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darriness · 3 years

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Klaine Fic - Season of Happiness

Author: darriness

Rating: Explicit

Category: AU

Word Count: 11,172

Summary: A Christmas with the Anderson’s - what could possibly go wrong?

Author’s Note: So I started watching Happiest Season the other day and got inspired! I have only watched an hour of the movie though so far. Once it sparked this fic idea, I wanted to run with it without having to think about how closely it aligned with the movie. So any similarities, especially near the end, are coincidental. That being said, there are two lines from the movie I used in my fic word for word because I loved them so much (if you want to know which they are just ask and I'll tell you - I take no credit for them). As always this fic was beta'd by the lovely @darrenismydarcy but any left over errors are completely my fault! Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

AO3 Link

“There it is. There it is.” Blaine Anderson pants as he rocks his hips. Kurt Hummel, the man currently on the receiving end of Blaine’s thrusting hips, puts his hands into his hair as his noises become more desperate. He is so. Close. And Blaine knows it.

“Oh God, Blaine.” Kurt moans.

“Come on. Come. Come around my cock.” It’s those growled words that do it. Kurt feels everything in him tighten before it releases in blinding light and sparks.

He is aware of Blaine’s almost pained groan above him and after the initial wave of sensation is over, Kurt makes the concerted effort to squeeze his muscles as Blaine continues to thrust.

“Coming.” Blaine announces in a strained voice as he stills and Kurt hums at the pulsing sensation deep inside.

They are still but for their panting breath for several moments afterwards. Kurt is enjoying the little sparks of sensation still zinging all over his body and he has a feeling Blaine is about five seconds away from collapsing on top of him.

4, 3, 2, 1…

Blaine lets out a huff and his arms collapse under him so he’s lying on Kurt’s chest. Kurt smirks - he knows his boyfriend. Kurt brings his hands up to run them absently along Blaine’s sweaty back as the other man rests his cheek on Kurt’s sternum. He knows sooner rather than later Blaine will have to get up to dispose of the condom, but for now he’s going to wait until he can feel his extremities a little more and just enjoy this moment.

Six months in and it seems to only get better.

He met Blaine in a coffee shop, of all cliche places. Witty banter and flirty, coy smiles were exchanged and just like that Kurt had himself a date for the evening. Six months later finds the twenty-four year old men living together in Kurt’s small but impressively decorated one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn and more in love than either can really comprehend.

Kurt is forever thankful that he decided to stop at that particular coffee shop before work all those months ago.

Blaine brings him back to the present with a groan as he pushes off Kurt to quickly dispose of the condom before pulling the blanket up to cover them both and snuggling back in beside Kurt.

“Love you.” Blaine whispers.

Kurt turns with a smile, enjoying the way the passing lights from the street outside cause the light to play on Blaine’s beautiful face, “Love you, too.” He answers back.

Blaine gives a small smile, “And thanks for letting me do that.”

The comment makes Kurt actually laugh out loud, which makes Blaine’s smile grow bigger.

“You say that like it never happens.” Kurt says after he’s done laughing, “I’ve let you fuck me quite a few times.”

Blaine shrugs, “Yeah, but you much prefer to fuck me.”

It’s Kurt’s turn to shrug, “Fair point. But it’s not like I only let you top on your birthday and Christmas or anything. And don’t pretend you don’t prefer it the other way.”

Blaine smirks, “You are very talented with your hips.” He concedes which does wonders for Kurt’s ego, “But it’s close enough to Christmas so the whole ‘only let me fuck you on Christmas’ thing could hold water.”

Kurt snorts and rolls his eyes before looking back at Blaine who suddenly has a serious expression on his face.

“Speaking of Christmas…” Blaine starts and Kurt’s eyes widen slightly.

It’s not like he hadn’t been expecting this conversation. They’ve been dating for six months and living together for one. It’s the middle of December. He’s actually surprised the topic of their first Christmas together hadn’t come up sooner.

“Yes.” Kurt says, slowly.

Blaine bites his lip, “I was wondering if you’d...come to my parents place for the holiday.”

Something in Kurt’s chest instinctively tightens. Meeting the parents. For Christmas. It’s a lot.

It’s not like Kurt’s never met a boyfriend’s parents. He’s had two major relationships in his twenty-four years, both lasting two years, and he met the parents both times. It’s just that...the meeting hadn’t gone overly well either time. In fact, the disaster that was meeting Ethan’s parents was what had caused him and Kurt to break up.

It’s not that Kurt doesn’t want to meet Blaine’s parents - he and Blaine are serious enough to warrant a meeting for sure - he had just been hoping to avoid it a little bit longer.

He must not be answering quickly enough because Blaine picks his head up from where it had been resting on Kurt’s chest with a furrowed brow, “If you don’t want to, that’s okay. I know it’s a big step.”

Looking into Blaine’s round, large, hazel eyes, Kurt finds his heart melting and he smiles despite his misgivings, “I would love to spend Christmas with your family.” He says and the bright smile Blaine gives him is enough to know he’s made the right decision.

-- -- --

“No, Dad, I already told you. Blaine’s parents live in Westerville. We’ll spend Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with them and then we’ll drive to Lima and spend Christmas afternoon and the twenty-sixth with you and Carole.” Kurt is saying to his dad as he finishes packing his bag.

It’s not the first conversation he’s had with his father about the subject. This won’t be the first Christmas Kurt has had to divide his time, but it’s definitely not the norm, and Burt Hummel is having a difficult time with it.

His father coughs before grumbling, “Couldn’t it be the other way around?”

Kurt sighs and pauses in his packing, “Dad,” He says, “I already told you this, too. Blaine’s parents and brother are flying out to LA on Christmas Day.”

Burt sighs, “I know you told me, I just...want you here.”

Kurt pouts a little, “I know, Dad. But it’s the only way to make it work without Blaine and I spending Christmas apart. And it’s just easier to get both ‘meeting the parent’ moments out of the way.”

Burt huffs, “So now I’m something to be gotten ‘out of the way’?”

Kurt looks up at the ceiling, “Daaaaad.” He all but whines and this time Burt laughs.

“I’m just joking about that last one.” He says and Kurt feels some of the tension leave him, “Promise me you’ll FaceTime me on Christmas Eve at some point?” Burt asks.

Kurt nods, “Of course. Will Finn be around to help you figure out how to work FaceTime?” He asks.

“Hey now…” Burt says in warning and then the father and son are laughing.

“I’d better go, Dad.” Kurt says, “But I’ll see you in a few days.”

-- -- --

Kurt drums his fingers on the window ledge of the car as he looks out at the trees passing them by. They’ve been on the road for a few hours and while Kurt doesn’t necessarily want to speed up the time it takes to get to Blaine’s house and the meeting of his parents, he also wouldn’t mind if this car ride was shorter.

For whatever reason, Blaine has been tense the entire time. He’s kept both of his hands on the wheel, even going so far as to pull his hand back when Kurt had gone to grab it and bring it into his own lap, and he hasn’t said more than a single sentence in the last hour. Kurt has tried to ask if everything is okay but he just gets a nod and tight smile in return.

This can’t be a good start to this whole thing.

He figures Blaine is just nervous as well though, and decides not to push. He hums along with the radio and watches the scenery pass them by.

His phone rings in his pocket at one point and Kurt pulls it out to see his best friend Elliot’s name on the screen. He smiles as he turns the radio down and answers the call.

��Hey! Settling in okay?” He asks. He notices Blaine’s eyes flick from the road over to Kurt briefly before returning to look straight ahead.

“Definitely. Your place is amazing.” Elliot says. Kurt had asked Elliot to house sit while they were gone. It may only be four days, but Kurt wanted someone there in case something went wrong. Elliot would be staying in New York for the holidays and Kurt and Blaine’s apartment is only ten minutes from Elliot’s parents house. It worked perfectly, “But please tell me you changed your sheets before you left.”

Kurt lets out a laugh and lays his head back on the headrest, “Yes, we changed the sheets before we left.” He looks over to see Blaine smirk slightly.

“Excellent.” Elliot says, “So, on a scale of one to ten, how nervous are you right now?”

Kurt sighs and looks over at Blaine again who hasn’t looked away from the road but seems to be even more tense than before, “Like eleven.” Kurt confesses, “But I gotta go, El. We’ll talk soon.”

“Okay, but just do me one favour?” Elliot says.

“What’s that?” Kurt asks.

“Don’t pass up the opportunity to fuck that boy in his Star Wars sheets.”

Kurt can’t help but laugh out loud which draws Blaine’s attention, “Bye Elliot!” Kurt sings into the phone before hanging up on his laughing friend. He smiles down at the phone before turning to find Blaine’s eyes still on him. When their eyes connect, Blaine looks away and back to the road.

Kurt lays his head on the headrest, “Do you...have Star Wars sheets in your childhood bedroom?” He asks.

Blaine’s face scrunches in confusion before he shakes his head, “No. They’re green and burgundy.” He says.

“Damn.” Kurt whispers with a smirk.

“Why?” Blaine asks.

Kurt shakes his head, “Never mind.” Blaine isn’t in the mood for jokes right now Kurt can tell. He sighs and looks out the window, setting himself up for another few hours of silence.

A few moments later, Blaine sighs roughly, “Kurt...I have to tell you something.”

Kurt looks over at him in concern, “What’s up?” He asks.

Blaine presses his lips together and shakes his head before he sighs again, “I figured I should let you know, before we get to my parents place that….they don’t know we’re a couple.”

Kurt’s face pulls together in confusion, “What? They don’t? You haven’t told them we’re together?”

Blaine shakes his head, “No.”

Kurt immediately gets a bad feeling but he pushes it aside. Their romance has been a bit of a whirlwind and Blaine doesn’t really talk to his family so maybe he’s just waiting to tell them when they get there?

“So they’re going to find out we’re a couple when we get there?” Kurt clarifies.

Blaine swallows, “Not...exactly.”

Kurt begins to panic just a little, “Okay...you need to start saying more words.”

Blaine sighs and brings one hand from the wheel to rub his eyes, “I haven’t told my parents we’re together because...I haven’t told my parents I’m gay.”

Kurt feels all the air around him leave the car. He feels a tightness in his chest that makes him want to bring a hand up to massage it away.

He’s about to go into a home where not only does no one know he and Blaine are a couple but where no one knows Blaine is even gay. What in God’s name did he get himself into here?

He tries to tamp down his feeling of panic, considering the look of absolute nausea on Blaine’s face. He loves this man. There has to be a reason.

He swallows and shakes his head to clear it before turning to Blaine, “So...who do they think I am to you?”

Blaine looks over at him and squints, “You don’t want to know why my family doesn’t know I’m gay?”

“Oh, we’ll get to that.” Kurt says and Blaine winces, “But I need time to process what they think I am to you.”

Blaine shrugs, “They think you’re my roommate. That I moved in six months ago to help with the expenses.”

“Moved into my one bedroom apartment?” Kurt asks, incredulously.

Blaine winces again, “They don’t know it’s a one bedroom.”

Kurt sighs, “So, they’re just okay with your gay roommate crashing their Christmas?” Kurt is really getting tired of Blaine’s winces, “What?” He asks, annoyed.

“They...think you’re straight.” Blaine says.

Kurt just stares at him for a moment before huffing and gesturing to himself, “Oh yeah, you know everyone always tells me how much of a straight man I come across as!”

“Kurt, I didn’t know what to do! I was going to tell them before I brought you, but then my dad has this really important investor meeting tomorrow and I didn’t want to rock any boats before that. It’s important.” Blaine argues.

“And I’m not?” Kurt asks, hurt. He’s hurt. That’s the emotion he’s settled on. He’s hurt that Blaine didn’t feel enough about their relationship to tell his parents.

Blaine sighs and suddenly he’s pulling the car over. He puts them in park when he’s reached the shoulder and turns so his hand is resting on Kurt’s headrest and one of his knees is pulled up onto the seat.

“Kurt, you are the most important thing to me.” Blaine says and Kurt can’t deny the sincerity in his eyes, “It’s just, my family is...complicated. I’ve known I was gay since I was fourteen and yet I’ve never felt like I could be open and honest with them. But you...you make me want that. You make me want to tell them everything and to finally come out to them and live as authentically in their presence as I do everywhere else.”

Kurt crosses his arms and pouts but...Blaine’s got a point. It’s not like Blaine’s in the closet. Far from it. Their life in New York is as out as it can be, and for the most part they enjoy the same life any other couple does. There has to be a good reason why Blaine isn’t out to his family and Kurt doesn’t have the right to judge him for that.

He also gets a warm feeling in his stomach at Blaine’s words. Their relationship is making Blaine want to be open with his parents!

Kurt rolls his head on the headrest to look at Blaine, “I understand.” He says and he can see Blaine relax a little in relief, “But,” Kurt starts and Blaine looks back at him, “and not to sound at all like a bad teen movie or like I’m pressuring you at all, when were you planning on telling them?”

Blaine smiles even as he swallows nervously, “Christmas Eve. After my Dad’s dinner.”

Kurt looks at Blaine, the man he’s come to love over the past six months, and smiles, “Okay. I can play your straight roommate for one day.”

Blaine laughs and lets his head drop in seeming relief before smiling up at Kurt, “You are my favourite person.” He says, crossing the divide of the centre console to kiss Kurt.

Kurt kisses him back before pulling back to say, “I expect so much sex to make up for this though.”

Blaine laughs and lets his head drop on Kurt’s shoulder. After a moment, he picks it up to glance at the road around them. He seems to be considering something before he shrugs and smirks at Kurt, “Might as well start now.” He says, reaching for Kurt’s fly and lowering his head.

Kurt thinks about protesting but...they’re on a fairly deserted stretch of highway and, Oh God, Blaine’s mouth is magnificent.

-- -- --

“Blaine!” Mrs. Anderson shrieks as she pulls open the door Kurt and Blaine stand in front of. She’s a small woman, shorter than Blaine, with dark brown hair pulled back into a bun. She’s dressed immaculately for being home at 1 pm and Kurt can respect her for that.

She pulls Blaine into a hug and kisses both of his cheeks before pulling back and turning to Kurt, “You must be Kurt!” She says, reaching her hand out.

Kurt takes it, noting its delicacy, before smiling shyly, “I am. Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. Anderson.”

Mrs. Anderson waves a hand and laughs, “It’s no trouble. We couldn’t very well let you spend Christmas on your own!”

Kurt turns to Blaine, wondering what story Blaine had given his parents that he hadn’t filled Kurt in on. Blaine shrugs and smiles a little. Kurt will have to ask him later. He also notes that unlike his father, who had told all of Kurt’s friends and boyfriends to call him Burt, Mrs. Anderson hadn’t extended the same offer.

“Come in boys! You can get settled into your rooms before your dad gets home from work and Cooper, Amelia, and the kids get in.” Mrs. Anderson says, gesturing them into the house.

The outside of the house is nothing compared to the inside and the outside was quite spectacular. It’s more an estate then a simple house and Kurt had lost his breath for a second at the sheer size of the exterior. Inside, the house is perfectly and elegantly decorated. Kurt takes in the fine fabrics, crystal adornments, and beautiful artwork. It’s a show piece of a house, that’s for sure.

It’s after Kurt’s initial overview of the front rooms he can see that something Mrs. Anderson said catches his attention. Rooms. More than one. He and Blaine won’t be sleeping in the same room. It’s not something that had occurred to him until this moment. Even after Blaine had confessed in the car and then given Kurt the most amazing road head, Kurt had been too floaty to consider that for the next two nights he would be sleeping away from Blaine.

Blaine gives him an apologetic shrug as they are led up the stairs and down the hall. Mrs. Anderson opens a door on the right of the hallway and gestures inside, “Blaine, I washed your sheets so you’re good to go.”

“Thanks Mom.” Blaine says as he, Kurt, and Mrs. Anderson enter the room. It’s not really at all like Kurt had imagined it. It looks less like a teenage boy’s room and more what a design catalogue would tell you a teenage boy’s room should look like. He knows Blaine hasn’t lived in this room for many years, but something tells him not much has changed.

“And Kurt, you’ll be across the hall.” Mrs. Anderson says, gesturing for him to follow.

Kurt does and, indeed, just across the hall from Blaine’s room is a generic guest room. It actually doesn’t look much different from Blaine’s room except it’s lacking in the few personal touches he caught in Blaine’s - no pictures with friends, sports memorabilia, and if Kurt wasn’t mistaken, boxing gloves. The guest room is similar in colour to Blaine’s but it just has a bed, a dresser, and a window seat.

“Looks lovely.” Kurt says with a smile.

Mrs. Anderson smiles and runs a hand along the duvet as Blaine joins them, “Well, I’ll let you boys get settled in and then meet me in the kitchen. I’ve been baking and if you want the chance to decorate anything you might want to do that before Cooper and the kids get here!”

She leaves Kurt and Blaine alone in the guest room and Kurt drops his bag on the bed before turning to Blaine, “We haven’t slept apart in months.” He says.

Blaine puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs, “I know. I’m sorry.”

Kurt puckers his lips in thought, “However...you are just across the hall. I could always,” He starts, sidling up in front of Blaine and grabbing fistfuls of his sweater, “sneak in in the middle of the night.”

Blaine blushes and gulps but is prevented from answering when a loud crash sounds from downstairs followed by a booming voice, “I’m home!”

Blaine looks over his shoulder, “That would be my brother.” He says.

Kurt nods, dropping his hands and stepping back, “Well, then, let’s go say hello.”

-- -- --

Cooper Anderson, as Kurt is discovering after one afternoon in his presence, is just as handsome as his brother but so much more egotistical. Kurt hasn’t been able to finish a sentence while they decorate cookies without Cooper interrupting and providing a personal anecdote.

Blaine spends most of the afternoon rolling his eyes at his brother’s shenanigans while simultaneously playing footsies with Kurt under the table.

Cooper’s kids seem sweet enough. He’s got a five-year-old son named Dylan and an eight-year-old daughter named Ella. They laugh at Kurt’s jokes and politely ask for icing or candies to put on their cookies. Kurt counts those as wins. Cooper’s wife, Amelia, is quiet but pleasant.

Overall, it’s not a horribly spent afternoon.

Kurt does have to stop himself from reaching over for Blaine’s hand, or pressing a kiss to Blaine’s temple when he passes him something though. All the little things that have become commonplace in their interactions are now things he has to stop himself from doing. He’s never had to think this hard about how he interacts with Blaine, or anyone for that matter.

Blaine’s father comes home around 6 pm and their interaction is brief, void of emotion, but not hostile.

“Blaine, glad you’re home.” Mr. Anderson says, patting his son on the back after hugging Cooper, the kids, and Amelia.

Blaine nods, “Good to be home, Dad.” He says before gesturing to Kurt, “Dad, meet Kurt. My...roommate. Kurt, this is my dad, Bill Anderson.” Kurt is sure he’s the only one who catches the hesitation before ‘roommate’.

Mr. Anderson smiles benignly and reaches a hand forward, “Good to meet you, Kurt.” He says.

Kurt smiles, “Thank you for having me, Mr. Anderson.”

Mr. Anderson nods and then he’s gone. To his office Blaine informs Kurt. Kurt is fine with that. He felt a little as if he had just met a politician - all show but no substance.

Dinner that evening is a quiet affair. They order pizza which bemuses Kurt considering the posh surroundings he finds himself in, but he’s glad for the more relaxed meal.

When it’s time to get ready for bed, he and Blaine stand at the sinks in one of the upstairs washrooms brushing their teeth.

“So, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Blaine asks after he spits.

Kurt finishes a swipe of his toothbrush and spits himself before wiping his mouth with a towel and smiling, “Your family is really nice.” He says.

Blaine shrugs, “I mean, I know Cooper is a bit self-centred but he means well for the most part.”

Kurt nods as he inspects his skin in the mirror, “I can see that.”

Blaine sighs and places both hands on the vanity, “Why do I feel like we’re fighting?”

Kurt’s eyes widen and he turns to look at Blaine in alarm, “We’re fighting?” He asks.

Blaine’s eyes widen incredulously, “All day, since I told you about my family not knowing, I feel like you’ve been distant with me. And I thought you were okay with everything but now I’m not sure and just...tell me if we’re fighting.”

Kurt’s brow pinches, “I’ve been distant?” He asks and Blaine nods, “Well, of course I have! If I’m not distant then I kiss you randomly in the middle of cookie decorating, or drag you onto the first horizontal surface when you start playing footsies with me. I am fighting my every instinct right now so...yeah, maybe I seem a little distant. But I’m not mad at you. I’m trying to follow your wishes.”

Blaine looks at Kurt through the mirror with a pout on his face before he sighs and turns to pull Kurt to him. He buries his face in Kurt’s chest and wraps his arms around his waist. Kurt sighs and wraps his own arms around Blaine’s neck.

“I’m sorry. I’m just…” He pauses.

“Nervous?” Kurt asks.

Blaine nods into his chest before pulling back to look at him, “You make me want to be brave, Kurt. You make me want them to know about me. About us. But I’m also scared shitless of how they’re going to react.”

Kurt runs his fingers along Blaine’s hairline before smiling softly, “Can you do me a favour?” He asks.

Blaine nods, “Anything.”

“Don’t...tell them for me.” Blaine’s brow furrows in confusion and Kurt goes on, “Tell them because you want them to know you better. Don’t tell them because you want to prove something to me, or because you think I want you to. Do I love the fact that we’re both basically in the closet this weekend? Absolutely not.” Blaine blushes, “But,” Kurt continues, “Coming out shouldn’t be something you do on anyone’s timeline but your own, or for anyone else but yourself. I’ll still be here. Our life in New York will still be there.”

Blaine is nodding and Kurt can see tears forming in his eyes, “I love you so much.” Blaine whispers.

Kurt smiles, “I love you, too.” He says softly, “Now, let’s go to bed. Because the sooner everyone else is asleep the sooner I can sneak into your room.”

Blaine’s laugh makes Kurt’s heart feel lighter.

-- -- --

“Wait, you’re telling me Blaine’s still in the closet?” Elliot asks later that night. Kurt lies in the comfortable enough but nothing like his and Blaine’s own bed with his phone to his ear. He’s waiting for an appropriate time to sneak across the hall. He figures sometimes around 1 am should be sufficient.

Kurt sighs, “With his family, yeah.” He says, “He’s scared how they will react.”

“So, who do they think you are?” Elliot asks.

“His straight roommate.” Kurt whispers.

There’s silence on the other end of the line before Elliot coughs, “His family has met gay people before, right? Because, I love you honey, but passing...you are not.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, “They’ve known a gay person for twenty-four years and had no idea. I don’t think their gaydar is functioning properly. And I resent the insinuation that I can’t pass!”

Elliot chuckles, “I’m not saying you’re inability to pass is a bad thing! I admire you! I just can’t imagine how repressed these people are to look at you and think ‘Yes, I can believe this man has vaginal intercourse on the regular.’”

Kurt grimaces at the turn of phrase.

“You just grimaced at my use of the words ‘vaginal intercourse’, didn’t you?” Elliot says, knowingly.

Kurt sighs, “He’s just not ready to come out to his family.”

“I’m sorry, Kurt, but that’s a giant red flag.” Elliot says, but before Kurt can argue Elliot continues, “Look, I know coming out is a person’s own journey, but for him to be out in every other way other than his family? Something weird has to be going on. Do you really want to be in the middle of all that drama?”

It’s not like Kurt hasn’t thought of that. No matter the reason, Blaine’s family finding out he’s gay after all these years is bound to cause some drama. Does Kurt really want to be in the middle of it when it happens?

“I love him, Elliot.” Kurt answers and to him, that’s all the answer he needs to give, “And besides,” Kurt says with a shrug, “it’s kind of fun ‘sneaking’ around. There’s a delicious, albeit frustrating, tension.”

Elliot hums, “Well, you know there is nothing more erotic than concealing your authentic selves.”

“Elliot…” Kurt grumbles.

“All right, all right. That’s my last comment for the night. You know I always support you, right?” Elliot asks.

Kurt smiles, “I do. And that’s why I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Elliot says, “And your apartment. Have I mentioned how much I love your apartment?”

Kurt laughs, “Once or twice.” He glances at the clock, “Oooh! I should go. Blaine’s family should be asleep by now. I’m going to go get lucky.”

Elliot chuckles, “Enjoy!”

After Kurt hangs up, he sits on the bed without moving, listening intently to the sounds of the house around him. All is quiet so he very quietly gets out of bed and tip toes across the hall. He can honestly say this is the first time he’s had to sneak into a boyfriend’s bedroom. He figured at twenty-four the chance for that experience had passed him by. Obviously he’d been mistaken.

He eases Blaine’s door open and peaks inside. For all he knows, Blaine’s asleep himself.

He’s not though and Kurt smiles as he sees Blaine sitting up against the headboard of his childhood bed. His feet shuffle happily beneath the sheets when he sees Kurt and with the almost innocent smile on his face, Kurt has a flash of what it may have been like to know Blaine when they were sixteen and doing this exact same thing back then.

“You came!” Blaine enthuses quietly.

Kurt chuckles as he eases into the room and closes the door behind him, “You are too adorable.”

Blaine shrugs a coy shoulder and looks up at Kurt through his lashes, “Adorable or sexy?”

Kurt smirks, “Adorable.” He says, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not also going to come over there and devour you.”

Blaine’s mouth pouts around a smile, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Nothing, Kurt thinks. I’m waiting for nothing.

He stalks to the bed and crawls up to kiss Blaine. Blaine sucks in a breath and cups his hands under Kurt’s jaw as he kisses back. It’s heated from the very start and Kurt’s hands smooth down Blaine’s sides as he straddles Blaine’s legs.

“I have been wanting to do that all day.” Kurt says when they pull back.

Blaine smirks, “I’m pretty sure even if my family knew about me, and us, you wouldn’t have been able to do THAT in front of them.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, “Can we not talk about your family when I’m trying to turn you on?”

Blaine sits up slightly and brings his mouth close to Kurt’s. He doesn’t kiss him but lets warm air puff across his lips, “You don’t have to try. I’ve been turned on all day.”

Kurt groans and presses their lips together while simultaneously grabbing the bottom of his shirt and pulling it over his head. Their lips barely disengage during the act and even more impressively they somehow find their way to a horizontal position without stopping the kiss either.

Kurt lines up their hips and presses down slightly into the hardening flesh he feels below him. Blaine lets out a stuttering moan before bracing his feet flat on the bed and returning the thrust.

Kurt hasn’t engaged in clothed frottage since college, and the dirty innocence of the act causes a shiver to run up his spine in the most delicious way. Everything about Blaine turns him on.

