right now, especially when he’s having coffee with a friend in a cafe. A normal Wednesday afternoon with no intentions or seduction.

“I was so sure of who I was at 22. I thought I knew everything,” Spencer ventures, knowing that he’s going directly against Valentina’s advice talking about his doomed marriage and his unhealthy work habits, “How did I know everything at 22, but nothing at 35,”

“You’re starting to make me wish this coffee was a bottle of Vodka,” she says wryly. Spencer feels his cheeks blush, thinking about the last time they talked and shared a couple drinks.

“Well, we both know where that leads,” Spencer comments, finishing the last drop of his coffee, “Not that I regret anything, Y/N,” he assures, hoping that he doesn’t come off like he’s insinuating he regrets what happened between anything. Regret isn’t what he tasted in his mouth when he woke up to an empty bed. Confusion, maybe. Loneliness, definitely.

“I don’t either,” Y/N says quickly, putting her hand over Spencer’s and squeezing gently, “You were there for me in a way that no one else could be, because they wouldn't understand,” she says, helping him understand, a bit at least, all the confusing emotions battling in his mind.

“I would have made you breakfast, you know,” Spencer says, “If you stayed,” he says, when he really wants to say is when you left me.

“Spencer, I’m 32 years old and I’ve been with James forever,” she says, her voice trailing off at the mention of James, “It was very unlike me to do that. It’s been years since I did something like that. If ever,”

“I could tell,”

Now it’s Y/N’s turn to look bashful. She occupies her flustered embarrassment by fixing Aster’s already perfectly placed baby blanket. As much as Spencer enjoys watching her get flustered by the memories of their hook-up, he doesn’t want to make her too nervous. After all, in all the years that they were neighbors, he always thought she’d make a good friend. Maybe she will, in a very unconventional way. Then again, Spencer was never one for tradition.

“Well, let’s just say that what I did was not like me,” she says, feeding Aster some cereal stars, the same ones that Henry liked as a baby, “At all,” she adds for emphasis, smiling as Aster nibbles on the cereal, “What about you? What’s something crazy that you’d want to do?”

Besides the revenge cheating, Spencer thinks, keeping that comment to himself. He’s not one to do anything uncharacteristic. Most of his days consist of traveling for work, spending his free time three wheeling after Penelope and Luke, or visiting his mother. All together, he’s pretty boring.

“I always wanted a cat,” Spencer says, “My wife doesn’t like them,”

“How could you not like cats?” Y/N says, “I mean they are so intelligent and self sufficient. And they’re very good companions,” she says, repeating the commonly known benefits of cats.

“I know,” Spencer says, “I had one growing up, Alfie was my best friend when I didn’t have anyone. He helped me get through the nights when I’d be up hearing my parents scream at each other. Or when my mom would think that there were people after us so she’d make us sleep in our basement,” Spencer explains, remembering the comfort he’d feel when Alfie would purr in his arms.

“Your mom is she?” Y/N says, unaware of Spencer’s mother’s condition, “I don’t mean to pry, Spencer. You don’t have to say anything,”

“It’s okay,” Spencer says, “I trust you, Y/N. You’re a very good listener. It’s nice to have a friend,” he tells her, holding her hand just as she held his, “But my mom was diagnosed with schizophrenia when I was little. So growing up was hard, she did her best. She was the best mom she could be. And uh, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's a couple years ago,”

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” Y/N says, looking across the table at him, “That’s a lot for a young person to deal with. I’m sure you were an incredibly brave little boy, you’re a very strong man, now,” she says, looking at him with such care in her eyes it makes Spencer want to kiss her.

He has a terrible habit of falling too quick when people are nice to him. Spencer has spent his entire life falling in love in the cruelest way. He’ll fall passively, as if he’s stumbling over all the red flags and warning signs and after one drink in a bar he’s sleeping with his ex-wife’s adulterous partner’s ex-wife. And now he’s staring at someone who’s driveway he’d help shovel when her husband was too drunk or too selfish to help, thinking about how soft her lips were when she kissed him.

Lost in his daydream, Spencer doesn’t notice when Y/N starts packing up her keys and shoving the plastic container of Aster’s cereal into her diaper bag. One of two things must have happened: his staring freaked her out, sending her to run for, what he will admit is probably for the best, the hills or she has an actual emergency. He supposes it’s the former.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” Spencer asks, as he watches her get up from her seat and sling on Aster’s diaper bag, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Spencer,” she says, beaming uncharacteristically, “We’re going go get you a cat,” she says, keys in hand, ready to head out the door, leaving Spencer dumbfounded in her wake.

“A cat?” he says skeptically, even though he’ll be the first to admit having a cat again would be nice. In the seconds that it takes for his mind to make the decision, his eyes are busy scanning over Y/N’s face. He can’t let himself stare for too long, he’s already feeling like he’s flying through the freefall, “A cat,” he says, this time more confident.

“A cat,” Y/N confirms, smiling back at Spencer for a moment too long, “Let’s get Spencer a cat,” she says, crouching down to Aster. Her voice raises an octave; her delightful tone drips of nothing, but love and adoration for her daughter. He hates the pang of jealousy the twinges in his heart. He’d never resent Rebecca for the way that their life turned out, but part of him always dreamed of being a father one day.

“Come on, Spencer,” Y/N says, pushing the stroller towards the exit, “there’s a shelter around the corner, I’ll drive because it’s a pain to carry all this, so meet you there?” she says, her eyes and expression looking hopeful to Spencer’s observation skills. And before he can stop himself, he rests a hand on the stoller, stopping Y/N from exiting.

“Nonsense,” he tells her, “Give me the bag, I’ll take it and you got the stroller and Aster. It’s so nice out, we can walk together,” he offers, hoping to extend their conversation for as long as he can milk it. After so long with only his colleagues to talk to, it’s nice to have someone else to confide in. Especially when those people understand his pain so acutely.

“I don’t want to bother you with Aster,” Y/N says, prepared, as it seems, to make things easier for others while in turn making it harder on herself. That’s something that Spencer knows a thing or two about, “She’s sweet, but if she gets fussy it can be a lot,”

“I love babies, Y/N,” Spencer says, crouching down so he’s eyelevel with Aster, “And your daughter is probably the calmest baby I’ve ever seen,”

“Well, it’s your funeral if she starts screaming in the middle of the shelter,” Y/N says, handing him the diaper bag as they head out the door. He chuckles to himself, noticing how easy it is for his ex-neighbor to hide the softer, more vulnerable side of herself in favor of a snarkier, harder exterior.

“I’m actually pretty good with babies,” Spencer says, taking two long strides to catch up with Y/N, “Do you want to hear the story of how I delivered a baby?” he says, unable to contain his smile at the site of Y/N’s bemused expression.

Two hours later, Spencer and Y/N arrived at his apartment with his newly adopted kitten, Aster, and an entire armful of cat toys and pet supplies in tow. The little gray kitten sleeps contently in her new pet carrier. Spencer debated with himself the whole car ride home about what to name the new edition to his family.

“You really didn’t have to come here, Y/N. I appreciate it and all, but I know you probably have better things to do than haul a 10 month old up three flights of stairs,” Spencer says, apologizing for being the reason she’s going out of her way.

“What are friends for, Spencer,” she says nonchalantly as she puts down Aster’s carseat on the floor, “It’s not like we have anything else to do, but go home to an empty apartment,” she adds, reminding them both of their perpetually lonely existence.

It’s certainly a change for Spencer, but a change that Valentina would be happy about, he thinks to himself as they open the packages of cat beds, toys, and food.

“Poppy and you will be very happy together,” Y/N says, smiling as she unzips the pet carrier to get Poppy out, “She’s going to be such a lucky little kitty,” she says, her voice going up to that similar tone she used with Aster back in the cafe.

“You really are such a pretty little kitten,” Y/N coos, rubbing her thumb across the bridge of the kitten’s nose. Poppy purrs happily in Y/N’s hands and Spencer is left wondering if it would be against Valentina’s advice for her to stay over for dinner and maybe into the morning.

He brushes those thoughts away, but it’s difficult when all he can see is Y/N introducing Aster to Poppy and all he can hear is her using that sweet voice to talk to them both.

“You’re a very good mom, Y/N,” Spencer whispers, sitting on the floor with the trio, “I think I need you to write me an advice book,” he jokes, even though he speaks a half-truth.

“I think you’ll be a natural. You’re brilliant and kind and very sweet,” Y/N says, helping to boost his confidence, but taint his heart in the same breath, “You seem like dad material,” she adds, settling comfortably on the floor as she pets a purring Poppy.

“I wanted kids,” Spencer says shyly, approaching a subject he hasn’t dared to tell anyone, “But Rebecca didn’t. And I wasn’t going to make her do something to her body that she didn’t want to. Marriage, as you know all too well, is about sacrifices. And I made that sacrifice a long time ago,” Spencer says, “And now, now I feel like I’d mess a kid up too much,”

“I know that it’s difficult navigating that with a spouse, Spencer. And for what it’s worth, if you end up a cat dad, you’ll be the best cat dad there is,” Y/N says, handing the small kitten to him. Aster’s eyes light up with excitement as she sees Poppy.

“Gentle to kitty,” Spencer says, holding out Poppy for Aster to pet and holding her other hand to show her how to pet the cat properly, “Kitty so soft,” he says, doing his best to mimic the light and airy voice that Y/N uses with her.

“You better stop, Spence,” Y/N says, laughing as she watches Spencer and Aster together, “You’ll make her want a cat if you don’t,” she teases.

“You know, there’s a lot of research done into the theory that raising a child with a pet, particularly a cat, increases their emotional intelligence. Not to mention responsibility and independence,” Spencer says, ready to list off peer viewed articles on the topic if Y/N gives him the word.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Y/N says, picking up Aster’s car seat, “It was a nice day, Spencer. I don’t really remember the last time I actually laughed like that,” she says, “But, Aster and I will get out of your hair now. It’s almost time for her afternoon nap,”

“Okay,” Spencer says, knowing words of understanding come to echo back in the loneliness of his empty apartment, “Of course, but uh, Y/N. Thank you,” he says, his voice turning into a unsure tone he hates. It reminds him of the boy he used to be, not the man who’s been through hell and back.

“It’s what friends are for, neighbor,” Y/N says, swinging the diaper bag on her shoulder. She plants a quick kiss on his cheek. Her lips don’t linger— but the aftershock stings like a tattoo. She doesn’t give him much time to react.

He wants to ask her to stay because he also can’t remember the last time he laughed that hard too. But it doesn’t take a profiler to sense the tension that blankets the room. Maybe it’s the way his heart feels heavy when he hears Y/N’s voice change as she talks to Aster and Poppy. The unmentionable, yet unregettable and unforgettable night they shared follows them around as the mime fake niceties and casual small talk.

“Bye,” Spencer says, smiling as best as he can when all he can think about is the shape of her lips and Valentina's cautionary words and the emptiness of his apartment.

Well, not completely empty.

Still purring in his arms, Poppy wiggles in an effort to free herself. Spencer’s read enough pet owner manuals to know that it’s important for cats to get acclimated to their new environment as soon as possible. It promotes a healthy and happy relationship between pet and owner. He lets Poppy down and sits on the floor with his legs extended outward.

“Hey there, little kitty,” Spencer whispers, petting a single finger across the cat’s tiny back. She looks so small next to his feet, “It looks like it’s just you and me,” he says, sadly.

Poppy attacks his laces, throwing the string between her small paws. Spencer frowns at the sight, wondering darkly to himself how on Earth he, something so broken and damaged, will be able to care for something so wholesome and innocent. He picks her up, smiling as the kitten licks his hand with her sandpaper tongue. She settles down comfortably against his chest, her purring drowning out the dullness in his mind that reminds him that he’s never going to be himself again.

His personal phone hardly ever rings.

Spencer sits up from his crouched position on the couch. Poppy sleeps peacefully on his chest so he does his best to not disturb the kitten. He must have fallen asleep to the dull tones of late night television featuring the clownish jokes and immature humor of a man in an expensive suit and a terrible hairpiece. She prefers the bed, but it’s hard for Spencer waking up in the cold bed after so many years with someone beside him.

The glowing blue light burns his eyes as he looks at his phone. Unable to see the blurry name, Spencer picks up the phone without hesitation.

“Dr. Spencer Reid speaking,” he says, wondering if it’s his mother’s care facility.

“Are you always this formal, Doctor Reid?”

Spencer, sitting up, wakes up Poppy in the process. He pets her in apology as she finds a warm spot on the couch. Spencer’s attention, however, is glued entirely to the woman on the other end of the phone call.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice sounding straggled from sleep, “it’s late,”

“So you are a genius after all,” Y/N whispers into the phone, “there were always rumors on the block about you. And them,” she says, her venomous words dripping with familiarity. He doesn’t want to think about the rumors that circulated his former suburban Hell.

Norman Rockwell would have gone mad there with the smarmy men and their stories of college tailgates and the gossiping women and their stories of their so-called friends. It’s not to say that Spencer wasn’t happy there with Rebecca. He was. And he’d venture to say that Y/N was happy, at one point, with James. Or maybe they played ‘happy’ like little kids play pretend. Fake adults playing house but their shattered hearts were made of real glass- not the kid stuff.

“I’d rather not think about that if that’s okay with you,” Spencer says, his clipped tone revealing that he doesn't particularly care for late night phone calls, “Is there something you needed, Y/N?” he asks, turning off the glowing television. He’s left in the dark with only the moonlight to keep him company.

“You,” she says, sounding dreary despite her obvious attempts at being intriguing. She doesn’t need to be anything but herself for Spencer to want her company. And while Valentina’s words echo in his mind, Spencer can’t help but hear himself in her breaking voice, “I’m texting you my address,” she says, hanging up without waiting for an answer.

His phone buzzes as her name appears on the screen. He is reminded just how much he doesn’t use his personal cell phone when his and Rebecca’s smiling faces appear on the bright screen. Somehow, it’s harder to change the wallpaper than it was to sign the divorce papers.

Spencer glances at Poppy. The kitten is curled on the couch not having to play ‘happy’ she just is. She doesn’t have to worry about being anything, but herself. The twisted thing is that Spencer has only ever felt like his old self when he was with Y/N. Maybe they are chasing ghosts, clinging on to the last hope. Or maybe they’re seeking something beautifully fractured and meant to stitch back together.

Spencer wasn’t sure what to expect for Y/N’s apartment. They weren’t close enough neighbors to have spent time in each other’s homes. Even though he’s left wondering if Rebecca has seen more of her old him through James than he ever did. And, on the other hand, did Rebecca bring James into their room, their house, their home. He has to shake the thoughts of the past from his mind so as to not let them sour the present.

He knocks lightly on the walnut door, not wanting to wake Aster. Y/N appears, wearing pajamas, making Spencer’s cardigan and corduroys look very out of place.

“You came!” Y/N whisper-screams, dragging Spencer in by the hand excitedly, “Get in here, neighbor,”

The hallway entrance gives way to a cozy living room with cream colored walls and cherry wood hard floors. She could have only moved into her new place in the last month or so, but somehow she’s made it look like it’s been lived in for years.

“Well, I probably wasn’t going to get much sleep either,” Spencer says, whispering as he watches Y/N move about the room with a kind of energy that could only be described as intense, “Doesn’t look like you get much either,” he ventures, taking in the bright lights, discarded books, and flashing television.

“Nope,” she says, emphasizing the ‘p’ as she plops down on her sofa, “I haven’t slept well in a week,” she adds, carelessly mentioning the unmentionable.

“Stressed induced insomnia is cyclical in some. You’re stressed and anxious and then you can’t sleep. And the lack of sleep only furthers the extent of the insomnia,” Spencer says, so into his facts that he doesn’t even notice that their fingers are intertwined until he lowers his gaze.

His first thought, despite every ounce of his personal reservation, is that her hands look like they were made to be held. Spencer can’t remember the last time someone held his hand gently like this.

“I didn’t invite you over for you to rattle on about sleep deprivation,” Y/N says, her hand breaking from his to trail up his cardigan covered arm. The innocence of the touch long gone and replaced by something less so.

“What did you invite me over for then—”

Her mouth is on his and he can taste the bitter bite of red wine on her tongue. The red flag waves frantically in front of his eyes as Y/N starts moving towards his neck. Her lips dance down his skin, stinging him in its wake. He can feel his head cloud as Y/N’s hands thread in his hair.

“Y/N,” Spencer says, his voice hushed and fragile, “We can’t, Y/N. We can’t. You’re too drunk,”

She doesn’t say anything, but untangles her hands from his hair. Y/N rests her forehead against his. She refuses to meet his eyes, maybe in embarrassment or uncertainty he’s not sure. She’s so close Spencer wonders if he could get drunk from it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her eyes flickering up in a small moment of bravery.

“It’s okay,” Spencer says, understanding her pained voice in a familiarity that no one should recognize, “I understand, Y/N. I understand,” he whispers, placing a kiss on her forehead in what he hopes says more than his words ever could.

The silence in the living room rings in Spencer’s ears. He closes his eyes as he kisses her, preferring to not taste a drunken mistake on her lips.

“Will you stay?” she asks, “Please, I just— I can’t be alone anymore,”

Spencer’s heart can’t break anymore, but if it could she would have just annihilated him. Her eyes meet his in a look that only two broken hearts can truly understand. He nods in response, letting her lead him to her bedroom. His mind churns to thoughts the next all those days ago as the dark bedroom reminds him of his own.

Spencer lets her get comfortable in the bed, finding a space next to her. Y/N’s warm back molds perfectly into his front. He holds her close, wondering for himself as well if the skin to skin closeness will chase away the ghosts. It’s hard to tell though when you’re the ghost and your past is what’s chasing you.

“I see him when I sleep,” her bleakness bleeding out from the blankets, blinds him with reality. All he wants to do is run away from the ghostly girl in his dreams. The girl that smells like Rebecca, that moves like Rebecca, that loves him and holds him like Rebecca.

“It’s okay,” Spencer says, repeating his words and feeling like a broken record in more ways than one, “I see her too,”

“Does she love you like begged her too,” Y/N asks, drawing shapes on his skin, “it’s okay to pretend I’m her,”

If just closes his eyes, maybe he can smell her perfume. But all he can smell is lavender when she wore apple and cinnamon. The soft sheets hug his body, lulling him into a much needed sleep.

Her words shoot to kill, but only because they are true.

“Will you hate me if I pretend that you’re him?” she asks. Maybe he should have expected it. Maybe he should have seen it coming. He can run through all the maybes in his mind until it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore.

“I could never hate you,” Spencer whispers, moving his arms as Y/N flips over in the bed. Their heads line inches apart, eyes looking anyway but forward.

He gives in first, knowing that it might be his Kryptonite, giving into people who will inevitably hurt him. And yet he’s left wondering if a part of him likes the sting of being shoved away. He knows that he can never hate her. But he wonders if he could ever love her.

And as he closes her eyes the only consolation is that the love affair maimed her too.

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theafternoontrain · 2 years

Text

The Very First Night

Ship: Adrian Chase/Vigilante x gn!Reader

Warnings: Canon Violence, Angst, Flashbacks, Cursing.

Summary: You’ve never been a fan of company parties, especially when your ex shows up and old feelings get brought back up.

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: Hi lovelies! Here is my first OFFICIAL fic on my blog! Little nervous, but it’s cool! I hope you enjoy it!

Want to send me a prompt? My Taylor Swift Lyric Prompt List is here!

The Very First Night by Taylor Swift (spotify): Here

You hate going to company parties. They’re always super formal, and you hate the fact you’re forced to mingle with the other divisions. But Miss Amanda Waller insisted that you came to this one specifically, and you can not say no to that woman.

