Work Text:
The doors to the hotel were heavy tonight—but Vaggie figured, it probably wasn’t much of the doors, as it was the swaying blonde clinging to her side.
She rubbed her knuckles against her warm cheek. “C’mon, baby,” she murmured, tried to tug her in, but Charlie was so tall, and so heavy, and Vaggie was so tired.
”Ooh, look!” She slurred, pointed at the murky, growling sky. “It’s gonna rain soon.”
”Yeah, yeah,” Vaggie said. “It sure is.” And probably storm, she thought—she’d doublecheck their supplies before bed, just to make sure they had flashlights and stuff at the ready in case the power went out. A nearby stranger whistled loudly, and appreciatively, and Vaggie was just tired enough that it was even more irritating than usual, but not tired enough to just let the man fuck off into whatever hovel he crawled out of to harass women and shouted after him, “Fucking do that again, cabrón!”
”Oh, I’d love to, baby!”
Charlie was out of it enough to understand the man was (in some way) admiring Vaggie, but didn’t understand Vaggie didn’t like it. “Isn’t she hot?” Charlie shouted. “She’s my girlfriend!” She tightened her hold on Vaggie. “I’m so lucky, but she doesn’t let me show her off—“
Vaggie tugged her by the sleeve into the hotel.
Charlie wobbled on her heels and ended up grabbing onto her shoulders to keep balance, still giggling. “I can’t believe I get all this to myself,” she gushed. She grabbed at Vaggie’s hair, almost tripped over Vaggie’s feet. “You’re so pretty, and you take such good care of me…”
Vaggie nudged her forward, but Charlie’s fingers dug into her dress, pulled her close, and almost knocked her off balance enough to get her to topple over. “Somebody has to,” she mumbled. Charlie grabbed her hands and tried to pull them to her mouth. “Not right now, hon.”
Charlie pouted, and Vaggie’s heart nearly broke open. “C’mon, princesa—up the stairs, up.”
Charlie followed, clinging to her arm, her words still slurring. “I didn’t know I even drank that much,” she said.
”You didn’t, baby,” Vaggie told her. “I watched you.” Charlie wasn’t exactly a lightweight—she didn’t drink often, and Vaggie didn’t know if it was necessarily her size, or some sort of Hellborn thing, but she didn’t start getting actually tipsy until something like three drinks, from what Vaggie had seen. Or, maybe those few times had been out of the ordinary for her, she didn’t drink a ton around Vaggie, with her being a recovering alcoholic and all.
But what Vaggie did know was Charlie had had one drink and been fine. She said she wasn’t sure if she should get a second one, and then Vaggie had told her it wouldn’t hurt, to go ahead, she was still digging her grape soda—and then Charlie got that second one, she looked away, and she looked back, and halfway through it, Charlie was fucking sauced. She was slammed. Crunk. Up on the roof. Drunk enough the bartenders were looking at her funny, like they knew they were going to be refusing her service, and Hell didn’t even have laws about not serving the visibly intoxicated.
She wasn’t sure what had happened—but she had her suspicions, and she didn’t like what it could mean.
”Then, why am I…” Charlie stumbled and nearly fell down the stairs, but Vaggie held her tight. “Why am I…?”
”I don’t know.” She swallowed—but Charlie was safe in the hotel, and nothing had happened. “Did you keep an eye on your drink?”
”I did,” Charlie insisted.
”Any needles?” Vaggie asked. “You feel anything sharp? Maybe someone snuck up on you?”
”Uh-uh.”
She pulled Charlie’s hair back from her face and tried to grab the key to their bedroom while they walked—she needed to get her girlfriend in a bed ASAP, but she kept circling back to the same conclusions. “Maybe somebody offered you something?” She asked. “A gummy, a pill—told you it was something else, and you took it…?”
”No,” Charlie insisted. “Vaggie, I’m not… I’m not dumb.”
”I know!” She took a sharp turn down the hallway when they reached it, and realized she had stumbled too close to the wall and was two minutes away from body-slamming Charlie, and in her haste to pull her away from it, she just knocked her own side into a random door. Hopefully, that bedroom was an unoccupied one, she didn’t have the patience to deal with anybody else right now. “I’m just covering all our bases—did anybody talk to you?” Charlie shook her head—Vaggie grunted when Charlie’s knees knocked together and she nearly fell again. Charlie leaned into her shoulder while Vaggie unlocked the door, keeping an arm around Charlie’s waist.
When she finally got them inside, and shut the door, she hushed her voice a little before nudging Charlie into bed, and she collapsed into it. “Did anyone touch you?” Charlie blinked her eyes at her. “Charlie. Did someone touch you, while we were out? When you were… like this?”
”No,” Charlie moaned. “Never, Vaggie—you’re the… the only person allowed to touch me. I’d never let anyone else.”
Vaggie suppressed her shiver. Charlie wasn’t thinking straight—but, hopefully, she’d be a little more put-together come morning, and would be able to tell Vaggie what she could remember. When she had gotten back to her, Charlie still had all her clothes on, and wasn’t with anyone—just… swaying. Different. Intoxicated. Maybe that was all they’d done.