He’s just considering how best to get Blaine naked without stopping the delicious grind when somehow, over the noise of their breath, he hears a tap at the door.

He sits up like a shot and his eyes widen down at Blaine. Blaine for his part, pushes up onto his elbows with a disgruntled look on his face.

“Why’d you…” Kurt shushes him with a finger to his mouth and jerks a thumb over his shoulder to the door.

There’s another tap on the door and this time Blaine’s eyes widen.

“Blaine?” It’s Blaine’s father. Coming to his door at 1 a.m. and Kurt is currently straddling his son. His straight son for all Mr. Anderson knows.

Kurt and Blaine stare at each other, both trying to figure out what to do. Kurt’s not sure if Mr. Anderson will just walk in if Blaine doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t want to take the chance.

He quickly gets up from the bed and looks around the room. He notices Blaine’s closet and without thinking much he quietly makes his way over and into the smaller enclosure.

In the next moment, Kurt hears Blaine’s door open and thank God he’d thought to hide. He wishes he could see what is happening, but instead he sits on the ground, pulls his knees up to his chest, leans his cheek on his knee and listens.

“Hey, I was hoping you’d still be up.” Mr. Anderson says.

Blaine coughs and Kurt can hear the shuffling of sheets, “Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” Blaine answers. Kurt can hear a breathy quality to his voice that he hopes Mr. Anderson doesn’t.

“Oh, well, I was just finishing up some work in the office and thought I’d see if you were awake because I wanted to run something by you.” Mr. Anderson says.

“Oh. Sure.” Blaine says.

Mr. Anderson sighs, “You know how important tomorrow’s dinner is to my work, right?” Kurt assumes Blaine just nods because Mr. Anderson continues, “I need these investors and nothing can go wrong.”

“I get that.” Blaine answers and Kurt can hear a bit of confusion in his voice.

“Merrick Clark, one of the investors tomorrow, has a daughter about your age.” Mr. Anderson says and Kurt’s stomach instantly drops to the floor. Certainly Mr. Anderson isn’t about to propose what Kurt thinks he’s about to propose, “She’s just recently out of a very bad relationship and when her dad heard that you’d be home for Christmas…”

“Dad, I don’t think…” Blaine starts but Mr. Anderson cuts him off.

“I need to keep these people happy, Blaine. And I would really appreciate it if you could do your part.” Mr. Anderson says sternly.

Kurt’s heart breaks in the silence that follows. His mind is screaming for Blaine to just tell his father the truth. Tell him that he can’t date this random girl because he doesn’t like girls in that way and that he’s in love with the boy that’s across the hall (or so Mr. Anderson thinks). But this isn’t a movie, despite the comical timing of Mr. Anderson’s entrance tonight, so Kurt’s heart breaks a little more when Blaine answers.

“Yeah. Sure. Of course, Dad.” He says.

“Fantastic.” Mr. Anderson says and then there is silence for a moment before Mr. Anderson says something else, but this time his voice is further away, as if he’s at the door, “Good night, Blaine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Night Dad.” Blaine whispers and then Kurt hears the door to Blaine’s room open and close.

He stays in his place in the closet (the irony of his position not lost on him) for a moment. He tells himself he’s waiting until Blaine’s father is officially out of hearing distance but really his brain is trying to process the last few minutes. Somehow, not only does he have to be in the metaphorical closet for the next day, he has to watch his boyfriend play nice with the investor’s daughter. He feels sick to his stomach.

Soft light floods the closet as the door opens and Kurt looks up to see Blaine looking down at him and for as nauseous as Kurt feels, Blaine LOOKS even more sick.

“Kurt…” He says in a pained whisper.

Kurt reaches for one of Blaine’s hands and pulls the smaller man down to him. Blaine crumples to the floor to sit between Kurt’s legs and lean against his chest, his breathing erratic and he’s trembling slightly.

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” Kurt soothes, rubbing Blaine’s back.

Blaine shakes his head against Kurt’s chest and Kurt understands - it’s not okay. None of this is okay.

-- -- --

“So, let me get this straight.” Elliot says the next day over the phone. Kurt’s outside, sitting on one of the Anderson’s outdoor couches. He’s wrapped up in his coat and shivering but he didn’t want to have this conversation where he could be overheard, “Oh, sorry, should I not use the word ‘straight’?” Elliot asks.

Kurt huffs and rolls his eyes, “Be serious, please.” He says.

Elliot sighs, “I’m just saying, you have moved from having to play the straight roommate for two days to having to play that role while your boyfriend is set up on a date with a woman!” Kurt sighs as well, he’s aware of the situation, “You know what I’m going to say. I would have been out after the first injustice, but now?”

Kurt huffs again and watches as his breath puffs out in front of him, “Elliot, are you done shaming me now? Can we move onto the actual advice-giving?”

“I’m not shaming you,” Elliot defends, “I just think the choice you’re making is dumb and you should feel bad about it and yourself.”

“Elliot!” Kurt exclaims as his friend laughs.

“Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.” Elliot says but when he speaks again he sounds serious, “Look, I love you, Kurt. And a big, very big, part of me just wants to tell you to get out of there. Is a six month relationship with a guy really worth all this?” Kurt goes to answer but Elliot continues before he can, “But I know what you’re going to say and so my advice to you is to just ride it out. Blaine said he’s going to tell his father after the dinner? Give him that chance. If he doesn’t, then you can reevaluate.”

Kurt nods, “You’re right.” He says.

“I usually am.” Elliot jokes and this time Kurt chuckles at the joke, “Now I’m going to go and sit on your extremely comfortable couch and watch a movie before going to my parents where their couches are decidedly less comfy.”

“Enjoy.” Kurt says, echoing Elliot from the night before and he hangs up. He sighs as he lets his phone drop into his lap. He knows Elliot has a point. Six months is not that long a time and Blaine has given him enough red flags just in the last day to make staying with him questionable but...there is just something that Kurt can’t walk away from.

“Hey.” Kurt jumps slightly and turns to find Blaine walking toward him. He’s all bundled up in his winter wear and Kurt’s not sure how long he’s been outside but Blaine’s nose and cheeks are adorably pink from the cold. Kurt’s breath catches at the sight.

“Hey.” Kurt says as Blaine comes to sit next to him on the couch.

“You okay?” Blaine asks.

They haven’t really talked all morning. Kurt had stayed in Blaine’s room last night, getting up to go back to his own around 5 am, but it had not been the sexy romp he’d been hoping for. They’d snuggled and slept. Very little had even been said after exiting Blaine’s closet and Blaine had been busy all morning helping his mom with the evening’s meal.

Kurt nods and then shrugs, “Yeah. I guess.”

Blaine sighs and reaches for Kurt’s gloved hands in his own. Kurt allows him to pull his hand into his lap and Blaine plays with his fingers as he talks, “You know that...no matter what happens tonight, it doesn’t change how I feel about you, right?”

Kurt swallows. He wants to believe that so badly. Instead of answering verbally, he nods.

Blaine gives a small smile, “This dinner is really important to my dad.” He continues. Kurt is pretty sure he’s heard that sentence more than ‘I love you’ from Blaine over the past day. He holds back the urge to roll his eyes and stays quiet as Blaine continues, “I know it’s not how you would want to spend Christmas Eve but I promise, once we get through the meal I’ll...I’ll tell my parents.”

Kurt sighs, “Is it okay if I ask now why you haven’t told them in ten years?”

Blaine’s eyes widen but he nods, “Of course. You have a right to know.” Kurt’s not sure that’s true but he appreciates that Blaine is willing to tell him. Blaine shrugs and looks out over the backyard, “It’s not an overly complicated story though. My parents have always made their views on gay people very clear. They don’t hate them, but would almost rather pretend like they don’t exist. They’re deeply Republican and are very into appearances. A gay son doesn’t really fit into the world they’ve created for themselves. I was terrified of the way they would react and didn’t want anything to jeopardize the relationship we had.”

“What about Cooper?” Kurt whispers.

Blaine shrugs again, “Cooper is just too much of a wild card. We’re eight years apart in age. We’ve never been overly close but we struck up a sort of tentative relationship after I turned sixteen. I know Cooper has no problem with gay people, I just don’t know where his allegiances would lie if my parents reacted poorly. I didn’t want whatever relationship we have to disappear if he chooses my parents over me.”

Kurt’s heart breaks once again for the man in front of him. At the moment, Blaine looks like a frightened little boy, and in a lot of ways he is. He has come a long way to accept himself but when it comes to his family he might as well be that fourteen year old boy discovering his sexuality for the first time.

Kurt squeezes Blaine’s fingers, “No matter how they react, I’ll be here.” He whispers.

Blaine looks up at Kurt with wide wet eyes and takes a deep breath. He doesn’t say ‘I love you’ but Kurt can see it and feel it when Blaine brings his lips to Kurt’s in a kiss. Is it the smartest thing to kiss in the backyard? Probably not, but Kurt isn’t going to turn Blaine away especially when he can feel Blaine relax the more they kiss.

-- -- --

“Okay, you’re going to have to change.” Kurt turns from where he’s inspecting his outfit in the full length mirror in the guest room to find Blaine standing in the doorway to the room. His boyfriend leans back to check both ways down the hallway before continuing, “Because if you don’t change I’m going to spend the whole night fighting an erection and the urge to drag you into a closet.”

Kurt smirks, turning back to the mirror and straightening his tie, “And how would we explain that to your family. Just bros helping bros?”

Blaine chuckles as he walks into the room and closes the door behind him. He walks up behind Kurt and wraps his arms around Kurt’s waist before hooking his chin on Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt smirks again because he knows the position means that Blaine is standing at least partially on his tip toes.

“You’re picking up on my ‘fratty talk’.” Blaine whispers into his ear and Kurt groans as he laughs. Blaine is the one who tends to pull out phrases that only a frat boy would say. No wonder his parents believe he’s straight. Kurt immediately banishes the negative thought, though, as Blaine begins to kiss along his neck. He leans his head away to give him more room, “I’m rubbing off on you.”

Another laugh is punched out of Kurt’s lungs as Blaine’s phrase is simultaneously accompanied by Blaine rubbing his hardening cock against Kurt’s ass. Blaine bites his neck softly, “Don’t laugh when I’m trying to seduce you.” He says.

Kurt groans as Blaine’s hand moves down to cup him through his pants. They don’t have the time, or the privacy, for this at the moment. Kurt’s look took him nearly an hour and if Blaine’s going to mess it up by having sex then he’ll be late to the dinner. While not an overly horrible thing in Kurt’s mind, any excuse to miss his boyfriend playing nice with a woman his parents are trying to set him up with, he knows how rude it would look.

“We don’t have time.” Kurt whispers, “This look took me an hour.”

Blaine sighs and Kurt shivers at the feeling of his breath across his neck before the shorter man drops down from his toes and backs away, “You’re right. I would hate to mess up perfection for a quick orgasm.” Blaine agrees, “And besides, soon enough we’ll have the time to take things slow.”

He’s referring to when they leave Blaine’s parents house tomorrow morning. Kurt mentally scrolls through what they have to get through in order to make it to that, and his brain hurts to do so.

He turns to take Blaine in properly and smiles, “Gorgeous.” He says.

Blaine strikes a mini pose that causes Kurt to laugh, “Why, thank you, kind sir.” Blaine says before offering his arm, “Shall we?”

Kurt takes in a deep breath and then takes Blaine’s offered arm. They only hold on until they get to the door and then separate once Blaine opens it. Kurt has no idea what this dinner will hold, but he knows the sooner it starts the sooner it will be over for better or worse.

-- -- --

“Ah and here he is now!” Kurt and Blaine hear as they make their way into the Anderson’s living room. It’s Mr. Anderson that speaks and he gestures Blaine forward into the mini circle he and two other people have made. Kurt threads his fingers together in front of him and waits a little further back.

“Merrick, I’d like you to meet my youngest, Blaine.” Mr. Anderson says, speaking to an older gentleman to his left, “Blaine this is Merrick Clark. He owns one of the most successful real estate companies in the midwest.”

Blaine smiles and extends a hand, “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Clark.”

Merrick Clark lets out a booming laugh and grasps Blaine’s hand in a mighty shake, “Please, son, call me Merrick!”

Kurt tenses at ‘son’ even though he intellectually knows that’s how a lot of older men address younger men. Blaine nods as his hand is released. Kurt wonders if anyone else notices how uncomfortable Blaine is at the moment or if it’s only Kurt.

“And this,” Mr. Anderson says gesturing to the woman beside Merrick, “is Tamara Clark. Merrick’s lovely daughter.”

Tamara is objectively beautiful but Kurt is immediately put off by how fake she seems. Everything about her - from her face, to her hair, to even her breasts - screams FAKE! to Kurt and the smile she gives Blaine is one of the most predatory looks Kurt has ever seen.

She extends a hand in the way some women do when they don’t seem to know how to shake hands or want to touch you as little as possible and all Blaine can do is grasp her fingers and shake them awkwardly, “Bill, you didn’t tell me your son was so gorgeous!” Tamara enthuses and Kurt immediately hates her voice. Like nails on a chalkboard.

Blaine blushes at the compliment and Kurt knows that blush. He’s made Blaine blush that way, a lot. His hackles rise to think of this fake woman eliciting that reaction from HIS boyfriend.

Blaine coughs as if he, too, realizes what his reaction was before he turns and smiles at Kurt, “I’d like you to meet my roommate, Kurt.”

Kurt bristles at ‘roommate’ but is pleased that Blaine wants to introduce him. All eyes swing to him and Mr. Anderson coughs, “Ah, yes. Kurt. Blaine’s friend who is here for the holidays.”

Kurt just barely catches himself before he glares. With that one sentence, Mr. Anderson has made his feelings toward Kurt very clear and they aren’t favourable. Considering he and Kurt have exchanged all of ten words since they’ve met, and Mr. Anderson knows next to nothing about him, Kurt finds this disdain strange. Though he guesses he’s done the same thing with Tamara, but it’s not like Kurt’s trying to sleep with Mrs. Anderson.

“Nice to meet you.” Kurt says with a small wave.

There’s a beat of silence before Merrick nods, “Right. Well, Bill why don’t we leave these two to chat?” He says, gesturing to Blaine and Tamara.

Mr. Anderson nods, “Of course. Why don’t we go talk a little shop before dinner?”

The pair leaves the living room which leaves just Kurt, Blaine, Tamara. Kurt’s not sure where Tamara’s mother or Cooper and his family are but he suddenly feels like a giant third wheel.

He shifts in the silence and when he looks at Tamara she is glaring daggers at him. Kurt lifts an eyebrow. So this is how it’s going to be?

“Blaine,” Tamara says, “Can you show me where the little girl’s room is?”

Blaine nods and gestures down the hall, “It’s just down the hall…” He starts but Tamara interrupts him by laying a hand on his arm. Kurt’s eyes zero in on the contact. So do Blaine’s.

“I’d really rather if you’d show me.” She says with a coy smile.

Blaine coughs, lets his eyes dart to Kurt, before he nods, “Sure. I’ll...be right back, Kurt.”

As they leave, Tamara threads her arm through Blaine’s just like Kurt had done upstairs. Kurt sighs. It’s going to be a long night.

-- -- --

“So Kirk!” Merrick booms a half hour later as everyone sits at the dinner table. Merrick isn’t that far down the table from Kurt but his voice cuts through every conversation and suddenly all eyes are on Kurt.

“Kurt.” Kurt corrects with a patient smile.

Merrick nods and takes a drink of his wine, “Right. Kurt. I knew that.” He says, “So, what brings you to your roommates house for Christmas?”

Kurt shifts in his chair and tries to avoid looking across the table at Blaine. He’s actually tried to look at Blaine as little as possible since he and Tamara had left him in the living room earlier. He feels like there are too many landmines there considering the situation, and he also has no interest in watching a woman, who seems not at all shy with physical touch, be around his boyfriend.

“Um my dad is working tonight so Blaine offered to have me spend Christmas Eve with him. I’ll be driving home tomorrow afternoon to see my family.” Kurt answers. Burt Hummel is definitely not working tonight but no other untrue story could explain his presence here tonight.

Merrick nods again, “Very kind of him.” Kurt nods and dares a quick smile in Blaine’s direction. He wishes he hadn’t when he sees Tamara’s hand on Blaine’s shoulder. Is she cutting her turkey with one hand?

“No girlfriend to spend the holidays with?” Clara Clark asks from beside her husband. She was introduced to Kurt drunk and hasn’t stopped drinking since.

Kurt presses his lips together in a pained smile and shakes his head.

“No?” Merrick booms, “Why not? A youngu, virile looking young man like yourself? No woman to speak of?”

Kurt’s not sure where to start. Why is this man commenting on his apparent virility and why is him not having a girlfriend such a travesty to a man he just met?

Before Kurt can answer though, a tiny voice pipes up from down the table, “Kurt and Uncle Blaine kiss each other.”

The entire table becomes so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Kurt feels his stomach sink as he looks down to find little five-year-old Dylan Anderson happily eating his mashed potatoes, seemingly unaware of the bomb he just dropped. All eyes swing from Dylan to Kurt and Blaine, and now Kurt has a very, very small window to figure out how to react to this.

His body reacts for him and suddenly he’s laughing. All eyes swivel to him as he laughs in his chair, and he has the forethought to keep from breaking into hysterical laughter because he’s already probably coming across as not very mentally stable.

“Dylan.” Mr. Anderson finally says as Kurt’s laughter calms, “Why would you say that? You know, it’s not good to spread lies.”

Dylan shrugs as he picks up some cranberry sauce on his fork, “I saw them outside.” He says, still unaware of how his words are affecting the table.

With this new information, Kurt finally looks across the table at Blaine. His boyfriend is staring at his plate like it holds the answers to the universe and is as still as a statue. Tamara still has a hand on his shoulder and she’s staring at Kurt with a quirked eyebrow.

“Blaine,” Mr. Anderson says, once again breaking the silence, “Is this true?”

Kurt watches as Blaine begins to shake and Kurt holds his breath as he waits for the answer. He hates that this is the way Blaine has to come out to his family, feels sick to his stomach about it actually, but a small part of him is relieved.

Blaine swallows down at his plate before picking his head up, catching Kurt’s eyes for a brief moment before turning to his father. He laughs, the sounds almost robotic to Kurt’s ears, “Of course not.” He says.

For the second time, Kurt feels his stomach drop but this time his heart goes with it. What…?

Tamara laughs beside Blaine, “Maybe Dylan saw Kirk outside with one of his boy toys. Because if he’s straight? Then I’m Kim Kardashian.”

Kurt feels his ears go hot as the entire table turns to look at him. Everyone except Blaine, who’s head whips in Tamara’s direction. Tamara for her part just smirks with a shrug.

Before Kurt can comprehend what his mind and body are doing, he’s on his feet. His chair scrapes against the floor in the silence and he stands frozen for a moment, staring at Blaine and Tamara across the table.

He points across the table at the bottle blonde, “You’re right. I am gay. And proud of it. I wouldn’t want to be anything else. But I’m sure you’re happy I’m not straight because then you’d have to explain why your flat ass is no match for Kim’s beautiful butt.”

Tamara’s mouth opens as if she’s offended but Kurt pays her no more attention as he turns to look at Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, “Thank you for having me last night but I think we can all agree that I’ll see myself out now.”

He doesn’t wait for them to answer, but does spare one more look at Blaine’s conflicted face before he stalks out of the room and up the stairs.

As he packs he keeps expecting, or rather hoping, that Blaine will come upstairs and beg him to stay. That he’ll apologize for denying them as a couple and say to hell with his family and that Kurt is more important.

That doesn’t happen though, not that Kurt actually expected it to, and ten minutes after leaving the dining room Kurt is packed and down the stairs. He can hear voices from the dining room but keeps going out the door and to the car he and Blaine rented. He’s not sure what Blaine is going to do for a ride the next day, but at the moment he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out of here before he starts crying.

He almost succeeds.

He’s at the bottom of the driveway before the first tears fall and he’s on the highway before he’s full on sobbing.

-- -- --

Kurt wakes up slowly the next morning. He blinks his swollen eyes into the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window and has a moment of confusion. Where is he?

He hears pots clanging somewhere in the house and when his eyes finally adjust he sees the familiar surroundings of his bedroom at his Dad’s house. Oh right, he’s with his family. And his eyes are swollen because he spent the entire drive here crying and then proceeded to cry himself to sleep after crying on his dad’s shoulder for a few hours.

He’s not sure what time it is, but he knows he hasn’t gotten enough sleep. That being said, the comforting presence of his father is too much to ignore so he slowly rises into a sitting position before pushing to stand and shuffle out of the room.

When he gets to the kitchen he finds his dad and his wife, Carole, moving around the room with practiced ease, while Finn, Kurt’s step brother, sits at the kitchen table, most likely after being told to stay out of the way. Kurt smiles at the scene as much as he can before his Dad notices him in the doorway.

“Hey bud.” Burt sighs as he leans back against the counter.

“Wow, Kurt, you must be feeling bad.” Finn pipes in, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so...messy.”

Kurt rolls his eyes at Finn’s bluntness but it’s Carole who answers, “Finn!” She admonishes her son, “Maybe go take a shower before breakfast and presents.”

Finn, who looks confused why he’s being sent away, does so without comment, leaving just Kurt, Burt, and Carole in the kitchen.

“I’m,” Carole starts, handing the spatula in her hand to Burt, “going to check on the presents.” She says and then she, too, is gone.

“Subtle.” Kurt sighs as he lowers himself into a chair.

Burt chuckles softly, “They’re worried about you.”

Kurt quirks an eyebrow, “Even Finn?”

Burt inclines his head, “In his own way, yes.” Kurt ‘aha’s sarcastically but he does, in fact, believe that both Carole and Finn care about him and are worried about him. He may not have felt that way when they entered the Hummel family eight years ago after it just being Kurt and Burt for years after Kurt’s mom had died, but every year the ‘step’ gets less and less important.

“How ya doing?” Burt asks, flipping a pancake before taking the pan off the heat and lowering himself into a chair next to Kurt.

Kurt shrugs, “Like I did a lot of drinking last night...after getting my heart broken.”

Burt pouts slightly before sighing, “I can’t believe that’s how it all went down yesterday.”

Kurt nods, “Me either. But it did. Now it’s just me having to get over it.”

Burt tilts his head, “What are you going to do about the fact that you share an apartment with this man?”

Kurt sighs and shrugs again, “I don’t know. That’s a New York Kurt problem. Lima Kurt just wants to eat carbs, open presents with his family, and forget yesterday even happened.”

Burt nods just as there is a knock on the front door. Father and son turn toward the sound in confusion. Who would be coming to call at 6 am on Christmas morning?

“Kurt?” Carole calls from the front hallway where she had presumably answered the door.

Kurt’s brow furrows as he looks at his dad. The older man just shrugs and gestures toward the door. Kurt shrugs and gets up to see who it could possibly be.

He rounds the corner into the front hall and stops short.

It’s Blaine.

Blaine is standing on his front doorstep, winter hat being wrung between his gloved fingers and biting his lip with a guilty look on his face. Kurt hates how adorable he looks.

Carole is standing at the door with a look of worry on her face. She seems conflicted.

“It’s...okay, Carole.” Kurt says and the older woman nods before making her way past Kurt. She reaches a hand out to squeeze his arm as she passes.

When it’s just Kurt and Blaine, they stand in silence for a long time. Kurt doesn’t even invite the other man in. He just stares as Blaine shifts back and forth on his feet.

“Why are you here?” Kurt finally asks.

Blaine jolts like he hadn’t realized Kurt was still there or he’d been so lost in his own head that he hadn’t anticipated Kurt speaking first. He looks up at Kurt with wide eyes before looking back down at the carpet at his feet.

“I told them.” He whispers.

There’s silence again as Kurt processes this information. Eventually, he slowly reaches to grab his jacket off the hook and puts it on. He heads to the door and steps out, causing Blaine to take a step back, and closes the door behind him so the pair is now standing on the porch.

He gestures to the porch swing and he and Blaine sit next to each other.

“I’m listening.” Kurt says, softly. He’ll give Blaine that much. He’ll listen.

Blaine sighs roughly, “As soon as you left I wanted to go after you. But I knew that would just make things worse. I needed to deal with things with my family before I could come to you. Hell, as soon as those words were out of my mouth I wanted them back.”

Kurt knows what words Blaine is talking about. He’s heard ‘Of course not’ repeated in his head over and over since they left Blaine’s mouth.

Blaine shakes his head, “And I wanted to slap Tamara for what she said but,” and at this Blaine smirks a little, “you kind of verbally slapped her for me.”

Kurt feels the corner of his mouth twitch upward but he’s still too wary to really find humour or compliment in Blaine’s words.

“After you left, my dad started making this big speech about how wrong it was to have a gay person try to hide who they were and ‘sneak’ into his house. How he felt violated.” Kurt’s stomach starts to turn sour. Blaine huffs and his breath comes out in a puff of steam, “And he’s going on and on about how you deceived me and the family and I just kept getting angrier and angrier until eventually I just exploded.

“I told him that if he felt deceived by the two days he didn’t know about you then he was in for a doozy because I’ve been ‘deceiving’ him for ten years. That shut him up real quick.” Blaine laughs humourlessly, “And everyone just stared at me. I told them that I was gay and in love with an amazing man and that if they couldn’t handle that then they needed to check their priorities.”

Blaine falls silent and Kurt’s eyes widen expectantly, “And?” He asks breathlessly.

Blaine sighs and looks out across the front lawn, “And then my dad told me that if that’s the way I felt I could get the hell out of his house.”

Kurt gulps.

Blaine is quiet as he looks out over the lawn before he turns to Kurt, “And you know how I feel now?” Kurt shakes his head and slowly a smile blooms on Blaine’s face, “I feel relief. I am so relieved to no longer have this hanging over my head. In the end, I couldn’t care less about how they reacted, I just needed to say it.”

Kurt gives a small smile, “Well, then I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.” Blaine breathes and then he shifts and Kurt thinks it looks like he goes to reach for Kurt’s hand but then at the last moment thinks better of it and retracts his hands into his own lap again, “Look, I know just because I came out to them doesn’t erase the fact that I forced you into a closet and then lied about you point blank. I get that.” He nods, almost resignedly, “But,” He says, looking up at Kurt with wide eyes, “I love you so much, Kurt. And if you can somehow find a way to forgive me, I promise that I will NEVER do anything like that again. You weren’t the reason I decided to come out to my family but your love made me feel like I’d have a soft place to land no matter what.” He grimaces, “And I fucked that up.”

Kurt is quiet as he looks at the man in front of him. He’s only known Blaine for six months but from the very beginning it’s felt like he’s known Blaine his entire life. They zinged in a way he never has with anyone else. They’re love was real and deep and something worth fighting for.