So, here you are, all dressed up with a champagne glass in your hand and your phone in the other. You’re scanning the room looking for any of your former teammates. You doubted that John Economos would come to this, but there was hope that maybe Emilia Harcourt or Leota Abedeyo would show up; and if they show up, there's a slim chance Peacemaker was forced to come along too. You might even see Adrian-

Your breath hitches and you quickly sip your champagne. Adrian Chase, your ex boyfriend. The one you wish you could go back in time for. You guys started dating two months after you were dispatched from Gotham to Evergreen to be the 11th Street Kids’ team medic. Adrian was your ‘partner in crime fighting’ for eight months. The best eight months of your life.

The last two month on the team were considered the worst two months of your life. The first field mission after the two of you broke up (which wasn’t long after, two days exactly), Adrian came back to the van in pieces. He was covered in blood, both his own and his opponents, as well as various deep cuts that would need immediate stitches.

You placed the supply kit next to Adrian and started digging through it. “I’m fine,” he said harshly. “You need stitches,” you said back, pulling the stitches kit out of the bag. “I said I’m fine!’ Adrian had snapped at you. You looked him in the eyes before huffing, “Fine! Bleed out, I don’t fucking care.” Then you turned your attention to stitching Chris up. The ride back to HQ was silent. The team was confused.

It wasn't until Harcourt had walked in on you sobbing in the medical supply room after hours did anyone actually know that you two had split up. After that, John pretended to not see your flinches when Adrian spoke in the coms. Leota started sitting in the seat Adrian used to during debriefing. Harcourt made sure you two were never in situations alone together. Chris went out of his way to make sure if you were on the field, you were with him for protection.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when your name was called.

“Y/N!,” Leota said with a grin, coming up to you with her wife, Keeya. “How are you? It feels like it’s been forever.” You smile and give her a hug. “Because it has been,” you say as you embrace. “Is Emilia coming?” you ask as you pull away from each other.

“If I have to be here, so does she,” Keeya interjects. Leota playfully elbows her wife. “Emilia was tasked with driving Chris and-” You didn’t hear the rest of what Leota said because your eyes were met with an all too familiar pair of green eyes. Adrian was actually here.

You immediately remember the night you met him. You’d been assigned to the 11th Street Kids after they all recovered from Project Butterfly. It was your first long-term dispatch, and you were super nervous. You already knew Emilia and John from Task Force X, but you’d never met Peacemaker or Vigilante. You didn’t want them to think you were weak. Of course, they would grow to learn that.

“This is Adrian Chase, also known as Vigilante,” Harcourt said. When you looked up to meet his eyes, you were mesmerized. “Green is my favorite color,” you said out loud. Adrian blinked at you before giving you a big grin. “So you’re our new doctor, Dr. Y/L/N?” he asked as your face flushed. You looked away. “Call me Y/N, and I’m a medic not a doctor. There’s a difference.”

That night, the team took you to a bar to get initiated and you realized you were going to love being there. You had especially taken a liking to Adrian. He was funny and smart, and had a lot to say. Others would be put off by his talking, but you enjoyed it. What you didn’t know at the time, but this would be the very first night of many with Adrian.

You snap yourself from your thoughts and look back at Leota, who is grimacing. “I was hoping we’d get here in time to warn you that he was coming,” she says remorsefully. You give her a small smile and reach out to pat her arm in reassurance, “Don’t worry about that, I’m okay. How about we catch up? It’s been, what? Four months since I’ve seen you? Tell me how you’ve been!”

You listen to Leota as she talks about the team and the trouble that they had been up to. You try to ignore the aching in your heart as she spoke to you, not wanting to seem broken-hearted in front of your friend and her wife. Truth is, you’d do anything to go back to the team. You missed them all, jokes and stupid comments too. Not a day went by without you hoping the new team medic treated the team the best.

“How is the new medic?” you ask, sipping your glass, “I know she’s good at the job, but is she getting along with everyone well?” Leota shrugs, “Sure, Maria is fine, and yeah she can definitely do the job. But I think the whole team would rather have you back. She doesn’t get the team's humor the way you do.” You let a soft laugh fall from your lips, then you notice Emilia walking towards you with Chris following her like a lost dog. You don’t know if you’re happy that Adrian wasn’t in sight.

“Hey guys,” you say as they approach, ”Long time no see!” The three of you exchange some happy hello’s before Chris gives you a look. It was almost pleading. “Dude, you have to come back. Maria is a bitch-” Before he could finish, he was elbowed in the side by Emilia. You gave a happy sigh as you listened to Emilia and Chris bicker, you totally missed this. But then your eyes slowly caught sight of something you definitely didn’t want to see, and your smile was replaced with a cheek bite. Adrian was there dancing with a beautiful blonde woman, and he was smiling.

The mission was in Los Angeles, and there were some guys Waller needed the team to take out before they became a national threat. There was luckily enough funding for the team to get decent places to stay; honestly the place was more like an extra small apartment. It was nice, and the fact that you got to share the room with Adrian made it all the better. Sure, it was a shady mission, but you were with him.

With the city’s roaring commotion and blinding lights filling the small kitchen, you grabbed Adrian’s hands with a big smile on your face. “Honey Bear,” you say happily, “Let’s dance!” Adrian, of course, gives you his goofy grin before spinning you. There’s a loud squeak followed by laughter that comes from you as he pulls you in to dip you down. You put your hand on his cheek as he leans to kiss you, and you think about how you could do this with him for forever.

You blink back the tears that start threatening to spill from your eyes. “Is that Maria?” you ask softly, not trusting your voice to be any louder. Emilia looked over her shoulder with a sigh. “Yeah,” she said, disappointment in her voice, “That’s her.” Maria was pretty, with her blonde hair and what looked to be ocean blue eyes. The type of girl who could get anyone. “Another medic,” you say, “It’s nice to know I was just his type.” With shaken hands, you set your drink down and excuse yourself to the bathroom.

The second your face was out of their sights, you felt the tears fall down your cheeks. What you didn’t see was Adrian watching you.

You tapped your fingers on the white cloth that covered the table. It was your birthday, and the team had taken you out to the bar in order to celebrate. Everyone was there… except for the one person who really mattered. This had become a habit of Adrian the last few weeks; missing date nights to spend more time as Vigilante. Leaving you to wonder if you had done something.

“Have you heard from Adrian?” you asked Chris, hoping maybe he had said something to his best friend. Chris shook his head, “Fuck dude, he’s not here yet? I’m surprised, Vig never fucking stops talking about you.” As the hour passed, with no sign of Adrian showing up, you hid in the bathroom to cry. When you returned to the table, the team looked at you with worry. “He said he’d be here.”

It felt like hell broke out the next morning. The second Adrian walked through the door of the apartment the two of had been sharing, you knew what the two of you had was over. “I have to be Vigilante, Y/N!” he yelled at you, his hands in the air, “If I don’t prioritize this city’s safety, who will?” You could feel your blood boiling, overshadowing the breaks in your heart. “I’m your PARTNER, Adrian! You should prioritize me too! I have barely seen you outside of work.”

“It’s my job to be Vigilante, not to be your boyfriend Y/N.” The words he said were venomous, slowly killing you. This was the moment you knew he had changed. This wasn’t the Adrian you fell in love with anymore, it was someone else. “Well,” you said with a sad smile, staring into his eyes, “I hope you love the streets of Evergreen as much as I loved you.”

And that was that, you turned to pack up your things. The apartment was silent as you packed. When you dropped the apartment key on the counter, he looked at you. You could see that Adrian had been crying, too. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it,”he said. You shrugged. “Me too,” you said back before turning to go back to the apartment Waller was paying for you and the rest of the team to stay in.

You wipe your tears before cleaning yourself up. Once you deemed yourself presentable, you left the bathroom. Crying in the bathroom at a work event was definitely not on your bucket list for the night.

The second the door was opened, Adrian’s green eyes met yours. “Y/N,” he gasped. “Can-fuck, can we talk?” His voice came out as a desperate beg. “Please?” You shake your head. “Adrian, please move,” you attempt to push past him, “I don’t have anything to say to you-”

Adrian grabs your wrist, his eyes pleading. “Do you know how much I miss you?” he begs. “Please…” You look up at Adrian, tears threatening you again. “What about Maria?” your voice cracks. “She’s not you, fuck Y/N, no one can compare to you,” Adrian stumbles. “No matter what I do, who I see, kill, or, fucking, even if I sleep with someone else I’m wishing for you.”

You stare into Adrian’s eyes, inspecting them. The perfect color of green, complemented by soft curly hair and soft freckles you don’t see unless you’re looking. Something told you that this was him. The Adrian you had fallen in love with; the one who made stupid jokes and danced in the rain with you. He is right in front of you, and you missed him.“Okay,” you whisper, “We can… we can talk.”

Adrian tells you that he was scared of how happy you made him; how scared he was that he actually had something to lose. That he didn’t know how to process how much he loved you, and it terrified him. “If I gave you a reason to leave me,” he said with a cracking voice, “Then I wouldn’t need to confront how I felt… But fuck, then you fully left us, the team, and I couldn’t handle that. I thought I was losing it, Y/N. At least with you in Evergreen I could protect you, but you left to go back to Gotham and I knew I fucked-” You cut him off with a hug, arms wrapped around his neck and pulling him into you. “I missed you too,” you whispered. He let out a choked cry as he hugged you back.

Like the very first night, you sat in a quiet corner with Adrian talking and talking. There was less laughing this time, and quite a few more tears, but you left the work event with his hand in yours, feeling a lot better than how you felt when you walked in.

#peacemaker hbo max #adrian chase #adrian chase x reader #vigilante #vigilante x reader #adrian chase hc #vigilante hc

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boldlyvoid · 3 years

Text

Amoreena | Chapter fifteen

Chapter 15: stand-alone honeymoon smut**

Chapter Summary/Warnings: spencer's overwhelmed from the day, so is y/n but it's their honeymoon after all... going speechless from anxiety, dom reader vibes, sub spencer, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, daddy kink, breeding kink if you squint, gentle sex, then rough sex, it's a wild ride y'all

word count: 1.5k

from the beginning <3

They’re laying on a blanket as they look up at the stars, silently. His thumb gliding over her hand as he holds it, he’s had such a long and eventful day that he doesn’t know how to speak anymore. They’ve just been cuddling outside and eating homemade pizza in complete silence and a part of Spencer feels like an asshole for not talking to her, but it doesn’t look like she wants to talk to him either.

She’s perfectly content with just being close to him.

She rolls onto her side, hand still in his as she looks at him softly, “bedtime?”

“Sleep?” He raises his eyebrows and she knows what he means.

“both,” she smiles.

It’s so simple with her that he knows it's true love.

They sneak back inside quietly, it’s a little after 1 now and not a creature was stirring, not even the cats. They tiptoed down the hall towards their room, closing the door softly before flicking the light on.

She tugs her sweater over her head, tossing it to the floor before kicking her sweatpants off and sliding into the bed. Spencer copies her movements, turning off the lights before settling in beside her. It’s pitch black in the room at first, but then as their eyes adjust; the moon is at the perfect height that it shines through the window behind them, illuminating his bride.

“Are we going to talk and cry before or after we have sex?” She teases him as she turns to face him, “we cried before the first time, after the second and after the third, and I think I rather cry beforehand this time.”

He finally laughs, he’s so tired and in love, he’s no longer stressed or worried. He just loves her, she’s so incredibly perfect he doesn’t know what to say, “I don’t want to talk, I just want to love you.”

She laughs as the tears slip out of her eyes, “sorry, it’s been such a long day, I feel like it’s been 3 back to back.”

“I do too,” he agrees, both of them on their sides as they snuggle in closer and closer until their chests are pressed together and their legs are tangled.

She kisses him gently, “I had a wonderful day. I married you, we met Taylor fucking Swift, I flew in an airplane for the first time ever! The food was amazing and we brought home another little girl to love forever. What else could I ever need?”

He kisses the side of her mouth as she’s speaking, and then her chin and all the way down her neck until she’s rolling onto her back and pulling him on top for more, “making it even better I see,” she teases him, letting him stay silent if that’s what he needs.

She made him so incredibly calm, taking control of the situation, like always. She runs her fingers through his hair as he makes his way down her stomach and the kisses don’t stop. He’s showing her just how much he truly loves every inch of her.

It’s when he slips her underwear off and starts to eat her out that she’s talking to him once more, “daddy sure does like it down there, doesn’t he?”

He nods with his tongue still flat against her clit, making her gasp at the feeling, “what’s your favourite part?”

He slides his tongue right inside of her as she tightens around it with a quick gasp before regaining her composure, “hmm, I don’t think I know what you mean?” She’s egging him on, trying to get him to fuck her tonight.

One of his hands is still resting on her hip, she takes it and brings it to her mouth. Sucking on two of his fingers before returning his hand to him and he knows exactly what to do. Starting with one finger, he resumes the same movements on her clit with his tongue while he pumps in and out of her.

He knows she wants more when she starts tugging on his hair, voiceless to stay quiet as they fucked in someone else’s home… his mind travels and he’s supposed to be eating her out, he snaps back into it, adding a second finger.

It’s lazy and slow and they’re both tired anyway but he loves it like this, and so does she for that matter. It’s nicer; there’s no haste, there’s no pressure or time limit, they have forever to make love like this and so they were going to take every second they got together.

“Come back up here, cutie,” she whispers, waiting patiently as he trails the kisses back up her chest on his way to her lips. “Are you going to talk to me at all tonight, pretty boy? It’s okay if you don’t, I just miss your voice.”

He shakes his head, “I don’t know what to say. I love you so much, words just don't do it justice anymore.”

“That’s okay,” she smiles, holding his face gently before brushing his hair back, “how long are we letting this get, by the way, because it is very ticklish when you’re on top, and I’m too tired to do it.”

He kisses the palm of her hand as she holds his face, and then her wrist where a hair tie rests for when Amoreena complained about her own hair being in her eyes, and she knows what he means. She puts his hair in the cutest little ponytail and he can tell just how he must look by the way her eyes light up under the moon.

She finds him adorable even in moments like this, “that’s better.”

“Do you still want to?” He asks, not minding if she’s too tired, he could use the rest instead.

“First you have to tell me why that’s your favourite part of me,” she teases, pointing between their bodies.

“It’s not what you’d think,” he whispers his response with a tilted head, resting right in her palm as she continues to hold him. “I wouldn’t have you if it wasn’t for Amoreena, and you made her in there. It’s the most magical place in the world to me, your body did that, it’s so incredible."

Something in her comes alive then, she’s more awake than she has been all day as she’s pulling him into a heated kiss and pressing him closer to her. He reaches between them and lines up with her, but it’s her who finally guides him inside.

“I wish we got a chance to make her together,” she whispers. “How would we have made her Spencer?”

“This is how,” it’s more of a growl than a whisper, he’s not even sure where it comes from but she loves it.

It’s passionate, that’s one way to describe it. He’s thrusting into her at such a rhythm and force that she’s gasping at each new depth he reaches. Her head tossed back, arms resting on the bed as she lays in her most blissed-out trance, he takes it upon himself to rub her clit gently with his thumb, helping her orgasm bubble even more.

And like an un-watched pot, she’s writhing for release in the sheets as he’s about to finish, holding off as long as she could but so close to bubbling over. She’s so tight, and she’s so beautiful and he’s so in love with her. He’s gripping her hips then and angling her hips up more before fucking her again, the sheets flying off them as they grow more and more desperate.

“Holy fuck, right there,” she whispers, but he knows she rather be screaming as he carelessly rubs her clit with the pads of his 3 fingers, and fucks her at the same time.

She’s grabbing a pillow then, tossing it over her face to moan louder than she expected before she’s cumming with a violent quake, the tension in her body releasing while simultaneously sucking him in further.

He still inside her, pushing in as deep as possible as he finishes in long hot spurts and a grunt as he presses his lips together in an attempt to be silent before dropping to her chest.

Her arms are around his back and she’s pressing the smallest kisses to his hair as they calm down. Then she’s twirling his little ponytail in her fingers and laughing, for the first time in a long time, they’re both laughing after sex.

It's the delirium of 3 in the morning approaches, they’ve both almost been up for 24 hours. He hasn’t been this tired since his last case, Y/N probably hasn’t either since Amoreena was a baby.

He gets up to clean up for her, she’s way too tired to do anything at this point. She’s actually completely asleep when he returns with a few baby wipes to clean her up. She doesn’t budge, out cold as he makes sure she’s okay. He carefully slides her underwear back up her legs and over her modesty.

When he’s finally settling against her, he’s wide awake again. He just lays on the pillow then, staring at her sleeping face with a smile on his own, that’s his wife. His. Wife. She was stunning, kind, impeccably understanding, shy but outgoing, talented beyond belief, the softest woman in the world. The best mother that has ever walked this earth.

And she picked him for the forever and always part of her life.

tag list: @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187

@k-k0129

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #amoreena

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sweet-sammy-kisses · 3 years

Text

Make my Heart a Better Place

Written for @badthingshappenbingo prompt victim blaming Fandom: 9-1-1 Pairing: Eddie x Buck Rating: M Warnings: past rape, deal with the therapist, anti Ana, tackling the belief that men can’t be victims and protective Eddie and Fire Fam Word Count: 2,964 Summary: Eddie learns about the therapist and what she did to Buck as Buck finally opens up about what has happened to him. Eddie realizes who his heart longs for as he helps Buck confront and deal with his past. You can read it on AO3

It was the kind of story that would never be first picked. It would be shuffled around until it was placed at the bottom left to be forgotten. After all, men can't be raped. Men can't be victims of abuse. Men are supposed to be stronger than a woman. So there was no way a woman could rape or abuse a man.

Taylor Kelly knew different.

Taylor had seen firsthand how horrible women can treat men. How they can use "they'll never believe you" and "what kind of man can't protect himself or his kids from his wife?" Toxic way of thinking. Women were barely believed when they came forward men were even less so.

But Taylor refused to let this story fall through the cracks. A woman, a woman therapist had used her position of power to sexually assault her male clients, men in valuable places, who were seeking help instead had new trauma to deal with. No Taylor would do everything in her power to expose this woman and see that those she hurt stories got told and hopefully gave them some closure.

+******+

"Men can't be raped."

Buck froze at Ana's comment and he wasn't the only one so did Taylor who had been talking about the story she was working on, a story she was very passionate about. The only reason Taylor was there was because Buck couldn't stand being the third wheel on the outing with Eddie and Ana. It originally was just supposed to be him and Eddie but then Ana invited herself along and Taylor being the good friend she is agreed to come as well.

Buck couldn't look at Eddie he was afraid of what he might see. He knew that Eddie didn't agree with Ana, they had seen too much in their line of work to know that stigma wasn't true but Eddie was a different man when around Ana, he went out his way to agree with her, to make her happy. Buck didn't know if it would be Eddie answering or Ana Edmundo.

"Edmundo?" Ana's voice broke through the haze that Eddie had found himself in since Ana uttered those words. "Don't you agree with me?" She continued looking at him expectedly to agree with her.

Eddie knew he didn't, he didn't agree with her and he was coming to see that there were a lot of things that he didn't agree with her. He certainly didn't agree with her comments about Christopher needing limits and her slight hints that he needed to start setting limits for his son. He was tired of being her Edmundo. "Ana I do believe that men can be victims of rape and abuse from women. But because of the stigma around such crimes, how people look at men and see that they can't be abused or rape it is harder for them to come forward for they know that there is a smaller chance of them being not only believed but mocked and made fun of for allowing themselves to be victims in the first place."

Buck felt the heaviness in his chest unravel as his Eddie spoke up, disagreeing with Ana's belief.

"Very well said, Eddie. I'm impressed." Taylor teased trying to ease the tension in the room even though she wanted nothing more than to rip into Ana for her misogyny beliefs.

A scoff escaped Ana, she couldn't believe that Edmundo would think that way. Men couldn't be victims it just didn't happen.

"You have a very narrow-minded way of thinking." Buck's voice was soft as he began to speak.