She smoothed her hair back from her face again. “I know, hon—I know you.” Charlie sat up and grabbed at her hands. “I’m not blaming you for anything—but did anyone back there maybe touch you? And you didn’t let them, but they did anyway?”
”No one,” Charlie insisted—she was… drooling a little. Pupils blown out, face all flushed. It was a good look—not in the horny way, but that in Vaggie knew there was nothing that could stop her from admiring her princess, and the softest, warmest bout of protectiveness seized her chest. She would never let anyone hurt her—if she ever got her hands on whatever asshole did this to Charlie, she would probably need to be talked down from breaking every finger they had laid on her.
But, it seemed like, that’d been none. Maybe it was just some sicko who got his rocks off on drugging people and only drugging them, or maybe Vaggie had came back before they could make any moves on her. “Okay,” Vaggie said. “Okay.”
She made a move to help her out of her clothes, and Charlie lurched forward, slamming wet lips against Vaggie’s cheek. “Hon,” Vaggie murmured—Charlie ducked her head to bury her face in her shoulder, breath hot against her skin, even when it sent chills up her spine. “Hon, don’t you want out of these clothes?”
“Yeah.” She moaned, closed-mouth, and it vibrated against her—Vaggie really got the most perfect girlfriend, even as hammered as she was. “Love it when you touch me…”
”We’re not doing that.”
Vaggie got her top off and Charlie moaned much louder, leaning forward again. Her kiss tasted like gin, and something sweet, and Vaggie’s stomach turned at just that, like the barest hint of alcohol would make her relapse, and she’d be sick all over again. She nudged Charlie’s head back. “That’s enough of that, princess.”
Charlie pouted again, and fell back as Vaggie dug her hands into the waistband of her pants and started working them down the legs, throwing her heels across the room. She hadn’t thought to take their shoes off when they entered—it was kinda the least of their concerns right now. “Vaggie,” she sighed, eyes hooded.
”You want some water, love?” She tried to pull Charlie back up. “Let’s get you some water, maybe some ibuprofen, so you don’t hurt too bad in the morning?” She ran a hand through her hair, and found the back of Charlie’s neck damp with sweat. Charlie shook her head. “Are you sure? I want you to stay hydrated.”
”Want you,” Charlie murmured. “Missed you, while you were gone…”
Vaggie winced. “It was only two minutes,” she said. Just one quick trip to the bathroom to readjust her tampon. She had told Charlie she’d be right back and everything, and she’d been fine!
And then she hadn’t.
Charlie tugged at her skirt. “I missed you,” she insisted, dragged her lips over Vaggie’s neck. “Want you… so bad…”
Vaggie paused, and then frowned and cupped Charlie’s face to better look her face over. “How are you feeling right now?” She asked, pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. “Hot? Fuzzy?”
The Pentagram had a viscous drug scene—including date rape drugs, and one of the most common of those down here were some awful aphrodisiac imported from the Lust Ring. Like, commonly sold, even at many clubs. They had a whole genre of porn where somebody took some while out in public—Vaggie found it absolutely revolting, and the thought of someone doing that to Charlie…
Had they just found a cute demon they wanted to get their hands on? Had they known exactly who she was, seen her unattended, and thought they could hurt her? Vaggie wasn’t sure which was worse.
Charlie shook her head, and Vaggie reached to feel her temperature with the back of her hand, which she’d probably be doing for the rest of the night. Outside of knowing about their existence and basic effects, Vaggie realized she didn’t know a ton about most drugs down here—which would probably change after tonight. After what could’ve been such a close call, she was going to be stalking the internet fr everything about drugs she could get her hands on, so she would know how to protect Charlie better. Maybe they could work it into some sort of hotel activity—teach it as a lesson for why drugs were bad for you, what they did.
Her mind was in pieces, she couldn’t concentrate. Charlie writhed on the bed, looked back up at her and shut her eyes before she whined, setting Vaggie further on edge. Was she dying? If she did die, how the fuck did she explain this to her parents? Vaggie didn’t know if she’d ever forgive herself if she got poisoned under her watch. “What?” She asked. “What is it, hon?”
Charlie lurched out of bed and into the open door of the bathroom before she started retching into the toilet.
Okay, so not dead or dying. Just sick.
A weight off her shoulders, she followed after her.
Charlie coughed and sputtered, let Vaggie pull her hair back from her face where loose strands stuck to the side of her face in her sweat. She was shivering, but that could’ve just been her kneeling on the cold linoleum of the bathroom without any pants.
Vaggie didn’t do well with sick people—she remembered caring for her siblings in El Salvador when they got sick, and it was easy to gross her out. But she knew when to swallow her own disgust, shut up, and care for somebody who needed it—and she would always do that for her girlfriend.
She grabbed a small rag from a drawer in their shared bathroom and soaked it under the faucet before wiping at Charlie’s mouth. Some of her black, glittery lipgloss she had applied for the night came off, along with saliva and vomit. Charlie whined and tried to lean into the wall to escape her, but Vaggie just moved closer, pinning her to the wall. Charlie looked up at her with her glassy eyes. “I’m not hurting you,” Vaggie said.