Is.

Is something worth fighting for.

Kurt reaches across the divide and grabs Blaine’s hand. Blaine inhales sharply and he looks down at their hands and then up at Kurt. Kurt smiles and squeezes the hand in his own.

“It’s still a soft place to land.” He whispers and Blaine all but melts against him. Blaine’s lips are on his and Kurt’s still warm enough from the house to get a small jolt from the coldness of Blaine’s lips. He silently vows to keep kissing until their lips are the same temperature.

“Woooohoooo!”

The exclamation makes the pair pull apart much too soon for Kurt’s liking and he turns toward the sound in alarm.

Standing beside a blue SUV on the street is none other than Cooper Anderson. He’s got his arms in the air and a bright smile on his face.

Kurt laughs in disbelief as he turns to Blaine who is smiling sheepishly, “What…?” Kurt trails off.

Blaine’s smile grows, “Turns out when push comes to shove...Cooper’s allegiance is to me.” He says it with a little bit of disbelief and Kurt can see his eyes twinkle with the beginning of tears.

“I told you he’d forgive you!” Cooper exclaims, loud enough for the whole street to hear and then he bends to high-five a bouncing Dylan who Kurt just realizes is next to him.

Kurt and Blaine laugh, “Coop! You’ll wake the neighbours!” Blaine admonishes.

Cooper shrugs, “Well, I haven’t heard Kurt extend an invite for Christmas morning breakfast yet!”

Kurt laughs as he tugs Blaine up to stand with him and gestures Cooper and Dylan forward, “My dad and stepmom are making pancakes. Would you like to join us?”

He directs his question to all three Anderson’s as Cooper and Dylan comes closer but he’s only got eyes for Blaine.

Cooper and Dylan slide past them and he enters the house without further comment but Kurt and Blaine hear him bellow, “Good morning Kurt’s family! I’m Cooper, Blaine’s brother. This is my son, Dylan. And we were told there were pancakes!”

Kurt and Blaine laugh again as they hold hands facing each other on the porch, “I guess we should go explain.” Kurt says, tilting his head toward the door.

“One more kiss.” Blaine says and Kurt smiles as he indulges him. He bends down and presses his lips to Blaine for a moment before pulling back.

“We can kiss inside where it’s warm, too.” Kurt says.

Blaine smiles, “Yeah, but if we do it inside Cooper will make inappropriately lewd comments.”

Kurt smirks, “Actually, my step brother Finn probably will, too.”

“They’ll probably get along famously.” Blaine comments.

“Probably.” Kurt whispers before kissing Blaine one more time, “Merry Christmas, Blaine.”

“Merry Christmas, Kurt.” Blaine whispers before the pair link fingers and enter the house together.

#klaine #klaine fanfiction #klaine fanfic #my loves #my stuff #season of happiness

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halfwayinlight · 4 years

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More fic for @cleverdistraction

Title: Copilots Rating: PG Fandom: Star Trek TNG Pairing: Will Riker/Deanna Troi

Set about four years before my Deep Waters fic series.

The last month or so has been intense. Will knows he’s driving his wife up the bulkheads and back down again, asking far too many times how she’s feeling. She (and the medical staff) have been understanding. It’s not like he’s been a father before. The last two weeks in particular, three if he’s honest, have felt like having a time bomb on board. Knowing his wife was due to go into labor at any given moment.

She’s handled this whole pregnancy so well. Deanna has always been resilient, and this was no exception. The first months and these last weeks, she has been tired more easily. And he knows she’s uncomfortable these days. Moreso as she entered into week forty-one of pregnancy and struggled to get more than four or five hours of sleep at a stretch at best. And he’s at least half responsible for it.

Nothing that anyone told either of them had prepared them for labor. Ian’s birth felt even more anomalous when she rolled into hour ten and then fourteen and past twenty hours of labor. As much as Ian was in a hurry to get here, their son was taking his own sweet time. Dr. Ree had urged them, several times, to let him intervene and go ahead and deliver through other options.

And of course, his wife is determined to do this the way women on Betazed have done it for generations. That she can do this. And even if she’s exhausted and crying every five or six hours, she’s not giving on this.

He knows that she has to be aware that he pulled aside Ree at hour eleven and asked at what point this was going to be harmful for her or the baby. Because as much as he wants to let her do what she wants because this is, honestly, all her and he’s not even the side show here… Well, there’s a point where he will step in because he’s always been the person to make sure she doesn’t push herself too far in spite of herself. Even if this child of theirs is plenty big enough but wanting to take his own sweet time in arriving.

Beverly was still on her way. As much as they fully trusted Ree to handle this, and they had full confidence, Beverly had insisted she was coming, too. They’d simply been through too much and were their own sort of family. She’d planned to arrive earlier in the week, but she’d been delayed. And their son was taking his time anyway. And now her shuttle was having to re-route thanks to a collapsing star. And Will was feeling every hour of his own sleep deprivation.

Deanna had sent him to sleep a few times. And he caved into it, feeling a little like a traitor that he could nap when she only managed short rests between contractions. By hour twenty, he was exhausted enough to fall asleep in ten minute bursts here or there, but afraid to nap even a room away because surely it wouldn’t be long now. She’d argued that they didn’t both need to be wiped out, but even at that, she still woke him several times from naps because of their bond and the intensity of becoming parents.

They tried every trick in the book, and most from almost every other world that anyone wanted to share with them. She had been curious about water births, but the delivery area simply wasn’t set up for it. And Will didn’t like that the bathtub in their own quarters was further away from sickbay if more care was needed. She’d tried every position she could manage. Kneeling helped for a while. And for some time, it helped her to be on her hands and knees. But even that was hard to hold comfortably as the hours dragged out.

Until she was fully effaced, they took walks when she could handle it. Walk was a distortion, though. It had been a shuffle, stopping every few hundred feet for a while and later every forty feet or so when Deanna braced her hand against a bulkhead and breathed deeply to ride out a contraction. At one point he was sure that he was going to have to scoop her up and carry her back in when the strongest contraction yet hit so hard that her legs were trembling with the intensity and fatigue. Her dark eyes were wide, and she’d struggled to even send him a clear thought for long moments. In the end, he’d helped her to a bench and was debating calling for assistance when she pushed herself up and started to shuffle back to delivery.

At least ten calls from Beverly and thirty two hours later… and his son was screaming, and his wife was crying and grinning and sinking fully into the birthing chair. Somewhere in the last minutes, a chair for him had appeared and one of the staff had firmly pressed his shoulder to urge him to sit. Scooting closer, his fingers cupped the top of his son’s head as they handed him to Deanna. He marveled over the bald little head and red face. Their boy looked like a miracle.

Her fingers brush his cheek, and it’s only then that he realizes that he’s crying, too. “Damn, he’s amazing. And you’re incredible,” Will breathed, leaning in a little closer to take in the wrinkled brow that’s slowly smoothing itself, the tiny slope of a nose, and pursed lips. The doctor and nurses are commenting on his solid size, but he still looks so small to Will. A whole person in tiny miniature. And half of him and half of Deanna, and his brain can’t wrap around it right now.

They keep Deanna and Thaddeus in delivery for another day. Moreso to let her sleep a little before sending them back to their quarters after a day and a quarter of delivery with a newborn. And a nurse is on call if they need any help or simply to sleep for a few hours until Beverly can get here. Beverly is practically turning herself (and no doubt the pilot of the shuttle) inside out trying to get there faster.

But now Alyssa Ogawa is handing him Thad, and Will feels everything in himself go stock still.

“Will?” Deanna knows something is off before he can even say the words.

“Captain?” Alyssa asks, her hand wrapping around his arm and guiding him, as he cradles the bundle of blanket and Thad against his chest, to the bio bed where Deanna is already sitting with her legs over the edge.

Deanna’s arm drapes around his shoulders. “Give us a few minutes?”

She’s not exactly happy about it, but Alyssa nods and slips out, closing the door behind her for privacy.

“Will?” comes the soft repeat of his name.

“She handed him to me, and what? We … take him to our quarters? They hand out the baby and we walk out of here? Hell, I’m not even sure I’m supporting his neck correctly half the time, and what if I sneeze and drop him? He’s so damn tiny, and I know you don’t think so after what you went through, but where the hell is Beverly?”

Deanna’s flattens against his back and rubbing in firm circles. “Deep breaths, ok?”

He gulps in a breath, his hold comfortable around the snoozing infant in his arms, but everything else locked as though too much movement will make this moment shatter. By the fifth breath, his shoulder ease a little. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around,” he finally said on an exhale, face flushing.

She used her arm to guide him closer and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Would it make you feel better if I took him for a moment?”

Will shrugged. “His whole life changed, and he’s just sleeping through it like it’s no big deal. He… he trusts us to do all of this, and I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’ve had training,” Deanna reminded him with a fond smile. “It’s… well, a little like when you left Starfleet. You’d learned a lot of things, but hadn’t gotten any practical experience, yet. Like the first time you piloted a shuttle craft.”

He shook his head slightly. “That was different. I had a trainer for a co-pilot, and I was too young and cocky to know to be scared.”

“Well, Beverly is our trainer for a while. And we have the staff on hand if we need anything. And then we can be each other’s copilots.” Her fingers reached up and wrapped around his shoulder, digging into the knot there. “Half of this is scary because it’s new. And we don’t know what we’re doing, yet. He doesn’t trust us necessarily, he’s just too little to know we’re making it up as we go for a while.”

He sighed a little, relaxing a bit further but still keeping their son cradled against his chest. “And the other half?”

“Of what?” she asked with a small yawn.

“The other half of why it’s scary,” he prompted, wondering for the fifth time today if maybe they should stay in sickbay another day so she could catch up on more sleep. Even with the medical staff giving some bottle feedings, there were several interruptions to her sleep between nursing and a few routine checks.

She smiled a little and cupped his chin, drawing him in for a soft kiss. “Because we’re both very sleep deprived. I think Thad has the right idea with a nap.” Her eyes met his and softened. “And I’d really love to take a nap in our bed instead of a bio bed.”

Will took another slow breath and shifted Thad in his convenient swaddle against his heart, arms adjusting until he had him in a secure one-armed hold and hand cautiously around his son’s head. He glanced down to be sure of the distance and slowly slid off the bed. His hand extended to her.

Deanna lifted his fingers to her lips and tilted her head slightly with a grin. “We have a son.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, mirroring back the same smile. There would be more hovering later. Making sure she was as okay as Dr. Ree and Alyssa insisted she was. For now, Thad was sucking his thumb and perfectly content to be carried to any galaxy. Wrapping his free arm around his wife, he let Deanna set the pace through sickbay and toward the turbo lift and their quarters. “Copilots, huh?”

As the turbolift slid shut around their newly expanded family, Deanna gave his fingers a light squeeze. “Copilots.”

#star trek tng #otp: imzadi #imzadi #will riker #deanna troi #commander riker #counselor troi #captain riker #commander troi #my messed up space cinnamon nugget rolls #space dad

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

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Fic: Everything Money Can Buy (12/12)

Summary: The Greatest Store in the World AU. When misfortune strikes and leaves Emma Swan and her son homeless just before Christmas, the ever-resourceful Emma has a ready solution. They’ll move into Mills Department Store, a place they can only dream of affording to buy from. It’s not easy, having to deal with a perpetually grumpy doorman, a nasty assistant manager, and an extremely suspect Santa, but Emma and Henry soon learn that the kindness of strangers is something money can’t buy.

Swan Believer centric, with eventual Swan Queen and background Rumbelle and Dwarf Star.

Rated: G

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[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Eleven] [AO3]

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Twelve

“So, that’s the way it all happened.”

Henry didn’t know how long he had been telling his tale to the policewoman and the social worker, both of whom were looking at him with expressions that he couldn’t quite work out. They were either completely disbelieving of everything that he had just said, or they believed it all and yet couldn’t quite believe that they believed it, or they believed him totally and were trying very hard not to laugh at all the antics that he and Emma had got themselves into over the course of the last few days whilst staying at Mills.

He looked from one to the other, and he began to think that it was probably the second option. He didn’t exactly have any reason to concoct such an elaborate lie, and although he had a very good imagination, he wasn’t sure that it would stretch to such things.

“Can I see my mum now?” he asked plainly.

“In a minute,” the policewoman said. “She’s giving her own statement, but she’ll be out soon.” She made a few official remarks and then stopped the tape. “I think that’s all that we need to talk about though, so you can go out and wait in the waiting area for her.”

Henry nodded and grabbed the polystyrene cup of hot chocolate that the social worker had given him when he had first begun his story. It was stone cold now; it seemed like he’d been in the police station for hours, but he didn’t want to leave it behind and look ungrateful.

The social worker led him out into the main waiting area, and even though Mum wasn’t there yet, Henry was incredibly glad to see that Belle, Gold, Astrid, and Leroy were all sitting around and none of them appeared to be wearing handcuffs.

“Henry!” Astrid jumped up, tripped over the coffee table stacked with back issues of magazines and flung her arms around him; Leroy reached out to grab the cup of chocolate before it went all over everywhere. Belle got up and joined in the hug.

“Are you all right?” Astrid was asking. Henry was half-convinced she was about to start patting him down for injuries, although what he could have sustained whilst sitting in a cramped little office for a couple of hours was beyond him.

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Have you seen Mum?”

There was a general consensus in the negative, and Henry began to get rather worried. At the end of the day, they had been trespassing in the store, and since Mum was the responsible adult of the two of them, she was the one who would have to be held accountable. At least the other staff who had helped them out didn’t seem to be being penalised in any way.

“Are you ok?” he asked the room at large.

“We’re all fine,” Belle said. “Not quite sure how fine we’ll be when Regina gets here, but even if she does fire us all on the spot, I don’t care. It’ll have been worth it to make sure that you two were all right. And to take down Zelena, of course.”

Gold chuckled. “I have to say that was certainly a highlight of the day. A very merry Christmas indeed.”

As macabre as the joke was, it still made Henry laugh, and he settled down between Astrid and Leroy to wait for Regina Mills, owner and impresario of Mills department store, to turn up. Or for Mum to be released, whichever came first. Astrid put an arm around him, and Henry was grateful for it, despite wishing that it was Mum instead.

To his immense relief, only a few minutes later, Mum came out of the next office. She also wasn’t wearing handcuffs, although she looked rather shaken. Henry jumped off his seat and bounded across to her, flinging his arms around her middle and refusing to let go. Maybe if he kept up this limpet hold on her then they would be completely unable to remove him, and they wouldn’t be separated by social services.

“It’s ok.” Mum held him close. “It’s ok, I’m here.”

“Are you going to stay here, though?” Henry mumbled to her sweater. “Are you going to have to go to prison?”

“No. But we’re not out of the woods just yet. It’s all going to depend on what Ms Mills says when she arrives.”

Henry, who had never met Regina Mills in all the time that they had spent in the store, was not at all mollified by this. What would happen if she decided to go ahead with the whole ‘trespassers will be prosecuted’ thing?

“Are we going to be separated?” he whispered.

Mum sighed. “I don’t know, Henry. I’m sorry. I wish I knew, but they didn’t tell me.”

Mum sat back down in the waiting area in Henry’s vacated seat, Astrid and Leroy moving up one so that Henry could perch beside her. He held onto Mum’s hand very tightly. For all he was ten years old, and for all Mum said that he was wise beyond his years, he felt very small, very young, and very frightened right now.

The time continued to tick by slowly. Although the four Mills employees were technically free to go, they were all staying, maybe out of some kind of unspoken solidarity with each other and with Henry and Mum, all of them waiting to stand alongside them when Regina Mills appeared.

“All right, will someone please tell me what’s going on here? Gold?”

Everyone in the waiting area leapt to their feet and started talking at the same time, apart from Mum. Henry himself had launched into the tale that he had just told the policewoman and social worker, but he broke off and stared at Regina Mills with the same dumbfounded expression that Mum had on her face.

Regina Mills was the brunette woman from the stairs, the one that Mum had developed just a little bit of a crush on, and it was clear that Regina was in just as much shock as Mum and Henry were, and that she wasn’t taking in any of what Belle, Gold, Astrid or Leroy were saying. Gradually, they all became aware of that too, and one by one, they trailed off, leaving the waiting area in silence.

“You.” Regina’s voice was soft, and, Henry thought, a little bit awestruck. There was no censure or accusation in it, just quiet wonder.

Mum waved awkwardly. “Erm, hi.”

“You’ve been living in my department store?” Regina shook her head in disbelief. “And I never noticed? Despite all the times I saw you in there? Despite us having an actual conversation?”

Mum shrugged. “Yeah.”

“I…” Regina pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m going to need a minute.”

At this juncture, the other four began their vehement defence of Mum and Henry again, until Regina held up a hand sharply.

“Quiet!” Everyone obeyed without hesitation. “Since you four have been aiding and abetting with the trespassing and breaking and entering, I don’t want to hear another word out of any of you.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the waiting area, Henry reflected afterwards. The only sound was the sharp tap of Regina’s shoes as she paced up and down. Henry had been in some dicey situations in his time – he’d been in several since they’d started living in Mills – but he’d never felt the same kind of tension as he felt now. It was heavy and suffocating, everyone looking at each other and no one daring to speak despite the overwhelming need for some kind of reassurance, for someone to say that it was all going to be all right. The horrible truth of the matter was that no one did know if it was going to be all right.

At last, Regina stood still and looked over at Mum.

“I really don’t know what to say. A part of me really thinks that an example ought to be made, but at the same time, if it wasn’t for you being somewhere you shouldn’t, then my assistant manager would have got away with half the Cartier counter and none of us would have been any the wiser. And honestly, deciding to stay in the store to make sure that your son had a safe roof over his head over Christmas…”

“We’ll get new accommodation in the new year,” Mum pleaded. “This was only ever going to be a temporary arrangement; we didn’t have anywhere else to go…”

Regina nodded.

“No, I understand. I don’t think that there’s many people in the world who would have the courage and the sheer audacity do what you’ve done, Ms Swan. The unfortunate implications of it aside, it’s incredibly admirable.”

She looked around at her gathered employees, all of whom were looking rather nervous, but still defiant and rallying around Mum and Henry to the last.

“Thank you all for your swift action in helping bring down Zelena and Killian,” she said. “As for the other transgressions, well, since nothing has been taken and nothing has been damaged except in the pursuit of justice, I think that we can put this one down to experience and pretend it never happened.”

There was a visible, if not audible, sigh of relief in the waiting area, and Regina turned her attention back to Mum and Henry.

“That goes for you, too. I think I should be able to find you somewhere better to stay than the store until your new accommodation is ready.”

Henry was about to say that there was nowhere better than Mills, but wisely decided that it would not be a good idea to rock the boat when everything looked like it was going to turn out ok.

“In the meantime, would you perhaps like to join me for Christmas dinner?”

Henry and Mum just stared at each other, and then at Regina, and then back at each other.

“Are you serious?” Mum asked faintly.

“Well, it’s Christmas.” Regina gave a little shrug, and if Henry didn’t know better then he’d say that she was feeling just as nervous as they were. “And I happen to know an excellent shop where we can get all the ingredients for Christmas dinner at a terrific staff discount.”

“I… Surely you have your own family…” Mum was completely overwhelmed. Henry had never seen her like this before.

“Not really. You’re very welcome. As are you,” she added to Belle, Gold, Astrid, and Leroy, although they did seem a little like an afterthought.

“Thank you for the offer, but we’re all right,” Gold said.

“I don’t think that the turkey and potatoes are going to be much good having been in a cooling oven all day,” Belle pointed out, and any reply that Gold could have made was drowned out by a screech of alarm from Astrid.

“I LEFT THE OVEN ON!” she screamed, racing out of the police station without another thought for those left inside. Leroy made his apologies and rushed out after her, leaving Regina and Mum just staring after her whilst Henry tried his best not to laugh.

“Christmas dinner sounds great,” Mum said eventually.

It was the weirdest Christmas dinner that Emma had ever been to, but it was also by far the happiest. Regina didn’t pull any punches when it came to providing the best for her guests, and Emma didn’t think that she was going to need to eat for a week once she finished her helping of Christmas pudding.

They had all ended up in Regina’s townhouse in the end. Astrid’s turkey had burned to a cinder but she had thankfully not burned her flat down, and now she, Leroy and Henry were sitting in the living room watching Home Alone on the biggest widescreen TV that Emma had ever seen, the light from the Christmas tree illuminating them like a happy little family. Emma couldn’t help but smile. After everything that they had been through as just the two of them, it seemed so strange and so fortuitous that in their darkest hour, when they needed it most, they had found some more family, people whom they would never otherwise have ever come into contact with.

Gold had left the table halfway through the meal when his son had called him, and last Emma had seen, he was still talking, sitting on the stairs in the hall and smiling the biggest, happiest smile that Emma had ever seen on him. Once she’d got used to all his Christmas jumpers (today’s was Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer), and realised that he wasn’t half as standoffish as she’d always known him to be, she could see that he was really a softie on the inside, but worn down with hardship just as she and Henry had been. Emma was glad that he had Belle to bring some light into his life.

Speaking of Belle, she was in the kitchen brewing up her virgin mulled wine concoction with Mrs Lucas, Regina’s housekeeper who had been the source of the wonderful meal that they’d just eaten. Emma could hear the laughter from the dining room, and she allowed herself a giggle of her own. It was Belle who’d taken charge back in the yard once the police had arrived, and Emma was thankful that she had, fully believing that she might well have been spending the day behind bars if it hadn’t been for Belle’s intervention.

And then there was Regina, the only other person left in the dining room with Emma. They were eyeing each other up from opposite ends of the table, Emma could tell, even though they never quite managed to catch each other in the act. It had been all right when everyone else had been in here with them, but Emma had the distinct impression that Henry had shepherded Astrid and Leroy away purposefully in order to give his mother some time alone with her crush.

At least she got the feeling this time that it was mutual.

In the end, she decided to be bold. It was Christmas after all, and Regina had invited Emma and Henry for dinner, and more than likely to stay, since she’d promised them a better place than the store and as yet no mention had been made of where that was.

Emma got up and moved around the table to take the seat next to Regina that Mrs Lucas had occupied whilst they’d been eating.

“Thank you,” she began. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a Christmas like this one. I don’t know how Henry and I can even start to repay you for all that you’ve done for us today.”

Regina shrugged. “Just don’t make a habit of sleeping in my store, that’s all I ask. I’ll have to have words with the security guards about how they didn’t notice you for nearly a week. But then again, maybe not.” She smiled. “Maybe I ought to congratulate them instead. After all, it meant that I got to meet you properly. I’m sorry about my first impression.”

“I was never a huge believer in first impressions,” Emma said. “I didn’t exactly make a great one either, but I think we can move past that.”

Regina nodded. “Yes, I would like that.” She suddenly sprung up from her chair just as Emma was about to lean in a little closer. “I forgot something; when Gold and I went back to the store to pick up the things for dinner.”

She raced out of the dining room and returned a few moments later with the stocking that Emma had hung up for Henry the previous evening, the shabby parcels inside still intact.

“Gold found it outside your tent. I didn’t think that you would want Henry to go without his presents today, especially after all the, erm, excitement that you’ve had.”

Emma took the stocking, clutching it close to her chest. In all the ‘excitement’, she’d clean forgotten about it.

“It doesn’t look like much,” she said, looking around at her much more opulent surroundings.

“Nonsense. It’s from you, so Henry will love it. I may only have known you for a little while, but I can see just how deeply you two love each other.”

“We only have each other.” Emma paused. “Well, we only had each other, for a long time. Maybe now we’ve got a few more people as well.”

There was silence in the dining room, the sounds from the rest of the house fading into the background.

“I think I’d like to be one of those people, if you’ll have me,” Regina said softly.

Emma nodded. “Absolutely.”

She leaned in then, feeling Regina’s warm lips brush her cheek and the corner of her mouth. It was the beginning of something, something that Emma had not felt or wanted in a long time, but that she was definitely not averse to now.

As she got up to go and give Henry his Christmas presents, she felt the world’s biggest grin beginning to steal over her face.

Despite all the odds, at this grimmest point in her life, her faith in the kindness of strangers had been restored, and despite all the luxury that Mills had to offer, she knew that it was something that money couldn’t buy.

No matter what happened in the new year, Emma knew that with new friends and new love around her, it would most certainly be a happy one.

#swan believer #swan believer fic #Emma Swan #Henry Swan #Regina Mills #Swan Queen #rumbelle #dwarf star #Fic: Everything Money Can Buy #Last Chapter

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mcwriting · 5 years

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Dance Dance Revolution

Welllllll the other night I couldn't sleep and wrote basically this entire thing in my head. It’s kinda based on how I feel about dance auditions and also slightly inspired by a dance moms clip I saw where the girls auditioned to be in a MattyB music video and it caused ~drama~. The reader description is kind of based on myself bc even though I’ve been dancing forever, I’m definitely bigger than a size 2 and it usually surprises people when I tell them about my dancing.

Fandom: Tom Holland (is this even a fandom anymore honestly)

Ship: Tom Holland x Reader

Setting: A dance studio, duh

Word Count: 2,144

Warnings: bratty teenage girls?

Rating: idk fam, but it’s pretty tame

Background: You are a dancer at a small company who does it for the pure joy of dancing. When your studio is chosen to be a part of Tom Holland’s next movie, tensions mount between dancers as each hopes to be selected to dance with him on camera.

Yeah I’m really bad at summaries okay I’m sorry

reader is at least 18, and maybe a sr in high school or a freshman in college.

---

You took a big gulp of water before wiping some sweat from your forehead. You and your 12 classmates had been given few minutes to recover from barre before heading to center port de bras.

You were one of the advanced dancers at the studio, having been doing ballet since early childhood along with other genres like contemporary and hip hop. Unlike some of the other girls, though, you didn't necessarily “look” the part of a typical dancer. You weren't tall and flat-stomached, but it never hindered you from performing and advancing in skill.

As everyone began heading towards the center, the door was opened by none other than the studio owner, Alyssa. She had a wide smile on her face as she quietly shut the door behind her. She asked your teacher for permission to interrupt class a moment and then moved to the center of the mirrors.

“Girls, I have an important announcement,” she began, causing everyone to look around in confusion as she continued.

“Our studio has been selected to be filmed in a new movie starring Tom Holland!”

With that exclamation, there followed gasps and squeals, and you couldn't help the smile that stretched across your cheeks and the butterflies in your stomach.

“Wait, wait. Now before you get too excited, I have one more announcement,” Alyssa interjected, exclaiming, “In only a couple short weeks, we will be hosting an audition for one of you to dance a duet with Tom, and even if you aren't chosen, all thirteen of you will still be onscreen in the class shots!”