"Excuse me?" Ana's eyes narrowed as she took in Buck's form, she hadn't gotten off to a very good start with the other man. She disliked how deeply woven he was in Edmundo and Christopher's lives, he was in her place and she needed to claim her spot. To make Buck see that she was the one meant to be in the co-parent spot with Edmundo after all she would someday be Christopher's stepmother and it was time Buck stepped back and allowed her to take her rightful spot in the Diaz's lives. It was when Edmundo told her that it was going to be just him and Buck tonight she had invited herself along, she wasn't blind she saw the way that her boyfriend looked at his best friend and he never looked at her that way. She wasn't about to let a prize like Edmundo Diaz slip through her fingers.

Buck looked a little uncomfortable at Ana's glare and he was starting to regret ever speaking up when he felt Eddie's hand settle on his thigh, squeezing it in support and lingering there. Looking up he saw Taylor flashing him a supportive smile.

Taking a deep breath Buck began again, "Eddie is right. Men can be victims. A woman in power can and have taken advantage of men in vulnerable positions. They can feel helpless after it has happened and it can haunt them long after the event. And your way of thinking is why men won't come forward because they are a man and they can't be raped. Women aren't innocent they can use their positions to get what they want. A woman boss could take advantage of her male employee make it clear to him that he has much more to lose than she does if he doesn't agree to her demands. A therapist could seduce one or more of her male patients into having sex with her, she could have sought them out and studied their online profiles and knew things about them before their first appointment and when they were at a vulnerable point in their life when they had come to them for help instead of offering them anything that they might need they decide to have sex with them instead. To force them to have sex with them, they might have not said no but they certainly didn't say yes. Then they feel guilty and so dirty afterwards that they don't tell anyone because they don't think anyone even those closest to them will believe them. They hide what they went through and the shame haunts them, lingering in their nightmares."

Something about the way Buck spoke and since he knew Buck so well and could read him Eddie knew at that moment his Buck had gone through something like this. He wasn't just speaking what he believed he was speaking from experience and it felt like a dagger had pierced through his heart that someone, anyone, could dare to hurt Buck like that. Buck who is pure sunshine was the last person who should have been put through that.

Taylor felt a wave of rage and sadness washing over her as she realized that Buck, Buck who had been the first person to give her a second chance was a victim. 'No, he is a survivor.' Had been hurt like that. She could see that Eddie had come to the same realization as she had and she almost snorted Eddie was already protective over Buck he was about to reach a whole new level. And whatever relationship Ana had hoped to have with Eddie was now nothing more than a pipe dream.

'This also just might be the push these two stubborn idiots need to finally see what is before them. I wonder if there is still time for me to get in on the bet?' Taylor wondered she also couldn't help but wonder how long it would take for the rest of the 118 to catch onto what had happened to Buck and part of Taylor hoped she was there for when Athena Grant - adopted mom to Buck - got her hands on the woman who had raped Buck.

Ana didn't look impressed or moved by Buck's passionate speech, "If a man can't fight off a woman or protect himself then he has no one to blame but himself." There was a challenge in her eyes as she looked at Buck, "Those kinds of men are weak and no doubt exhausting to be around."

"Your exhausting."

Eddie's words shouted at him in rage and hurt still carried the sting they did that faithful day and the room seemed to cave in around Buck. "I'm sorry, I need to go." Shoving back his chair Buck was on his feet and moving towards the door before Eddie and Taylor could even realize what was happening.

Smiling smugly to herself Ana took another sip of her drink as Eddie and Taylor returned to the table. She would make sure that Eddie saw that Buck was a bad influence in Christopher's life and it was best they cut him out of both their lives. 'After all, they have me now, why would they need Buck?'

+******+

"No. I don't want this." Phantom touches that Buck didn't want to follow him. He tried to run away from them but they wouldn't let him go. Lips on his skin burned like acid. Hands and fingers run across his skin left a trail of disgust. Buck wanted nothing more than to shove her off but he couldn't. He had never felt so helpless, so powerless. Not even when he had been pinned under the fire truck.

"No!" A scream tore itself free from Buck as he shot up in bed, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He struggled to catch his breath as clawed at his skin, trying desperately to remove the feel of her off of him.

A chocked sob escaped Buck. He hated this, he hated this so much between the nightmares of being pinned under the truck, the tsunami and now he was tormented with images of that woman touching him. He couldn't understand it, he had wanted it. Hadn't he?

+*****+

Something was off with Buck. The man looked haunted and Eddie knew that he had been tormented by nightmares and it tore at his heart he wanted nothing more than to gather the man up into his arms and let him know that it would be alright. He wanted to kiss him and hold him in his arms and promise him that he is safe and sound and no one will ever hurt him again.

But he couldn't because Buck wasn't his and he had a girlfriend whose opinions had been the cause of him reliving a horrible event in his life. 'I need to talk with Ana. She isn't the woman I thought she is and I don't want her around Chris or Buck.' Eddie knew that he was going to have to break up with her. He had done some serious thinking and he realized that the only reason he was even dating Ana was that she was the perfect woman to bring home to meet his parents but she was the wrong kind of woman to be in his life or even think about raising Christopher with. 'Not that would happen, we have Buck.'

"Why does Buck look like someone kicked a puppy in front of him? And whose ass do I have to kick for making him look that way?" Hen asked as she arrived, her arms crossed over her chest and a deadly look in her eyes.

A frustrated sigh escaped Eddie's lips as he ran his hands through his hair, "Ana joined Buck and mine boy's night and said some things that opened my eyes to see what kind of woman she is behind those pretty smiles. It affected Buck."

Hen's eyes narrowed, "Just what did she say?" Hen hadn't been impressed with Ana and not just because she was coming between her two stubborn boys. There were her comments about what Christopher should and shouldn't be allowed to do, how she refuses to respect Eddie and call him by the name he prefers and not Edmundo. There was also jealousy that appeared in her eyes when she saw the family that Eddie, Buck and Christopher made.

"She said that men can't be raped or abuse victims," Eddie admitted.

Hen knew that her jaw had dropped in shock, "That is complete bullshit." They had seen it in their jobs. "Please tell me she didn't victim blame?"

Eddie's sad eyes were all the answers she needed. "We should let Athena talk to her," Hen muttered if anyone had a chance to make Ana see sense that men can be victims it is Athena Grant.

"Ahh, that might not be the best idea." Eddie glanced around happy to see that Buck was still beside Bobby, their captain had taken one look at Buck and called him into the kitchen to help him make breakfast for the crew. Part of Eddie wanted to get Hen's advice, to tell her his fears about Buck but he didn't want to betray Buck's confidence like that and it wasn't like he had proof but he knew deep in his heart that Buck had been a victim of rape and it still haunted him to this day.

"Eddie, are you alright? I know you like Ana and this can't be easy for you." Hen placed a comforting hand on Eddie's arms.

A sad laugh escaped Eddie, "I'm not sure. Ana is complicated, she is what my parents would see as the perfect wife for me and mother for Christopher that is part of the reason that I am trying so hard to make it work with her. But she isn't perfect, it is her little comments about what Chris should and shouldn't be allowed to do and I see how her trying to set limits for him is hurting my son. Then there is her attitude towards Buck, she just doesn't seem to like him."

Hen could only stare at Eddie, "She doesn't like him? Buck? Our sweet puppy Buck?" That was something she couldn't grasp. That didn't sound well for Eddie and Ana's relationship working out not with how important Buck is to both the Diaz boys.

"And there is something else. The way Buck reacted to Ana's statement. She hurt him with her words, it was like she knew how to hurt him and made sure every word hit their mark." Eddie admitted.

Biting her lower lip Hen studied Buck who had Bobby smiling at him like he normally does when the younger man has done something he finds cute. "Yeah, okay introducing Ana to mam bear Athena is out." Hen knew that Eddie had figured something out about Buck but she wasn't going to push him for answers it was up to Buck and Buck alone to decide if he wants to open up to them about what is haunting him. "I can't tell you what to do Eddie about Ana all I can say is follow your heart."

"Carla said almost the same thing," Eddie mumbled out.

Hen grinned, "Well she and I are both wise women, you should listen to us more."

Eddie found himself returning the smile as his gaze was once again drawn to Buck when he let out a loud laugh and his heart felt lighter at the sound and the room seemed brighter at the sight of Buck's smile. "I really should."

+*****+

Buck could feel Eddie's eyes on him all day, which wasn't something new but he could tell that he had figured out why he had reacted that way the other night. Feeling himself nervous Buck approached his best friend, the man he is in love with, playing with the string on his bag. "Can I talk to you?"

Picking up his bag Eddie studied Buck, "Of course you can always talk to me. Chris is with Abuela tonight so despite not seeing your favourite Diaz we can talk at my place."

"I'd rather Christopher not be around for this conversation, it is not for the ears of children," Buck explained.

"You can talk to me about anything Buck, you know that," Eddie promised.

A soft smile appeared on Buck's face, "I know that. You always have my back Eds."

+******+

Arriving at Eddie's place it didn't take long for Eddie and Buck to make themselves comfortable on the couch, their legs pressed against one another and a bottle of beer in their hands. Once again Buck was amazed at how at home he felt in the Diaz's home, it was his safe place.

"Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere." Eddie promised Buck as he rested his free hand on Buck's knee and left it there.

Licking his dry lips it took several moments before Buck could find the strength to speak. "The first therapist I saw, the one that worked for the department I had sex with her. I didn't say no but I didn't say yes. And even though it was years ago I still have nightmares about her, about how dirty she made me feel. How no matter how many hot showers I took I could never get clean." Turning to Eddie Buck could feel his eyes filling with tears, "I didn't want to sleep with her Eddie. I didn't."

Strong arms wrapped around Buck pulling him back against Eddie's chest where he drank in the scent of sand wood and musk, the scent that is purely Eddie.

"That woman took advantage of you, Buck. You did nothing wrong, that woman was in a position of power and she should have never used it to do that to you." Eddie never hated anyone as much as he did the woman who did this to Buck. Tightening his grip on Buck he pressed a kiss on Buck's curls and kept whispering words of comfort as Buck clung to him and cried for what had been done to him, knowing that he was safe in Eddie's arms.

#buddie #buck x eddie #otp: you can have my back anytime #bad things happen bingo #sherri writes #my fics #tw: past rape

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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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mind-reader1 · 3 years

Text

All of Me (Jake x MC)

This is for @princesstopgunswife

A/N: The Jake and MC reunion that everyone wanted.

Find a link to my masterlist here

Warnings: angsty, fluffly.

Word Count: 2,743

Five years, none of them could believe it had been that long since they’d all been together in one place, since they’d all left the island...well almost all of them.

Everyone had mourned the loss of their friend, the person who brought them all together and of course the one who saved them all. Despite mourning her, they still moved forward with their lives, graduated college, got jobs, reconnected. Grace and Aleister got married, Sean and Michelle decided to give it another chance. Even Estela worked to move on, accepting that she could have a life without vengeance. That wasn’t the be all and end all of her existence.

Then there was Jake. He’d lost Mike, he’d lost his wife all in the course of 24 hours. Lundgren was dead, eliminating all his hopes of clearing his name; of going back to the states to see his family again. He stayed in Costa Rica after flying the newfound group of friends off La Huerta. The first few months he would drink himself into a stupor every night, replaying her voicemail until he fell asleep, desperate to hear her voice again.

They had all come to visit him at one point or another, worried about him and how he was coping. Especially Diego, he’d lost Varyyn, he understood Jake’s grief. Diego tried to convince Jake that Taylor would’ve wanted him to find happiness with someone else, but Jake never did, he couldn’t do that to her. Even if they didn’t get to spend their year and one day together, they’d had thousands of lives together on La Huerta and they would always be connected. No one would ever fill that hole in his heart and he didn’t want anyone too. Diego didn’t push, he felt the same way about Varyyn, connected forever.

The five year reunion was upon them now though, Jake leaned against Deliah trying to play it cool, but he was nervous to return to the island, unsure of what to expect. He’d thought so often about going back there himself, about trying to find any trace of her but he’d never been able to bring himself to do it.

“How does he get to look the same after all these years baking in the sun when he doesn’t even use moisturizer!” Jake cracked a smile, he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“I think it’s the rum Maybelline, you should try it.” Michelle rolled her eyes.

“Good to see you Jake.”

“Cap.” Sean came up and dropped Michelle’s bags before clapping Jake on the back.

“Caught your last game. Talk about a hail mary, guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks though.”

“Chyeah! Only because I made it possible for him.” “Drax.” Sean and Craig had gone pro and been drafted together, the dynamic duo of the NFL.

“Don’t you nerds have anything to talk about besides football?”

“Skrillex. Hack any foreign governments recently?” Zahra smirked.

“Whenever you want that record cleared, you better have my money.” Jake smiled, Zahra had offered to hack the government and clear his record so he could return home to his family. He felt like he would only be a burden though, were Taylor still with him, things may have been different.

“...the laws of quantum physics clearly state-“

“Malfoy, brain trust! Heard y’all got married. Congratulations!” Grace beamed at Jake and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Thank you Jake!” Grace swiftly hit Aleister on the arm.

“Yes, thank you Jacob.”

“Let’s see, still missing Petey, Ariel, Julio Child and Katniss.”

“I’m right here.” Jake jumped and turned to see Estela staring at him, Diego walking up behind her.

“Dammit! You don’t need to sneak up on me like that.” Diego chuckled as Estela smirked and climbed onto the plane.

“What are you laughing at Petey?” Diego innocently held up his hands and boarded the plane.

He heard the laughter of the last two before he saw them, Raj was licking something off his fingertips, no doubt something that had come from the container Quinn was carrying.

“Jake, dude, you have to try one of these cupcakes.” Raj happily rubbed his belly.

“I’m sure they’re great Ariel, but I don’t want to get frosting all over the cockpit. Save one for me once we land?”

“Of course!” Quinn also wrapped him in a big hug and kissed his cheek before boarding the plane.

“All right. Well we’ve got the whole Brady Bunch now….so let’s do this.”

The plane was eerily silent as they flew over the water, their minds inevitably drifting back to the first plane ride they’d taken together. Diego made his way up to the cockpit and took a seat, Jake was rigid at the controls, a death grip on yoke.

“Jake...how are you?” Jake didn’t take his eyes off the horizon, his body trembling softly with adrenaline.

“I’m fine Petey. It’s an island. Been here probably a hundred times.”

“Jake, you know what I mean.” He hated being vulnerable, sharing his feelings, anyone he opened up to he inevitably lost. Diego was the closest connection he had to Taylor these days, he was the sole reason Taylor had even existed.

Talk to him Jake. He could hear her voice in his mind, encouraging him to keep making those connections.

“I miss her Diego. So damn much. I thought I could do this with you all but I’m not sure.” It was the first time Jake had ever called Diego by name.

“I miss her too. I think this will be good for us Jake, maybe we can leave the ghosts behind.”

“I don’t want to forget, I never want to forget.”

“You never could, I’m just saying...maybe it’s time to leave behind the guilt that keeps haunting us.” He had a point, Jake felt guilty still, like he hadn’t done everything he could’ve to make her stay. Deep down he knew that was wrong though, he knew it was her decision and she was a selfless person. She chose the world over herself, so that he could have a life to go back to, maybe it was time to stop feeling guilty about living that life.

“Thanks Petey. Now get back to your seat so I can land.” Diego smiled softly and returned to his seat as Jake made a smooth landing on La Huerta.

Since Rourke’s arrest, Aleister had taken over the Celestial resort. When the world had returned to normal, so had all the guests and the island had continued to operate as if nothing happened. For this weekend though, Aleister closed the entire resort to outside guests and staff. It would be the eleven of them alone.

They all collected their room keys, staying in the same rooms they’d had before, except for Jake. He stared for ages at the honeymoon suite key, it was the room where they’d spent their first night together, something he would never forget. He wasn’t sure he could face it again though. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves and swiped the key, riding the elevator up to the room, it seemed to move at an agonizingly slow pace.

He entered the room and sucked in a breath, flooded with memories of that night.

Hey you.

Hey.

Jake wandered over to the large pane windows overlooking the island. He remembered every moment of that night, this is where they’d kissed each other, he’d pushed her back up against the glass, desperate to feel her body pressed against his for the first time, what he wouldn’t give to feel that just one more time.

“I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want you.” He whispered in longing.

Then have me. She had said that back to him their first night together and that was the beginning of the end for him. He was hooked. They’d thrashed that room and didn’t give a damn, it was strange to see it put back together. He opened the window to get some fresh air but he could swear he smelled her perfume drifting to his nose over the ocean breeze.

He slammed the window shut and laid down on the bed still in his clothes, staring at the canopy. The bed felt cold and foreign to him, he tried turning on his sides but he couldn’t fall asleep, every time he closed his eyes he would see her beside him in bed only to reach over and find it empty. He slipped out of the room and went down to the beach, snagging a hotel towel on his way out. Maybe a night out under the stars with the ocean waves could help him clear his mind.

Vaanu had been made whole again and should have felt at peace, but there always seemed to be something keeping it from its eternal rest. Just a sliver that felt like it was missing, the feeling only grew the closer the 5 year anniversary of becoming whole came.

Why do I feel as though I am still broken? Vaanu bellowed in despair. Desperately searching for the beacon from its missing shard, it followed it to a well known place, La Huerta. Vaanu summoned the physical manifestation of Taylor that had been created by one of the shards, it could sense that she was the part of itself that was still missing a piece.

“Where am I?”

Why am I still broken? Memories came flooding back to Taylor like a tsunami, saying goodbye to Jake and the others, then it was all black until waking up here. She could hear its voice in her mind and feel exactly what it was talking about, she felt a sense of emptiness. It took her only a moment to realize why.

“Jake.” That feeling of emptiness only grew, she longed to see him again, to hear his voice. She could feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, lighting it on fire with pleasure, a feeling only he could give her. Something she couldn’t live without.

Jake?

“Jake and I fell in love over 1,000 times in different timelines. I promised him a year and a day, a part of my soul will forever be with him.” Taylor wondered how long it had been, wondered if he moved on, if she still felt this broken though she knew he hadn’t and that somehow hurt her more.

Broken.

“Let me be with Jake. If we’re together then the shard is together, you’ll be whole again.” She didn’t know how, but she could tell Vaanu was thinking. “Please, you know you won’t feel whole until he dies and that will be years. Years you could have spent being whole again if you just let me go to him.” She pleaded, desperate.

There was a bright flash and when Taylor opened her eyes she was on the familiar beach of La Huerta, there was a towel on the beach, void of an occupant. She needed to get her bearings, find a way to get in touch with Jake. She was back!

Jake had been unsuccessful trying to sleep on the beach as well, he’d turned to his last resort, alcohol. He’d found some rum but what he really wanted was the good stuff, some strong whiskey that would knock him right out.

Someone poked him in the shoulder and he turned to see who it was, it was Taylor, smiling at him in her blue tank top and khaki pants. He must’ve been hallucinating another memory again.

“Help ya with something Princess?” He turned away, his focus back on liquor, he didn’t notice her frown. She thought he’d be more excited to see her, like she was him. Maybe she’d been mistaken, maybe he had moved on.

“Just seeing what you’re up to.” She said deflated.

“Trying to see if we got any good whiskey left so I can stop reliving all these damn memories. Like this one of you asking me to come to your room. You?”

“Jake...this isn’t a memory.”

“Must be dreamin’ then. Guess I did find the good whiskey.”

“Jake look at me! I’m actually here!”

“You say that in all my dreams and then I wake up Princess.” He whispered heavily, sounding emotionally tired, it would go away if he’d just listen to her! She hit him in the arm and scowled at him until he looked at her.

“Ow!”

“Jake, please. It’s really me.” He shook his head, she could see the pain in his eyes.

“No. You went with Vaanu and that was it. My wife is dead!” He was fighting back tears.

“Jake, what do I have to do to prove to you I’m real, that I’m here?” He turned and grabbed both sides of her face, their lips meeting in a fiery kiss with years of longing poured into it. Taylor melted against Jake and he pulled away, breathing heavily his eyes still closed.