”Not you,” she mumbled. “Head hurts.”
”I’ll get you some ibuprofen when we’re done here.” Charlie squirmed away. “Hon.”
”Don’t wanna,” she complained. “I’m tired.”
”You can sleep after you take some medicine.” She sighed and rubbed a bit of drool off her chin with the cloth before she threw it into the sink. “You want a shower, hon? You’re all sweaty, it might make you feel better.”
Charlie shook her head and slumped down—but her gaze was on the shower. Vaggie turned to see what she was staring at and found a very large spider, about the size of the pop socket on her phone.
Vaggie didn’t consider herself arachnophobia in any way—but it was fucking big, and she was startled enough to shout. “Holy shit!”
She grabbed her shoe off her foot and Charlie dove for her. “No!” She shouted. “Don’t kill it!”
”It’s the size of your entire foot,” Vaggie argued. “Look at it.”
”No, I love him,” Charlie said. “He’s not hurting anything. Let’s keep him.” She grabbed Vaggie’s forearm and pulled her closer. “Please. How would you like it if somebody came into your home and killed you with a shoe?”
That was just a very harsh way to phrase what had happened when her parents came back from work during Vaggie’s teenage years—but saying it like that would concern Charlie for obvious and ultimately needless reasons. “He’s in our home.” Charlie reached to touch him, and she grabbed her hand. “We’re not dealing with a spider bite on top of this, Charlie.” Charlie pouted and Vaggie groaned. “Fine, I’ll leave him.” She dropped her shoe and tried to grab Charlie again, but she had slumped farther down the wall and taken to rubbing her bleary eyes.
”Vaggie?” Vaggie sighed, and Charlie looked up at her, dead serious and absolutely adorable. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”
She did a double take. They were going from spiders to worms now? “What?”
”Would you?” Charlie asked. She pushed up against her wall and tried to sit up. “I wanna know.”
Vaggie snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, hon. You’re not a worm.”
”Yeah.” Charlie yawned and looked back at her. “But if I was, would you still love me?”
She wanted to dismiss it. It was late, Charlie was intoxicated, and she was speaking nonsense—obviously. But Vaggie thought about it.
And she thought about early on in their relationship. When she was deathly thin, and going bald, and shaking—barely eating. Shedding worse than a cat. Irreparably lonely, and upset, and relapsed so hard, she ruined a date and Charlie was there to help her in the morning, no hard feelings, no judgement about her addiction. She thought about her hands in her hair, and her warm hugs, and how she eagerly tried to learn Spanish just so she could find a suitable petname, and then decided to call Vaggie mi lechita! for the rest of eternity.
Charlie was not asking about worms—she was asking about the lows. For all their relationship, Charlie had been steady. She came from a rich, powerful family. She was healthy. She had things to fall back on, and a future ahead of her, and a past, and everything Vaggie hadn’t. The question was worms, but the meaning was what was it going to take for Vaggie to not love her? If Charlie was smaller, weaker, uglier—would Vaggie stop loving her?
Vaggie grabbed her chin and rose Charlie’s gaze herself to look her in the eye. “Charlie,” she said, slowly. “I will love you as long as there’s a ‘you’ to love. Even if that ‘you’ is a worm. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Charlie smiled and her heart soared. “I’d love you if you were a worm too. I’d love you if you were bald, or a sardine, or a bald sardine. I’d even love you if you killed that massive spider.”
Vaggie grabbed her arm and hauled her to the feet. “I’ll let him live,” she said. “You can help me get him out a window tomorrow. Let’s lay down, okay?”
Charlie let her pick her up and set her back down in the mattress—she was plenty heavy, but Vaggie had done it before. She wanted to do it again, until she died all over again.
Then she took off Charlie’s shirt, and her bra—helped her put on one of the baggy nightshirts Vaggie ahd gotten her in the habit of wearing when they first started spending the nights together, sharing clothes and a bed. Despite the fact that she wanted to fetch Charlie water and some medicine for her head—she didn’t want to leave her side. She wanted to stay right there with her, and hold her hand, and never let her go, and let her lie to herself and insist that it was just because she didn’t want to give any other drugs to interact with what was already in Charlie’s system.
She laid down beside her, and in a a heartbeat, Charlie had her arms around her, pressed a sloppy, half-asleep kiss to her collarbone and rested her face on top of Vaggie’s chest, still in the dress she had worn out tonight. Vaggie couldn’t be bothered to care—if changing meant disturbing the literal angel on top of her, Vaggie would sooner double-die.
Her breath puffed against the smallest slip of bare skin in the small, decorative slit on her chest, and even then, she could feel Charlie’s body heat through her clothes. It was the small things about sleeping together—the tangle of legs under the blankets, and the moonlight on her girlfriend’s cheek, and the shiny bit of drool on her pillow—except, tonight, Charlie’s pillow was Vaggie’s chest which made it a little less cute, but still.
Vaggie would never stop loving her like this, would never stop sleeping with her, and holding her.
Even if she was a worm.