Everyone started jumping around and squealing even more in excitement.

With that, she left you to the mercy of your teacher, and none of you could help but feel ecstatic about the situation as you finished up ballet class.

The following Saturday, you turned on your favorite playlist and began stretching in one of the smaller studios. Very few people other than Alyssa and the people working in the attached dance store would be at the studio today and you had been given permission to work alone. Being one of the oldest dancers at the studio definitely had its perks with opportunities like this.

You also knew that some of the people working on the movie would be meeting with Alyssa, so you hoped that you could be left alone for a while to just dance.

After warming up, you decided to freestyle dance for a while, just moving and letting the music take over you. You combined contemporary and ballet moves, doing some turns and jumps along with floor work.

When the song you were dancing to ended, you stopped to catch your breath and get water when you noticed some people peeking through the window watching. You blushed slightly as you looked down at your attire: black work-out leggings and a tank top, hair thrown messily into a bun with wispies sticking out everywhere.

You ultimately decided to pause the music and step into the hallway to say hi, and you found Alyssa standing with four people: One woman, two middle-aged men, and Tom Holland himself.

“Y/n, these are some of the most important people working on the movie,” Alyssa said as you shook hands with everyone.

“You looked amazing in there,” the woman commented, garnering praise from the other people as well.

“Thank you, that means so much! Honestly, I really wasn't even dancing, that was just some improv,” you explained.

“I can’t imagine how lovely it’d be to see you perform choreo, then,” Tom added, causing you to chuckle in reply.

“I think I can speak for everyone here when I say that I hope you'll be auditioning in a couple weeks,” said one of the men. You nodded and said,

“Of course, but I’m sure there will be stiff competition. I think we’ll make the choice hard for you all!”

With that, you bid them adieu and reentered the studio, pulling up a playlist of songs that you had choreographed dances to. You performed one of your favorite contemporary pieces, one that you would be doing in an upcoming show.

After finishing, sweaty and a little tired, you accidentally made eye contact through the mirror with Tom, who sent a wink before following Alyssa and the group down the hall to her office.

---

Two days later, you were getting ready for class and filling a water bottle when one of the other girls came up to you.

“I heard you got a head start on the audition,” she stated, arms crossed.

You looked around and furrowed your brows.

“Um, I mean, I had some private studio time this weekend and the people touring with Alyssa saw me dance for a minute. Even if they had watched me a lot, though, I’m sure none of the people there will be on the audition panel.”

She gave you a look before answering with, “I guess we’ll just have to see,” then turned and walked into the studio.

---

Two weeks later, you were standing nervously in the waiting room, wearing a black leo and tights, a paper number “11″ pinned to your stomach.

Over the past few weeks, tension had become thick with the day’s impending audition, and the girls (and some of the guys) of the studio had split on whether or not you had somehow cheated by accidentally meeting the movie heads. Along with the advanced dancers, some of the intermediates that were allowed to audition had also been swayed to see you as the bad guy.

Thankfully they hadn't discovered that you met Tom, and a good majority of people stuck by you.

Finally everyone was called into the main studio for the ballet audition and you felt your stomach drop when you saw the panel: Tom, the other 3 people that you met, and two people that you guessed were choreographers. Alyssa was also sitting in and your teacher would be running the audition.

Alyssa then asked the panel to introduce themselves from left to right, starting with Tom, the director (the man that asked you to audition), executive producer (the other man), the casting director (the woman that complimented you), and the head and assistant choreographers.

You suddenly felt extremely nervous. Alyssa was right, the four people you had danced for really were the most important people in your life right now, and after everyone settled at the barre, the audition began.

Tom’s eyes caught yours for a second in the middle of your plie combination and he grinned, causing you to perform more and gain some confidence.

A few hours later, you had gone through ballet, pointe, contemporary, hip hop, and musical theatre auditions and everyone was waiting for call backs. With some of the studio still split, you moved to the back of the room and talked with one of the guys that you were close with.

The guys had also auditioned because they would be in the class scenes, even if they weren't doing a duet with Tom, per say (although the idea of any of those guys doing a major piece with Tom was kind of funny to imagine).

You leaned in and whispered into his ear,

“The three people closest to Tom were the ones that watched me dance a few weeks ago.”

He raised an eyebrow at you.

“There’s more. Tom was there too, and he obviously recognized me. But you can't tell a soul about this,” you threatened, earning a nod in confirmation. You talked for a while longer until Alyssa came out holding a folder.

“Alright everyone! You are all going to be in the film, but unfortunately only one can be the lead. Right now, I only have one callback number but please stick around for a little bit if you aren't called just in case. The lucky number isssss...” she said pausing.

You looked at the girls around you, guessing who it would be. It was most likely going to be one of the girls with the ballerina bodies and model-level faces. You crossed your arms as Alyssa called out,

“Eleven!”

You looked around trying to remember who 11 was when you felt a nudge. Your friend was elbowing your side and he said

“Y/n, that’s you!”

You were shocked and finally stuck an arm up to alert Alyssa that it was you. As you walked past the girls, you heard the naysayers grumbling, whispering “told ya so!” and “I can't believe this!” to each other while your friends encouraged you.

The panel stood as you entered the room, Alyssa shutting the door promptly behind herself to keep everyone else out while you went to shake everyone’s hands.

The panel praised you for your performance and asked that you and Tom would partner a little bit to make sure you fit well. They especially liked that you were shorter than him, even in pointe shoes, and hoped that you danced similarly.

He came around the table in black joggers, a grey t-shirt, and some black ballet flats, ready to dance. The head choreographer asked you mostly to do contemporary steps, like you rolling over his back and some floor slides.

She then asked that you did a lift to see what both of you were capable of. That’s when you felt really nervous. Other than when you were a small child, you had never been the person picked up in lifts, and actually, because you were pretty strong, you were almost always the base for lifts.

You were about to protest when Tom swept you off your feet, lifting you easily into a bridal-style carry. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck and you squealed, eyes suddenly meeting his, inches away. He smiled and smoothly whispered,

“Don’t you trust me, darling?”

You smiled and nodded, and he put you down carefully. The choreographer then asked you to stand with your left leg in an arabesque while Tom stood behind you. He hooked his left elbow under the upper part of your thigh and wrapped his right arm around your stomach.

You were hyper-aware of his touch and he made sure that you were alright before you tried to jump while he lifted. The first attempt, you jumped too early and he lifted too late, causing you both to fall over and erupt into laughter, apologizing a hundred times to each other.

The second attempt though, you both were in sync, and when he got you up, you positioned your legs into a fish lift as he spun you. At the end, he dipped you into a fish dive, then gently set you down into your splits and you spun on the ground, standing to face him.

The panel clapped and murmured before the casting director finally exclaimed four fateful words,

“You've got the part!”

As Alyssa and the panel figured out paper work, you turned to Tom.

“We never properly met, I’m y/n.”

He smiled and replied,

“I know. I asked Alyssa about you that day we toured. I couldn't keep my eyes off you then or today. You’re quite the talent.”

You blushed as the two of you got to know each other, excited that you would be dancing with the man you had been crushing on for ages.

---

After the casting process, there were two weeks of rehearsals for both the company and yours and Tom’s duet. Most of the girls ended up letting go of the idea that you had “cheated” and instead became overcome with excitement.

You and Tom had enjoyed your private rehearsals together and when the day for shooting came, you felt so comfortable with Tom that you almost forgot there were other people in the studio. At the end of the day, both of you were exhausted and sweaty, but extremely happy with the result.

You were now sitting on the ground by your dance bag, untying your pointe shoes and wiggling your toes, relieved to finally free your feet. Suddenly you felt a warm hand on your shoulder and you turned to find Tom smiling at you.

“You were incredible, love,” he said as he helped pull you to your feet. His arms wrapped around you into a sweaty hug. Into your neck he said, “I can’t wait to bring you to the premiere.”

You pulled away, surprised.

“The premiere? What do you mean?” you questioned as he smirked.

“I want you to be my date to the premiere. Of course, that’s months away, so maybe you could settle with dinner for now?” he asked, looking up innocently.

A laugh bubbled out of you and you nodded.

“Tom Holland, I would love nothing more than to have dinner with you, no premiere required.”

With that, you began a happy relationship that resulted in many, many dates, including more than just one movie premiere.

---

A/N: lol bad ending as always. Hope you all enjoy this dumb thing I wrote. If you’re new, please check out some of my other works under the Tom tags or even my other fandom stuff. Love you guys as always!

#dance dance revolution #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland oneshot #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #reader #tom holland dancing #tom holland ballet

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shookethbrooketh · 5 years

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stars

chapter 29

dan didn’t sleep at all that night; his mind was racing with questions. what did phil not know? did he ever read the letter about his parents? was he the same person as when he left? surely not, but what had changed in the last four years? what did dan not know? did phil still love him? did he still love phil?

summary: dan grew up in a normal 1930s london family with his parents and little brother. everything was completely and utterly normal… until the bombs started dropping. When dan was fifteen his father went off to war, and when he was sixteen he and his brother hayden were sent off to a foster family in rural england. he looked up at the stars and couldn’t help but wonder how something that beautiful could exist in such a broken world. just when he thought things would never get better, dan met phil, and he became the shining star of his life. but when phil turned eighteen and went off to war, dan couldn’t help but wonder when, if ever, the stars would twinkle the same way again.

rating: t

genre: angst, fluff, history au, strangers to lovers, teenagers

whole fic warnings: warfare (not descriptive), bombings, fire, panic attacks, ptsd, epilepsy/seizures, homophobia, death, fighting/arguing, general angst, mentions of a car accident, hospitals chapter warnings: n/a

chapter word count: 1.5k total word count: 43.6k

read it on ao3 read it on wattpad fic masterlist

After the Normandy operation, which was quickly renamed “D-Day”, life was a blur. Phil confirmed that he was a part of the battle and would be advancing in France, which worried Dan, but after the first few days, he had faith in Phil.

The battle for France raged for two terribly fast months, and it was then announced that the Allies had taken the country. Suddenly, they had control of a German border, and it all went uphill from there.

There was a certain light feeling in society that wasn’t there before. As it became more and more obvious that the war would soon be coming to an end, joy returned to the world that it hadn’t had since before he left London. Wives began to hope for their husbands to come home; children began to hope for their fathers. For those last few months, hope returned.

And the hope was not in vain. It was, again, the fastest nine months Dan had experienced since Phil left. It seemed nearly impossible to him that Phil had been gone for almost four years, but the time simply continued to pass. Butterflies occupied Dan’s stomach as the new year rolled around. 1945 was going to be the year; he could feel it.

And the year it was. The butterflies got stronger and stronger each day as summer approached once again. Finally, on April 30, the news came. Adolf Hitler was dead.

Germany surrendered a short week later.

Sure, the war was still waging in the Pacific, but Dan didn’t care about that. It was selfish, he knew, as it had worldwide effects, but he also knew that Phil was fighting on the European front. Now that the European war had ended, Phil could come home.

It wasn’t long after when Dan received a letter saying so. He’d be taking a train home within the next week.

That was when time slowed down. It was like someone had put his life on fast forward for nearly a year and then suddenly pushed play. As soon as he got word that Phil was coming home, the objectively short wait became longer than the entire eleven months that had just passed.

Finally, he drove to the train station in search of a date and time.

One more day.

One. Miserable. Day.

Dan didn’t sleep at all that night; his mind was racing with questions. What did Phil not know? Did he ever read the letter about his parents? Was he the same person as when he left? Surely not, but what had changed in the last four years? What did Dan not know? Did Phil still love him? Did he still love Phil?

Dan knew those last two questions were silly, but that didn’t stop him from asking them. The last four years had been hell for the both of them, and each of them had changed in ways he couldn’t even imagine. He knew the fact that they kept writing held them close, and Dan’s own feelings were still there, as far as he knew, but what would happen when they met? Would the flame still be there?

Dan was sure it would, but there was still a small part of him that had his doubts, and he carried that part through the night and into the morning.

Dan felt average that morning. He hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours, but the pure adrenaline rushing through his veins made up for it. He accidentally put his toast in the pan rather than his eggs, but other than that he was doing great.

The anxiety settled in as he drove to the train station. Hayden was at his side, but he was silent. As close as they still were, they hadn’t talked as much as they used to. Hayden could tell Dan had other things on his mind, and Dan felt a bit guilty about it.

“Hey, Hayden?” Dan blurted out as the train station came into view.

“Hmm?” he hummed, raising an eyebrow. He clearly hadn’t expected conversation.

“Nothing’s gonna change between us with Phil coming back, is it?” he turned his head to look at Hayden as he stopped in the traffic; obviously Phil was on a full train.

Hayden broke into a smile. “I think we both know things are gonna change, but it’s okay.” It was Dan’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I know how much you care about me.”

Dan smiled as well as he pulled into the parking lot. “I love you, Hayden.”

“I love you too, Danny.”

Dan’s mind wandered from Phil for the first time in the last week as they walked into the station. He was reminded of one of his least favorite things: the adversity his brother had faced. Between Dan, Hayden, and Phil, Dan had certainly dealt with the least. He hated that he couldn’t protect his brother from the world as his mother had asked; he’d hated that from day one. But the boy had grown to be stronger than Dan would ever be, and he was thankful for that. After all they’d been through together, Dan had a bond with his brother that could never be broken, not even by Phil returning to take up plenty of his time.

Dan took his brother’s hand as they entered the station to keep him from being lost in the crowd. It reminded him of years ago when they first stepped off their own train there; he didn’t even feel like they were those people anymore.

They stood on the platform for a few minutes, the grip they had on each other’s hands growing tighter as the time passed. Finally, a train pulled into the station.

It was like slow motion as the doors opened. There was a mad dash of wives and families for those they loved, and Dan and Hayden were almost trampled in their own search. It started as soon as the first man stepped out of each car, and it didn’t end until the door were closed.

Dan didn’t even know where to start; he had no clue what car Phil would even be coming from. His emotions were heightened as his eyes darted wildly back and forth between cars, searching frantically for the bobbing, ginger head to come his way. Dan didn’t realize it, but he was squeezing the circulation out of Hayden’s hand.

In the middle of the chaos, fear began to creep into his stomach. Had something happened? The doors closed, and Dan stood on his toes, trying to peer over the crowd and find Phil. He was tall, but he certainly wasn’t the tallest person in the room. “Phil?!” he shouted into the void, although he knew no one could hear him. Everyone was engulfed in their own reuniting, but Dan was completely alone in the struggle to find his own. “Phil?!”

“Behind you, silly.”

Dan pivoted, wheeling Hayden around with him. He barely even got a look at Phil before his warms were thrown around him. As irresponsible as it was, Dan forgot his brother was even there as he embraced Phil.

In that moment, Dan hadn’t paid much attention to anything. He hadn’t paid attention to his brother, who was keeping to himself throughout the moment. He hadn’t noticed the bags under Phil’s eyes or the way those eyes had dulled since he last saw them. He hadn’t noticed how much taller Phil was or how he’d aged fifteen years in the last four. All he noticed was the face of the man he was in love with, and then he was all in like nothing had even changed.

Dan hadn’t realized how little emotion he’d felt in those years since Phil had left until it came flooding back. After all he’d been through, he thought he’d felt all the ups and downs there were to feel, but he was nowhere close. Without Phil, there was a certain degree of emotion he couldn’t quite manage to reach, but with Phil back, he felt everything.

He felt alive.

Tears of joy ran down his and Phil’s cheeks alike; each of them had been through so much and rarely broken down, but in that moment they cried like babies. There was no word to describe how Dan felt in that moment; it was like he pulled out a mixing bowl, threw a bit of each emotion in it, and started stirring. Later, when he looked back on it, he felt a hearty, joyful type of love.

It was painful to pull away from the embrace, even after what felt like an eternity, but Dan did so solely because he knew there was a greater reward. Dan wrapped his arms around Phil’s neck as he pressed his lips to Phil’s, and all his worries melted away. Dan knew they were getting a few looks from those around them, but most of them were busied with their own loved ones, and at that point he couldn’t have cared less. Phil was home, and they were more in love than ever.

And that was all that mattered.

epilogue coming on friday!

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phic stuff #stars #chapter 29 #dong and ping

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icecubelotr44 · 6 years

Text

Clear and Present Danger (6/16)

Summary: Homicide detective Killian Jones has been searching for a way to bring Milah’s murderer to justice. There’s only one small problem: Robert Gold is the captain of the same homicide division. Enter Emma Swan, Internal Affairs investigator, looking into Gold’s shady dealings. Between the two of them, can they unravel the web of deals and lies that have gotten Gold to where he is?

Rated: T, for violence, some dark themes, angst, and whump (you expected different?

TW: character death, mention of past self-harm, fatal car accident, school hostage situation

Other ships: mentions past Millian in a good light, Outlaw Queen, Snowing

Art credit/link: The totally awesome @cocohook38 made the cover you can see above and on her blog here. Later in the story, she’s illustrated some key points to the fic and I can’t thank her enough for her work! Chapter Four’s art is HERE. Go show her some love!

Beta reader: @gusenitsaa took on this monster without probably knowing exactly what she was getting into (what do you mean 100,000 words?!) and any mistakes that you find are probably me being stubborn and ignoring her advice! Thank you!

A/N: Written as part of the 2018 Captain Swan Big Bang Challenge. You can catch up with all the other fics that are complete by following @captainswanbigbang and/or subscribing to the Group Collection on AO3 and/or the C2 on FFN. This is complete in 16 parts and will be posted every Sunday from now until its completion.

Take it away, It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Word count: ~ 6,450 (100k Total in 16 chapters)

From the beginning: AO3 / FFN

Current Chapter: ao3 | ffn

CHAPTER SIX: OBSTRUCTION OF JUSTICE

Killian sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning alone. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before - after he'd docked the Jolly, Emma had bolted for her car so fast he couldn't even wish her a good night. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong. He'd thought… well, he'd thought that maybe they were making progress. That maybe she was starting to trust him.

This morning was starting out spectacularly. Liam had left again, before the sun rose and before even Killian was out of bed - a note on the fridge just said "Cabin, Call You" - and had apparently taken the last of the coffee with him. The line at Dunkin Donuts had been ridiculous, some woman and her fourteen kids (he might have been exaggerating) had all ordered a full breakfast and, he'd swear, lunch as well.

Then, he'd gotten to work only to find that somehow, the greasy substance he was waiting for results on had been mishandled and destroyed. No one in the lab could explain how it had happened, but the evidence had been lost and there was nothing he could do about it.

Now they were stuck in traffic. Not the normal, pull your hair out because no one knew how to drive between the hours of seven and nine am kind of traffic. No, it was the slow, torturous crawl of bottlenecked accident traffic. According to the scanner, some idiot had stopped short in front of a tractor trailer, possibly for a small animal, and two lanes had been shut down completely as a result.

While he was glad he wasn't on that particular detail, Killian just wanted to get to Cambridge. He had a feeling that whatever Belle French could tell them, it would be worth the trip. If anyone knew LeGume and what he was into that got him killed, it would be the secret girlfriend.

"Bloody hell," Robin muttered under his breath as the car next to them merged and cut them off. His fingers clenched spasmodically around the wheel as if he were going to strangle it. "Don't they see we're in a police car?"

Killian huffed out an annoyed laugh in sympathy "It's unmarked, remember. And I don't think it's the steering wheel's fault, mate."

Robin cut his glare over to Killian and narrowed his eyes further. Killian resisted the urge to grab the wheel himself, knowing Locksley was capable of driving distracted but not wanting to make the evening news anyway.

Local homicide officers exacerbate accident. Story at eleven.

Finally, Robin gave up trying to wring the frustration out of the wheel and sat back with a resigned sigh. They weren't getting anywhere fast. "Did I tell you that Roland got a gold star for sharing yesterday?"

Killian grinned. "And you and Regina were worried that being an only child would stunt his growth," he teased jovially.

Robin rolled his eyes. "Says the man with a brother."

"You can borrow him any time you'd like," Killian said as seriously as he was able.

Robin cut a glance at him, clearly in disbelief.

"Oh, thank God," Killian muttered under his breath when they finally made it past the orange cones and could pick up speed again. Robin agreed by stepping harder on the accelerator and blowing by the soccer mom who had cut them off.

"So what did Roland share that earned him a gold star and, I'm sure, an ice cream cone?" Killian smirked as Robin grinned proudly.

"He shared his new markers with a girl at his art table. Let her use his green one, even."

Green was quite plainly Roland's favorite color. Killian knew this as well as he knew that his eyes were blue and Liam was his older brother. It was just the way it was.

Robin continued to fill Killian in on Roland's progress in kindergarten as they wound their way north to Cambridge. They finally turned down Ms. French's street and, surprisingly for the way the morning had gone, found a parking spot not too far away.

"Detectives?" Ms. French met them at the door, one hand holding it open while the other flipped up to check her watch. They were much later than Robin had told her they'd be there.

"Yes, ma'am," Robin acknowledged, showing her his badge and introducing both of them. "May we come in?"

She nodded, stepping back into the entryway to allow them access. "You said this is about Gaston? I haven't spoken with him in… well, nearly a week now."

Killian ignored the clenching in his heart that came every time he had to notify kin. "We're very sorry to tell you, ma'am, but Mr. LeGume was found dead earlier this week."

She blanched immediately, and the less cynical side of Killian whispered that there was no faking that. Whatever else she did or didn't tell them, Belle hadn't known that her lover was dead.

Robin took her arm gently when she swayed, her hand covering her mouth to stifle a cry of shock. He helped her towards the couch in the front room, lowering her gently to sit as Killian moved into the kitchen where he found a still-steaming cup of tea. He filled a glass with water from the tap anyway and brought both back to her.

"Ma'am," Killian called gently when he crouched down next to Robin. She looked up to smile blankly at him, and the empty look in her eyes was so familiar that he nearly had to turn away.

"Call me Belle, please," she allowed, taking the cup of tea from him and cradling it in her hands. "I'm not that old yet."

Killian nodded, placing the glass on a coaster made to look like an old first-edition book cover. Treasure Island, he read. The whole room was filled with books - some in floor to ceiling shelves and some scattered on the coffee and side tables. It was a miniature library and Killian got the feeling that it wasn't just for show. For one thing, the books were well cared for - but also well worn. There was no dust on the bookcases; she clearly took pride in each one.

"I don't know what I can tell you," she admitted. "Gaston and I… we talked about books. We went out up on the North Shore where we wouldn't be recognized. We didn't… he didn't talk about anything else."

Killian got the feeling that LeGume didn't do much talking at all, if the way Belle's cheeks grew red as she turned introspective were any indication. He remembered those early days with Milah. "You didn't want to be recognized? Or he didn't?" he tried.

Belle grimaced. "It was more of a mutual agreement. It wouldn't be good for him to be seen with a student, even if I weren't being graded by him. And I-" she cut herself off with a shake of her head and covered by taking a gulp of tea. It was clearly still too hot, and she nearly choked. Her eyes started to water and once that dam was broken, it was as if she'd given herself permission to grieve. Tears came fast and hard, though she was surprisingly silent.

Killian looked guiltily away, unable to handle the young woman's grief. It hadn't been so long ago that he'd been the same way: trying to put on a front when all he wanted to do was collapse into himself and break.

He might have done so irreparably if Liam and Robin and the Nolans hadn't held him together with superglue, duct tape, and chocolate chip cookies. Mary Margaret's cookies were to die for.

Some days, he still felt like he might just shatter, and even the world's fastest jigsaw-er wouldn't be able to fit all the pieces into the puzzle.

"I'm sorry," Belle managed a few moments later, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief she'd produced out of thin air, it seemed. "I know that you're busy trying to find out what happened, but I just-"

"No need to apologize, ma'am," Robin soothed, reaching out to take the mug away when her fingers slackened around it. "I know this must come as a bit of a shock."

Belle laughed daintily, but it rang hollow and the smile that crossed her face was pained at best. "A bit," she parroted wryly and Robin had the good grace to look chagrined.

"An unfortunate turn of phrase," he apologized.

Belle nodded her acceptance of this, but remained otherwise silent. Killian took the opportunity to sidle out of the room and look around the main floor. There were more books scattered haphazardly about - all well-loved and clearly taken care of, but within reach instead of on display. It looked like Belle would wander her home reading and leave the book wherever she was when she finished.

For all of the books that she owned, Belle had very few photographs adorning her walls. There were a few of her in various locations across the world, but she was alone in each shot.

"I've always loved traveling," she said quietly from behind Killian, but it still made him jump.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, placing down the copy of Oliver Twist that he'd picked up somewhere in his search. "I just-"

Belle smiled. "You were doing your job, Detective. I don't blame you for that. Do you read much?" she asked, nodding her head towards the book in front of him.

"My brother used to read this to me when we were kids," Killian allowed. "I'm afraid I don't read as much as I'd like to, anymore, though."

"None of us do."

Killian couldn't argue with that. He smiled politely and followed Belle back to where Robin was still looking contrite. They spoke for a while longer, but it was clear that the young woman's mind wasn't focused on the conversation any longer.

"If you think of anything else, Ms. French, here's my card. Please call," Killian finally allowed her an out which she took with alacrity. She snatched the card from him before looking sheepish, but ushered them towards the door anyway.

Killian would never figure out why they hadn't seen the photo on the way into the apartment. It wasn't like it was hidden, or something they wouldn't have noticed.

It was a picture of Belle, in front of Quincy Market, with Gold's arms wrapped around her from behind. They were both smiling into the camera, taken from such a low angle that it could only have been shot by a child.

"You know Captain Gold?" Killian asked before he could think better of it.

Robin's head whipped around and followed Killian's gaze to the photo.

"You mean Robert?" Belle asked offhandedly, something almost chilling in her tone.

Killian nodded slowly, the disharmony ringing in his ears over seeing his tormentor looking so happy with his arms around a woman who wasn't Milah. He looked so happy; they both looked so goddamned happy while Milah had been so miserable. Killian didn't understand. "When" - he cleared his throat - "when was this taken?"

"Oh, about three years ago."

Gold had still been married to Milah.

Killian was going to tear him apart. There wasn't a dark enough hellhole to drop him in. There weren't enough Hellhounds in the underworld to torment him. There wasn't-

Robin said something that Killian didn't catch, but it was enough distraction for him to mutter a strangled, "Thank you for your help," before nearly sprinting out the door.

The bright light of the sun assaulted him, making him blink rapidly to keep the tears out of his eyes. From the sun. Of course. Not because the bastard had been cheating on Milah for who knew how long and had spent all of that time castigating her for finding happiness with him.