“If I open my eyes, are you still gonna be here Taylor?”

“Yes, Jake. Now please, open your eyes and look at me.” She whispered, cupping his cheek. Her touch felt so real, Jake didn’t want to risk it. He wanted to stay in this moment for just a little longer.

“I can’t Princess. I can’t.” Stubborn ass, she thought to herself.

“Come with me.” She had one last idea up her sleeve to convince him, dragging him to the elevator, she kept their hands laced together as she pulled him to their room.

“I’ve got to give myself credit, this is my most elaborate hallucination yet.”

“Jacob Lucas McKenzie. I am right here, right now, with you. Your wife. Your naked wife. So help me god if you don’t open your eyes to look at me I will go back to Vaanu.” Taylor had in fact stripped down to her red lacy bra and underwear set, she knew it was Jake’s favorite and if this didn’t convince him, nothing would. “Dammit Princess.” Jake opened his eyes and stared. There she was. Still there. In front of him. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He rubbed them and blinked a few times but she was always still there. He was overcome with emotion. He didn’t know if he should cry, kiss her or give into the desire coursing through him.

“I have never wanted anything as badly as I want you right now.”

“Then have me.”

They came together and years of pent up energy came pouring out. Sure they’d wrecked the room the first time, but this was 5 years of pent up sexual energy between newly-wed soulmates, it was a whole new level of destruction before they finally made it to the bed.

As they laid there after, Jake couldn’t stop staring at her, tracing every line of her body.

“I missed you so much Taylor.” He whispered.

“How long was I gone Jake?”

“5 years.” Her heart sank, imagining him alone for 5 years, they could’ve had kids by now.

“I’m sorry Jake, I’m so sorry. I'm never going to leave you again.” He pulled her close and pressed his forehead to hers, their noses gently brushing.

“I wouldn’t survive it if you did Princess. I don’t understand though, how are you back? I would’ve sold my soul if it meant getting you back but I didn’t think it was possible..”

“It’s because of you Jake.” His eyes shot open in confusion. “When we got handfasted, after spending all those timelines together and falling in love every time, a part of me is literally in your heart Jake.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Vaanu wanted me to return so it could be whole, but we’re soulmates Jake. A little shard broke off and resides in you. When we’re together, we’re whole, because we’re whole, so is Vaanu.”

“So you really are back for good? You’re staying forever?”

“Forever top gun.” Tears of joy began to stream down Jake’s face and Taylor wiped them away as Jake wiped hers.

“Good, because it’s going to take a long time to catch up on those five years of married life we missed.” Taylor let out a soft laugh.

“I guess it’s a good thing we don’t have to leave this bed until morning. Now, tell me everything.” Jake laid on his back and Taylor rested her head on his chest, looking up at him as he told her about everything she’d missed.

Finally, I am whole again.

@drakesroyalromance

#jake mckenzie x mc #Jake McKenzie #endless summer #choices endless summer #choices stories you play #playchoices fanfic #endless summer fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #choices fanfiction #reunion #all of me #angsty #fluffly

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Text

Okayyyy chappy seven 🤩 Here we goooo 🥳

Lord, Katniss always had nightmares 😭 even before the games, between her father’s death, her mother’s abandonment and the other traumatizing things she saw in her life, my girl never slept peacefully a day in her life 🥺.

She even indicates that she sometimes has nightmares about past hunger games 😭😭😭. Someone protect my smol child. Please. Someone.... Someone? Anyone? No? Okay 🥺

“I bolt up screaming for my father to run as the mine explodes into a million deadly bits of light.” This is such a powerful image and it really does show that Katniss has literally envisioned all the gory details of her father’s death for the last four years. This is so sad 😞

Also though. Katniss really doesn’t talk much about her father’s death after the first book and definitely doesn’t describe nightmares about it. So .... like basically, the games traumatized her so badly that, her father failing to escape the mines as the collapsed in on him, crushing him into the pits of despair, the possibility of rescuing his corpse deemed unimaginable, pales in comparison? Yes I just tried and failed to phrase that long run on sentence the way Katniss phrases her nightmares about her dad dying, yes that was over the top but you know what? So. Is. Katniss.

“Dawn is breaking through the windows” Twilight reference 😬😬😬. I couldn’t stop myself, y’all. Forgive for please.

“The Capitol has a misty, haunted air.” Katniss, you’re from the butthole of Kentucky, the air you’re used to is probably humid as all get out 😓😓💦😅😅

“I must have bitten into the side of my cheek in the night. My tongue probes the ragged flesh and I taste blood.” 😒😒😒😒 this feeling ..... is .... v v v .... distinct .... and .... familiar 😕🙁☹️

“I end up hopping from foot to foot as alternating jets of icy cold and steaming hot water assault me.” Why is this so funny omg 😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂😂😅😅😅😅😅 Katniss is just like pressing buttons like, “Ah! Too cold! 🥶 Ah! Too hot! 🥵 Ah!!!!!” All while jumping like a .... cat 🐱🥁

Lemon foam? 🍋 Whatever. I guess there’s weirder flavors of soap we have today but like where’s the Philosophy flavors that give recipes on the bottles??? Surely they’d survive an apocalypse??? Everyone uses those???

I’m so glad Katniss didn’t forget to moisturize, even as she prepares for a death match 😅😅😅😅 even if it’s just as simple as pressing a single button, why is she even taking the time to press it?

I know, I know. She just wants to make sure her skin is so smooth for the arena that the knives and arrows just slide right off 🤣🤣🤣🤣

“This is the first time since the morning of the reaping that I resemble myself.” Lolololol which means Mr. Romantic is gonna be even more turned on by the sight of ya, since he’s crushed on you looking like this for the last decade of his life 🥳😎🤗💁🏼‍♀️. Peeta ain’t even here yet and I’m already making the shipper comments Samantha calm down 🙄😶😑🤐🤐🤐🤐🤐🤐

Seriously there where is Peeta? Did he also have to figure out the temperature controls in the shower? Did he also moisturize? I miss him I wanna know about his morning too 😔. Katty, is it too much to ask for you to go take a lil ... sneak peek into his room for me? 😏😏😏

Twenty dishes seems like a lot for like four people eating? Eh, maybe six people, if we count the stylists who magically pick and choose when they’re coming to a meal... Hmm, I’ll calculate just so no one else has to. 🤓😬🤗 No one else cares, Samantha. 🤐🥱😴😶 Twenty dishes amounts out to about five plates without the stylists and three and a half-ish with so.... idk it’s not that much food I guess but it seems like a lot for one meal, esp if people in the Capitol intend to keep their trim figures. This is why that one prep team girl is chubby. 🤐🤐🤐

Awww Katniss copying Peeta’s weird lil eating quirks 🤗😎🥳. She’s already taking interest in him, she just don’t realize it yet 💁🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️ shipper comment alert 🚨🚨

But also has anyone actually tried dipping bread on hot chocolate and was it good or does it taste as repulsive as it sounds to me? I hate it when my food even so much as dares to touch though 🤢😡😤😓

Oooo I always forget Prim has to be utilizing her goat, milking the thing every day until it’s dry I’m not a farmer idk how milking animals works ... so she contributes more than I give her credit I suppose.... I’m making an effort for you, Primmers. You seem useless and immature but I’m trying. 😪😶 Taylor Swift voice 🎶 *this is me trying* 🎶

Oh wow it was only two mornings ago? Man. The first book is slow moving. 😅😭 six chapters in and we’ve gotten through one point five days 🤣

“It makes me irritated that Peeta is wearing exactly the same outfit I am.” “Listen, Peeta, one of us has to change, this is getting embarrassing, you have to stop borrowing my clothes!”

“This twins act is going to blow up in out faces once the Games begin.” Ahhaahahahaha blow up 💥 💣 🔥. Get it, get it. 🥁 Because she represents fire. And she also blows things up in Every. Single. Book.

But seriously, did Cinna and Portia and Haymitch all plan on presenting Katniss and Peeta are like, tight friends or whatever, and then Peeta is like “oh b-tee-dubs, I have a massive crush on K-dog” and they just decided it perfectly fit into their plans?

I’m so jealous that their breakfast has bread baskets 😩😩😩 I know they’re headed to the slaughter but still. Bread.

if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now." "Why would you coach us separately?" In case one of you ... not naming names .... Peeta .... wants to reveal your lifelong crush on live television 😎😎😎

Also Haymitch is like “make an important decision but take zero time to consider it, I’m tired and hungover, kids, idc for your drama 😒”

Which as an auntie to a wonderful little two year old ... is v relatable 😅🥲🙃🤭

“And I already know what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels." I wanna make a dirty joke here so badly but the lord himself is saying no.

“Town families usually eat expensive butcher meat. Beef and chicken and horse.” Ohhh this is interesting. Katniss believing Peeta and the other merchants live high on the hog while Peeta is later is like “I eat expired bread for every meal, Katniss” I mean, better than starving like her, but also not how she’s painting the picture in her mind. 😶😭

Also Katniss never mentions horses in Twelve, where’s the butcher getting horses from to slaughter and sell? That’s why Katniss never sees them, Samantha, duh 🙄

“I can't do anything. Unless you count baking bread.” "Sorry, I don't.” This was such a quick and matter of fact brush off, poor Peeta 😭😭😭 my baby I’m still rooting for you don’t worry you got this

Also. Lowkey, highkey, that tiny exchange triggered me. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭. Those awkward moments where people brush me off or glance over me live in my head. Rent free. For life.

I wonder sometimes often times if Katniss’ father and Gale’s father knew each other? Both hunted and worked in the mines. Just a random sidebar 😅🤭🤐🙃

“She’s excellent” He’s so proud of his wife 🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧

So uh.... is it safe to say Mr. Mellark is an Everlark fan? If he likes and admires Katniss and Peeta and him apparently have some kind of close-ish bond (okay, maybe not but maybe) then perhaps he is carrying the shipper banner back in Twelve for them 🥳🥳😎😎

Katniss, you dingaling, of course he noticed you 🙄🙄🙄

Peeta compliments her and her instant reaction is “what are you doing, weirdo?” 😅😭

“Don’t underrate yourself” Peeta, love of my life, take your own advise. Stupid. 😪😪😪

“I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour” Katniss in the market, staring across the way at Peeta, 👁👄👁, watching him lift flour over his shoulder.

“He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother." This is criminally undiscussed. Peeta being a wrestler alone is undiscussed but also.... did you go to his matches, Katniss? Miss Anti-Social, Hunting-First-Everything-Else-Later? 😏😏😏 If this ain’t proof of her lil crush idk what is

“All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance.” “You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows.” Does no one else realize that Katniss and Peeta literally took the other’s advise for the first part of the games? How did Peeta get in with the Careers? The way she just said. Where is Katniss when Peeta and the Careers discover her? High up in a tree. Okay, this maybe didn’t compute right but I had a thought here so I said it

Peeta’s mother is just a monster. Who says that crap? 😔😔😔 don’t worry, baby, I’m rooting for you

“She said, 'She's a survivor, that one.' She is” Yeah, she is, no thanks to you, Mrs. Mellark 😤. Stingy ho.

Peeta’s got pain in his eyes 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Awww, Katniss accrediting her survival to Peeta’s help 😭😭😭😭. This is so pure. Also kiss now, you little freaks.

“She has no idea. The effect she can have.” This is such an iconic line... but the can has always had me laughing. She can have an effect, if she really wants to. Or not, depending on the day.

Katniss is so stupid, how did she construe that as an insult??? 🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️ y’all ever just wanna smack her into a wall?

“In public, I want you by each other's side every minute” If Peeta didn’t have a long life crush, what was the ultimate plan with all this friendship act they’re being forced into? 🤔🤔🤔

Even Peeta’s trying to object to it 😭😭😭😭

“You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other.” You will fall in love. 🤩🥳😎

“I bite my lip and stalk back to my room, making sure Peeta can hear the door slam.” Okay, now imagine how much she’s hurting his feelings right now 😖😣 what a little brat

“But that didn't mean I wanted to do everything with Peeta. Who, by the way, clearly doesn't want to be partnering up with me, either.” Lolololololololol this is so funny in hindsight 🤣🤣🤣. Also if you showed a little enthusiasm, Peeta would probably be happy to partner with you.

“But a tiny part of me wonders if this was a compliment. That he meant I was appealing in some way.” No, really, Katniss? A compliment? Who’d give you one of those? 🙄🙄🙄

“It's weird, how much he's noticed me. Like the attention he's paid to my hunting.” A normal person at this point would put together a crush 😅

“And apparently, I have not been as oblivious to him as I imagined, either. [...] I have kept track of the boy with the bread.” Anddd a normal person would figure out their own crush at this point 😅😅.

“I do a quick assessment. Peeta and I are the only two dressed alike.” We stan a matching couple in this house 😎😏

“Almost all of the boys and at least half of the girls are bigger than I am” That means 18 out of 24 tributes tower over my girl here. Smol Katniss. The movies did such erasure on this front I’m still bitter 🤐😒😤😩

“I may be smaller naturally, but overall my family's resourcefulness has given me an edge in that area.” Just a tiny muscular thing standing next to a bunch of tall, lanky kids. 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Awww “Each [Career tribute] must have fifty to a hundred pounds on me.” I mean ... let’s calculate. A muscular girl would probably weigh like 150 pounds... so basically Katniss is at most, 100 pounds. Tiny Katty.

“I'm thinking that it's lucky I'm a fast runner when Peeta nudges my arm and I jump.” This is a random, cute interaction 😍😍😍. Shipper blinders are on and tight.

“Suppose we tie some knots.” “Right you are.” I legitimately just scratched my face, who says right you are? An 87 year old man, that’s who 😅😅😅. Not turning your girl on very well, Peeta baby.

Although it does sound a bit like a backwoods southern thing soooo.... hillbilly Everlark nation rise. 🙋🏼‍♀️🙋🏼‍♀️🙋🏼‍♀️🙋🏼‍♀️

“We concentrate on this one skill for an hour until both of us have mastered it.” Awww, so Peeta knows how to tie a snare? He’s not as clueless as half the fandom acts.

How exactly is frosting cakes equating to amazing camouflager in a death match? Books crack me up with these connections. “I’m an amazing artist because I write birthday cards!”

Lolololol Prim admiring her future brother-in-law’s handiwork 🥰🥰🥰🥰 too bad she dies before they can get together for real for real.

“Somehow the whole thing - his skill, those inaccessible cakes, the praise of the camouflage expert - annoys me.” Dude, you get praised by everyone and their brother while Peeta gets overlooked, give him a moment to shine. 😑🙄 jealous wife much?

Also she’s already picking up on Peeta’s eye for beauty 😅😅😅

“It's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death.” "Don't be so superior. You can never tell what you'll find in the arena. Say it's actually a gigantic cake-“ "Say we move on.” She’s such a little snot. 😒😒😒

But also I love that already in this point of their relationship, Peeta is noticing when she’s being a brat 😭😂😅. “Don’t be so superior.”

“Despite Haymitch's order to appear mediocre, Peeta excels in hand-to-hand combat, and I sweep the edible plants test without blinking an eye.” Lolololol their mentor’s advise went into one ear and right out the other 😂😅🤣.

But also why did the movie make a point in adding an extra scene of Peeta looking weak and the Careers staring at him? That literally took up time and served no purpose at all. 😤😤😤 I’m coming for you, Gary Ross

Awww, everyone but the careers eat alone. But Katniss and Peeta eat together 🥺🥺🥺. It’s like a forced first date 🥳🥳🥳

I like how Katniss says they include bread from every district but she then proceeds to only mention the two districts that later have relevant tributes. 😅😅😅

Lolololol their fake friendship “laugh ... now! Okay, I’ll smile, try to say something interesting”

“Ever since I slammed my door, there's been a chill in the air between us.” Well yeah, you probably hurt his feelings 🥺🥺🥺

Umm, Katniss just casually drops that she was chased by a bear.... how did homegirl live? 😬😳

Peeta knowing Rue’s name and being the one to take notice of her first 🥺🥺🥺. If the games had come down to Katniss, Peeta and Rue, y’all know Everlark would have swallowed the berries and gotten Rue home. 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“Don't. Don't let's pretend when there's no one around.” "All right, Katniss.” He made a single comment to you, ding dong. He didn’t ask for a goodnight kiss 🙄🙄🙄.

Also anyone ever think of how lonely Peeta’s life must be? He’s not close to his family that we can see, Delly’s his only real friend, after he wins he lives in that huge house all alone... I feel sad now. I did this to myself. 😬😭🥺

Katniss’ “Oh! The weapons!” When she sees the bows and arrows is so cute 🥰🥰🥰

Katniss has such a rage built up inside of her. Let it out, girlfriend

See, I’d have done this too but in my rage, I’d probably have shot a real person and not the pig ... goodbye, Plutarch 👋🏻

Andddd I think that’s all for this chapter! Sorry my comments weren’t as interesting as usual 😬.

#thgagain

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killiansprincss · 3 years

Text

We Found Wonderland

Summary: Trapped in the past after the S3 finale, Killian and Emma are forced to fade into the background as a newly married couple in a village while Rumplestilskin works on the portal to send them back to the future. (No Marian)

What challenges will they face, after all it’s only pretending to be married after all right?

Inspired by Taylor Swift ‘Wonderland’

Read on AO3

Huge thanks to @captain-emmajones for reading this over for me as I was going insane after editing it for weeks

Happy New Year to all! They say to start the year off as you mean to go on, and my goal for 2021 is to write more so I really hope you enjoy it!

Set just after the CS movie, no Marian.

We found Wonderland

You and I got lost in it

And we pretended it could last forever

________

Emma had realised on this trip that Storybrooke was her home. Not Boston or New York. Yes things were messy and dangerous in Storybrooke. But it was home. It was where her family was.

She had longed for a family for 28 years especially after the foster system failed her and after Neal abandoned her. But when the boy she gave up for adoption asked her to come home with her, it changed her life. Even if she didn’t believe in the curse at first, she knew it was a place she could eventually call home.

She wasn’t scared anymore. For once, she was excited about the future and what it would bring. And Hook.

This trip had shown a side to him she hadn’t seen before. She knew he had feelings for her, and as much as she tried to suppress her own feelings for him, he was different this trip. He wasn’t pining for her or making his usual stupid flirty jokes. It was clear he cared about her family, he wasn’t selfish.

Kissing Other Hook was an adventure. But seeing her Hook get jealous and punch the other him was even better. She could see in his eyes it was killing him that she was flirting with the other him, way more than she had with him. And she wasn’t going to deny that she enjoyed it.

“You alright love?” Hook's voice pulled her away from her thoughts.

She smiles at him as they walk into Rumple’s Castle, “Yeah. Just excited to get home.”

“Well dearie it’s gonna be awhile before you can do that.” Rumples voice cuts through as they walk into the great hall.

“What the bloody hell does that mean Crocodile?” Hook asks, anger in his voice.

Rumple just laughs, “well it’s not just a portal that I could do easily for you. Time travel has never been done before, except for you two. It’ll take me around a year to create that portal for you two.”

“IM SORRY-A YEAR?”

“A YEAR?”

Both Emma and Hook's voices respond to this sudden realisation.

“You’re telling me, it’s gonna be a year, until we can go home to the future?” Emma asks, hoping she heard wrong.

“Were you not listening?” Rumple asks.

“So we have to stay here for a year while you figure out the stupid portal?” Hook looks angry, like he could use the dagger on Rumple so quickly.

“W-what about preserving the future?” Emma asks, she can’t stay here for a year. She can’t.

“Well you’ve already messed up your parents timeline and they’re still on track. I have no use for you in my castle, so I’ll place you two under a glamour spell in a small little village where hopefully you’ll make little impact. After you’re gone, I can erase the minds of the villagers.” Rumple explains while Emma is still trying to wrap her head around staying here for a whole year.

“My parents just met and are on track to get married and have me. It’s around 2 years before I’m born and the curse strikes. The portal will be ready by then right?”

Rumple just rolls his eyes at Emma. “I’m not an idiot. I say it’ll be a year, it’ll be a year.”

“Then what the bloody hell do we do?” Hook slams his hand down on the table.

Rumple looks as though he could kill him, but he just laughs. “Well I considered keeping you here in my dungeon. But alas I already have my help. You two will be a newly married couple that just moved to this part of the land. You can work at the tavern or something, I don’t really care. I’ll be in touch when the portal is ready.”

“Married?” The two exclaim at the same time.

“Are you two having trouble hearing?” Rumple asks, rolling his eyes.

—————

After probably an hour quarrelling with the Dark One about their arrangement, they’re transported to a small village and a hut that they guess they would have to call home for the next year. It had one large room, with one bed in the corner, a fireplace and what seemed like a stove to the left of the door and a few chairs by the table. It was small alright, and she had no clue how they were going to last a year in this place.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Emma says as she looks around.

Rumple laughs, “I'll be in touch when your portal is ready.” And vanishes a second later.

The pair look around at their home. Seeing the one bed Killian quickly offers, “You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor or somewhere it’s fine.”

Emma shakes her head, “no way, you take the bed. I have slept in my car and much worse places before. You take it.”

Hook just laughs, “you really are a stubborn lass. Look, it’s big enough for the both of us. It’ll be fine as long as we stay on our respective sides, no use arguing. We’re going to be here a while, no use one of us being uncomfortable.”

Emma reluctantly agrees.

The first night is the hardest, knowing she won’t see her family, Henry, for a whole year was a lot to wrap her head around. She had really enjoyed this trip when she wasn’t scared for her life, she had seen her parents fall in love and it made her finally understand what that meant, to be born of true love, the true love they had just witnessed.

And Hook. Or rather Killian, she should get used to saying his real name. She couldn’t quite admit to herself that she was falling for him before this trip. It would be a lot simpler if they were going back to Storybrooke, she probably would’ve given him a chance, a date perhaps, and see where it ends up. But this wasn’t Storybrooke. It wasn't even her time. She couldn’t risk whatever they had, not when they had to rely on each other to get home.

The next morning, Emma wakes to find they hadn’t exactly stuck to their respective sides. Killian’s arm was around her waist and she had tucked her head into his chest. It looked very cosy, and to an outsider it would seem they were truly a happy couple. But they weren’t.

Killian luckily wakes around the same time and, noticing the situation they’ve found themselves in, removes his arm and the two don’t say anything about the situation.

Except it keeps happening.

Every. Single. Night.

____

The next few days were spent discussing what their story would be. They had decided that Killian had been discharged from the Royal Navy because of the accident where lost his hand, and they were used to travelling but now had to find somewhere to settle down as a newly married couple.

They found jobs, Emma as the barmaid in the local tavern, similar to the one where she flirted with Other Hook. Killian found a job working by the docks so that he was still close to the water, it was mainly cleaning and anchoring the boats, very different to his pirate days. But it allowed them to slip into the background, not being noticed by anybody and not making any drastic changes to the future.

“How was your day, love?” Killian asks as Emma comes through the door after a long day working in the bar.

Untying her corset, trying to get out of the horrible clothes she tells him,“Horrible. I hate it here.”

Killian looks up at his ‘wife’, “that bad?”

Emma sits down on the chair. “I had 3 separate men try to buy me a drink whilst I was working. I told them I was working, and that I was married and they still tried to touch me up.”

Killian chuckles, “I’m guessing they aren’t going to do that again.”

Emma smiles, “of course not. I hope they won’t be needing their fingers for a while. How was your day?”

“It wasn’t bad. Can’t say I don’t love being by the water but it’s not the same. Although Cassian said he and his wife want to invite us over for dinner one night this week. Said that he wants to see the wife I don’t talk about enough.” He explains, he knows how Emma feels about getting too close with the other villagers, but if they avoid them for too long it could end up much worse.

“You mean you don't talk about your incredible and very hot wife, all day every day? Why did I marry you?” Emma teases. Their relationship has been like this ever since they got stuck, flirting and teasing but never going any further. “I know we can’t avoid other people forever, it’ll only cause more suspicion, so I guess we can meet them for dinner this time.”

“If this dinner goes well, I will start to talk about my incredible wife some more.” Killian teases back, “about how she’s messy and violent and she snores loudly when she sleeps.”