"You all right, mate?" Robin asked a few minutes later, coming up to stand next to Killian so that they were shoulder to shoulder looking down the street. Killian wasn't seeing any of it.

The first time Milah had come to him, tears in her eyes and a stubborn look on her face, she hadn't told him what Gold had said to her. She'd muttered that she didn't want to talk about it, that it didn't matter; they were all that mattered to her and she'd go to Hell and back before she'd allow her husband to ruin the freedom she found with Killian. For his part, Killian had held her close and promised her the world - he'd have moved mountains or fled to the most remote corner of the world he could find if only she'd ask.

He thought she'd have done it, too, if it wasn't for her son. Killian had met the boy a few times, heard plenty of stories about "Bae"and his adventures in the Neverlands and Enchanted Forests in their backyard. But if there was one thing he knew as well as the fact that Milah loved him, it was that Robert Gold loved his son to an unhealthy degree. They'd never wrest the boy from his father's grasp and Milah would never truly leave him behind.

So Killian had settled. He'd accepted his relationship with her for what it was, loved her for the love she had for her son, and made do with the time that was given to him.

"Aye," he finally lied to Robin, squaring his shoulders and opening the car door. "Let's just get back to the station before we hit any more bloody traffic."

Emma couldn't believe it. She was looking at the results herself and she couldn't believe it. She'd found the note buried in one of Jones's files on the boat weeks ago and had tucked it in her pocket to ask him about later. He'd been dismissive, but the threat had stuck with her: LET THIS GO IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU. On a whim, she'd had it dusted for prints at an independent lab. Now, she finally had the results and she couldn't wrap her mind around it.

Detective Nottingham.

She didn't know the man well, just well enough to dislike him, but he didn't seem the type to stick his neck where it didn't belong. Still, a threat to a police officer wasn't something to be taken lightly and when Emma had questioned him, he'd been straightforward and succinct.

"Yeah, I put it on Jones's car. Bugger doesn't deserve the shield he carries." Nottingham had shrugged then and leaned back in his chair, as if he didn't have a care in the world. "Yanked the battery wire, too. Thought about… well, never mind."

Emma blinked. And then blinked again. "You're… admitting to threatening a police officer?" she asked incredulously.

He nodded succinctly, smirking at her.

"Tell me who put you up to this," she tried, sure that he'd never have admitted to it so smugly if he'd done it on his own.

A look of fear crossed his features before it was carefully masked behind the arrogance once more. "Don't know what you're talking about," he deflected - almost convincingly.

"Of course you do," Emma tried again. "The investigation into LeGume hasn't turned up any leads that would tie him to you; you had no reason to threaten Lieutenant Jones. Whoever put you up to it must have wanted the detective to look the other way. Someone told you to put that note on his car. Someone told you to destroy the evidence Jones found at the scene."

She thought that adding in that second charge would throw him off balance. Evidence tampering was much harder to wave off than what ended up being an empty threat to a fellow officer.

Nottingham just shrugged. "Nope. Just me. Thought losing the evidence would get him booted. What are you going to do about it?"

Emma read him his rights.

It was only when she finished that he began to splutter, rising to his feet with a look of utter disbelief as she cinched handcuffs around his wrists and led him to a cell. He didn't fight her, per se, but he wasn't willingly ambling along either. Emma thought about securing him in with the rest of the detainees overnight while she processed his paperwork, but wanted to make sure everything went by the book. So, a cell to himself, it was.

The clang of the jail cell slamming shut seemed to flip the switch in Nottingham, as if he had begun to realize that whoever his benefactor was - and Emma didn't need to pass a detective's exam to guess who it was - he wasn't coming to the rescue. Nottingham stalked the length of the cell, muttering under his breath the entire time, looking up every once in awhile before sulking to the back corner and starting his circuit again.

Emma needed to go fill out all the paperwork, but she was transfixed by the pattern Nottingham was making. Was he really willing to sacrifice himself rather than give up Gold?

"Thank you for taking out the trash as it were," Gold praised as he appeared behind her out of nowhere. Emma refused to jump, though he'd startled her. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye with a sneer. His eyes never left the scene playing out in front of them, Nottingham pacing behind the bars of the cell like a caged wolf.

Emma turned to face him, not willing to watch the scapegoat any longer. "You're not getting away with this," she promised, seething.

"Actually, I am." Gold smirked and leaned forward a bit. "I think you'll find that all your evidence conveniently points to Nottingham. Won't find a thing to tie me to any of this. I'm going to walk away from this with clean hands."

He was right. The bastard was right and there wasn't anything Emma could do to change it.

But that didn't mean she wasn't going to try. "That's not gonna happen," she assured herself more than threatened him. Emma had dealt with her fair share of bullies growing up. He was just another one.

"I like your confidence," Gold admitted with a disarming smile. Emma saw why Jones called him a crocodile, with all his teeth proudly glinting in the fluorescent lighting. "It's charming. But it doesn't change the fact that I win again."

Emma snarled. "You know I'm going to figure this out. I'm willing to roll the dice. Follow whatever bread crumbs I have to to finish this. And when I do, who knows what might come out about you in the process. Somehow I suspect there is more to you than a simple Homicide captain. You really want to start that fight?"

Gold grinned, but Emma could see the flicker of unease that he was trying to hide. It was gone an instant later, but Emma had seen it and that was all that mattered.

Gold's days were numbered.

"I like you, Ms. Swan," he blustered. "You're not afraid of me, and that's either cocky or presumptuous. Either way, I'd rather have you finish your investigation and get out of my precinct."

He walked away before Emma could get another word in. She shuddered with the need to do something. She was sure that Nottingham had been the one to threaten Jones and impede his investigation into LeGume's murder; he'd admitted it and he wasn't lying. But he wasn't the type to do it on his own.

No, Emma would have to dig deeper if she was going to figure out what Gold had on the officer, but she would find it and once she did, she'd use it herself to flip Nottingham on his leash-holder. With nothing else to do with or for Nottingham, Emma turned resolutely away and stomped back to her desk.

She nearly screeched when a hand darted out from the stairway and tugged her inside. Killian grabbed her wrist before she could punch him in the face, using his size to crowd her back against the wall and out of sight from the rest of the precinct.

"What the hell, Jones!" she hissed vehemently, wriggling and trying to get free.

Killian smirked, not hurting her, but clearly using his height advantage to stop her from getting free. "You want to calm down, darling?" he asked, a hint of something sharp in his tone.

Emma stomped on his instep, not hard enough to do any real damage, but enough to make him yelp and let her go.

"Bloody hell, woman," he whined, one hand pushed against her shoulder to keep her in place while the other reached in vain for his injured foot.

"Let. Me. Go!" Emma ordered, reaching threateningly for his pinky finger.

Killian gingerly put his foot down and made a show of taking his hand off her shoulder. "What did Gold want? Are you all right?" he finally asked.

Emma blinked. That was what all of this was for? "Are you kidding me right now? I thought we agreed that the less people see of us together, the better.

Killian shrugged and Emma wanted to be annoyed. She did. Half of the evidence they were able to compile on Gold had remained untainted because Killian wasn't connected with her. And she wasn't connected with him. But he looked so sincere and goddamned endearing that it was a struggle to keep the smile from escaping.

"I'm fine, Jones," she assured him softly, reaching out to lay her hand on his chest. What the hell are you doing? she thought before yanking her hand back like she'd been burned. "He was just spewing nonsense about how he's going to get away with everything. The arrogance…"

Emma could see the frustration and… was that resignation on Jones's face?

"We'll get him, Swan," Killian vowed, shaking away whatever Emma had seen in his eyes. "We have to. I have to. For Milah."

"Get out of my bloody way!" he shouts, trying to push past the two men holding him back. "That's my… that's… I need…"

God, he doesn't know what he needs. To start the day over? To be in the car with her? To get to her side, hold her hand, pretend that he was there in her last moments?

All of the above?

He knows it's too late; he heard the call for the medical examiner on the way across the city, lights and sirens blaring even though he knew he'd be suspended for it. She's already gone and there's nothing he can do about it.

But he still needs to get to her side.

"Liam!" he shouts, catching sight of his brother with a notepad and pen. "Liam, tell them to let me through!"

Killian watches as his brother looks up, can see the regret etched across Liam's face even from this far away. It's not grief there, no of course it isn't. Liam has never approved of what his little brother has gotten involved in. But Killian knows his brother isn't heartless, either. Not even his misgivings about the situation would stand in the way of-

"You can't be here, little brother," Liam says, but the words don't make any sense.

Killian shakes his head, not understanding. "Liam, I have to…"

"You have to go, Killian. You can't be here, right now. The scene-"

"I don't care a bloody whit about the scene, Liam!" he shouts, struggling against the other men still holding him back. "I need to get to her. Brother, please."

Milah is right there, still sitting in the car as though waiting for the tree to pull up its roots and move out of her way. He can't see her face, but he can see her hair, the curls blowing in the breeze. Bloody hell, he couldn't even count the number of times they'd driven down to the Cape and he'd spent half of the ride spitting her hair out of his mouth. It was all about freedom, she'd told him time and time again. She felt like she could breathe when she was with him, so the last thing she wanted to do was restrict her hair.

"I'm sorry, Killian, you know I can't-" Liam's head snaps to the side as Killian's knuckles collide with his cheek. Blood drips from a cut that one of his rings left behind.

Killian almost feels bad. Almost.

"Some bloody brother, you are," Killian hisses, yanking his other arm free from the officer and stepping back. He wants his brother to hit him back, wants to fight with someone - anyone - so he doesn't have to concentrate on-

"I know you don't mean that," Liam says calmly, pulling out a handkerchief to blot at the blood before it can sully his crime scene. That's all it is to him, Killian realizes, just another case.

"Liam," he pleads, "I have to see her. I don't care what the rules are."

"But I do," Liam insists, ducking under the tape and trying to pull Killian away.

Killian resists, tearing his brother's hand off his shoulder and spinning away from him, trying once again to get to her car.

"Killian, listen to me. You can't help her, not anymore. All you're going to do is give Gold an excuse to implicate you."

Killian freezes, but only for a moment. "You think my fingerprints, my DNA isn't all over that car? I'm already going to be a suspect, you bloody moron. What difference does it make?"

Liam takes a step back, the look on his face some combination of brotherly horror and resignation. "I'm sorry, little brother," he tries again.

"No! Liam, you have to-" he cuts himself off, shoving Liam aside and storming through the tape.

Liam grabs him one more time and Killian swings again, red coloring his vision as he gives in to the fiery anger coursing through him. He doesn't know how many times he hits his brother before he's lying facedown on the ground, Locksley's knee in his back and handcuffs around his wrists.

"No! Liam, no, don't do this! Robin, let me go!" he keeps shouting, not noticing nor caring how many eyes from the precinct are on him. Not caring about how all of this is going to get back to Gold. Let him know how much Killian still… will always love Milah. Let him see what Gold should have felt about her.

Robin doesn't move as Liam kneels next to Killian's head. Killian forces his head back, arching his neck so that he can glare at his brother. Liam is bleeding from the nose now, his left eye already swelling.

"I hate you," Killian hisses. "I hate you and I wish-"

"Don't say something you'll regret later, little brother. I already forgive you," Liam says gently. "Robin's going to get you out of here before someone decides to-"

"I hate you," Killian hisses again, but the fight is leaching out of him as quickly as it came. Even his anger isn't enough to get him out of handcuffs.

Liam nods sadly, but motions to Locksley and moves to help stand Killian up. They frog march him back to the squad car and fold him into the backseat, both ignoring the threats and the callous remarks he throws their way.

"I'm sorry I have to leave you with him like this," Liam apologizes to Robin and it just ramps the anger right back up. Liam has been apologizing for him all their lives; Killian hates it now even more than he had growing up. "I wish I could-"

"Captain Gold is already gunning for him, sir," Locksley interrupts. Their words are muffled through the window, but Killian can still hear them. "We don't need you getting in trouble, too. I'll take care of him."

"I know you will, mate. Here, I don't know if he has the keys with him." Liam hands over a set of keys, wincing when Killian's shoulder hits the glass. Killian glares at him when he bends down to make sure he didn't hurt himself. "Take him to the marina, see if you can't get him inside. I'll be along as soon as I can get away."

Killian doesn't even wait for Robin to shut the driver's door before he lays into him. He keeps screaming as they pull away from the scene.

Away from Milah.

"Where'd you go, Jones?" Emma asked softly, drawing his attention from where he was staring a hole in the wall back to her. The haunted look in his eyes frightened her; men who looked like that were unpredictable when it came to their crusades.

Captain Gold and his eventual downfall was definitely a crusade.

But Killian just shook his head as if clearing the cobwebs and grinned disarmingly at her. It didn't reach his eyes. "Nowhere fun," was all the answer he'd give.

Emma didn't need him to tell her - she could read him like an open book. She wondered how many times a month… or week… or day Killian relived Milah's death. He'd never told her the story, but officer reports put him at the scene soon after her official time of death. Emma could put two and two together.

"Look, Killian, I get it. I can't even begin to imagine what it's been like for you, working under him every day while you know what he did to her. But we've got to be smart about this. We-"

"You think I don't know that?"

Emma stared for a moment. "What part of 'we can't be associated with each other' did you miss, then?"

He shrugged. "No one's paying attention. I just…" he trails off, scratching behind his ear. It was a tell if ever Emma saw one.

"You just what?" she prompted beseechingly.

But Killian didn't answer. The slam of a door somewhere above him echoed through the stairwell and was followed by thudding footsteps.

"Go home, Jones," Emma hissed to avoid being heard by whomever was above them. "I promise I'll steer clear of Gold and his fancy words if you'll be a little more careful about being seen with me."

Killian nodded, slipping silently down the stairs before whoever was coming saw him. When he was gone, Emma slumped back against the wall and let out the breath she'd been holding for what felt like ever.

"Afternoon, ma'am," Henry Mills called out when he stepped onto the stairs just above her. "Can I help you with something?"

The sheer feeling of relief that overtook her seeing it was Nolan's rookie rather than one of Gold's lackeys surprised her. Would it really kill her case if someone saw her and Jones talking? No. She'd done fine without him before all this and she would do fine when this case was over and they were back to separate departments. So why the concern?

A niggling feeling at the back of Emma's mind told her she already knew the answer, but didn't want to admit it to anyone - least of all, herself.

"Ma'am?" Mills questioned again when Emma was silent for too long.

She nodded. "I could use some help pulling Nottingham's files," she began.

"Sure!" the rookie practically beamed at the idea of helping her. No one would bat an eye at the kid working with her, so the question remained.

Why is it different with Jones?

Hours later, Emma and Henry had pulled dozens of cases that Nottingham had closed. One thing was certain, though no one seemed to like the man, he was effective in what he did. The problem was, there were too many complaints sandwiched between the successful cases for Emma to even begin to decipher where Gold's interference came into play.

"Thank you, Henry," she said sincerely after making her last copy of the day. She was exhausted and even the rookie's exuberance had waned with the passing hours. The poor kid looked as dead on his feet as she felt.

"No problem," he replied tiredly, slamming the last filing cabinet drawer closed and pushing the lock button. He tossed her the keys, nodding his head towards the officer who was waiting to log them out. "You want to take care of 'Grumpy' over there?"

Emma bit back a smirk. "I'll handle him. You get out of here."

He grinned gratefully before slipping past the surly officer with a nod. Emma watched him go before squaring her shoulders and heading out the same way.

"It's about time, sister!" the officer growled as he snatched the keys from her. "Some of us got better things to do than wait around for you IA rats to burrow into the past."

Emma just raised an eyebrow. "I'll be back tomorrow," she promised, determined to find some kind of link.

Leroy - according to the name tag that had seen better days - just scowled. "Fine, fine. Just try not to stay so late, huh?"

Emma whipped her head around to find the clock behind his desk.

11:45pm.

No wonder the little man was pissed. Emma's stomach voiced its own protest at her long hours, the bear claw she'd had for lunch long since forgotten. She tried to look a little sheepish to mollify the officer, but he just glared and turned away. Taking the dismissal for what it was, Emma beat it out of there, determined to keep going until she'd crossed the threshold of her apartment and found her bed.

The squad room was nearly deserted as she passed by, only a few angry eyes watching her progress as she walked, head held high. She barely stopped at her desk to grab her bag before walking calmly for the elevator.

The night air was cool on her face and she paused for a second to soak it in. Boston may be filled with city air and city sounds, but it was home. She loved the bustle and the smell, the history and the modern melding into one culture that filled the city with whatever someone wanted to find. It was all there, waiting to be explored.

Her stomach growled again and Emma amended her earlier resolve to head straight home. If she hurried, she could get to Downtown Crossing and find something to eat that wasn't freezer burned or past its expiration date. Sleep could wait; her stomach couldn't.

Footsteps. Damnit.

Emma rolled her eyes as she turned the corner into the same alleyway where she'd first threatened Jones all those weeks ago. It was late, she was tired, and she'd honestly thought that he'd left the station hours ago. She was glad that Killian had taken her edict seriously and he wasn't trying to corner her in the office again, but whatever he wanted could wait until tomorrow. On the boat. After she'd had some sleep.

"For the love of God, can't you take a hint?" she asked testily, whirling around to face him.

Emma was still speaking when the fist ploughed into her face and sent her sprawling. "What the-" was all she could get out around the vice that gripped her chest when the wall behind her knocked the wind out of her.

Not Jones, her brain helpfully informed her a split second before someone's billy club sliced through the night air. Emma only just managed to duck away, the hard rod impacting her shoulder blade rather than her neck - her assailant's intended target. The blow still stunned her, making Emma stumble and throw one hand out to steady herself against the wall. The other reached for the knife she always kept in her pocket, needing something - anything - to protect her.

She rued the fact that she didn't carry her gun on a daily basis.

The familiar icy feeling of the metal grip pushed back some of the fear from being attacked. Emma harnessed the adrenaline as she'd been trained and spun on her heel to face her attacker.

Attackers.

There were three men circled around her, masks on their faces that made them look like they'd come straight off a B-movie set.

"Who are you, the Three Stooges? It gonna take all three of you to take down little old me?" Emma snarked, eyeing the badges clipped to their belts.

Cops.

Gold's men.

None of them were small enough to be Isaac, but Emma couldn't worry about their identities now. Stringbean and R2-D2 stepped back and she turned to face her third attacker head on. She ducked and slashed when the beefiest of the three took a swing at her, trying to grab her jacket. He pulled back with a howl, clutching his hand where blood oozed out. A painful wound, but not enough to slow him down, she catalogued automatically.

Keep track of all targets, it may save your life, her training echoed in her thoughts.

It was easier said than done. They came at her all at once, ducking and weaving around her own strikes and trying their best to catch hold of her. Emma wasn't aware of the damage they were inflicting at the time, her fight or flight response far too well engaged to notice trivial things like pain.

And then she was very aware of the lightning strike of pain at the base of her skull. One of the bastards had caught hold of her hair and yanked her off balance. Another trapped her arm under his and pried the knife from her desperately clenched fingers.

"What are you, seventh grade girls?" she managed to mutter before Beefy slammed his fist into her solar plexus, driving every last bit of air from her lungs.

Gasping and choking, Emma could do little more than go limp as Stringbean shoved her face-first into the brick wall. Her head hit the wall with a resounding thump and Emma slid down in spite of her best attentions.

R2-D2 began to kick at her and Emma pulled herself into as small of a ball as she could manage, wincing each time he connected with her ribs and biting back the tears - of pain and frustration both - until she could find an opening to regain her footing.

It never came.

Emma howled when Stringbean stomped on her hand, something underneath it shredding her palm open. He didn't give her the opportunity to pull it protectively into her chest, just stood with all his weight on it before hauling back and kicking her in the head with his other foot.

"Get your ass out of our house, bitch," was the last thing she heard before blackness closed in around her.

tagging: @killian-whump, @gilliangrissom, @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable

#csbb #cs ff #cs fic #ouat ff #ouat fic

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rosesnvines · 6 years

Text

Voltron Wars: Star Wars AU

(OK, so, this is turning out differently than I had originally planned, and at the rate this is going, it’s going to turn out to be at least a trilogy. The first book is going to be the Star Wars prequels rolled into one, primarily Attack of the Clones. The second book is going to take place two to five years later and is A New Hope primarily, with a bit of Rogue One thrown in. The last book is going to be a mix basically of Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi. Anyway, hope you enjoy these little tidbits!)

Scene from Attack of the Galra

“Oh Keith, I’m so sorry,” said Allura, placing her hand gently on Keith’s shoulder.

Keith passed his fingers over the name of his father on the tombstone. “At least he died doing something he cared about.” Keith’s voice began to crack.

“He died a hero, Keith. And . . . I’m beginning to see where you get it from.”

Keith glanced at Allura in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I can see that not only did you learn how to be a hero from Shiro, it’s apparently something your father gave you too.” Allura put her hands on either side of his face.

“Princess,” he whispered.

“It’s just one of the many things that I, I . . . admire about you. And, I just want you to know, I’m here for you,” said Allura as she brought her face closer to his.

“Princess, I . . . I don’t think this is exactly . . .” Her lips met his, and his body relaxed as his eyes closed. His hands promptly went to her face, one went to the back of her neck while the other traced her jaw. They pulled back ever so slowly, not really wanting to end the kiss, but Keith wanted to say something. “Thank you, Princess.”

“You’re welcome.” Allura smiled as she brought him in for another kiss.

“Princess! Keith!”

The two rose from the ground as Coran paused to catch his breath.

“Coran?” asked Allura.

“We have an incoming message from Shiro. He says he’s found important information on Naxzela!”

“What?” exclaimed Keith and Allura. The three raced back to the ship. There, on the console, stood a miniature hologram of Shiro.

“Keith, Princess! What are you doing on Earth?”

“Well, I, uh . . .”

“I wanted to meet Keith’s father,” said Allura. “But, apparently we were too late.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry Keith.”

“Thanks Shiro. What did you find on Naxzela?”

“A lot. I need you to relay my message to the Blades of Marmora. We’re going to have to act fast.”

“Right, I’m recording you now,” said Keith as he pushed a button on the console.

“But, what did you find?” said Allura.

“A Galra named Sendak is behind all of this.”

“Wait, wasn’t Sendak one of the top Blades?”

Shiro nodded. “Apparently he’s turned against us. There’s more. It sounds like he’s working for someone else.”

“Someone else?”

“Who?” asked Allura.

Shiro shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve only heard references to a boss, and it wasn’t directed at Sendak. Sendak is merely in charge of building an army of Galran robots, ships, and weapons.”

“What?” exclaimed the three.

Shiron nodded sadly. “Seems to me like they’re preparing for war. For whom, I don’t know. But it sounds like it’s going to be directed at the rest of the universe.”

“We have to put a stop to this,” said Keith.

“Exactly why I need you to send this to the Blades. We must take action immediately. I’ll stay here and do what damage I can until reinforcements arrive.”

“We’re the closest ones to you. We’ll be on there in two vargas.”

“No, your mission is to protect the Princess at all costs. We can’t put her life at risk.”

Keith closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Fine. But if something goes wrong, I’m coming after you.”

“I know. Now . . .” An explosion interrupted him. Shiro quickly ignited his lightsaber.

“Shiro!” shouted Keith as a few robots entered the hologram, firing. Shiro blocked many of the shots, sending some back and slicing through robots. A shot hit him, and he fell forward. Allura placed her hands over her mouth as she gasped. Keith could only watch as panic began to fill his chest.

“I hope you didn’t kill him,” said a voice from the hologram as a Galra entered the room.

“No sir, our guns were set to stun, as ordered,” said a robot.

“Good, bring him in for questioning,” said the Galra, right before the hologram shut off.

Scene from Hope of the Universe

“Hey guys, this is Lance, he’s the pilot of the Kaltenecker.”

A dark-haired, blue-eyed guy stood up from the table and gave them a smirk. He gave Pidge a wink. “Well hello there. Hunk here says you need a fast ship and an amazing pilot to get you to . . . wherever it is you need to go,” he said.

“We need to get to Altea as fast as possible,” began Shiro, but Lance put up his hand.

“Yes, yes, we need to talk money.”

“Uh, I don’t have anything,” said Matt, glancing worriedly at Shiro.

“Neither do I” said Pidge.

“Oh, that’s alright, you can pay me kisses,” said Lance with a wink.

Pidge grumbled before stomping on Lance’s foot. Lance yelped. “That’s all you’re going to get if you don’t bring us.”

“Alright. Listen, I can’t give you everything I have, but here’s what we’ll do. I will pay you two thousand now, and eleven thousand when we get to Altea.”

Hunk’s, Matt’s and Pidge’s mouths opened in shock as they glanced at Shiro. Lance’s did as well, but he quickly snapped his mouth shut as he gulped.

Lance glanced between them. “Something tells me your friends didn’t know you have that much.”

“No, I had to keep my ties to Altea a secret from everyone on Earth. Now, will you take us there?”

“If you’re offering that much? Oh yeah! The Kaltenecker is at your service,” said Lance with a bow.

“Good. How soon can we leave?”

“We can leave in half an hour. Hunk wanted to do some tune-ups before we left the port.”

“That’s fine. There’s a few last minute things we need to take care of before we leave. That should be plenty of time,” said Shiro as he held out his hand.

Lance shook it. “Alright then, see you at docking bay sixty-five.”

“Docking bay sixty-five, in a half hour. Sounds good. See you then.” Shiro turned, and flanked by Matt and Pidge, walked out of the bar.

“Are you sure the Alteans will be able to help us find our parents?” asked Pidge.

“No doubt about it. They have the best technology in the universe. And they trade with just about everyone. If there’s any place someone would have heard of where your parents were taken, it would be Altea.”

“Good, I just hope we can find them before something bad happens,” said Matt.

“I’m sure we will. Now come on, we need to get ready for our trip.”

Scene from Return of the Alteans

“Wowee, man, you’re doing pretty good for yourself!” said Lance as he spun around to get a good look at the city.

Rolo chuckled. “Hey, it’s pretty good here at Senfama, what can I say? We’re thriving, we have plenty of food, practically no crime . . . yeah, life is good. So, what brings you to my side of the universe?”

“Oh, we’re helping Pidge here look for her parents,” said Lance, pointing at Pidge.

“Pidge? Interesting name for a girl, but I like it.”

“Thanks, it’s actually my nickname.”

“Still, I like it.”

“Well, thank you!” said Pidge with a beam. Hunk snorted as Lance shot Rolo a glare and scooted a little closer to Pidge. Rolo grinned before turning around and continuing the tour.

“So, you’re just passing through?”

“Well, actually, we were hoping you could let us ask around to see if anyone’s heard or seen anything pertaining to Pidge’s parents,” said Hunk.