This earns a laugh from Emma, but also a pillow thrown at his head as she changes out of her corset. She’s never complaining about fitting into jeans again.

~~~

A week passes, more shifts at the tavern and more sleazy drunk men who probably have wives and children at their homes.

Emma earns 10 silvers and 15 bronze a week, Killain, 1 gold 9 silver and 12 bronze a week, which Killian told her is decent money, it allows them to feed themselves with food bought from the market, and buy more clothes which are not comfortable in the slightest. She hates the corsets. Luckily. She only has to wear them at work, the clothes she wears outside of work, whilst ugly and plain, are much more comfortable.

Emma wonders if she’s ever seen any of these villagers in Storybrooke, maybe they’re teachers or shop workers. Did they currently have a horrible life, and even though they’re cursed for 28 years, does it get better for them once they’re in Storybrooke?

The day finally arrived that the two of them have to go to dinner with one of the guys Killian works with. And Emma is petrified, it was fine just the two of them going about their days and telling their story to those around, separately. But telling their story together, they’d never done this. Would they know something was up? Would they know they were lying?

Killian can tell she’s tense, so he takes her hand in his and brushes his thumb over hers over and over. He knows her, he can tell when she’s stressed and knows that this calms her.

“It’s gonna be fine,” he whispers to her as they approach their friends home.

“Killian! So good to see you!” A blonde man opens the door, Cassian, Emma assumes. “Welcome, please come on in.”

Killain smiles and takes Emma’s hand in his as they walk through the door.

“May I introduce my beautiful wife, Emma.” Killian says gesturing to Emma who holds out her hand to shake, assured by Killian this was still the proper greeting in the Enchanted Forest.

“Emma. You are as beautiful as Killian has described. May I introduce my wife, Maeve.” Cassian smiles gesturing to a heavily pregnant woman beside him.

“It’s so kind of you to invite us into your lovely home.” Emma smiles, trying to keep her cool composure.

——

The night is pretty simple, they go over the story of how long they’ve been here, Killians time in the Navy, mostly true stories of his actual time, just a fabricated truth to fit the time and their fake timeline. The food was pretty good for the Enchanted Forest, some type of meat, pork or beef maybe, with rice, beans and vegetables. It was okay, but Emma was really missing grilled cheese.

Cassian and Maeve are really lovely people. They discover Maeve normally works at the market, but picks up extra shifts at the Tavern that Emma works at to make extra money, but is taking time off due to her pregnancy. Emma wouldn’t call it Maternity Leave as she was pretty sure it wasn’t a thing in the Enchanted Forest. Maeve said she was convinced it was a boy, but Cassian was sure it was a girl.

“Have you two thought about children yet?” Maeve asks.

Emma almost spits out her water. “Um great question. Um.” She decides to tell a fabricated truth, make it more believable. “I had a son, when I was younger, before I met Killian. I lost him, and I don’t know if I will ever see him again.” Truthfully, she didn’t want to make up a lie about her and Killian, they were not married, they were not together.

“It's a cruel fate to fall pregnant when young and unmarried. I’m sorry to hear that. I wish you the best for the future.” Cassian tells her. She smiles, thanking that they didn’t ask any more questions on the subject.

But there was one story, one question that really fucked Emma up. It was asked by Maeve when she wanted to know more about their marriage.

“So how did you decide you wanted to marry Emma, Killian? I can tell you two married for love, did you plan a romantic proposal or was it a spur of the moment type thing? Cassian proposed to me with his mother’s ring, he took me to the market stall where we first met. I was selling grain and he kept coming back every day for more grain. After weeks of coming to the stall he admitted the truth. A few months later, he took me back to the spot we first met and said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. Of course I said yes!”

Emma looks over at Killian, hoping he has something to say. “You tell it so well Killian! He’s such a romantic my Killian!”

Killain looks at Emma and smiles. “So I lost my brother at sea years ago, and the only thing I have left of him is his ring. It’s kept me safe all these years, and when I met Emma I knew she was special. She didn’t like me very much at first, but I wore her down. She’s stubborn like my brother, so I knew I had to give her his ring. I took her down to the water, it’s not where we first met but it's where we both come when the world feels on top of us. Not much in my life has felt right since losing my brother, but Emma came into my life and she filled that void. So I took her to the water, got down on one knee and told her I couldn’t imagine my life without her. We don’t have much in terms of money, but we have each other and I think that’s enough.”

Was he serious right now? Emma thought he would maybe change up the story of how he wanted to marry Milah or something, but that was far too descriptive and emotional for it to be a lie or a fabrication. He had clearly thought about it, a little too much, Emma thinks.

Maeve was practically crying. “That is a beautiful story. You two are lucky to have found one another.”

She was going to murder him.

I’m sorry this is all that the Tumblr limit will let me post, check out part 2 here

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #writing #Emma swan #killian jones #my writing

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jaimehwatson · 3 years

Text

I made another Snowpiercer playlist!

After posting my Wilford/Audrey playlist a while ago, I added some songs that didn’t quite make the cut to a different playlist, intending to put together another similar one. But rather than focusing on just one ship this time, I also ended up getting really interested in theorizing about what Wilford’s relationship with Melanie might have been like before the Freeze, and exploring the idea that maybe there was something going on there and some kind of love triangle with Audrey.

So here’s my new playlist, full of absolute jams that could apply to any combination of relationships involving Wilford, Audrey, and Melanie, and/or just general Snowpiercer vibes! Read on for more detail about the songs I selected, and as before, content warning for references to canon abuse & self-harm/suicide.

1. “The Tradition” by Halsey

Oh, the loneliеst girl in town Was bought for plenty a price Well, they dress her up in golden crowns His smile hides a lie

She smiles back, but it's a fact That her fear will eat her alive Well, she got the life that she wanted But now all she does is cry

Thanks @onetrainsnowpiercer for getting me into this excellent album! I thought it would be fitting to kick off the playlist with one that could suit the earlier days of Wilford’s relationship with Audrey, like my previous playlist was more focused on.

2. “cardigan” by Taylor Swift

'Cause I knew you Steppin' on the last train Marked me like a bloodstain, I

I knew you Tried to change the ending Peter losing Wendy, I

I knew you Leavin' like a father Running like water, I And when you are young, they assume you know nothing

Did you think I would make a Snowpiercer playlist without Taylor Swift on it? Not a chance. I picture this one being more from Melanie’s perspective, reflecting on possibly having had some kind of ill-fated romance with Wilford when she was young and naive.

3. “No Children” by The Mountain Goats

I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow I hope it bleeds all day long Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises We're pretty sure they're all wrong

I hope it stays dark forever I hope the worst isn't over And I hope you blink before I do And I hope I never get sober

The only reason this perennial favourite of mine wasn’t on the first playlist was that I had too many Mountain Goats songs already and wanted to keep things balanced. But this one got all the ones that didn’t make it to the first playlist plus some more I thought about later, so I’m kind of giving up on that balance by now. They just have a lot of great songs about terrible relationships, and I love them all so much.

4. “Gold Guns Girls” by Metric

I remember when we were gambling to win Everybody else said, "Better luck next time." I don't wanna bend like the bad girls bend I just wanna be your friend Is it ever gonna be enough?

This is another one that I can picture being about young Melanie, gradually growing more aware of everything that’s terribly wrong with Wilford and his approach to life, and of how little he cares to try to fix it.

5. “You’ve Haunted Me All My Life” by Death Cab for Cutie

And there's a flaw in my heart's design For I keep trying to make you mine

You've haunted me all my life You've haunted me all my life You are the mistress I can't make a wife And you've haunted me all my life

And this one I can see being Wilford thinking about either one of the women, and his unhealthy attachment to them and inability to keep them around for very long—maybe once he’s finally reunited with them both on some level in season 2, but still can’t fully persuade them both over to his side.

6. “Old College Try” by The Mountain Goats

From the cities to the swamplands From the highways to the hills Our love has never had a leg to stand on From the aspirins to the cross-tops to the Elavils

But I will walk down to the end with you If you will come all the way down with me

Another Mountain Goats classic. If you divorce it from its context of being from a concept album about a horrible marriage, I actually think this song is kind of sweet in the way it describes a couple still committing to try to make things work despite a whole host of problems. But never mind that now, because I’m putting it back in the new context of a whole collection of horrible romantic relationships!

7. “Risk” by Metric

So you're beaten up but you bounce back It’s all part of the pull And the story runs like a soundtrack We repeat 'til we're full Started slow, started late Started strong, then we lost faith Started slow, started to lose control The more we accelerate, the more we accelerate

Half of arranging any playlist I make is just trying to split up the Mountain Goats and Metric songs so that they aren’t always clumped together. Anyway, this one seems especially fitting to me in its imagery of a speeding vehicle of some kind (it’s a train, I’m always picturing a train) alongside its description of a relationship going badly.

8. “Big God” by Florence + The Machine

You know I still like you the most The best of the best and the worst of the worst Well, you can never know The places that I go I still like you the most You'll always be my favourite ghost

I think this one could be any one of the three of them contemplating their complex feelings about the past at some point around season 2.

9. “I Still Do” by The Cranberries

I don't want to leave you Even though I have to I don't want to love you Oh, I still do

There aren’t as many specifics that match the characters going on in the lyrics here, since it’s more of just a general break-up song, but I also really like the creepy way it sounds.

10. “Fault Lines” by The Mountain Goats

But none of the money we spend Seems to do us much good in the end I got a cracked engine block, both of us do

Yeah, the house and the jewels, the Italian racecar They don't make us feel better about who we are I got termites in the framework, so do you

This one feels really fitting for pre-Freeze Wilford, especially the engine imagery!

11. “I Don’t Care” by Fall Out Boy

Say my name and his in the same breath I dare you to say they taste the same Let the leaves fall off in the summer And let December glow in flames

Erase myself and let go Start it over again in Mexico These friends, they don't love you They just love the hotel suites

Another song that is simply a) an absolute jam, and b) generally fitting for my favourite obscenely rich asshole and his terrible relationships

12. “You asked for this” by Halsey

I want my cake on a silver platter I want a fistful in my hands I want a beautiful boy's despondent laughter I wanna ruin all my plans I want a fist around my throat I wanna cry so hard, I choke I want everything I asked for

This one I can picture as Audrey—or maybe Melanie too, but especially Audrey—beginning to regret getting involved with Wilford, but only once she’s in way too deep for leaving to be a safe or easy decision.

13. “my tears ricochet” by Taylor Swift

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

Much like several other Taylor Swift songs, I just know in my heart that it’s the type of music Wilford listens to in secret, while possibly drunk and definitely singing along very dramatically. This one he dedicates to Melanie once they’ve met up again in season 2.

14. “Speed the Collapse” by Metric

All the way from where we came Built a mansion in a day Distant lightning, thunder claps Watched our neighbor's house collapse Looked the other way

This one has a lot of good apocalyptic imagery that I can imagine scoring Wilford’s life in the last few years before the Freeze, as he makes his plans to save himself and let so many others die.

15. “Ox Baker Triumphant” by The Mountain Goats

I will thank my ride and crawl my way back inside To the guts of the building where my enemies Hide in the dark like roaches And I will signal the camera crew and everyone will do What he's been trained how to do Sweat dripping from my face as my moment approaches

Click your heels, count to three I bet you never expected me A little worse for wear Practically walking on air

I love this song a lot, and listening to it lately makes me imagine Wilford plotting his revenge while on his way to catch up with Snowpiercer before the end of season 1.

16. “Firewood” by Regina Spektor

The piano is not firewood yet But the cold does get cold So it soon might be that I'll take it apart, call up my friends And we'll warm up our hands by the fire

Don't look so shocked Don't judge so harsh You don't know You’re only spying Everyone knows it's going to hurt But at least we'll get hurt trying

This has to be one of my favourite songs of all time. It’s very beautiful, and I love the piano in it. I’ve always personally interpreted it to be at least partially about someone surviving a suicide attempt, and the overall imagery about burning a piano for warmth—and this bit about not judging someone for doing that—reads to me as more of a general statement about the difficult choices people struggling with mental illness and other similar issues have to make to survive. I listened to it recently and I could picture Audrey singing it in the nightcar. I think it suits her well.

17. “Cry for Judas” by The Mountain Goats

But I am just a broken machine And I do things that I don't really mean Long, black night Morning frost I'm still here But all is lost

I think the imagery of this song suits the show a lot in general, but I can also particularly imagine it being Wilford in a rare moment of self-awareness about how much damage he’s caused to the world and the people around him.

18. “Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide” by David Bowie

Time takes a cigarette, puts it in your mouth You pull on your finger, then another finger, then your cigarette The wall-to-wall is calling, it lingers, then you forget Oh oh, oh, oh, you're a rock 'n' roll suicide

I love Wilford a lot. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him ever. I hope he kills more people, and I hope he gets his train back, and I hope he wins. But if he does eventually die in the show, I hope he’s found in the bathtub with there being some ambiguity about whether he really killed himself or whether one of his victims turned the tables on him, and I hope the climax of this song swells as the camera pans over his dead body. That’s the only Wilford death I will accept, thanks for coming to my TED talk.

19. “Source Decay” by The Mountain Goats

I park in an alley And I read through the postcards you continue to send Where as indirectly as you can, you ask what I remember I like these torture devices from my old best friend Well, I'll tell you what I know, like I swore I always would I don't think it's gonna do you any good I remember the train headed south out of Bangkok Down toward the water

Okay, I promise this is the last Mountain Goats song on the playlist. It’s just—it’s perfect. It has a train in it. And on the podcast “I Only Listen To The Mountain Goats,” John Darnielle commented that there’s barely anywhere you can go south of Bangkok before you hit the water, it’s a train going nowhere, it’s so good. It’s also one of the songs I’ve previously ripped a line off for my fanfiction titles!

20. “Sellers of Flowers” by Regina Spektor

The sellers of flowers Buy up old roses They pull off dead petals Like old heads of lettuce And sell ’em as new ones For cheaper and fairer But they die by the morning So who is the winner? Not the roses Not the buyers Not the sellers Maybe winter

And Regina Spektor closes out the playlist again! This song is another one I picked more on imagery and vibes than anything else. But since it’s about a young child in a world that seems to be moving inexorably toward an all-consuming winter, if it suits any of the characters, maybe it’s an appearance of Alex here at the end!

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the playlist!

#snowpiercer #wilford #music #snowpiercer tv

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maria-eve-falcon · 2 years

Text

Tis the damn season evil version part 2 au mature

authors note : this is a bad idea. first full smut , Aaron x Tay. (one of my first fic, and first smut , this is actually the one I wrote as my first just like it was written so, it might be weird.) PS : it's a joke

Long pond

It's been a day since an unpredictable event. She hates the weather because here they are again, at the same place. drinking. AGAIN

it's tooo late and he was playing the piano . god knows why on earth he was doing that which made her leave her bed and come in the studio.

The worst thing about it is that she thought it was Joe and this time she leaned in the chair he was in from behind.

He did not mind though. He missed some things in life too. including his children and wife.

and how on earth can you be close to taylor swift and deny she is breathtaking?! if you do so, check your sexuality again.

so, now they were drinking. she was super frustrated at joe cause never in her wildest dreams she would have done whatever she did a day ago. and knowing what happened she would never be here if only..if only that weird ass was here. but.. she knows why he can't be here. and she is the one who maybe should have been with him

god she misses him

they were still working on Tis the damn season so as Tay and Aaron both were here, they decided to finish it. Now that it's done, the last job is Laura's.

want a refill? he asks

"No, I'm fine. "

It's still very, very weird. The cold environment doesn't help at all.

I- he starts , I look Taylor, I am sorry.

for what? she really doesn't wanna talk about it

yesterday ..about yester-

yk ? it's fine

really?

yeah. She looks down . well I reciprocated too yk? so.. even though it was stupid as hell and wrong. very, very wrong , she says with a chuckle, it's fine.

OH NO! what's wrong with me? she thinks

oh! so we are fine?

yup. definitely

so I think we can have another drink.

He regrets it as soon as he says that.

umm sure! What harm could it do?

he eases at her words. They take their glasses to the kitchen to refill and come back.

Now she is again on the piano, he is standing close by. foggy minded. God knows when he brought the whole bottle with him which was resting on the piano beside her.

she did not mind though, joe does that all the time. wild times on the piano, she thinks.

They were talking about some things.. something about the Grammys.

I don't even wanna think about it.

why?

ik I have no chance of winning!

why do you think so? Is it because we are such a flop?!

no, WHAT! NO! you guys are NOT flops. well It's just me.

no. You will. trust me. we got this.

that's what joe says

what?

that we got this. but idk.

don't trust me then trust him. and even if we don't it's a great album and we all are proud of it.

That's also what he says , she says with a chuckle.

he laughs as he reaches for the bottle beside her. which accidentally non accidentally touches her hand. then her thigh. she gasps.

his face is so close to her , she could feel his breath. too scared to look at him she finally moves her eyes from his hand on her thigh to meet his.

He kisses her. a small light peck. she reciprocates.

a small make out session starts as he moves his hand . one to her neck and other to her waist. both of her hands on his shoulders.

he licks her bottom lips making her shiver a bit as she allows him .

so wrong. this is soo wrong. they both think.

as he bends her all on the piano he takes a hold of her pajama's waistband and her hair. firmly.

are you sure? he whispers

I think?

he starts for real. thank god the piano is huge , he thinks.

he takes her pajama and tops off

professional, she thinks.

god. his breath is caught as he looks at her full body .

god your beautiful he utters out loud. huskily. He takes her bra off as he kisses her neck finding her sweet spot, he bites there. she moans out. more like a whimper. he grins against her neck. God knows where this side of him lives. or maybe it only shines at night. Now he is mercilessly biting her neck and massaging her breast with both hands. The whimpers become moans and louder . He stops massaging her breasts and uses one of his hands to tickle down her stomach and inside her underwear. wet. She is soo wet.

god she gasps as his hand finds her hole and massages it with his thumb. He takes his middle finger inside her hole and she moans loud. her moans get louder and his breathings get faster as he puts two more fingers inside her. pushes real hard. three of them, together. as he keeps going harder she moans out too loud and he has to put his palm on her mouth to avoid noise.

well even though none could hear them.. why take the risk yk?

he kept going harder and faster , god she looked soo pretty .

Aaron? she whispered

hmm ?

I think I'm gonna-

do it.

what ?

come. come for me.

she could not think . She wanted it soo bad . She could not help herself.

he kissed her forehead. And looked at her.

come

then go faster.

Being encouraged he kept going faster than ever, god she needed this. as his thirsts got faster and harder. .she came moaning a half scream. He fucked her through it all.

oh god.

she said as she caught her breath and got off the piano.

"God we are so fucked." he said as he helped get her clothes, before checking her once again.

shit. he muttered.

I should apologize to joe.

oh you don't have to. she said as she was really close to Aaron.

I liked it . she said whispering in his ears

ummm guys? Said Jack , as he peeked through the studio door.

they both jumped away from each other

shit. they thought

Taylor was not even fully clothed. her pajamas still in her hand. thank god her shirts were on. but jack got hat it needed to know what was the weather in there.

-------------------------------o-----------------o----------------------------------

9 months later

joe

yeah

I think you also deserve a grammy

umm Aaron? mind if I ask you if you all three have lost your minds?

no no no. darling really.

eah joe aaron is right

but eh.. why?

well because .. umm well

ehghhgh

ehhhhhhh ummm

because eh the rules are fucking stupid.

but

YOU HAVE TO! all three of the mischiefs in unison

ok. 0-0

#tis the damn season #grammygate #part 2 #weird fic #my creative writing #my creative writings #taylor swift #joe alwyn #aaron dessner #jack antonoff

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toxickehlani · 2 years

Text

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗮𝗳𝗶𝗮 𝗗𝗼𝗻'𝘀 𝗧𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

𝖶𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 6,025

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒, 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 & 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁.

𝖲𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾: 𝖨𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗁𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄.

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖨𝖨✨: 𝖳𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽

𝕊𝕥𝕖𝕗𝕒𝕟𝕠’𝕤 𝔹𝕖𝕕𝕣𝕠𝕠𝕞

• 8:30 AM •

Stefano's POV

𝗜 𝗦𝗔𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗘 tray of breakfast on the side table after making breakfast along with some Tylenol because I knew Taylor would wake up with a headache. After what took place here last night, I knew I couldn't resist her, and I wasn't even going to try and do that. There's something about her that not only makes me hard but makes me want to have her as mine. From the second my eyes laid upon her, I wanted to be close to her. I wanted to know what she would look like waking up next to me every morning.

I've had my fair share of beautiful women in the past, but none of them make me feel like she does. Although I barely know Taylor, I know that I want to be with her. Hearing her whimper in her sleep, I knew she was starting to wake up, so I swiftly walked out of the room.

I stood leaning against the kitchen counter and drank my coffee.

A couple of hours passed when I heard the shuffling of feet on the carpet, making me look up to see Taylor coming around the corner. Her bedhead was scattered everywhere.

"Morning." I smiled at her. She groans, looking at me.

"Thank you for the meds and the toast, but I have to go." Taylor praised, but I could sense the awkwardness coming off of her.

"I can call you a cab." I offered.

"Thank you." She smiled.

After calling her a cab, I walked her to the door. "Will I see you again?"

"I-I don't think so." She smiled at me but shook her head.

Smirking, I nodded, but in my head, I knew I was going to see her again eventually. As I closed the door, I chuckled, then went to my room and got ready for the day since I had business to handle at the nightclub.

Closing the car door, I started it up and drove to the club.

• 9:45 AM •

"Also, send Mrs. Peters a card of my condolences, will you," I smirked at one of my men.

"Yes, boss." He nods before leaving out my office.

Leaning back in my chair, I smirked, folding my hands. Mrs. Peters wouldn't be getting a card of condolences if her stupid husband paid me on time.

1 Week Ago

"Please, Mr. Lazzari, I'll get you your money. I need more time." The scum, Allan Peters, pleads as I smoked a cigar unamused at his crocodile tears.

"I've given you enough time to get my money, and I want it now." I seethed, having enough of hearing his voice.

"I say we just kill him now and get it over with," Zander said as Peters continued to cry and plead for his life.

"Listen to me loud and clear, Peters. If you don't have the rest of my money in three days, your wife and kids will find your corpse on the front lawn. Do you UNDERSTAND? ME?" I questioned, seeing the imminent fear in his eyes.

"Yes, sir." Peters sniffled, nodding his head.

"Get the fuck out of my sight," I grumbled, waving him off.

Two of my guard grabbed Mr. Peters and dragged him out of my office.

3 Days Later

I have yet to receive any calls from Peters regarding my money. I knew I should've killed this pig when I had the chance, but no, I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Grabbing my phone, I called for the guys to meet me at his house later that night.

Sitting in my office, my cellphone started ringing, and it was my father calling me, so I answered it.

Me - Ciao padre?

Padre - Ah, son, how are you?

Me - I’m doing good. How are you?

Padre - Hanging in there. Have you found a wife yet?

Me - Father.

Padre - Don’t start whining boy. It would be best if you found a suitable wife, one that can bear some nice babies within the next two months.

Me - I know that father. You tell me almost every day.

Padre - Because I want you to get it through your thick ass skull!

Me - You don’t have to yell.

Padre - You have two months, Stefano, to find a suitable wife.

Me - I’ll find one, okay.

Padre - Alright, fine.

Tossing my phone on my desk, I let out a huff. Ever since my father handed over the title of Don to me, he has been badgering me on finding a wife. My father met my mother a month after getting the title of Don from his father, and now he wants me to do the same.

Don't get me wrong. I don't mind finding a suitable girl to marry and calling her my wife. I want someone that's not going to see dollar signs when they see me or go and snitch to someone about the family when they find out who I am.

I want someone that's going to love me and have my back. Someone that's going to be by my side. A woman who can hold her own and doesn't mind getting nasty in the bedroom when she wants.