“Oh, sure, we’ll be glad to help. As a matter of fact, I think you got here just in time. We just got another group of traders in. Maybe you can start with them,” said Rolo.

“Really? Thank you so so much! How can we repay you?” said Pidge. Lance started glaring between the back of Pidge’s head and Rolo.

“Oh, why don’t you have lunch with me? I’m sure you guys must be hungry.”

“Oh man, you have no idea,” said Hunk.

“Lunch would great. Lance?”

Lance groaned and sighed. “Yeah, fine, lunch will be good.”

“Great!” cheered Pidge and Hunk.

“Awesome! The mess hall is just around the corner. Lunch should be set up for me by now. Let’s check.” Rolo led them around the corner, and the doors opened. The four looked into the mess hall, and gasped. Lotor was sitting at the head of the table.

“Well welcome,” he said nonchalantly.

Lance whipped out his gun and began shooting at him, but Lotor blocked the shots with his lightsaber before snatching the gun away from Lance using the Force.

“My my, that’s no way to treat one’s host,” said Lotor as he dropped the gun to the floor.

Lance turned to try and leave, but several Galran robots showed up in the hall behind them. Lance backed up, placing himself between Pidge, Hunk, and the soldiers.

“Sorry, they showed up just before you did,” said Rolo.

Lance glanced at him. “Yeah, I’ll bet you are.”

“Now come on, come eat. The food’s not poisoned, I promise. No use killing you if you have information I want,” said Lotor.

Lance glanced at his friends before entering the room. They followed him to the table, sat down, and began to eat.

Meanwhile, Keith, Shiro, and Matt were on their way back to Olkarion with Slav, and they couldn’t wait. All three were tired of listening to him talk.

“How much longer?” muttered Matt with a moan as Slav burst into another lengthy talk about math, alternate universes, and chances for survival.

“Another varga,” muttered Keith, his eye was beginning to twitch.

Shiro’s eye also was twitching. “Yippee, can’t wait.”

The screen flashed to life and Allura’s face appeared.

“Allura!” said Keith with relief. But then he noticed her worried expression. “What’s wrong?”

“We just received a coded message telling us that Pidge, Lance, and Hunk have been captured by Lotor at Senfama!”

“No,” whispered Shiro.

“Pidge!” Matt glanced at Keith. “If we head over there now, how long will it take to get there?”

Keith pushed a few buttons on the console. “Ten dobashes.”

“But we have Slav with us,” said Shiro. “We can’t take him with us and practically hand him back to the Galra!”

“I think it will be fine, provided he stays with you at all time. You’re the only ship close enough to help. I know Lotor has his ways of getting information, and I don’t want to put them through anything like that.”

Keith nodded. “Understood. We’re heading to Senfama.”

“Thank you, and all of you, be careful.”

“We will Princess, don’t worry. We’ll make sure Keith gets back to both of you.”

Allura smiled. “Thank you Shiro.” She turned to Keith and blew him a kiss. He blew one back.

“Give my love to . . .” Baby sounds interrupted him. Allura bent down and came back up with a little girl in her arms. She had her mother’s white hair, but a single curl came down her face, making her hairstyle look a little more like Keith’s. “Hey Larmina, you be good for mommy, alright? Daddy will be back soon.” Larmina put her hand out and opened and closed her fingers. Keith smiled and waved back before blowing each of them kisses.

“Good luck,” said Allura, before the screen went black.

“Alright, time to go save Hunk, Pidge, and Lance,” said Keith as he altered course, heading towards Senfama.

#Voltron #Star Wars au #kallura #plance #juniblade #rosegold #rainforest

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sandwichbully · 6 years

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Sammy’s Avenue Eatery, 23 November 2018

“When people are hungry, you feed ‘em.”

OK, so about three years ago, I was working at UCare - “UCare, health care that starts with denying you your oxygen!” - and it was a slow afternoon one afternoon. Most afternoons were slow and the mail room was overstaffed for what we needed, so I logged a lot of time on Facebook and I saw this joint, Sammy’s Avenue Eatery, and I thought their sandwiches looked pretty good, so I made it a point to go there. ... aaannnddd I never did. I was broke as shit at the time, working fourteen hours a day six days a week between two jobs (and still being broke all the time) and feeling like shit because I was a terrible letdown to my then-girlfriend (the one from this episode) because I was always tired and just wanted a goddamned beer and two cigarettes. Eventually things improved but not by much and yadda yadda yadda, a whole bunch of shit happens, and going up to Sammy’s Avenue Eatery has been low priority. But I never forgot it. It kind of even nagged at me. And today, with it being almost fifty degrees for what is surely the last time this year if it isn’t the next to last time this year, I made it a point to go to what is likely going to be the final Sandwich Bully episode for 2018 - unless y’all want to come pick me up in your petite bourgeoisie automobile with “the heat” on in December and January. So I rolled up on the corner of Emerson and Broadway and walked in and looked over the menu and waited for the nice lady to finish making a chai latte for this other lady and I asked her which she preferred, the Hot Roasted Chicken or the Turkey Bacon Club. She said honestly that she preferred the chicken but they were out of that so turkey and bacon (I had to specify because I’ve had exactly one experience with turkey bacon and that shit is fucking gross and it’s so gross that I’m compelled to put up a picture of my first ex with a caption mocking her voice in which she chides me for having high blood pressure but that is seriously some SD&A shit and - Hm? Oh, Sound Design and Assembly. That was my old record review blog but I didn’t review records so much as I bitched about pop culture and waxed poetic on having picked up nookie the night before.)

Wait. Where are we?

OK, let’s start that over. She said honestly that she preferred the chicken but they were out of that so turkey and bacon (I had to specify because I’ve had exactly one experience with turkey bacon and that shit is fucking gross) it was and I grabbed a cranberry ginger ale and I found myself engaged in a conversation with her. Lot of personal stuff that isn’t my business to put up here but I guess maybe I can talk about the political side of it and that part was refreshing because nobody was bringing out words with “-ism”s on the end, we were just on the same wavelength, talking about how Minneapolis government is mishandling or outright ignoring a bunch of problems and how there are easy - very easy solutions to them. The homeless encampment whom the city couldn’t decide to house in either a warehouse or a vacant fucking lot? Well, hell, how many boarded up houses are there in north Minneapolis? I figured put the homeless at least in the warehouse out of the elements. The woman I was talking to told me they had plenty of empty houses in this neighborhood. A solution I never thought of. And even thinking about it now, I realize that there’s a lot of red tape and the banks own those empty houses but why does the bank own an empty house? Why is it held by a private entity and not by the state? What are the escheat and adverse possession laws in Minnesota? (And that’s over thinking it but that’s because capitalism doesn’t provide for simple solutions without the transfer of liquid assets.)

And enough of that. Anyway, at one point, this dude comes in and says he doesn’t have time to stop in and eat at the moment but he was just wondering what the soup of the day was for when he came back later and the woman said it was alright if he didn’t have time to eat, she’d fix him a “little” to-go cup (it was more like an eight ounce cup and I don’t know how metric people measure soup; by volume - 237mL - or by mass - 227g) and she handed it to him and told him to have a good day and he said thank you and he walked out the door and she stared out the window and she said, “When people are hungry, you feed ‘em.” No conditions, no clauses, just simple straight to the point action and solution. And she told me about how she wanted to start a homeless shelter, not like the ones downtown where you have to "tell ‘em everything about your life just to get in the door”, she wanted to start one where if you were tired, you could sleep, and if you got caught fucking up, you got kicked out. Simple as that. And my brain goes to how dangerous that would be because what about all the rapists and murderers and then my privilege checks itself and I got to remember that homeless folks aren’t homeless because they’re murderers and they do just want a warm place to sleep and a little something to eat. She told me she wanted to open a soup kitchen, too, and told me that one place downtown was in such a great location because it was centralized and somebody could even walk for forty blocks to get there, and they would, too, because, as she put it, “hunger travels”. I know that. I remember the time, it was like ten years ago or so, that I was with Georgie and we were starving and I walked two miles in a snowstorm to the food shelf and I lied on the paperwork and told them our twenty eight year old roommate was our four year old son because I thought I could get us more food that way (and, hey, there were three people in the house). I remember being dismayed at what we got and dutifully trundled it back home. I remember all that. Maybe it was meant to be that I didn’t get to Sammy’s until today to have this conversation. Maybe as a (timely) reminder to be thankful for what I do have, maybe as a reaffirmation of my beliefs, maybe to just talk to somebody over lunch, which I never get to do because I live alone and work alone.

ANYWAY! How was the sandwich!? How was the fucking sandwich, Charlie!? Remember how this blog is called Sandwich Bully? And it’s about sandwiches? And how it’s not a place for you to peddle your bleeding heart commie* beliefs or pontificate on how we need to be good and charitable toward our brothers and sisters!? HOW THIS PLACE IS MEANT FOR SANDWICHES!?!?!? TALK ABOUT THE FUCKING SANDWICH, CHARLIE!!! It was good. As I was grabbing a pop, the woman (I know her name I just don’t know how she spells it) told me that if I wanted to bundle the sandwich and drink into a combo, that she had chips and I told her nah, I had to watch my salt and she said she knew that was right. I watched her slice my tomato right out of a whole fresh tomato which I’ve seen maybe only Trieste do - slice fresh to order. And she asked if I liked onions and I said I did and she asked if I liked pickles and I said I did and then she held the pickle slices over the container and gave them a little wiggle and told me, “Getting the salt off them for you,” which was cool. Aint ever had anybody do that for me before. And then we set to talking while I ate at the counter and you read about all that. Well, let’s start with the size issue. I ordered a half sandwich (around seven dollars) and it was big enough that I feared what I might have gotten if I had gotten a whole one (around eleven dollars). Trust me, I beg of you, please trust me, I am on my knees begging you to trust me: Order the half sandwich. That is the reasonable human serving size. The tomato was crisp (natch) and the pickles and onions added necessary sour and bite. The cheese, I don’t know what it was but it was white and it was creamy and, tag-teamed with the bacon, it kind of overpowered the turkey but the bacon-cheese combo overpowers most things. The mayo on the sandwich was applied to the bread pre-grilling which, a few years ago, I would have said “ew” to but recently I had the revelation that mayo is just eggs and oil (no, not that part) which are both things that are perfectly alright to be applied to direct heat (that part) and I’ve been waiting to try frying my grilled cheese with mayo on the outside but I never buy bread and I never buy mayonnaise - Why buy mayo when you can make aioli? - so I finally got to try this technique at Sammy’s and I have to admit I didn’t notice anything inherently distinguishable about it but, again, bacon-cheese combo. Overpowers everything but... OK, probably the last time we get to do this this year unless somebody wants to drive me somewhere during December and January so we have to make this one good. Let’s see, let’s see, let’s see... [clears throat] But the real blackout drunk correspondent of Armenia Decides, 2018... No no no. [clears throat again] But the real evil twin unplugging the good twin’s life support so she can assume her identity and run off with her husband... No. Come on, man, you got this. You have literally nothing else. OK, I think I got it. But the real guest star in the dangers-of-huffing-gas-as-a-pregnant-teen episode of this highly rated Saturday morning teen show never to be seen again as, metafictionally, her character had been shipped off to an island of misfit one-off characters, each themselves never to be seen again, turned cannibal after the last hunt didn’t yield the boar’s head required to appease the god behind the sun, he who in-turn took his great veil from the white ball in the sky and scorched their crops in anger and now, teen pot dealer and teen wheelchair basketball player and teen army brat and teen with an eating disorder and all the rest, none of whom were ever seen again, are forced to turn on each other for survival, their malevolence a dance for the god behind the sun’s enjoyment, for when enough blood is spilled he veils his white ball and grants them rest from the heat, but now, a new arrival - The Pregnant Teen Gas Huffer... is the house sauce, which I suspect is a honey dijon vinaigrette. It was sweet, a little complex but not so complex that I couldn’t guess what it was while I was eating it. It stood out and balanced the savory fattiness of the bacon-cheese combo. The lettuce? We don’t have to do the lettuce thing, do we?

I mean, it’s probably the last time this year.

Overall, not a bad bike ride, it was a pretty decent sandwich - it was good but I’m not falling over stupid for it. I mean, hey, it filled me up and I ordered the half sandwich. If there was a quarter sandwich option, I’d go for that. It tasted good, too. She asked me how it was and I told her it was wonderful and she said she was glad I liked it and I told her I was glad she made it. I guess that there was a sense of openness, of community to the place, which we’ve been over before: I prefer to go to places that feel worn in and homey. Places like Band Box and Ideal where the proprietors and the patrons are literally neighbors, where people have been going for years, people who are eating there now worked there in high school because their parents knew the manager. Sammy’s has that vibe. It’s kind of like Nye’s. I liked Nye’s (yes, past tense) when you could walk in and say hi to Phil, sit down, and have an ice cold Żywiec and there was a college football game on you could ignore and it was red Corinthian leather booths and tacky martini murals on the walls and mirrors behind the bar to make the liquor selection look more impressive (or whatever the mirrors are back there for) and it was locals in there. Last time I was in Nye’s, there was no Phil, the new guy didn’t know what Żywiec was, the interior designer clearly got all their ideas from IKEA (still love you, IKEA, but you are not meant for a bar), and the only patronage in there were literally tourists asking about the history of the Mississippi River. I can’t fuck with that scene because it doesn’t feel like it’s a part of the community that supported it through the years. Ownership changed and nobody gave a fuck about preserving the community aspect of the place, it’s clearly a cash grab more cynical and distasteful than when they made Game of Death with B-roll of Bruce Lee and two actors who looked nothing like him. Sammy’s, on the other hand, feels like it’s part of its community. Established in Near North, playing a role in Near North, employing Near North, feeding Near North. GO. GIVE. THEM. YOUR. MONEY.

* I was once briefly involved with a Randian Libertarian who called me literally a “bleeding heart commie” because I told her Atlas Shrugged was “right-wing oriented”. Ah, to be young again.

#2018 #near north #club sandwich #turkey bacon club #escheat and adverse possession #community #metric soup

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col22promo · 6 years

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Austin Kelsey | Twenty Five; Survivor

House: Calyset Security Class: 1 Status: Uninfected

History

The second youngest in a family of four children, Austin was the only boy. Naturally he felt both out of place and in competition with his sisters, only Austin didn’t exactly do competition well. He had trouble focusing, a short attention span ever since he was a kid, and coupled with insecurity that likely came from the size and dynamic of his family, it resulted in some problems in school.

The diagnoses of ADD from their family doctor when he was eleven surprised noone, and though his parents were as supportive as they could be, Austin still felt a bit like he had to compensate for being the odd one out in a family of generally successful and driven people. Two of his sisters were soccer stars on the school team, the other a focused academic—that left Austin being the clown of the group, with his father’s infections sense of humor and his mother’s knack for sarcasm.

But though being different from his sisters made him somewhat anxious, he also found that he could embrace it by being coined the ‘funny one’. He was always the one to spring a laugh from the table, always the one to say something muttered under-breath when his stuck up grandparents on his father’s side came over for family dinners—comments that always went over the heads of the elderly couple, but that everyone else caught—ones that somewhat harmlessly mocked them in a way that had his sisters and parents folding their lips over teeth to stifle chuckles, and his grandparents giving him looks that were both incriminating and confused. They didn’t appreciate ‘the tone, young man’, but knowing you were being mocked didn’t mean you also knew how you were being mocked, or what about.

And maybe it was a slightly unhealthy dynamic, but it was one that helped Austin feel united with his family, in spite of his oddities. Making them laugh was his safe zone, gave him a purpose he felt comforted by, and perhaps they too needed his reliable comedic relief. That’s probably where his dream of being a stand up comedian emerged.

But one thing that wasn’t funny, Austin will tell you, is trying to follow your stinkin’ dreams. That it’s actually, generously speaking, frustrating and disheartening and exhausting. Not to mention getting heckled and booed off stage is never much fun, either. He’d thought it was supposed to be easy—being funny at home came easy to him; he made people laugh effortlessly all the time, so why was this such a challenge? It didn’t seem right, that he had to break a metaphorical sweat just to make a fool of himself for money, but he was determined not to let his disappointment get the best of him.

He worked as a doorman in as many dingy, second-rate comedy clubs as he could, acting as MC for the open-mic nights, which gave him a little bit of practice stage time. Eventually, he managed to snag a set time of Tuesday nights at one of the bars just outside of downtown. It didn’t pull a huge crowd, but it was better than nothing and it was something he could invite his friends to.

But after a few months, the bar did start to pull a decent crowd, then a bigger one, then an even bigger one, until they were hitting their (small) capacity most nights. Tuesdays were the busiest.

Now, Austin couldn’t take all the credit, because he wasn’t the only one who performed on those nights, but according to the manager, feedback from the guests said that Austin was one of the favorite performers. Apparently, at some point (Austin wasn’t sure when) he’d gotten good. Or good-ish, anyway, but good-ish was enough for him because he was then switched to the Friday/Saturday slots and a few weeks later, his life changed.

Or it could have changed, anyway, because he was approached after a set by a talent manager from the UK who was currently touring with a handful of names he represented. He was interested in testing the waters with Austin, and, giving him his business card, he explained that they should have a chat over coffee, because when the tour ended back at his home base in London, England, he usually tried to orchestrate debuts for new talent. From there, depending on response, they could discuss representational contracts.

It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and it was Austin’s big break. He packed his bags and two days later was on a flight to London, Heathrow. The plane was still in the air when D-Day hit.

Austin Today

The landing of the plane was exceptionally lucky. They had been preparing for landing within a half an hour when the first asteroid broke the atmosphere. Thousands of miles away, the impact itself didn’t affect flight 3697 as directly, but the asteroids’ presence in the atmosphere wreaked havoc with the satellites and radio communication was lost. There were some malfunctions with the plane, but the pilot managed to achieve a bumpy but sufficient landing. The announcement he made over the intercom as they were rolling with screeching breaks to a stop: “Thank you for choosing British Airways. We hope you have enjoyed falling with style.”

The laughter that had bubbled had been the nervous kind, loose and relieved in a way that usually went hand in hand with the aftermath of terror. That moment after you thought you were going to bite the dust but miraculously didn’t and you almost want to touch various areas of your body just to make sure you were still there, in one piece—alive. And it had been that, that made Austin think his survival was fate. Because any other pilot would have been telling passengers not to panic, but this accented genius was making Disney jokes.

Austin is pretty sure his family is still alive. When he was brought into Colony 22 about a year ago after spending much of his time moving between clans, he asked an Elite to look them up in the Database. They didn’t come up as registered citizens, which meant they weren’t living in a Colony, but they’d ended up in the system because they’d boarded a merchant ship en route from the East coast of Canada to the Southern states. Born in Toronto, Ontario, Austin assumed that maybe his family were looking to reconnect with his mother’s family, many of which had still lived in states long after she got her dual citizenship. Of course, there are no guarantees they still survive, but seeing all their names the system as documented survivors as of sometimes 2158, gave him hope. He continues to look them up every few months, to check to see if they’ve turned up in any Colonies, but so far, nothing.

Austin is relatively happy at Colony 22, and remains as interactive as possibly to keep himself distracted from his, well, distractions. When he first arrived, Echo had a hard time placing him in a house, and his test came up with dual results—something which is rare, but has been known to happen. He was given the choice between Delma and Calyset, two houses quite different in general nature, and in the end, he chose Calyset. He didn’t say why, but he knew that when it came down to it, he’d rather be the odd one out in a group, labelled as the ‘funny one’, known for it, rather than just one among a sea of equally charismatic. He’d grown comfortable with being different, and worried that without it, by choosing Delma, he’d disappear.

HOME | PLOT | SURVIVORS | INFECTIONS | 2157 was the end of the world.

#original rp #literate rp #lsrp #dev patel #dev patel fc

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

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Fic: Everything Money Can Buy (11/12)

Swan Believer centric, with eventual Swan Queen and background Rumbelle and Dwarf Star.

Rated: G

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[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [AO3]

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Eleven

"Here's to not working on Christmas Day, and a great deal of sympathy for everyone who is."

“Cheers."

Belle chinked her glass of cranberry punch against Alistair's. Knowing that he didn't drink, she'd raided her mother's recipe books for something suitably festive and non-alcoholic and had pulled together the punch from cinnamon, cranberry sauce, and boiling water.

"You know, if I had my way, Christmas Day would last for about three weeks," Belle said. "One day off is not enough, and normally I can't enjoy the respite if I know I'm going to have to go back to work and deal with people behaving extremely badly tomorrow. Sometimes I can't decide which is worse - pre-Christmas panic or post-Christmas sales."

"If all the shops in the country shut for a week before and a week after Christmas, that would be perfect," Alistair mused. "Not only would everyone be forced to get organised and buy their presents earlier instead of leaving it till Christmas Eve, we'd also have enough time to just about recover before people started shopping again in the New Year."

Belle laughed. She was having a wonderful Christmas Day so far. She and Alistair had spent the morning preparing a miniature Christmas feast, and she had given him his present. She’d intended to give it to him at the party last night, but after he’d invited her over for Christmas dinner, she’d decided to wait so that he could have it on the day instead.

He had gone very red when she’d presented it to him, mumbling about not having anything to give to her in return, but she’d pointed out that she was getting Christmas dinner out of him, and he’d eased up a little at that point. The turkey and roast potatoes were cooking nicely in the oven, and now she and Alistair were sitting on the sofa, watching the lights on the Christmas tree twinkling.

"This is wonderful," she said. "Thank you so much for inviting me. It would have been a lonely Christmas Day on my own. I'd have spent most of the day asleep."

"It is good to have company," Alistair agreed, and Belle felt a huge pang of sympathy for him.

"I'm sorry, you must be missing Bae."

Alistair nodded. "I am. I called him this morning and left a message, thanking him for my gift. Hopefully he'll call back later. I'm sure he will, he's good like that. We spent about an hour on the phone last Christmas, but it's not the same as seeing him in person." He paused. "Belle... I have something to confess." He'd gone a bit pink around the ears, and Belle raised an eyebrow, wondering what he could have to say that made him so sweetly nervous.

"What's that?"

"I didn't just ask you here to keep me company, you know. I... I think I would have asked you anyway, even if Bae was coming. Well, if it was all right by him."

Belle smiled. "I would have been very happy to accept no matter how many other people were coming.”

The only thing that could have made the scene any better would have been the addition of a nice sprig of mistletoe hanging from the light fitting above them, so that Belle could have an excuse for kissing her host.

Well, she didn’t think that she really needed an excuse, since they’d kissed in the basement yesterday, but still, it was the principle of the thing.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked presently. Belle decided that there was no point in beating about the bush. If you don't ask, you don't receive, after all.

"Mistletoe," she said. "Or rather, the lack of it."

Alistair smiled. "A terrible decorating oversight on my part. But I'm sure that we can use our imaginations."

Belle leaned in, her nose bumping against Alistair's as they met in the middle, giggling a little before their lips finally met. It would have been a perfectly freeze-framed Christmas moment if a car alarm hadn't started up a few streets away, making her jump.

"Perfect timing," she grumbled, glaring at the window. "Although, I suppose, Christmas Day's probably an opportune time for theft, since there's no one around."

The distant car alarm continued, and Alistair's brow furrowed.

"That alarm sounds familiar," he said. "I really don't think that it's a car alarm."

Belle felt a rush of ice flood through her veins as she too recognised the distinctive alarm.

"It's the internal alarm at Mills."

For a full minute, the two of them just looked at each other in fear. They both knew that Henry and his mother would be in the store, and whatever had happened to set the alarm off, the police would be arriving in due course. Belle hoped that the alarm had been set off for a genuine reason and the police's presence was really required, but that still didn't shake the fact that the police would arrive and find a homeless mother and son trespassing in the store. On Christmas Day.

"Let's go." Alistair paused only to switch the oven off - Christmas lunch could wait until they'd made sure that everything was all right at Mills. They grabbed their coats, speeding out of the flat and through London's almost empty streets, praying that they would get there before Regina or Zelena did.

They were rounding the final corner towards the yard entrance when they met Leroy and Astrid coming from the opposite direction, also at a run. Leroy was jangling a huge ring of keys, looking for the correct ones to let them into the yard, only for them to find that the gates were already open.

The four of them raced in and stopped short at the scene that met them.

In hindsight, Henry realised, sounding the alarm was probably not the best idea he'd ever had, because all it had served to do was to draw attention to himself, and Killian, with no thought for discretion now that the game was up, was now bounding over the display cabinets towards him with an agility that the puffy Santa costume belied. Not having long enough legs to be able to vault over the obstacles in his way like Killian, Henry was stuck weaving in and out of the counters on his mission to reunite with Mum, who was charging after Killian with a roar of 'GET AWAY FROM MY SON!'

Smee was nowhere to be seen, taking advantage of the confusion to escape with the loot. The alarm was so loud and shrill that Henry thought his ears would start bleeding soon.

Ultimately, he knew that he was going to be cornered, and he closed his eyes as he realised that he could go no further. He'd only had a short life and it didn't take a long time for it to flash before his eyes.

Killian grabbed him, throwing him over his shoulder.

"You're coming with me as insurance," he snarled, taking off towards the exit after Smee, before starting to shout for his colleague, calling him every name under the sun and some that Henry hadn't heard before and wasn't sure were even English.

"Stay back!" he shouted at Mum as she raced after them, waving the bolt cutters. "One more step and he gets it!"

Mum took a step back, and Henry took advantage of the moment of quiet to kick Killian squarely in the chest, making him swear with the pain and drop the bolt cutters. Mum launched forward again now that he was unarmed, but Killian was nothing if not determined. Not even Henry's wildly flailing fists and legs could stop him as he ran through the store out towards the yard.

"Smee, you faithless rat!" he was yelling. "Get back here!"

They raced out into the yard, Mum catching up with them and lunging at Killian just as they got down the steps towards the unmarked white van that was standing waiting by the bins. She caught his waist, succeeding only in pulling his trousers down, but it was enough to make him lose his balance, and enough for Henry to fight his way free of Killian's vice-like grip. Mum got to her feet in a flash and crash tackled Killian again, yelling at Henry to make a run for it as Smee, on the point of getting into the passenger seat of the van with the sack of jewellery, dropped his prize and came over to help his boss, loyalty once more winning out on seeing him being pounded by an extremely irate mother.

As much as Henry wanted to stay and help Mum, he knew that she was only in this precarious position because she was protecting him, so he legged it towards the open gates, grabbing the fallen sack on his way. It was heavier than it looked and dragged along the ground.

"Get back here, you little brat!"