But I can't think about that right now. I have some business to handle tonight, and my problem would be no longer.

• 9:00 PM •

"He should be home any minute," Sandro said from the back of the truck.

Zander sat in the driver's seat while I sat in the passenger seat & Sandro, Vicente, and Jason sat in the back of the truck. Suddenly we see a pair of headlights then a car pulls up into the driveway of the Peters house. Getting out of the vehicle was Allan Peters, who owes me money. His wife was working late today, and his kids were at their friend's house, so we know he was alone. We waited until the lights were off to proceed to make entry into the one-stour home.

Quietly we make our way across the street and up the front porch. Zander picks the lock, and we make our way inside the modern house. This man is so stupid that he doesn't even have an alarm set. Walking into the great room, I sat down on the soft, comfortable couch.

"Go get him," I said to my men.

They nodded before walking around the house in search of Mr. Allan Peters. Soon I heard a scream followed by a loud crash, then a scuffling sound, and then the guys dragged Peters from his bedroom. He had a busted lip with blood-spitting from his mouth, a cut on his head that's dripping blood. The guys throw him on the floor in front of me, and when he looks up, I can see the horror in his eyes.

This man was scared for his life as he should be.

"Hello, Mr. Peters." I greeted with a smile.

"M-Mr. Lazzari I-I," Peters couldn't even get a word out because he was so scared.

"Oh, please, Peters, save the lies and excuses. I don't care that you have a family." I said, shaking my head. "All I want to know is if you have my money." I stood up and leaned down, making direct eye contact with him. "Do you have my money, Peters?"

"I-I-I," I smacked the side of his head.

"Spit it out," I demanded, tired of hearing him snivel.

"P-Please, Mr. L, I don't have it all right now. I'm trying t-," Before he could finish, I kicked him in the face. He spat out blood, and a couple of teeth as his body hits the floor with a thud.

"I told you what would happen if you didn't have all of my money by the deadline," I said, and he started shaking and crying.

"N-No p-please, I'll get you your money. I need more time." Peters pleaded, crying.

"More time? How much more time do you need? I gave you two months plus an extra three days." I stuck my hand out, and Vicente me a .357 magnum with a silencer on end.

The more Peters begged for his life, the more pissed off I got. I was generous enough to give him an extra three days on top of the two months to get me the 20,000 dollars he begged for because he spent it all on gambling. He came to me and asked for ten thousand so he and his family wouldn't be on the streets, and I gave it to him.

"Please don't kill me. I'll get you your money, please. I swear." Peters cried.

"You see, I can do that. If I do that, then that makes me look weak, and I can't have that." I smirked, turning to him.

POW!

Peters body dropped to the floor as blood splattered on the furniture and began pooling around his head. Taking the silencer off the gun, I placed it in Mr. Peters's hand, making it look like he shot himself committing suicide. In a way, I felt sorry for him, but then again, he should’ve paid me the money he owed me.

"Let's get out of here before his family comes home early," Zander said, smacking me on the shoulder.

The boys and I exited the home, locked the door, and got back in the truck.

Virginia Peters's husband owed me money twenty thousand dollars at that, and I've given him many chances to pay me back, week after week, and I've had enough. Now she has to plan a funeral and get therapy for what she witnessed when she found his body. He had to learn the hard way not to mess with me and my money.

A rough knock hits my door, making me snap out of my thoughts. "Entra!" ( "Come in!" )

The door opens, and my cousin Sandro walks in, carrying a manila folder in his hand. It must be the information I had him gather on Taylor, who I met last night.

“Ho tutto quello che ho potuto trovare su di lei.” He said, handing me the big envelope. ( "I have everything I could find on her." )

"Grazie cugino." I smiled, opening the envelope by pinching the metal holders at the top. ( "Thank you, cousin." )

Sliding the stack of papers out, I looked through them.

𝖳𝖺𝗒𝗅𝗈𝗋 𝖱𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌.

𝖣𝖮𝖡: 07/20/1997

𝖱𝖺𝖼𝖾: 𝖧𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖼-𝖢𝖺𝗎𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖺𝗇

𝖬𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋: 𝖩𝗈𝖺𝗇𝗇 𝖬𝖺𝗋𝗂𝖾 𝖱𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌

𝖥𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋: 𝖭/𝖠

𝖡𝗈𝗋𝗇: 𝖦𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖶𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖬𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖢𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋

𝖲𝗈𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅: 607-33-0612

Hmm, I wonder why her father isn't on her birth certificate? I'll have to ask her when I finally have her.

My eyes scanned every piece of information on this temptress of a young woman, from her blood type to her current email address, where she went to school, her teachers, and every credit card she previously owned. If I wanted to pursue her, I wanted to know everything about her. Suddenly my phone lit up with a number I didn't recognize, but I answered it anyway.

Me - Stefano Lazzari who’s speaking?

(425) 646-3555 - Hello Mr. Lazzari, I’m Patricia Smith from Central Coast University. I am calling to see if you are still interested in substituting a class.

Me - Of course.

(425) 646-3555 - Okay great. Are you still available today?

Me - Yes.

(425) 646-3555 - Awesome. When you arrive, you can get your key from the office.

Me - Sounds good. Thank you.

(425) 646-3555 - Thank you, Mr. Lazzari, for taking the class.

The call disconnected, and I smirked. Now I'm another step closer to having the temptress named Taylor.

"What makes this girl so special?" Sandro asked, sitting in the chair across from my desk.

"There's something about her that makes–Your dick hard." Sandro interrupted me mid-sentence.

"Not only that but there's something about her that makes me want her," I replied, shrugging my shoulders.

"From the looks of last night, I can tell you want more of her." He smirked when his phone rang.

Pulling it out from his pocket Sandro answers the call. In my mind, I knew it was his fiancé Rebecca. She is an excellent person to have around you, but when it comes to Sandro, she turns into the wicked witch of the west. When he got off the phone, he sighed.

"Everything alright?" I worriedly asked.

"Rebecca's acting up again," Sandro replies, standing up. "I got to go."

"Yea, I should head out too. I have a class to teach in soon." I nodded, doing the same also.

"Okay, I'll talk to you later," Sandro said, shaking my hand before leaving my office.

Gathering my things, I left not too long behind him and walked out the club's back to my black Mercedes Benz Amg Coupe and got inside. My baby roared to life, and I drove towards the university.

After I parked in an empty spot for professors, I stepped out and immediately got looks from people but mainly students and other professors. Mostly the female half was gawking at me, but I only had my eyes on one woman. Smirking at them drooling over me, I walked by them to the office and went up to the front desk.

"You must be Mr. Lazzari." The middle-aged woman asked politely, smiling.

"I am." I returned the smile and nodded.

"Here's your key. The classroom is in building D. Have a nice day." The receptionist smiles.

"You too." I smiled teasingly and winked at her.

The woman blushed, and I leave out of the office.

Arriving at building D, I found room#105 and unlocked the door. A smirk came to my face as I pictured Allan Peters teaching this lesson. If he would've paid me my money, he would still be here. I wrote my name on the chalkboard and sat behind the desk, waiting for the class to start.

The time came for students to walk into class, and when they did, they all stopped and stared at me. Especially the girls. They gasped, whispering to their friends about me. I didn’t mind them talking about me because I knew I looked good. They’re only fueling my ego.

Suddenly I hear that too familiar voice from last night. I see Taylor walking in with her best friend, Ariel. Her eyes met mine, and she instantly froze in her track eyes widened. Zander’s girlfriend shakes her friend then meets her gaze. Her eyes go wide as she sees me sitting in the chair.

“Oh shit!” Ariel gasped as her friend snapped out of her trance.

As she grabbed Taylor’s hand, she pulled them to empty seats towards the middle row.

First off, to start this class, I introduced myself as Mr. L because not everyone can say that, so I kept it short. Next, all the students introduced themselves to me before I got the class started.

“Can anyone tell me when the Second Continental Congress issued the Declaration of Independence?” I asked, looking around the class, and noticed Taylor sliding down in her seat. “Taylor, can you tell me?” When I said her name, everyone turned to her.

Her eyes held anger in them as she stared down at me, but I only smirked. “1776.

“Stating what exactly?” I questioned, smirking.

“Their specific grievances with the British Monarchy and why they were going to create a separate government,” Taylor explained, looking up from her notes.

“Very good. Thank you.” I smiled at her.

I see Taylor get flustered as she sunk back into her seat as I wrapped up the lesson. As students stood up, gathering their things, two girls, one blonde, the other a redhead, came up to me, all smiles and giggles. They wore tight tops showing their tettes off and tight shorts.

To me, they look desperate as hell.

"Hi, Mr. L." The redhead girl greets, flipping her hair over her shoulder seductively.

"Hello, ladies." I greeted them, smiling politely.

"So we were wondering if you wanted to join a few of us, students, for a drink tonight since you're new to the campus?" The blonde girl inquired with her hand on her hip.

"Thank you for the offer, but it wouldn't be professional of me if I were to accept, so I'm going to decline that." I rejected them nicely.

"Oh, come on, it will be so much fun." The blonde girl gins biting her lip.

"I'm sorry, ladies, I can't," I replied, shaking my head.

"Aww, okay, then it was nice meeting you." The redhead smiled before the pair walked out of class.

As Taylor and her friend Ariel walked by me, I stopped Taylor in her tracks.

"Taylor, can you stay back, please?" I asked, making her look at Ariel then back at me. Ariel left, leaving Taylor and me in the empty room.

"What do you want, Mr. L?" Taylor asked, folding her arms under her protruding breasts.

"Did you forget something the other night?" I asked, leaning against the desk.

"No. What do you mean?" She questioned, shaking her head.

I smirked at Taylor, pulling her ID card from my pocket. "You left this."

"What the fuck." She cursed, searching in her bag in her wallet. When she couldn't find it, she gasped, turning to me. "You son of a bitch. You stole my ID out of my wallet that night?!"

"I mean, you can have it back if you do something for me." I moved closer to her, and I could smell her sweet scent.

"What are you talking about?" She asked quietly as I brought my hand up and cupped her chin, making her look me in the eyes.

"Give me a kiss," I smiled, rubbing her bottom lip with my thumb. "Or go out with me tonight."

Taylor's POV

Doesn't he know the meaning of a one-night stand? He's not supposed to be the substitute professor.

So many things were running through my head at this point that I couldn't think straight. Stefano was so close to me, and if I'm honest, all I wanted to do was have him bend me over the desk, but I couldn't. I have more class than that, but goddamn, he smelled so good, and it made me wet.

"W-What if I said no?" I asked, crossing my arms pushing my boobs out to tease him. I see his eyes avert to my breasts as he eyes me hungrily.

Stefano smirked, letting out a chuckle as he stared down at me, almost intimidating me. The hand holding my chin finds its way around my neck, lightly squeezing. My pussy throbbed, and I'm sure I had to change my panties.

“Oh, cara mia you and I both know you will because with the way your breathing right now tells me you want to,” Stefano smirked, pressing his forehead against mine. “After what we did last night, I can tell your panties are probably wet right now.”

“Get the fuck-,” I started to say, but Stefano squeezed my throat, which made my cunt throb.

“I suggest you choose your words wisely, or I’ll end up taking you over this desk.” He replies, and I swallowed down a moan that desperately wanted to come out.

Damn, he’s making it hard to think right now when I’m horny as hell. Why does this man have to be fascinated with me? All I did was kiss him and let him hit the pussy one time. Now he's hooked.

Should I agree and go out with him? I mean, what harm can it do besides him stealing my ID out of my bag the night we had sex, right?

"A-Alright, I'll go out on a date with you." I stuttered out, and he removed his hand.

"Meet me at the nightclub at 8:00. No later than that." Stefano replied, leaning down and sliding my ID in my shirt before kissing my cheek and then walking out of the classroom.

I stood in my spot, heavily breathing, as I couldn't believe that the guy I slept with was my substitute professor. Quickly I gathered my bag and hauled out of the room.

"Girl, what happened?" Ariel asked, seeing the look on my face.

"I slept with him last night," I said as regret filled me.

"The substitute professor?" Ariel questioned, getting this look of shock on her face.

"Yes." I nodded.

"Okay, but what happened in the classroom?" My best friend asked me.

"I agreed to go on a date with him tonight," I mumbled, but it was loud enough for Ariel to hear.

"Oh my god, no way! You're going out with Zander's best friend." She gasped but had an amused look on her face.

"You know I don't like going on dates. They always end up going badly." I groaned as we started walking towards an empty table in the quad area.

"Well, I'm assuming since Stefano owns a nightclub, he's got some coin to his name, so the date might not be all bad," Ariel explained, shrugging her shoulders.

Maybe she's right. The date could go good if Stefano doesn't piss me off. I'll stab a steak knife through his hand if he does.

"I guess." I nodded.

The time to go to our following lessons came around, and Ariel & I said goodbye to each other before hugging and going our separate ways. Like before, I sit in one seat, and Trent's annoying ass has to sit behind me. Doesn't he take the hint I don't want to be bothered with him?

"Hello, Taylor." I hear Trent say in my ear.

"Today is not the day to annoy me, so leave me alone, please." I politely replied as I looked at him.

"Damn, I just wanted to know if you wanted to go to a movie tonight." I can hear the smirk in his voice.

This man is pissing me off. I thought I told him that I wanted nothing to do with him when I said no to going to the frat party.

"I have a date tonight," I said, not looking at him.

"With who?" He inquired, and I slowly turned to him and stared at him like he had lost his damn mind.

"None of your fucking business," I grumbled lowly since the professor was speaking.

"You know you'll give in to me and go out with me eventually." Trent arrogantly replied, and I rolled my eyes at him.

"In your dreams, you prick," I murmured, writing down notes.

Finally, I finished my lessons for today, and I was dreading what was to come tonight with my date with Stefano. I met up with Ariel, and we made our way to our apartment. Right away, I went to my room and tossed my bag on the floor before face planting myself on my bed. I needed this nap.

• 7:00 PM •

I stepped out of the shower with my white towel wrapped around me, and I headed to my room and dried off. After rubbing lotion into my skin, I slipped on a pair of seamless panties, put on my nude print jumpsuit before sitting on my bed, and then grabbed my nude-colored ankle-chained heels. Walking into my bathroom, I applied some moose to my hair then used a diffuser on my blow-drier. When I applied makeup in the mirror, my phone buzzed on the counter. I picked it up, and a message from an unknown number texted me.

+1 (213) 556-7608 - I'm sending my driver to pick you up.

Me - Who is this?

+1 (213) 556-7608 - Your date. Now, are you ready yet?

Me - Almost.

+1 (213) 556-7608 - My driver will be at your address in twenty minutes.

Me - Whatever fine.

Shaking my head I got finished with my makeup before doing the final touches on my outfit. As I headed downstairs, I saw Ariel sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn on her lap, watching a movie.

"So you're not hanging with Zander tonight?" I smiled, laughing.

"He had to work tonight." She replied, looking me up and down at my outfit.

"You look cute as fuck." She nodded in approval.

"Thank you." I smiled when I heard a car horn honk from outside. We look at each other, bolted to the window, and see a sleek black Lincoln Navigator parked outside, and Stefano earned up against the vehicle. "Alright, I have to go. I'm keeping my location on just in case I send you an SOS."

"Okay, bye, have fun." Ariel laughed, hugging me.

Waving at Ariel as I walked out to the door, I opened it and walked to the elevator and rode down to the first floor, where I got off and walked down the stairs to the exit gate.

"Sembri bellissima, cara mia." Stefano smiles at me. ( "You're beautiful, my dear." )

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" I questioned, crossing my arms.

"A compliment. I said you're beautiful." He smiled, opening the door of the SUV for me.

"Well, thank you. You don't look too bad yourself." I replied and got in the backseat of the truck, and Stefano slid in beside me not long after.

He closed the door, and the driver pulled away from my apartment.

"So, where are you taking me?" I asked after a few minutes of silence.

"To my favorite restaurant in the city. Whenever I come down here, I have to go there and get something to eat." Stefano replied, grinning. "Their food is molto delizioso."

"We'll see about that," I replied, smirking as I stared out the window.

Nodding to myself, I turned and looked out the window as the car smoothly drove down the road. Finally, the truck pulls up to a nice restaurant, and the driver gets out, walks to Stefano's side of the car, and opens the door for him.

Hmm, that's weird. Why would Stefano's driver open the door for him when he can do that himself? Maybe I'll ask him about that.

As I slid out of the car, Stefano held his hand out to me. I looked at him, a little confused. "Come on, cara mia, I won't bite...hard."

Hesitantly I took his hand, and he led me inside of the restaurant where the smell of Italian dishes hits my nose. Stefano talked to the hostess, and she nodded her head, and we followed her to the back of the restaurant, where we walked to a room away from the main dining area. Like a gentleman, Stefano pulled my chair out for me, and I sat down. He sat in the chair next to me, and the hostess smiled at us before walking away. For a few minutes, Stefano and I sat at the table and talked a little bit.

I thought this was the perfect time to bring up the driver opening the door for him.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked Stefano politely.

"Ask away." He nodded.

"Why do you have a personal driver?" I questioned curiously, but in the back of my mind, I felt like I knew.

"Well, I have the money to afford one, so I got one," Stefano answered, shrugging his shoulders. "Anything else?"

"Why did you steal my ID out of my purse last night?" I asked as a waiter came over and poured us water.

Once he left, Stefano spoke. "I wanted to learn more about you, I guess." He shrugged his broad shoulders, smirking at me.

"So you stole my ID and did what? Did a background check on me?" I asked, shocked that he did that.

"Something like that?" He grinned, nodding his head.

"Why not just ask me?" I questioned, shaking my head.

"Would you've told me if I asked?" Stefano smirked, folding his hand as he leaned on the table.

"No, because I don't know you. You're a stranger to me." I replied, shaking my head speaking truthfully.

"Do you sleep with strangers after you meet them?" He smirked as I looked at him, mouth gaping in bewilderment.

Before I could reply, a man who looked like the manager walked over to our table with a polite smile.

"Welcome back, Mr. Lazzari. How are you this evening?" The guy questioned, smiling at Stefano.

"I'm doing good, Emilio. This is my date, Taylor. Taylor, this is the owner, Emilio." Stefano introduced us.

"Nice to meet you." I politely greeted him.

"Oh mio dio, è bellissima. Tuo padre sarà orgoglioso." Emilio speaks in a language I'm sure is Italian, shaking my hand. ( "Oh my god, she's beautiful. Your father will be proud." )

"Com'è la tua famiglia?" Stefano wondered as the man smiled at the mentions of his family. ( "How's your family?" )

"They're good. Lia asks about you all the time." The man acknowledged nodding his head.

"Tell la principessa I'll see her soon." Stefano smiled at the man before he began taking our orders.

"What would you like to eat, beautiful?" Emilio asked, ready to take my order down.

I blushed and giggled as I hid behind the menu. "Umm, I'll try the fettuccini with the rigatoni and grilled chicken on top," I told Emilio my order then Stefano ordered us some wine he'd thought I would like.

Emilio walked away to put our orders in and bring us some wine. "Some Vermentino di Gallura for the lady and some for you, Mr. Lazzari."

"Thank you." I smiled then sipped the wine, and it tasted terrific.

"If you two need anything else, I'm just a call away." Emilio smiled before Stefano, and I was all alone.

"The wine is good," I said, setting my glass down.

"Told you, you would like it." Stefano smiled at me.

"So tell me about yourself?" I grinned.

"Well, I'm twenty-five, and I have a younger sister named Evalina, who's twenty-two. I like cars and making money, and I reside in Italy." Stefano listed off.

"You live in Italy?" I asked him, astonished.

"Yes, since I was a boy. I only come down here to handle business, and then I go back home." Stefano answered, nodding his head.

"How is it out there?" I curiously asked.

"It's beautiful and peaceful there. Sometimes I'd wake up in the morning and stand on the balcony just watching the sunrise." Stefano replied as a smile came to his face.

"I think once I graduate, that would be one place I'd like to vacation to," I confessed, smiling as I sipped my wine.

"I could take you there if you'd like," Stefano smirked as he stared at me from across the table.

"No, I couldn't do that. I don't even know you all that well." I replied, shaking my head. There's nothing more in this world that I'd want to do than go on a trip to Italy, but I couldn't leave my mother alone when my crazy-ass father is out there somewhere.

"Over time, we can get to know one another." Stefano smiles at me.

"Maybe." I laughed, shrugging my shoulders. "Out of all things, what made you decide to open a nightclub?"

"Well, I wanted something that I knew was going to be successful, something I knew people were going to run back to every night. So I decided to open up a nightclub, and as you saw, it's very successful," Stefano explained sipping his wine after chewing his lasagna.

"How do you know Zander?" I questioned curiously.

"Zander and I are best friends. We met in grade school and instantly clicked. Our parents never wanted us to hang out with each other because they'd think we were bad influences on each other." He laughed, shaking his head. "But they couldn't stop us. When we got to junior high, we would protect the school from bullies whether it's female or male."

"That sounds like the day I met Ariel in high school. I was part f this group of bullies, and they started picking on Ariel because she sits alone at lunch." I began to explain, pausing to sip my wine before continuing to speak. "Long story short leader made Ariel spill her food on herself, and that is when I had enough. We ended up fighting that day."

"You're a little firecracker, aren't you?" Stefano amusingly questioned.

"Only when pushed to that point." I smiled, shrugging my shoulders.

"I respect that." He nodded.

Throughout the night, we talked, and Stefano just had to be close to me. He got up out of his seat and sat in the chair closer to mine. I don't know what's in this wine, but it has me feeling a little too good right now. With the way he's sitting close to me with his hand rubbing up & down my thigh, I'm sure my panties are wet. Stefano would've had his fingers doing other things if I didn't wear a jumpsuit.

His grip on my thigh would tighten as he rubbed my hip and leave kisses on my knuckles as he held my hand. If Stefano doesn't stop, we'll end up in his bed as we did the other night.

"I think it's time for me to go." I interrupted Stefano from trailing his lips to my neck.

"Okay fine. I'll go find Emilio and pay the tab." Stefano nodded as he stood up and walked out of the private room.

I sat there and started thinking if I should give Stefano a chance. Although Stefano and I don't know each other all that well, I feel like we can get to know one another down the line, so why not give him a chance. I'll have to think about it. When Stefano came back, we grabbed our food trays, and he laced his finger into mine as we made our way to the exit. Once we got to the car, Stefano's drive opened the back door, and since he's such a gentleman, he allowed me inside the truck first.

During the car ride back to my house, I sat next to Stefano while resting his hand on my thigh. I didn't mind that he did that; I was too sleepy to care anyway. Finally, the car pulled up to my apartment building and parked in front. Yet again, the driver opened the door for us, and we got out.

"Walk me inside?" I questioned, grabbing my key from my clutch.

"Got to make sure you're safe, mi amore." He smirked, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

Rolling my eyes, I walked inside the building to the elevator, and when Stefano & I got on, we rode up to the second floor. As I inserted my key to open the door, Stefano grabbed my hand, making me stop in my tracks. Before I could even say anything, Stefano smashed his lips against mine. If I'm honest, his lips felt good on mine, soft and plump. I wrapped an arm around his neck as I felt his hands rest on my ass.

As we pulled away from each other, I smiled up at his tall form. "Thank you for tonight."

"Maybe we can do it again." He replied, holding onto my waist as we swayed.

"We'll see," I smirked, taking myself from his grasp and walking inside my apartment.

Closing the door, I leaned against the door as my heart raced. If I'm frank, I didn't expect the date to go so well. It went better than I expected.

You know what, maybe I will give Stefano a chance and see where it goes.

𝗧𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀

𝗖𝗮𝗿𝗮 𝗺𝗶𝗮 - 𝖬𝗒 𝖣𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀

𝗟𝗮 𝗺𝗶𝗮 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗶𝗽𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮 - 𝖬𝗒 𝖫𝗂𝗍𝗍��𝖾 𝖯𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾��𝗌

𝗠𝗼𝗹𝘁𝗼 𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝘇𝗶𝗼𝘀𝗼 - 𝖵𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖣𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌

#my writings #mafiastories #mafia don #mafia fiction #mafia fic #arranged marriage #forced marriage #tmdt fic

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trevorbarre · 3 years

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Don Cherry: “It’s Not My Music”

“It’s not my music” asserts Don Cherry, in a 1978 documentary about the man himself and his music, which was his way of contradicting the very idea of ‘owning’ music, a very Tibetan Buddhist-like idea from this most stylistically-liberated of musicians. (”How can you cling to something? Life itself is not permanent”.) I came across the film on YouTube last night, originally downloaded in October 2019, my interest in the trumpeter having been piqued by a blog about him that I posted a few weeks back (Don Cherry: Down to The Wire). It was a documentary originally made for Swedish TV, and the narration moves back and forth from the Cherry family’s converted school house in that country to the environs of New York’s Long Island.

Cherry has never especially been on of my absolute favourite musicians, but I found this film to be a fascinating introduction to his variegated career, and would recommend it to anyone new to his music or, who, like me, has sat on the fence somewhat. (Given the sheer stylistic incontinence offered here, it might be more appropriate to ask “which Don Cherry are you referring to?”) The opening salvo is a shot of Cherry playing duck calls in the woods on a carved wooden ‘duck flute’. We see shots of the Cherry family at the airport, with his son, Eagle Eye (born 1968) and his gum-chewing teenage step-daughter Neneh (born 1964) - their future successes as recording artists in their own right serve as a tribute to Don’s parenting. There are shots of his wife, Moki, working on her textiles and tapestries (one of which graces the cover of Relativity Suite). All in all, Don is presented as all round ‘family guy’, gentle and playful (’puckish’ is a word that I have seen describing his playing and his personality), but he is an articulate, trenchant and informative commentator on jazz in fifties New York and beyond. Moving to Los Angeles from Oklahoma in 1940 (like so many of his race) at the age of four, he outlines the decision to make his eventual move to New York, with the Ornette Coleman Quartet in 1959. And jazz history was made.

There is some great footage of the trumpeter playing at Ali’s Alley, in Greenwich Village, with (Rashied) Ali himself and James Blood Ulmer, which must be one of the earliest film stock of the guitarist before he found fame with Ornette (on Blood’s own Tales of Captain Black) and on Rough Trade Records (with Are You Glad to be in America?). The sound is blues-informed, and Cherry points out the importance of the blues, by playing same on his doussn’gouni, the African hand-made stringed instrument. His Afro-Indian influences are further expressed through his karnatic vocalising (south Indian in origin), and his featured chants, as well as the percussion pieces, reminded me somewhat of what Sun Ra was trying to achieve at around the same time. Ulmer’s ‘space blues’ (for want of a better expression) or ‘SoHo Funk’ (as Don describes it in the documentary) took me back to circa 1980 - does anyone remember ‘punk jazz’, which both Ulmer and Ornette got somehow caught up in with Are You Glad... and the latter’s Of Human Feelings, which emerged in that year? Thankfully, this faux-genre was soon put to rest alongside the likes of James Chance/Black and Material and the other awful No Wavers, with final coffin-nails re-hammered in, just to make sure, with such doozies as The Blue Humans, Drive Like Jehu and The Nation of Ulysses in the 90s. John Zorn’s ‘hard core Ornette tribute’ Spy Vs Spy was particularly awful. in its attention-seeking ‘transgression’.

Several American improvisers liked to play in Sweden and Denmark - Albert Ayler, Cecil Taylor, John Tchicai, Dexter Gordon, for example - and the contrast between the Scandinavian countryside and the streets of New York is made much of, and there is a particularly resonant (in both senses of the word) section where Don plays the pocket trumpet in the Swedish woods and fields. To me, it resembled his playing on the wonderful ‘Rawalpindi Blues’ and ‘A.I.R’ on Escalator Over the Hill, with the addition of an added avian background chorus. The school house is a NY loft transposed into, basically, a ‘hippie communal space’ (or a ‘free space’ as Don describes both his music and his home), and I was reminded of Faust’s similar communal arrangements in their Wumme ex-school dwelling. I’d recommend Bill Shoemaker’s ‘Jazz in the 70s’ and Michael C. Heller’s ‘Loft Jazz’ as accompanying texts to this film, but the sight of Eagle Eye playing a harmonium under Don’s tutelage (”it’s all in there!”) is worth the price of admission alone.

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acciocrzychickfics · 4 years

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Second, Third Chances

Authors Note: this angsty one shot is based on canon until Remus returns to pregnant Tonks. Inspired partly by Exhile by Taylor Swift. It’s up to you if you decide to listen to it while you are reading. Please don’t hate me 😩

I can see you starin', honey

Like he's just your understudy

Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me

Second, third, and hundredth chances

Balancin' on breaking branches

Those eyes add insult to injury

“Teddy, no” he heard from the sitting room from his study. He had been rereading the divorce papers Dora had owled over a couple days ago. He had only gotten past the dissolution of their marriage part. He couldn’t focus.

He walked into the front room to see his Dora. He had to stop calling her that. She was somebody else’s now. She had been for almost two and a half. They just shared a son now minus those nights every once in a while. Though she always left before he woke up. He didn’t think those nights would last after he signed those papers, however.

Unlike what the pictures and the public may have believed, Tonks had not forgiven him for leaving her when she was pregnant with Teddy. She had agreed to co-parent with him for Teddy’s sake. Tonks had lived with her mother until Teddy was about a month or two old, then had moved into her own flat. They both had sat down and decided on days when Remus would be able to take Teddy. Remus has been adamant about not having Teddy the days before, during and after the full moon. Tonks had asked if he wouldn’t mind taking Teddy every once and while so she could get some time to herself.

“How does he...?” Remus glances at his estranged wife then back to the turquoise haired almost three year old.

“A picture book that Ron & Hermoine gave him” Tonks answers dropping his bag down beside the chair. “He had a bit of a fever last night so he may not be feeling well either”

Remus nods juggling his squirming son in his arms as Teddy morphed into the brown hair and blue-green eyes. The exact replica of his father.

“Be good for daddy” the pink haired metamorphmagus kisses his forehead then glances towards the werewolf “Remember his party is at 11:30.”

“We’ll be there at 11.” Remus nods looking down at his son in his arms “ Did you scare your Mum, Teddy? “

Everything was for Teddy now. It didn’t mean he had to like it though.

—-

“Where is he?” Tonks asks her hair turning magenta running around the kitchen.

“It’s only 11 now. He is probably struggling getting Teddy ready” Andromeda reminds her daughter “you know how Teddy has been recently”

“I know, Mum” Tonks sighs running her hand through her hair “I just want him to be here before the guests arrive.”

“Has Remus mentioned receiving the papers?” Andromeda asks knowing that this would be a sore subject with her daughter and her future ex son-in-law.

“No, he hasn’t but he wouldn’t if he had” Tonks mutters avoiding her Mum’s eyes “this day is about Teddy though. Not us.”

“Well, has Dom asked about it?” Andromeda asks pressing the issue.

“Yes” Tonks admits knowing the subject was going to come up sooner or later.

“What does he think about Remus’ avoidance of it?” Andromeda questions knowing that Dominic would not be okay with her daughter still married to the man who left her and their unborn son.

“I told him I’d deal with it.” Tonks answers knowing she was not dealing with it which she imagined was her mother’s point. “Today is about Teddy. Not my non existent relationship with Remus.”

Andromeda gave her a knowing look, then busying herself charming the banner.

Turning around to see Teddy and Remus. “I thought I told you to apparate with him. His outfit is all sooty”

“We were running late and he was squirming so much, I didn’t want our son being splinched” Remus answers matter of factly.

Tonks shakes her head not wanting that either. Seeing his mother, he hurls himself into her arms as she grabs him whispering “Dom will be here. Please behave.”

Eyes wide exclaiming “I thought this was just going to be family and close friends?”

“Dom is family and he is part of Teddy’s life no matter if you like it or not “ Tonks forcefully tells her estranged husband. “Go out to the yard and make sure the tent is set up.”

Teddy knew that name. It was his Mum’s friend who brought him presents and made his Mommy smile.

Remus stalks out to the yard muttering about how if it were up to him, he’d just have Andy, Tonks, him and Harry at Teddy’s third birthday. No one else.

However, he had to admit when Tonks asked him if it was alright for Teddy to be introduced to her new boyfriend, he did not object. He just did not think that he would be a permanent figure.

When they had come to the agreement of who would take Teddy when, he had not imagined that his wife would meet someone when Teddy was at Remus’. She did of course and every time he was mentioned it hurt Remus’ heart. Not because he didn’t think she would move on. He just still hoped that she would still love him as he still loved her.

——

“Darling, why doesn’t Remus take Teddy one more night. We can have a night to ourselves where we are not in the office. Don’t get me wrong, I love Teddy. I just want to spend a little bit of time with you.” the dark haired man asks holding her hand. Tonks had met Dominic at a work party. He worked as an investigator in the Law Enforcement division.

“The full moon is in two days. I can’t do that to Remus” Tonks counters knowing that she would love a night with Dom. They had come to an agreement, as much as she would love to sometimes go back on that agreement. She couldn’t do that to Remus for something he couldn’t control. Bitterly she thinks about how he could control leaving her.

“Well what about your Mum or Harry?” Dom asks hoping one of them could take Teddy. He was always for Teddy coming along, he just missed Tonks as a woman not just as a mother.

Remus glanced at Tonks and Dom, trying to keep the jealousy at bay. There were times when Dom touched Tonks and he wanted to punch him. He chalked it up to it being a couple days till the full moon. He knew that was a lie. He also knew however that the only reason he was here was because of Teddy. If Teddy never existed, he would have been gone a long time ago.

Walking up to Dom and Tonks “Can I speak with Dora alone?”

Sighing angrily Tonks gives Dom a glance, squeezes his hand as she follows Remus to the study.

“How dare you call me Dora!” She exclaims once the door is shut. “You lost that when you left.”

“It was a slip of the tongue” Remus reassures her. It was most likely not a slip of the tongue.

“What do you want Remus? Can we not argue? Today is about Teddy” Tonks asks her eyes pleading with Remus.

“Every day is about Teddy for me” Remus answers truthfully.

“Then what?” Tonks asks moving towards the door.

“I got the papers.” Remus admits. He didn’t want to admit that his marriage was ending. They had been separated for three years now. He knew it was coming. He just did not expect to not be prepared for it.

Putting her fingers on the bridge of her nose “and? I don’t really want to talk about this right now.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about it” Remus admits not really understanding why those words were coming out of his mouth.

“Why? Did you not expect that I was going to move on? I see the signs. The reason I am doing this now is because I believe that Dom wants to marry me. He wants to heal the hurt you have put on me. He wants to stick around.” Tonks argues quietly. She knew by saying those words, she would hurt Remus but they were the truth.

Remus knew he deserved that. “Let’s go back to our son's birthday party. I’ll sign the papers and mail them to the judge.”

“Remus, if I had it in my heart to give you another chance, I would.” Tonks whispers before exiting out of the room.

#remadora #angsty one shot #remus lupin #nymphadora tonks #remus x nymphadora #remus x tonks #lupin x tonks #remadorafics #Dora Lupin #Tonks x OC #please don’t hate me

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allforhader · 4 years

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Things Change, But Not My Love For You

Barry Berkman x (F) Reader

Warnings: Langauge, Injury

“Barry?” Y/N calls out when she heard the front door open. She caught a confused look from her husband when he entered their bedroom. “What?”

“What are you doing home?”

“I had the day o—“

“Wait if you had the day off today than what was Monday? You should’ve told me and I would’ve spent time with you...” Barry drops his backpack before sitting on his side of the bed looking at her. “You could’ve told me before-“

“Barry. I had the rest of the day off...”

“Oh...you got let out early? Why? Usually from Greys they’d die to have more scrub nurses in—“

“Barry I’ve told you countless times. Grey’s isn’t the greatest depiction. Thought I said this when you thought I’d go for a neurosurgeon”

“Well that Derek guy can pop up out of no where he did in Greys—besides the point. You should’ve told me...but why were you given the rest of the day? Did something happen?” Barry frowns as Y/N knew he was going to worry before she got to her main point but it’s best to say everything.

“I was on a case, and before the surgery was over I collapsed in the OR—“

“Y/N YOU WHAT—Okay what’s wrong?? What did they find?! Did you hit your head” Barry kept asking all these questions and checking every inch of Y/N as she kept pushing away his hands. “Y/N Why didn’t you call me? Who drove you home? Because your car isn’t here”

“My friend from work drove me home and I didn’t want you to drop everything just to come and get me” Y/N frowns as Barry gave her an annoyed look before bringing her into his arms.

“I would drop everything for you, because you’re my wife. Please tell me they checked you out before you went home” Barry frowns holding her as Y/N pulls away from him for a second.

“Barry, I’m pregnant...”

“You’re going to be home a lot more. I won’t be here 24/7 and I would...only be worrying about you instead of landing auditions and fuck still doing what I used to do...You’re going to be alone for a good portion of the day when you get put on leave and I don’t want you getting hurt by anybody” Barry paces the living room as Y/N frowns wishing he’d just sit down with her before she had to get ready for work.

“Barry...you’re stressing yourself out thinking too ahead like that. I love you, but you don’t have to think that far” Y/N frowns getting up from the couch to go get ready. “We can move. If you’re really worried”

“As much as I want to pack up everything and take you out of here. You worked hard to get where you’re at. I can’t ask you to drop all of that” Barry frowns staying by the door watching Y/N grab her scrubs from the dresser before taking one of his long sleeve’s.

“You have no idea how easy it is to transfer. If I got fired that’s a different story...but I’m just telling you. Dropping everything and moving. Won’t be difficult when it comes to my career” Y/N states taking a minute sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m getting tired thinking about it”

Barry knelt down in front of her resting his hands on her knees as Y/N sets her clothes down taking his hands into hers.

“I just want you and the baby to be safe”

“I know Barry, I know”

“Would you be fine taking on the night shifts again? We just lost Amber” the chief nurse Taylor asks Y/N as she had just got done settling one of her patients in the ICU. Her last patient of the day.

“Are you asking me to start tonight?”

“If it’s not too much Y/N.”

“If this affects my leave when I hit seven months Taylor—“

“It won’t. I promise” Taylor states as Y/N frowns before taking the clipboard from his hands going to the nurse’s station. “You’re a saint Y/N”

“Buzz off Taylor”

After a week of being on the night shift, Barry didn’t care as he stayed up till 5am to greet his wife. He stayed in the living room waiting patiently when Y/N entered their home looking extremely tired. Barry was about to get up when Y/N drops her things kicking her shoes off before climbing into his lap.

“Hey”

“Hm” She snuggles into his embrace as Barry rests his against hers when she lays it on his shoulder.

“How are you feeling...?” Barry asks before realizing Y/N had fallen asleep in his arms. He smiles picking her up and carrying her to their bed.

After laying her in the bed, Y/N immediately grabbed Barry’s shirt pulling him into her embrace as he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Barry adjusts himself as Y/N held him comfortably.

“Better stay with me all morning...” Y/N yawns a bit holding her husband protectively as Barry moves himself to hold her comfortably.

“You know I’m not going anywhere”

“Fuck”

“Barry stop moving”

“Sorry”

Y/N gotten used to taking home suture kits, gauze, and everything she’d need to patch Barry up whenever he got hurt. He didn’t like being in hospitals thinking he’d be found easier there than any other place by his enemies in his past and present.

“Can’t you get...lidocaine?”

“As much as I’m willing to, I would like to keep my job. Getting stuff like that requires my code babe” Y/N states as she was currently stitching up a gash in his shoulder. “Fuck...” she was half way through the stitches when she started crying.

Barry frowns trying to turn around to comfort her when she kept pushing him forward so she can finish the stitches.

“Y/N...”

“Stop I’m fine”

“Baby...you’re not”

“You’re the one bleeding. Shut up”

“You’re the pregnant one”

“And what’s that supposed to fucking mean?”

“So take a minute. I’m not going anywhere and I’m definitely not going to bleed out” Barry states only to hear Y/N cry even more. “Baby I’m sorry just-“

“Let me finish then you can do whatever...” Y/N says wiping away a few of the blinding tears before continuing with the stitches.

When she got done with his stitches and putting the bandage on. Barry took his shirt carefully putting it back on before turning toward Y/N on the bed wiping away her tears as she cleaned up a bit.

“You gotta stop getting hurt”

“That’s hard to do”

“I don’t care. Just try at least” Y/N felt the tears coming up again.

“Okay okay...” Barry rests his hands on her cheeks wiping away the tears as they fell. “I’ll try. I will”

“You fucking better” Y/N rests her forehead against his as Barry moves his hands to her belly knowing sometimes that the baby kicks when she gets upset and he waits to feel them before rubbing circles to soothe. “She’s going to need you to be okay, okay?”

“She?” Barry looks up catching a smile from Y/N as he couldn’t stop smiling hearing that. “Aww...a little girl”

“Hey, I got everything ready...whenever you are” Barry says calmly kneeling by the bed on Y/N’s side as she removes the pillow from her face immediately hitting Barry with it. “Okay—I know waiting isn’t the greatest game but, you said once passed the due date you’d want to be induced. It’s been a week passed”

“I know but it’s hard to get out of bed. Give me a minute” Y/N sat up immediately feeling uncomfortable and laying back down. “Guess I’m glued to the bed...”

Barry laughs a bit getting up and sitting on the side of the bed looking at his wife. He thought of something as he suddenly picks up Y/N only to get smacked to be put back down.

“I can easily carry you to the car and get a wheelchair when we get there”

“I hate you”

“But I love you” He smiles catching a blush from Y/N as she punched his arm once to get a point.

After a very uncomfortable car ride to the hospital and finally getting settled on the L&D floor. Y/N had been induced an hour ago and was slowly creeping up to full dilatation when Barry’s phone started ringing.

“I can call back”

“Barry. This is going to be a while...” Y/N smiles reassuring that it’s okay for him to take it.

“Y/N...”

“What? You’ll know to end the call if you hear me screaming” Y/N laughs relaxing in the bed as Barry got up leaning over and kissing his wife before taking the call in the hall.

“This is Barry”

“Barry, you’ve been ignoring me for two months”

Barry froze knowing he shouldn’t have answered. “What do you want?”

“Cutting straight to the chase now are we?”

“What. Do. You. Want.”

“You, what else would I be calling for?”

“Why isn’t—“

“Hank? Oh Barry. He gets distracted whenever on the phone with you. Giving you chances that I’m no longer willing to give.” Cristobal smirks to himself. “Now are you going to listen? Or shall I take away the things you love?”

“I-...” Barry stops himself stepping out of view from his wife. “What...what do you...want me to do right now?”

“You come back to the stash house and take on this hit assignment. But it never truly stops there now does it?” Cristobal laughs a bit before standing to his feet walking over to the edge of the building. “You’ll be working with me until I’m done with you. You step foot outside of my radius. I’m not afraid to end the lives of everyone that has brought change in your life. It would be sad to hear about your daughter not even making it to a month. So, are you going to listen? Or risk it all”

Is there even a choice to be made here? Is there ever really when it comes to his business...

He should’ve left when he first met me. He should’ve.

Fuck.

Once hitting the peek of 10 centimeters, the doctor and nurses started getting Y/N ready as she glanced over to the door of her room expecting Barry to walk in any minute when the discomfort started to become more audible. But nothing.

No one.

“Are you ready Mrs. Berkman?”

“No...” Y/N cries as she was in the hospital she worked at so of course she had people that will support her through this.

But they aren’t Barry...

He didn’t want them to die. He never wants that. He...just...

Wanted a future.

When nightfall came around Barry walks down the dark hall setting his bag down by the patient room’s door before entering. He wanted to wake Y/N up and say goodbye but he knew that would only bring more pain for what he’s currently doing. He took his wedding ring off setting it on the counter next to her belongings.

Barry froze to little whines coming from the hospital crib. He didn’t want to but he had to and he wanted to.

Inching closer to the crib he started to tear up at the sight of their daughter. Barry carefully picks her up knowing it’ll be the first and last of a while comforting the little one.

“I love you...I just want you to know...I love you so much and your mama” Barry whispers before gently putting her back in the crib seeing the little baby card reading it. “Little Robin...”

Barry wanted to spend more time with her but he felt his phone buzz.

C: Time to go

“I love you...” Barry whispers looking over at Y/N before quickly leaving to avoid anything harmful happening.

Five years later...

Y/N jolts awake sitting up in her bed hearing something in the kitchen making her get up quickly but approach slowly. She made her way out into the hall and reach under the console table taking the bat before walking toward the kitchen. When Y/N swung back she stopped when the figure shot his hands up. She stood there confused watching the figure flip the light switch revealing Barry.

“What are you doing here?”

“Y/N—“

“Mama?”

The two froze as Y/N sets the bat down turning the light back off and pushing Barry out of the house through the sliding glass door. The way he came in.

“Y/N-“

“If you found us here, you know where else to fucking find me. Don’t just come unannounced” Y/N snaps closing the sliding door and locking it before meeting her daughter in the hallway.

“Mama...” Robin yawns making grabby hands above her head as Y/N happily picked her up. “Are you okay mama?” She nuzzles into her mama’s embrace as Y/N kisses the top of her head.

“I’m okay, are you baby?”

“Mm...can I sleep with you tonight mama?”

“Of course baby” Y/N smiles carrying Robin into her room.

The next day came around as Y/N glances every once a while from her book to check on Robin who was happily playing on the playground with the other kids. She closes her book at the right moment when Barry sits beside her on the park bench.

“Told you you’d find us. Wasn’t that hard”

“Not at all...”

“So...do I get to start asking questions or do you want to start with the domestic stuff you missed?”

“Um. Anything you want to ask...we can start with that. End with positive”

“Oh trust me. Not all of it was positive” Y/N laughs before leaning back on the bench.

“You still wear my shirts?”

“I have your long sleeves because they are comfortable and nice to wear under my scrub shirt”

“You still have your job?”

“Got promoted. Chief nurse. Which sounds bad but...yknow. My village knows our daughter is my top priority so I get the shifts I want first”

“Congratulations...you’ve worked hard for it of course” Barry smiles getting a confused look causing the smile to fade. “What?”

“Have you been...in the area? This whole time”

“Hm. Not entirely. The first three years I haven’t. Stayed away as much as possible to protect you and...Robin”

“Okay now—I didn’t tell you our daughter’s name. You’re going to have to clear that up before you tell me why you left”

“I should just say the order of what happened. Shouldn’t I?”

“I’m listening” Y/N crosses her arms looking at Barry to start but she immediately looked over to check on Robin seeing her playing in the sand. “I’m listening just—“

“Yeah. I know, anyway...” Barry takes a second to collect his thoughts. “Cristobal asked me to take on a position for him until he didn’t need me anymore. He threatened your lives and you both were at your most vulnerable state that...Hell. I couldn’t change the odds without losing one of you and I couldn’t. Handle that. I can’t live without any of you.”

“As for...knowing her name?”

“I got a few minutes...to say goodbye when all I was going to do was leave my wedding ring. But she started fussing and I didn’t want her to wake you...”

“Hm. You and your soft hands Barry”

“Soft?” Barry laughs. “I doubt. Highly doubt”

“Well. Soft touch...because one of my friends that was rounding on the L&D floor said Robin was the quietest baby and that I knew how to rock her quickly back to sleep...when I don’t remember ever getting up her first night. Someone soothed her...you clearly did” Y/N laughs a bit felt her eyes start to water as she looked away to take a minute. Barry frowns hesitantly resting his hand on her knee thinking she’d swat him away but she took it into her hands squeezing. “I...why didn’t you reach out sooner?”

“Had to make sure the bridges have burned before I came back. I know I missed a lot and that things have changed but-“

“Barry, if you’re going to ask me if I still love you-“

“Y/N it’s okay if—“

“Things did change...but I haven’t stopped” Y/N states seeing Barry always have that confused look on his face as she laughs a bit before letting go of his hand when Robin ran over to her. “Hey baby, you done playing?”

Robin stares at Barry as he didn’t know what to do exactly. She instantly grabbed onto Y/N’s leg giving Barry a glare before looking up at her mama when she rests her hand on her head.

“Uh. I should get going—“

“Mama mama” Robin interrupts both of their thoughts as Y/N picks her up after she let go of her leg and placed her on her lap. She immediately went up to Y/N’s ear whispering to her as Barry looks at the two even more confused.

“Well” Y/N smiles as Robin went back to looking at Barry snuggling up to her mama. “Would you...come over for dinner? We can talk more after”

“If it’s okay with...the both of you”

“Yes!” Robin replies quickly making Y/N laugh before standing up with her in her arms. Barry picked up her book handing it to her as Robin took it to hold for Y/N.

“See you in an hour or two?”

“I’ll be there”

After a while, Barry stood in the living room of Y/N’s home looking at the photos on the fireplace mainly being Robin. The day she was born, first day of kindergarten, and a really adorable one of her with Y/N. He noticed a photo faced down but it was still placed there for meaning. Robin ran over to him tugging at his pants as Barry looked at her confused before watching her make grabby hands.

“You want to look at these too?”

“Yeah!” Robin yells continuing to make the grabby hands until Barry bent over picking her up. “Move closer” she asks reaching for the photos as Barry steps over watching her grabbed the down photo.

Barry started to tear up when Robin flipped it over showing his and Y/N’s wedding photo. Robin instantly rests her head against his shoulder as he held the photo with his free hand. She knew. She knew because Y/N didn’t care about Barry’s past. His past doesn’t define the man she loves. Hearing what he said at the park, only confirmed that. She didn’t want their daughter to not know about him. Y/N just skipped over the scary parts.

Even if she didn’t know if Barry would come back, Robin was told that he’d be back one day. Someday.

“Things may have changed Barry, but I just want to remind you. I’ll always love you.” Y/N tells him as she walks over to the two wiping away his tears. Barry sets down the photo back on the fireplace wrapping his arm around her waist bringing her close.

Robin grabbed onto Y/N’s shirt to keep her there as she wasn’t going anywhere. Barry held the two close to him feeling them hold him. Y/N rests her head on his shoulder feeling him rest his on top of hers.

“Am I going to have to change my last name to yours?”

“Nope. Because that would be unfair to Robin Berkman-Y/L/N” Y/N laughs as Barry let’s go of her to look at his daughter feeling Robin grab his face continuing to stare before suddenly crying. “Aww baby”

“Come here” Barry held her close feeling Robin hold onto him for dear life as Y/N rubs circles on her back to sooth her. Knowing and waiting. Must’ve been a lot to handle.

When the three were settled in their bed for the night. Barry watches Robin snuggle into Y/N as she slept making his heart melt. Y/N reaches into her nightstand uncomfortably as she didn’t want to bother Robin sleeping. She took out Barry’s ring holding it out for him.

“It’s been five years. When our anniversary hits...will you marry me? Again?” Y/N smiles watching Barry take his ring putting it on with a smile as he leans over kissing her lovingly.

Taking that as a yes.

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