Looking over his shoulder, Henry felt his eyes bug out of his head as he saw Zelena scramble out of the driver's seat of the van and come after him. He had a head start on her, but she had longer legs and could run something fierce when she wasn't wearing high heels. They were engaged in a tug of war for the sack when Belle, Gold, Leroy, and Astrid arrived on the scene, rushing into the yard before pulling up in confusion. Zelena didn't see them, too focussed on wrestling the sack away from Henry.

Leroy and Astrid wasted no time in going over to pull Smee off Emma and Emma off Killian. Belle was on her phone, hopefully talking to the police.

Gold came over just as Zelena succeeded in pulling the sack away from Henry.

"Yes!"

Her jubilation was short-lived as Gold yanked the sack from her flailing arm and opened it, raising an eyebrow as he looked inside.

"Part of your Christmas bonus, Zelena?"

"Yes, no, of course not, give me that! Thank God you've arrived, Gold, I was just in the process of apprehending these two jewel thieves; as you can see, Killian and Smee have been nobly assisting me."

"What?" Henry exclaimed, unable to believe the litany of lies that Zelena was now spinning. "That's not what happened!" he said, desperate for Gold to believe him. On the one hand, he knew that Gold had no reason to like or side with Zelena, but on the other hand, he'd only known Emma and Mum for a few days; they hadn't exactly been the picture of innocence whilst he'd known them.

"Right," Gold said flatly, refusing to relinquish the sack. "Well, since this is evidence, I'm sure that the police will take good care of it when they arrive. I'm very curious as to why the goods are in Santa's sack though, and why Santa himself is still in costume. Well, after a fashion." Killian's trousers were still around his ankles, and he had given up trying to fight off Astrid, who was now sitting on him. Leroy had Smee in a headlock, and Mum was standing off to one side, bent double as she caught her breath.

Satisfied that there were now enough responsible and trustworthy adults on the scene to handle everything between them, Henry left Zelena and Gold arguing and ran over to his Mum, throwing his arms around her and then springing back when she gave a little uff of pain.

"Are you all right?"

"Just bruised," she said. "And a bit winded. Haven't run an obstacle course like that since the van got towed in Birmingham." She straightened up and held out her arms for Henry. "What about you? Are you hurt?"

"No. I'm ok. Zelena's trying to make out that we're the thieves."

"Zelena? What's she doing here?"

"Driving the getaway vehicle from the looks of it."

Mum looked from the van, to Zelena and Gold, to the police car that had just pulled up in the yard. Henry hadn't heard the sirens over the blaring alarm that was still sounding out of the store.

"Right," she said. "Right, this might take some explaining..."

#Swan Believer #Swan Believer Fic #rumbelle #Emma Swan #Henry Swan #Belle French #Mr Gold #background dwarf star #Fic: Everything Money Can Buy

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distant-rose-archive-blog · 7 years

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Women’s Things

Note: I promise I’m not dead. I’m just busy. There’s a lot of things I have in the works, I just gotta finish them. My life has kinda been taken over by law school, CSLB and other nonsense, but winter is coming and with it comes winter break. Hopefully I will get a lot of crap done during that time and maybe even finish A Once and Future Thing. But until then, enjoy this LP garbage. In this fic, Harrison is 15, Wes is 13, Beth is 11 and Neddy is 7. As always, it wouldn’t be possible without the nurturing and loving support of my favorite lady ever, @welllpthisishappening. Enjoy Daddy!Killian awkwardness! Summary: With his wife away, Killian Jones has to deal with his eleven-year old daughter’s first period by himself. Rating: T Word Count: 4,900+

“Dad,” seven-year old Neddy Jones said with a hint of impatience. He was staring at his father pointedly and doing what Killian considered to be a startling impression of his mother with his hands resting on his hips, lips twisted into a deep frown and eyebrows set low.

Killian glanced up from his book and looked at his youngest with raised eyebrows. Without even looking down, he dog-eared the page and closed his book. Whatever was bugging Neddy, Killian was sure it was going to take up a bit of his time. The child had a habit of dropping some pretty complicated situations on his lap.

“Yes?” he asked, leaning forward and giving his son an expectant stare of his own.

“You need to go yell at Beth,” Neddy replied, hands leaving his hips and crossing in front of his chest; once more acting older than his years. Killian privately blamed his older children for this.

“What for, may I ask?”

“She’s hogging up our bathroom. She has her own bathroom in her own room but she’s hogging ours like a jerk. She’s been in there for like an hour and I really need to pee. Bad.”

Killian’s eyebrows moved from their raised position and furrowed as he digested his son’s words.

“There’s more than one bathroom,” he said after a moment. “Can’t you use the one downstairs?”

“That one’s broken. Wes killed it two days ago, remember?” Neddy replied, voice still filled with childish annoyance. “Can you go yell at her? I really need to pee, Dad.”

Killian sighed.

“Look, if you really need to go, you can use the one in our room…just don’t make a mess. I’ll go and check on your sister. If she’s been in there as long as you say, she’s probably sick.”

Neddy didn’t even bother to give a response, he immediately sprinted down the hallway towards his parents’ bedroom with an urgency that Killian hadn’t expected considering the lack of pee dance. He shook his head and casually walked down the hallway to where the boys’ bathroom was located. Killian gave the door a tentative knock.

“Go away Neddy before I beat your face in!” Beth’s voice sounded through the wood.

Killian blinked, not expecting that response.

“Not if I have anything to say about,” he replied, frowning. “Minnow, are you okay in there? Neddy says you’ve been in there for a while.”

There was long pause and Killian shifted on his heels as he waited for a response. A sense of nervousness started to creep in as the seconds ticked by.

“Dad…” Beth’s voice called. It no longer held the same aggression as before. If anything, it sounded scared. Alarm bells went off in his head.

“Beth…” Killian tried to keep his tone calm. “Elizabeth, are you okay?”

“Daddy…” Beth cracked open the door slightly so that she could peek out at him. Her face was pale and she was looking up at him with large green eyes; looking more Neddy’s age than her eleven years. “I think I’m dying…”

Killian’s eyes went wide.

“What do you mean you’re dying? Open the door! What’s going on!?”

“No!” she said, violently shaking her head. “Don’t come in! It’s embarrassing!”

“I don’t give a damn if it’s embarrassing,” Killian replied firmly, pushing against the door. His efforts were thwarted by the old-fashioned lock chain. The door whined and the chain rattled under the force of his push but didn’t budge any farther. Beth took a step back, looking startled. Killian couldn’t tell if it was because of his cursing or by his sudden attempt to open the door. “If you’re hurt, I need to know about it.”

“No! I don’t want you to see!” Beth said firmly, face flushed as she shook her head forcefully. Beth had inherited her mother’s ivory skin and just like how it was with Emma, her face went bright red at the drop of a hat. Whatever it was going on, Killian’s daughter was very much embarrassed of it and he couldn’t possibly imagine what it was.

“What don’t you want me to see, Minnow?” Killian asked softly, tilting his head to get a better look at inside the bathroom. All he could see his daughter and an empty roll of toilet paper that had been thoughtlessly thrown on the floor. “I’m worried here. If you don’t want to show me what’s wrong, can you at least tell me so I possibly do something about it from out here?”

Beth teetered her spot by the door, leaning backwards and curling her fingers around the edge of the old beaten up sink. She bit her lip in a fashion that was similar to Emma’s when she was struggling with something; face still bright red.

“I’m bleeding,” she said after a moment. “Down there…”

She gestured quickly to the apex of her thighs and Killian’s eyes bulged comically as he suddenly realized the meaning behind her words. Without even thinking, he stepped back a few steps until his back hit the wooden rails that surrounded the stairway. His face turned its own shade of red as a sense of panic took hold. This was something he was not equipped for. This was a job for his wife, the Savior. He immediately turned around, clutching the rails like they were a lifeline and peered down at the ground floor below.

“Swan!” he yelled. “Swan! I need you! Swan!”

No response.

“Swan!” he called again. “Come on, Swan!”

“She’s not here!” Wes called from he could only assume was the living room. The boy was becoming a regular couch potato. “She said she was going to talk to Regina about unicorn blood or something I kinda don’t care about but she said she would be gone for an hour and we all know that’s a lie.”

“Shit,” Killian muttered under his breath. He ran his fingers through his hair and glanced back at the bathroom where his daughter now looked terrified. He hadn’t seen her looked this spooked since she was four years old and having dreams about her heart being stolen.

“I’m dying aren’t I, Daddy?” she asked, tears starting to brim her eyes. It hurt him to see her like this. Beth, out of all of his children, was the most fearless and rarely ever cried. Not even when she broke her arm when she was six-years old had she shed a tear.

Killian swallowed and gave his daughter smile that was meant to be reassuring but only came off as uneasy. If she had been dying, this might have been simpler for him to handle but that wasn’t the case. His daughter now had…. women’s issues and he wasn’t entirely unprepared for it. When Killian had held Beth in his arms for the first time, he had imagined reading her bedtime stories and blowing raspberries against her baby belly. He never imagined this.

“No, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re not dying. What you’re going through right now is completely and utterly normal. You’re perfectly okay.”

“But it hurts…” she replied with a whimper that made Killian hate himself a bit.

“I know, I know,” he said gently. “And we’re going to do something about it. Why don’t you change and get some toilet paper to deal with…the mess…and how about we go shopping for some supplies to make you feel better? Sounds good, aye?”

“I’m not dying?” she asked again, still looking up at him with big eyes. The flush was gone and now she was pale again, freckles standing out in stark contrast against the pallor of her cheeks.

“No,” he said. “Not dying. Just change and we’ll go to the store and I’ll do my best to explain what’s going on…Honestly, this is something your mother is better suited for, but she’s with Regina so we’re going to have to make do, love.”

“Okay,” she mumbled, moving to close the door. Killian stepped forward and placed his hand against the wood to stop her efforts.

“Hey, listen to me for a moment,” he said softly.

Beth pursed her lips briefly but then stopped, nodded and waited for him for speak.

“I just need to emphasize that what is happening right now is completely natural and you are not dying. You’re perfectly and wonderfully fine right now. Unfortunately, what’s you’re going through is a woman’s thing and I don’t have a lot of answers, but what I do know is that you’re going to be okay. Do you believe me?”

She glanced down at her feet for a moment before she responded with a small nod. Killian let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Good,” he said. “Now, get changed and we’ll go. Aye?”

“Aye.”

When she closed the door, Killian leaned back against the rails and placed his hand over his face. He sighed for a moment, rubbing his temples and laughing a bit because he couldn’t help himself. He had been woefully unprepared of this element of parenting.

Twenty minutes later, Killian was driving his daughter to Dark Star Pharmacy in what could be considered one of the most awkward and uncomfortable moments of his very long life. Beth was curled up in the passenger’s seat, wearing one of Harrison’s shirts, which were far too larger for her small frame and looked as if it were swallowing her whole. The questionable ensemble was complete with a pair of a yoga pants that Killian wasn’t sure were entirely appropriate to be worn in public at her age but considering the look of irritation on her face and his own experience of dealing with his wife while she was experiencing her courses, he knew better than to comment on her appearance. It was honestly the least of his worries as he was fumbling through the worst explanation of human anatomy in the history of the realms.

“What’s you’re going through…the blood and all that business…it’s called menstruation,” he said awkwardly after a moment.

“Menstruation,” she repeated, cocking her head to the side as if she were taking a moment to ponder the term. “But you said it’s a girl thing.”

“It is,” he confirmed with a nod, focusing on the road rather than looking at his daughter.

“Then why does it have the word ‘men’ in it?” she asked with a frown.

Killian blinked at the question.

“I…I don’t know,” he replied, wanting to shrug his shoulders. “It’s just what it’s called, but in this realm, I believe it’s often referred to as a period.”

Beth scrunched her nose, not looking at all impressed.

“Why?”

“Good question, but once again, I don’t know the reasons for the nomenclature…”

“Nomenclature?”

“That is a fancy term used to describe why people describe things the way they do. It was actually one of your brother’s SAT words for him to practice,” Killian replied, relieved to find another topic to discuss. He would much rather talk about the confusion and absurdity of SAT testing than female biology.

“I’m eleven, Dad,” Beth replied flatly. “SATs aren’t for like a million years away.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “My mistake.”

“So…this whole bleeding menstruation period whatever thing…why is it happening?” she asked, tentatively biting her lip and pulling her knees up to her chest.

Killian wanted to scold her about getting her dirty sneakers on the seat but thought better of it considering the circumstance. Beth seemed more inquisitive and compliant at the moment, but he knew if she were anything like her mother that was subject to change at a moment’s notice.

“Ummm…well,” Killian muttered awkwardly. He felt the strongest urge to scratch the back of his ear, but the curse of being one-handed meant that he had to keep his only viable hand on the wheel at all times. “It’s…it’s something that women deal with a monthly basis…so once a month it happens…and it’s kinda your body’s way of prepping and clearing out for a baby…”

Beth gave him a disgusted look, wrinkling her nose. Once more, Killian was reminded of his wife and how she looked whenever she was grossed out by something. Everyone loved to say that Beth was his baby, but her mannerisms and her iron spine were all from Emma. Sometimes he wondered if they should have named her Emma Junior, Emmalita or Emmaline rather than Elizabeth, considering how eerily similar she was to her mother at times.

“That’s gross! And stupid! I don’t want a baby,” she commented, resting her head on top of her knees.

“And you shouldn’t until you’re 35 years old and married,” Killian replied with a chuckle. “But your body doesn’t know that so it just does what it does just in case you decide you want to have a child, which is why you bleed every month. All just in case and to keep you healthy.”

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” Beth exclaimed, eyes going wide as she lifted her head up from her knees to look at him in sudden horror. “I’m going to bleed…down there…every month? Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not kidding. For roughly five days every month until you’re older.”

“That super sucks!” she groaned.

“Aye, it does suck but that’s biology for you, Minnow…”

“Do boys go through anything like this?” Beth grumbled, glaring at him.

“I’m afraid not,” Killian replied ruefully. “Boys have different things going on with them, but nothing quite like what goes on with girls…I’m not sure how to describe it to you aside from it’s just different.”

“Ugh, being a girl sucks. Why couldn’t I be a boy?!” Beth mumbled, banging her chin against her knees.

“Maybe, but not all the time. If you were a boy, you probably wouldn’t have gotten the room with its own bathroom. You would probably have to share with your brothers.”

“Yeah, that’s don’t make up for it,” Beth mumbled, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Fair enough,” Killian replied with a rueful grin.

The conversation lulled there into an uncomfortable silence between father and daughter. Beth decided to spend the time drumming her fingers against her right shin and glaring out the window as if she was pissed off with the world. Killian occasionally glanced at her out of the corner of his eye to make sure she was okay, but did little more than that until he had driven them into the parking lot of the pharmacy.

Killian didn’t have much experience with feminine products. His dealings with them were generally picking up whatever brand Emma put down on the grocery list for the week and pushing past them in the medicine cabinet to get his razor. To say that he was overwhelmed with the massive number of products in the women’s health aisle was an understatement. He knew what Emma wanted, but he wasn’t necessarily certain that he wanted to purchase O.B. non-applicator tampons for his eleven-year old daughter who probably had no idea what to do with them.

Oh.

Oh shit.

A new horrifying thought entered his brain. Was he going to have teach her how to use them? The very idea made him want to be violently ill. He had a basic concept of how tampons worked but it was one thing to know how they worked, it was an entirely different thing to explain and teach his daughter how to use them. He desperately needed Emma. He couldn’t do this.

“Are you having trouble, young man?” A kind elderly woman asked him as she grabbed a package of Poise liners off the shelf next to him.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Killian responded without giving much thought, scratching at the patch of skin behind his ear.

“Well, what’s the issue?” the woman asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

“My daughter…she…she’s experiencing…ladies’ issues for the first time,” he said awkwardly. He turned to gesture to his daughter only to find she wasn’t there. He went pale for a moment, eyes frantically scanning his surroundings for where she might have gone to.

“I’m assuming your daughter is the grumpy little girl in the very large shirt over in the candy aisle,” the woman said in amusement.

“Sounds like her,” he muttered, face flushing red. “But yeah, I have no idea what to get her. This isn’t my element, I’m afraid.”

“Well, i can’t say I’m surprised. Most men avoid the subject like the plague. My husband wouldn’t ever have thought to deal with this on his own, let alone step a foot in this aisle. It’s nice to know that some fathers aren’t afraid of a little biology,” she replied. “How old is she?”

“Eleven,” Killian responded with a small smile.

“That’s a little on the young side,” the woman commented, nodding. “Normally most girls don’t experience that until they’re twelve, but it’s not unheard for some girls as young as eight to get it.”

Killian nodded, unable of what else to say to something like that. He genuinely had no real basis on the subject aside from his observations of his wife and what he had read about when it came to human anatomy.

The woman didn’t seem to be looking for a response however. Instead she was scanning the shelves that Killian had just been perusing. After a moment, she pulled a pink and blue box covered in multicolored stars and hearts off the rack and handed it to him.

“I’m not sure how familiar you are with feminine products, but these are sanitary napkins aimed at young girls like your daughter. They come with pretty self-explanatory instructions, so you shouldn’t have to do too much.”

“Thank you,” he replied, shifting in place and nodding. He looked at down at the box that read “Kotex Tween,” feeling a bit foolish. He couldn’t help but feel like the little stars and hearts were mocking him a bit for not noticing them before. He gave the woman a small smile and shook the box at her in absence of a wave. As he turned to leave, she placed a hand on his arm.

“I know this probably wasn’t the most comfortable thing for you to deal with, but I’m glad you met it head on instead of just relying on your wife to handle “women’s things.” And for that, I want you to know that I think you’re a great dad,” she said gently. “And I’m going to give you a little more advice. I don’t know your daughter but most girls are little sensitive around this time. Be gentle with her. Get her chocolate. My granddaughter loves Cadbury so I recommend that. Lots of water and some Advil help. A hot water bottle or a heating pad do wonders.”

“Thank you truly,” Killian repeated with a small smile, mentally filing away the information she had just given him. “I’ll keep all of this in mind.”

When he went to find his daughter and check out, she was still in the candy aisle and staring at the assortment of chocolates with some akin to desperation in her eyes. Upon seeing her, Killian switched the Kotex box over to balance on his left hip so he could hook his arm around Beth. He leaned over to place a kiss on the crown of her head. Beth squirmed a bit under the attention, but didn’t push him away.

“See something you like?” he asked her gently, smoothing his hand down her shoulder.

“I really, really, really want chocolate, Dad,” she muttered, looking up at him with those big green eyes of her eyes. The pitiful pleading look she gave him was complete with a small pout.

“Well, just pick whatever you like, Minnow. We can have a nibble and watch some movies,” he replied with a chuckle.

“Really? Anything I want?” she asked excitedly. For the first time since the incident began, Killian saw his daughter smile.

“Aye,” he responded, giving her another kiss on the head. “Whatever you want. I have good authority that Cadbury is a good brand to go with.”

“Cadbury,” Beth repeated. She glanced at the rack where a stack of purple chocolate bars baring the name “Cadbury” were placed and cocked her head at him. “That’s expensive though. Mom never lets me get that stuff.”

“Let me worry about that, okay?” Killian replied with a smile.

Beth tentatively reached for one of the Cadbury bars on the rack, looking at him with questioning eyes. He nodded encouragingly at her. She took one of the larger bars which had been labeled as milk chocolate. Internally, Killian cringed at her choice. While he wasn't much of a chocolate person, he did have a preference for dark chocolate over milk chocolate; the latter was too sweet for him. He preferred his confections a little on the bitter side.

"You sure you just want one bar?" he asked, nodding his head back at the variety of candy bars in front of them.

"You mean I can have more than one?" she asked, blinking.

"Of course. Though this is more of a special occasion thing, love. Don't think every time we go to the store I'm going to let you buy more than one," he said, soothing a hand through her hair.

"Cool," she grinned, grabbing another bar from the rack. This time it was a dark chocolate bar. She smiled and handed it over to him. "Now we can both have one."

"I don't need chocolate, Minnow," he said, shaking his head and placing the bar back on the rack. "It's a lovely thought but this is about you."

"Yeah but I want you to have one too,” she replied with a frown.

“I don’t need any chocolate, Beth,” he repeated.

Beth gave him a hard look, once more reminding Killian of his wife. She pursed her lips for a moment before picking up the dark chocolate bar again. This time she didn’t hand it to him.

“This is what I want,” she said firmly. “But you gotta promise on the Jolly Roger that if I get full that you’ll finish it for me.’

“You want me to promise on the Jolly Roger?” Killian repeated, eyebrows raising.

“Yup,” she replied, popping the ‘p’ and giving him a smirk that was more Jones than Swan. “And on Mom too. That’s how I know you’re serious and won’t break your promise.”

Killian couldn’t help it, he laughed; shaking his head at the absurdity of the moment.

“Alright,” he chuckled. “I swear on both on the Jolly Roger and on your mother, bless her, that I will finish your candy bar if you get full.”

The smile that he received after he finished speaking made it worth the ridiculous promise. Beth was grinning ear-to-ear, looking more like the child he knew than the grumpy little girl he had gone into the store with. She reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers and swung them merrily between them as they approached the counter and made their purchases.

Upon arrival back at the house, Killian handed the plastic bag to his daughter and gave her a gentle smile.

“Everything you need is in there, love. There’s directions on how to use…the things…I’m going to kick your brother off the couch and get you a heating pad and we’ll have a quiet afternoon. Sound alright?” Killian said gently.

Beth blinked.

“You’re kicking Wes out of the man cave?” she asked dubiously.

“It’s not a man cave, love,” Killian replied with a snort. “It’s our living room and he can’t monopolize the television forever. If anything, this is good for him. I’m starting to get worried that he’s putting down roots.”

Beth shook her head, once more giving him a doubtful look.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” she muttered under her breath as she made her way up the stairs.

As expected, Killian’s thirteen year was lazing on the couch in the living room, watching some cartoon show. His feet were swinging absently in the air and Killian was certain that there was a mark on his cheek from holding his head in the cradle of his palm for too long. His overgrown blonde hair was pulled into a haphazard bun, but Killian still could see the greasiness of it that heralded it’s unwashed state. It was quite obvious that his son had not showered the entire weekend. As he walked into the room, Wes made no move, not even a grunt in acknowledgement, but Killian wasn’t expecting any. At least, not until he took the remote laying abandoned on the couch and promptly shut the television off. The effect was immediate. Wes turned around and glared at him.

“I was watching that,” he said in annoyed tone.

“Yeah, and now you’re going to be a good lad and take a shower,” Killian replied, unimpressed with the attitude. “You reek.”

Wes promptly raised his arm and tilted his head to give himself a quick sniff. He took a moment to consider the smell and then shrugged casually.

“I’m not too bad. I’ll take one later,” he said dismissively, reaching for the remote.

Killian pulled it out of his reach.

“No,” he said firmly. “You’re taking a shower now and your sister and I are going to have a turn with the television. She’s not feeling well.”

“If she’s not feeling good then she should go to bed, sleep and not being such a whiner,” Wes responded, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You know things would be much easier if you just let us have our own televisions.”

“Not on your life,” Killian replied, frowning at him. “You would never leave your room if we did that. Though, now that I’m thinking about it, that isn’t necessarily such a bad thing.”

“Hilarious Dad,” Wes responded, rolling his eyes. “But in all seriousness, I will go take a shower and even let you have the TV for the rest of the day if you and Mom get me my own TV that I don’t have to share with anyone.”

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Killian said, narrowing his eyes at him. “I think you forget who the captain of this ship is. Go upstairs, take a shower and maybe do your homework for once. Your time with the television is done.”

“And if I don’t?” Wes asked, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

Killian gave him a mirthless smile, drawing himself to his full height and narrowing his eyes at the boy. Killian Jones, fun-loving Dad, took a seat on the bench as Captain Hook took over.

“If you don’t, then you’re grounded. No television. No phone. No computer. No Gideon. And I will make you scrub the entire deck of the Jolt by yourself. Sound like fun?”

Wes glared at him, letting out a moody huff before getting up and stomping out of the living room. Under his breath, he muttered unkind things about his father and something about “ not fair.” Killian just shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. Honestly, why had they decided to have kids again?

Killian set up the Netflix queue before going into the downstairs closet near the bathroom and pulling out Emma’s old heating pad. It hadn’t been used since Neddy was a toddler, but Killian couldn’t imagine it not still working. As he was setting it up, Beth returned downstairs. She was still wearing Harrison’s gigantic football t-shirt, but she had changed into a different pair of leggings.

“You alright?” he asked gently.

“Yeah,” she said, tugging her hair behind her ear. “I feel like I’m wearing a diaper though.”

Killian blinked, giving her a perplexed look.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing,” Killian responded, chuckling a bit. “You’re going to have to ask your mother about that.”

“Speaking of Mom, we can make her milk dud popcorn,” Beth asked, swinging the plastic bag that held the chocolate bars and giving him another pout.

“I think the chocolate is enough, love. I’m trying to make you feel better, not give you any more cavities than you already have. I may not take you to the dentist, but I’ve seen the bill,” Killian replied dryly.

Beth hopped on the couch, sighing dramatically.

“Worth a shot,” she mumbled, before turning a bit on her side to face him. “What are we watching?”

“Whatever you want to watch,” he said with a shrug. “When your mother isn’t feeling well, she loves to watch Princess Bride, Love Actually and She’s the Man. I’m willing to suffer through them if that’s what you want to watch.”

Beth wrinkled her nose at him, leaning up a bit to give him an unimpressed look.

“Really? Chick flicks? Do I look like Grandma Snow to you?” she scoffed and rolled her eyes in the most teenager way possible. He had no doubt she learned that one from her brothers. “What about Men in Black? Or Mad Max? Or the Terminator?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re too young for any of those movies,” Killian remarked, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, but I love them! Especially the Terminator! Arnold is like bigger than Har and super awesome!” Beth responded before lowering her voice to make one of the worst Arnold Schwarzenegger impressions that Killian had ever head. “Come with me if you want to live!”

“Alright,” he chuckled, settling down next to her and kissing her hair. “We can watch the Terminator, but you have to swear on the Jolly Roger that you won’t tell your mother about this.”

Beth snorted.

“I swear on the Jolly Roger that I won’t tell Mom about this,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Not that matters because you’re going to totally tell her anyway.”

“Perhaps,” Killian remarked as he reached over to grab the remote and searched for their feature film on the Netflix queue. “But that’s up to me. Now hush and let’s watch your movie.”

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #cs fanfiction #cs fanfic #little pirates fic #women's things #beth jones #wes jones #my fic #my shit #little pirates

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chosemypain · 7 years

Text

whoops, my fingers slipped

“Lost my mind and found my soul”

Gabriel Lorca/Katrina Cornwell (past/background)

What if Lorca and Cornwell had a daughter?

Word count: 1980

Rating: T

For @sour-blue-milk and @icecream-junkie

lost my mind and found my soul

2232

The night they saw the Perseids meteor shower hadn’t been the first time it happened, Kat and Gabe, fresh out of the Academy with the whole universe in the palms of their hands, drunkenly fumbling on the tray of his truck while the sky lit up above them. They were celebrating; the ceremony had been earlier that afternoon, their first assignments sent out later that evening. The Class of 2232. Just the thought of it made Gabriel grin. An empty bottle of single malt whiskey – a graduation gift from his father – lay beside them, forgotten as they burrowed closer together, sweaty and lightly panting.

It wasn’t love, he’d tell himself later, but in that moment, it sure as hell felt like it.

—- Julia was born eight and a half months later to a father light years away and a mother who’d been forced to give up on her dreams – neither parent really ready for what was to come. She was a wild child, obstinate and tenacious, with a strong moral compass to match, but adored by both parents. She filled a hole in Gabriel’s heart that he never knew was there, and from the moment she wrapped her little fingers around his bigger ones a month after her birth, he’d been hers completely.

2238

“Daddy, why can’t mommy and I come with you to see the stars?” Her voice was light and sweet, like the lullabies he used to sing her when she was a baby, and the thought made his heart clench. She was growing up so fast, and he was missing so much of it.

“Your mom’s busy with the clinic, Julia. You know how much she loves her work.”

“But I miss you when you’re gone!”

“I miss you too, baby.“

“— Julia, time for dinner!”

“I’ll comm you again tomorrow. Give mom a big kiss from me.”

2244

“— She’s eleven, Gabriel. She’s a big girl. What were you expecting me to do, put my life on hold until she’s 21?”

Gabriel crossed an arm tightly across his chest, the other pinching his nose as he sighed. “I thought you were happy at the clinic, that’s all. If you really wanna do the graduate program at the Academy, I’m not gonna stop you, Kat, you know that. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m worried about my daughter.”

2246

The first thing recently promoted Commander Gabriel Lorca did when he arrived home from Tarsus IV was pull his daughter into his arms and bury his face in her hair. More than 4000 lives had been lost in only a few short months, murdered by the governor of the colony. The images of the dead had haunted his dreams since the massacre, all wearing his daughters blue eyes and Kat’s smile.

He told Kat about the nightmares after Julia went to bed and she held him close as he sobbed into her hair. It was a moment of weakness, he’d tell himself the next day, as he kissed her goodbye before leaving for spacedock. One that he wouldn’t let himself repeat.

After all, there’s no room for tears in the Captain’s chair.

2251

“Congratulations, Captain Lorca.”

“I could say the same to you, Captain Cornwell.”

Who would’ve thought it. Their teenage selves would be ecstatic – Kat and Gabe, high school sweethearts, both receiving command of their own ship within the same week. For Gabriel, the Buran after the resignation of his former commanding officer. For Katrina, the constellation class USS Exeter.

All in all, 2251 was quite a success year for the Cornwell-Lorcas, with Julia being admitted to Starfleet Academy in the fall, eager to follow in the footsteps of her parents and finally make it to the stars.

2255

Her daughter’s graduation was one of the proudest moments of Rear Admiral Katrina Cornwell’s life. They had a family dinner to celebrate that evening, with Gabriel even managing to take leave for a week to celebrate his daughter’s achievement (thanks to a few strings pulled by a certain member of the Admiralty).

“A toast! To one of the finest the Academy’s ever seen. Congratulations, baby. You should be proud.” Gabriel raised his glass of single malt, shooting a crooked smirk at his partner. (Not wife. Never wife. He’d asked, once or twice, but marriage to ones insubordinates could put both of their careers at risk, and that was a step neither was willing to take.) They had grown apart since Julia had left for the Academy, both having little excuse to see each other outside of a work context now that their little girl was all grown up, but the respect and care they felt for each other was still there – and would likely always be.

“Should I tell you where you’ve been assigned, or would your future Captain like the honor?”

“Welcome to the crew of the Buran, Ensign Lorca.”

Julia’s beaming smile that night was one Kat never wanted to forget.

2256

—– The Klingon ship had come out of nowhere.

It was meant to be a routine supply run, far behind the front lines, with the Buran dropping much needed rations to an Andorian mining colony which had been targeted by the Klingons. Less than a month into the war and the Federation had already suffered so many losses. It made Ensign Julia Cornwell-Lorca’s heart hurt.

She’d always told herself that she was brave, that she could handle anything space would throw at her — but less than a year in to her professional career, Julia was starting to doubt it.

They had been doomed from the start; one Cardenas-class Starship equipped with minimal weapons against a Klingon Bird of Prey – a ship designed to win battles and crush its enemies? The Buran didn’t have a chance, and her colleagues knew it.

At least she’d die alongside her father.

Phaser blasts and photon torpedoes rocked the ship, Engineers were running around frantically, trying to patch up whatever they could in a desperate last attempt to keep the ship together, but something was preying on the young officer.

So far, all of the blasts had been targeted at their weapons, secondary propulsion and navigation systems. From her father’s tactical analyses of Klingon methods of combat, the avoidance of the main power grid and warp core could only mean one thing.

The Klingons weren’t going to destroy the Buran.

They were going to board it.

The motions to the ship stopped abruptly, followed by the familiar feeling of a tractor beam latching itself onto the hull of the ship. Panicking, Julia dropped her hyperspanner and fled Engineering, sprinting up the corridors towards the Bridge. Her Dad would have a plan. Of course he would. He was Gabriel Lorca, tactical genius. They’d be fine. They’d all be fine. The more she thought it, the less she was starting to believe it.

‘Julia! Julia, where are you?’ Her communicator chirped on her belt, her father’s desperate voice ringing through the speaker. She stopped running and fumbled to flip open the device.

“Dad? I’m on C deck, near the turbolift. What are you doing?”

‘Stay right there. I’m on my way.’

Less than a minute later, Julia felt herself being pulled tightly against her father’s chest, just the way he had when he’d returned from Tarsus IV. The hug lasted only a few seconds, but there was a startling finality about it which made her wary.

“I need to get you off this ship.”

Before she knew it, one of his hands was tightly gripping her forearm, almost dragging her towards the escape pods. Lorca wouldn’t let go, despite all her protests, cries that he shouldn’t be doing this, that he was the captain of this ship and should be up on the Bridge, trying to find a way to save his crew. He stopped and let her go when they reached the emergency airlock, fingers sliding down to loosely grasp her smaller ones.

“We have no weapons. Our shields and propulsion systems are down. We’re about to be boarded. Jules, you’ve seen the reports. You know what the Klingons do to their prisoners. It’s not a fate I’d wish on my worst enemy.”

“So why are you letting it happen to your crew? Dad, I don’t understand…”

“I’m not.” He steeled himself, taking a deep breath and settling his hands on her shoulders, deep blue eyes so similar to her own filled with sadness. “The ship is set to self destruct in less than four minutes. And when she blows, you’re gonna be in an escape pod, safe and sound. That’s an order.”

He took her hand once more. Julia’s mind was rushing as Gabriel led her up to the small platform outside the ships sole remaining escape pod, the rest having been damaged in the attack. She watched his free hand lift to the control panel, hovering over the button which would open the pod and set the automatic launch sequence.

“Dad, don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.”

“I am so proud of you, sweetheart. Tell Katrina— that I’m sorry. I love you.”

It was all so fast from there. The doors slid open, just as she broke free from the light grip he held on her hand, using both hands to shove him into the escape pod, palm rising to SLAM down on the button before he had realised what was happening. Slamming his fists against the door, kicking it, trying emergency override controls to stop the launch. All in vain. The pod had already been decoupled. There was no going back.

Raising her hand against the safety glass of the airlock door, she smiled at her father for the last time as the pod launched, a soft “I love you, too“ falling from her lips as the tritanium hull began to pull and creak around her, the ship lurching as the warp core breaches—-

—– a bright flash of light, and then there was nothing.

A bright flash of light, and she was gone. They’re all gone. His crew, the Klingons, his daughter… It was BLINDING, and with a cry of pain, Gabriel Lorca collapses, the world going black.

Katrina Cornwell’s heart stopped when she heard about the ambush, thinking the two people she loved most in the world had both died at the hands of the Klingons.

It was later that she had heard the truth, when hours after the initial attack, a Vulcan ship found Gabriel’s body in the lone escape pod. At first, it gave her hope. If there had been one pod launched, surely there would have been more – or so she had thought, until the searches were called off a week later at the word of a quickly recovering Captain Gabriel Lorca at the shocking revelation that he had blown up the ship to save his crew from a slow, painful death.

After what he’d seen on Tarsus IV, she almost wasn’t surprised.

An official memorial service wouldn’t be held until after the war, but as soon as Gabriel had been discharged, he approached Kat at HQ, a bottle of single malt whiskey in one hand, a holo of Julia as a little girl in the other.

They drove out to Iowa that night, and as they watched the sky dance with the Perseids meteor shower above them, empty bottle of whiskey lying beside them, forgotten, Gabriel told her what had really happened on the Buran.

“She had my eyes, Kat.” He murmured. “They’re a part of her that I’ll have with me ‘till the day I die, to— help me remember.”

Katrina nodded in understanding. She didn’t forgive him, not yet. Christ, she wasn’t sure she ever would, but she understood, and for Gabriel, that was enough.

#sour-blue-milk #icecream-junkie #i was expecting to write 200 words #whoops #2000 words later #au #gabriel lorca x katrina cornwell #lorca x cornwell #unedited and written in the early hours of the morning so please excuse all mistakes

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ironchefignis-archive-blog · 6 years

Text

For @choiminhovevo, I was your Secret Santa! I hope you enjoy your gift! :) @ignoctsecretsanta.

Title: Twelve Days Of Memories. Rating: Teen (SFW) Warning: None! Summary: Twelve days is all it took to turn Noctis’ life upside down, but not necessarily in a bad way- after all, he had Ignis back, after so long apart.

Find it on AO3!

The Crown City; the star of Lucis. Once home to the King of Kings, built to last with blood and sweat, only to be torn down hundreds of years later by the daemons that once roamed the planet. Rebuilt by the King Of Light's retainers, and by the hands of those the King of Light had befriended throughout his journey to banish the Darkness and daemons, it has stood for hundreds of years more.

Although peace has made the people of Lucis lulled into a lullaby, Sleeping Gods shall awake once more and when they do, history shall join with the present. One can only hope that the people of Lucis shall be ready for what shall come to pass.

* * *

“Rise and shine sleeping beauty!” The blonde teenager laughed as his best friend swatted at him, an unhappy groan falling from his lips as the raven-haired youth rolled over in his bed and buried his head underneath the pillow. “Oh c'mon now! Up and at 'em!” Prompto tugged at the pillow, crowing successfully when Noctis let it go.

“Did you have to do that right in my ear?” the assaulted one grumbled as he sat up. Running a hand through his hair, the squinted as he glanced around the darkened room, hardly able to make out the shape of the other. “Ugh, what time is it?”

“Eleven-thirty,” Prompto answered as he shoved open the dark curtains that blocked out almost all of the light in the bedroom; which prompted another groan from Noctis. “C'mon, dude. Your parents and I gave you long enough to sleep in, we've got things to do today, remember?”

Apparently Noctis didn't, if the bleary and confused look he was giving Prompto said anything.

“The new Assassin's Creed game comes out tod-!” Prompto let out an undignified yelp as the other teenager's bedding was suddenly thrown at him, nearly toppling over from under the weight of the heavy blankets.

“That was today?!”

Prompto shook his head, a resigned look upon his face as Noctis hurried around his bedroom, snatching a clean pair of shorts off of the floor before snagging a shirt from the closet. “You are so lucky you pre-ordered the game. I don't think we'd be getting it otherwise.”

“We still might not, depending on how busy the store it.” Noctis raked his fingers through his hair, trying to make himself more presentable before giving in and snagging a cap from his dresser.

“We're going to the little game store on the far side of town, so it can't be that bad, right?”

Of course, their luck wasn't all that great, and Noctis figured that Prompto should've accepted that by now. The little game store across the Crown City was, of course, extremely busy. Part of Noctis had been expecting it, honestly, with how popular the Assassin's Creed series was, but there had been the small balloon of hope that had been popped the second they saw the line for the game store was around the block.

A few hours had gone by, by the time they got out. Knowing that Prompto's place was closer than his own they decided to crash there for the day, and after sending a text to their parents (Noct's mother and father, and Prompto's dad) Noctis and the blonde made their way down the winding city streets, following the familiar path towards the center of the city.

There in the middle of Insomnia, was the Citadel. The grandness of the building never failed to take their breath away, but whenever Noctis got to close his heart began to trouble him, so the two never got much closer than the street across from the building.

“Y'know, sometimes I still think it's amusing that your family has the same names as the Royal Family,” Prompto said as they passed the Citadel. No longer used as a home for the Royal Family, but still mightily important for the Government, the Citadel was open to most. Only the bedrooms and many of the meeting chambers were off limits to the public.

“You say that every time we pass by here.”

“Well, I still do!”

Giving a quiet hum, the youth peered at his best friend, who was whistling the chocobo theme song as the walked. “You know, you have the same name as the King of Light's best friend, supposedly,” Noctis pointed out as they headed down the next street. It was something he had learned recently in history, and having a different class from Prompto, he didn't know if-

“I know, and that's awesome, right?” Prompto grinned widely, hooking his hands behind his head as they walked, practically skipping as he said, “Well, it's either Prompto to Laetus. It gets lost in the translation, but a name like Noctis isn't hard to forget, Mr. Nightlight.”

Well that answered that question. “Shut it,” Noctis groaned.

Prompto snickered as his best friend glared playfully at him. “I guess everyone can't have as cool as a name as Quicksilver.”

“Don't you mean dorky? You sound like a gun from a video game series. Wasn't there one in that one game, Final Fantasy VII, or something?”

“Mr. Night. Light. And yes, it was Vincent's starter weapon. It's in a lot of the Final Fantasy games, though. Almost as famous as Masamune, I presume. Always a gun- I don't understand your obsession with swords in video games, guns are so much better! Then again, you lose at first-person shooters all the time.” Prompto snickered.

“Touche, and I hate you.”

The other teenager threw his arm around Noctis' shoulders, playfully cooing. “Aww, love you too buddy.”

“No, I hate you.” Noctis lightly nudged Prompto's stomach with his elbow, causing the latter to fall away dramatically, wheezing.

“Nah, man. I know you, know what you really mean to say. After all, we've been friends since we were what, six, seven?”

“Something like that. First grade, at least.” Noctis gave a little nostalgic sigh. “Back when homework wasn't a bitch to do.”

Prompto grimaced his agreement. “Tell me about it. I'm so gonna fail the math quiz on Wednesday.”

“I keep tell you, Prom, just get Gladio to tutor you. Who knows, maybe he'll tutor you in other ways, too.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at the blonde, who blushed darkly, his freckles standing out like little beacons as he shoved a laughing Noctis.

“No way! Besides, we both know he likes girls and not guys. 'specially not scraggly little guys like me.” And there was that disappointment in his tone Noctis often heard whenever he teased the blonde about his crush on their friend and Prompto denied that Gladiolus would ever like him.

“Yeah, well, then he doesn't know what he's missing out.” Noctis was waiting for the two of them to stop dancing around each other. Whenever the three of them got together it was obvious (to him, anyways) that they looked at each other in obvious attraction, flirted without even knowing it. What annoyed Noctis most was that they both obviously ignored their feelings, with Gladio going out on a date every other week and Prompto whining like a love-sick puppy. “And you don't either. Now, c'mon! The cafe's nearby and I've starved.”

Nestled comfortably between two larger buildings along the side-road near the two was a small little establishment called Sagefire. Owned by a friend of Noctis' family, the two teenagers often find themselves in the little place, sitting in one of the booths eating lunch on the weekends or just stopping by for a drink to-go, Gladiolus occasionally joining them. Something always seemed missing to Noctis, but if Prompto felt it too he never uttered a word.

The bell above Sagefire's door tingled as Prompto pushed it open, Noctis just a step behind. Lunch rush had already passed, telling the two that their time at the game store was longer than anticipated. A faint smile curved Noctis' lips upwards as he noticed that their usual booth in the corner of the shop by the window was unoccupied and made a beeline for it.

“I'll go order. Only fair since you got the game and all. The usual?” Prompto asked once they reached it, barely getting a nod from Noctis before he was hurrying away. Settling himself comfortably in the booth, Noctis slipped his phone out of his pocket, immediately starting up his game of King's Knight. When Prompto joined him minutes later he was in the midst of a dungeon. “Started without me? No fair,” the blonde playfully complained as he slipped into the seat across from him. “Dude, there's a new guy here that I bet is totally your type.”

“Uh huh. You said that about that new guy at the game store the other week. Couldn't have been further off.”

“I'm serious this time! That's why I placed our orders separate, so that you can see him for yourself.” Ah, so Prompto knew him well enough that he wouldn't look up from his phone until they left. Fair enough.

“All right. Now get on, this Level Four is kicking my ass.”

For a while they only spoke when encouraging each other in the next dungeon, hissing out instructions for begging to be healed – more in Prompto's case than Noctis' own.

It wasn't long before, “Prompto.” was called out. Noctis' brows rose in curiosity at hearing the smooth, accented voice. Tenebraen? Now that wasn't an accent you often heard. Of course, Noctis was too drawn into his game to look up, uttering a quiet curse as the nearest enemy shot down his health bar by half.

“And that's me.” He hears the quiet scuffle of Prompto getting out of the booth and making for the counter,

“Highness.” It takes a moment, and another call of “Highness!” for Noctis to realize that the smooth accented man was calling out for him. Immediately the dark-haired youth's lips twisted into a scowl as he turned his displeasure onto Prompto, who did look puzzled.

“Haha, very funny.”

“Wasn't me, dude.” Prompto held his hands out, looking completely serious. He knew how much Noctis hated anyone calling him 'Highness', had for as long as Prompto could remember. “Was probably the bartender or something.”

“With a name as popular as mine you'd think they'd stop getting a kick out of it,” the dark-haired youth grumbled as he stood, purposefully letting his chair scrape loudly against the floor. Scowling as he made his way over to the counter where the bartender had turned around to deal with the next order, unable to see the man's face.

“Hey.” As he reached said counter, Noctis opened his mouth to complain about the stupid nickname and to ask the man not to do it again, the man turned around and the teenager felt his mouth dry. He was hardly older than himself, but the way he carried himself was with a grace of a man who had to be royalty. Even working in a place like this (a nice coffee shop, but not an extremely fancy one) he was dressed to his nines, a nicely pressed white dress shirt and black slacks, dusty brown hair pushed upwards into a pompadour.

Glasses framed his eyes, and that had been exactly what made Noctis freeze; his sapphire gaze meeting with a very familiar set of emerald hues.

“...Ignis?”

He watched as lips curved upwards into a smile, those eyes softening as the man greeted softly, “Hello, Your Highness.”

#Choiminohovevo #Merry Christmas!#IgnoctSecretSanta2017 #:3 #ignis scientia #noctis lucis caelum #prompto argentum #gladiolus amicitia #Ignoct #reincarnation

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gohyuck · 7 years

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jungkook - chocolate

high school au... aka the school orchestra is selling chocolate out of boxes right now as a fundraiser and i think i bought 7 bars of dark chocolate in two days and it and also its breast cancer awareness month and all of this (along with this) inspired me to write this whole mess...

“I will personally - stop laughing at me - personally kick your ass if you don’t give me back my box right n- what’s so funny?”

He just chuckles and makes no move to lessen your burden. If you’re not mistaken, he even stretches ever so slightly on his toes to thrust the box even higher up, even higher away from you.

“Fine, then.” You mutter, feeling more and more as if you’re talking to yourself. Your backpack falls from your shoulder as gracefully as possible (meaning what it really does is slide off of your arm, dropping with a dull thud on the tile of the hallway) and you stare at it for a moment, pondering if you’re really about to do what you’re about to do, before turning back to the chocolate thief.

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow.

You solidify your decision - yeah, you’re really about to do it.

He smirks before breaking out, again, into poorly suppressed laughter at your predicament.

...Fucker.

In the blink of an eye your legs are securely wrapped around his waist, having used his foot as a stepping off point to launch yourself onto him. Your friend stumbles, steadying himself against a corner to avoid dropping not only your box but you and himself. It’s a good thing, you decide, that Jungkook’s started working out and can now physically support both of you.

(Your brain reminds you that that’s the very reason half of the girls in the grade stare at him, now. You’re not a fan of it. Yikes - you push that thought out of your head.)

“What the hell?!”

“Fucker.” This time you say it out loud. Your face is stone cold, you know it, and Jungkook inadvertently lowers the offending arm. Snatching your box of chocolates you jump down from him, almost tripping over your own feet but not quite. After retrieving your backpack from its place on the ground you open the box, giving the contents a once-over.

You turn back to glance at Jungkook.

He has the grace to look deathly afraid.

You cock an eyebrow.

He blinks before shaking himself out of his stupor and mumbling something that you almost don’t hear.

“Fucker.”

You smirk.

“What are you even fundraising for?”

He interrupts your loving stare at your sandwich. You pull a face best described as hangry. To the right of him, Jimin hides a snort behind his apple. To the left, Namjoon coughs into his pasta.

“You’ve spent at least twenty bucks on at least twenty bars of wafer crisp and caramel and you don’t even know what the money’s going towards?”

Jungkook shrugs. “I like my chocolate.”

Your stare moves from loving to incredulous and from your lunch to the boy sitting across from you. Ailee, unnoticed by you, takes a picture of your expression, sending it to the group chat. You’ll playfully kick her ass about it later. She’s safe for now, though. Jungkook, however, is not. He senses this, putting his hands up in surrender.

“Anyways, I’m asking now.”

“It’s breast cancer awareness month, so we’re raising money for the National Breast Cancer Foundation. We’re selling pink out shirts, too, in the school store.”

Jungkook nods, looking thoughtful. There’s really not much else to say on the topic, so he turns to lean over Jimin and advise Yugyeom on Clash of Clans while you settle for taking a bite out of your sandwich with one hand and checking your phone with the other- Ailee’s sent something to Super Saiyan Suckers.

You open it. Your comical face stares back at you.

“...Ailee!”

You’re so busy chewing her out that you don’t notice Jungkook’s thoughtful eyes straying towards you repeatedly and quickly darting away everytime you look over at him.

You’re pleasantly surprised when Jungkook buys an entire box of chocolate from you. Where’d he get the sixty bucks from? He just sheepishly scratches his neck when you ask, so you decide not to press on.

You wonder what he’ll do with the almond chocolate bars - he hates those.

It should be impossible to be sick of chocolate, but you’ve always sneered at the impossible.

See also - you spent sixty dollars, bought your own box of chocolates, and plowed through a solid third of it in an hour, let alone in a day or a week, and you never, ever want to see anything brown, anything sweet, and anything starting with the letter “c” ever again.

Current situation - legs crossed, back against the wall of the fine arts hallway, backpack sandwiched between you and your 2/3 full box of chocolates (there’s 34 bars left in it, actually) so you don’t even have to look at it, water bottle nearly empty at your feet due to your failed attempt at washing the chocolate taste out of your mouth.

The choir room door opens. You can’t bring yourself to scramble to your feet - the four pounds you’re sure you’ve just gained weigh you down. Instead you swing your backpack onto one shoulder and take the water bottle into one hand.

Conveniently forget the box of chocolates.

Jungkook stands in front of you and you stare up at him expectantly, sticking your free hand out. He sighs, grabbing it and hauling you up with more strength than needed, sending you crashing into him. Both of you straighten yourselves out, him trying to ignore the rising blush in his cheeks. You don’t notice.

Instead, you smile at him in thanks and start walking towards the door at the end of the hallway - while it had been your own choice to wait for Jungkook’s hour long rehearsal to end so you could go home together you’re not keen on spending even more time at school - and you know he’ll follow behind.

He kind of has to. You’re his ride.

You feel him bend and pick up the box of chocolates you’d left on the ground.

“You can keep it. I paid for it.”

“If you paid, then why would I keep it?”

Push open the door. Fading sunlight greets you. You can’t help but turn your face up towards the sky. Behind you Jungkook smiles at the sight. Finally you look back at him to respond, and he hurriedly changes his face to a more neutral expression. He looks like an idiot, instead, when your eyes meet his. Is he red? Maybe it’s just the way the light is falling on him. Whatever it is, you find it adorable.

(And attractive. You try to blink that idea away - Jungkook’s been your friend since the beginning of time. He’s the same idiot who drew asymmetrical stars in black sharpie on your bedroom wall seven years ago, just older. You never scrubbed off the stars, though. They’re just hidden by your bedframe, now. The reminder makes you sad, for some reason.)

You shake your head to clear it and to reply to him.

“Consider it a birthday present.”

“My birthday was last month... remember, you gave me that Build-A-Bear gift card in case I ‘ever feel my inner furry and decide to buy myself a playmate.’ You ruined building for me. And bears. And stuffed animals in general.”

“Listen, Jungkook, I didn’t present you this wonderful gift to argue with you, I-”

“If you stop talking, I’ll keep it.”

“...But my silence for $8,000 a month.”

“At this rate I’ll just walk home, melted chocolate and everything. By the way, how much of this box did you eat? It’s kind of light.”

“...I’ll leave you here.”

“Damn. No wonder you’re trying to get rid of it.”

“Sh-shut up. Shut up. I’m your ride, you walnut, stop disrespecting me.”

“God, alright, alright. Fine. Thanks for the chocolate.”

“No prob- where are you going? My car’s that way.”

It’s the Friday before Halloween and the last day of chocolate selling for breast cancer donations. You’re at $469, trying to sell your last eleven chocolate bars. You’re desperate, really - you want to raise the money for the foundation, of course, but a little part of you also just wants the chocolate to be out of your sight.

Next year you’ll sign up to man the school store every morning and afternoon instead. Taehyung, Mino, and Seulgi get to greet customers, sell shirts, and make and hang up posters without worry of either being mobbed by sweet-tooth crazed highschoolers or being snubbed while trying to overcome awkwardness and lack of salesmanship.

Chocolate drains you.

“Hey,” A hand waves in front of you, pulling you out of your thoughts. It’s Minghao. He’s whispering, since the teacher’s up at the board explaining why post hoc ergo propter hoc is a logical fallacy and he doesn’t want to interrupt. “Do you have any darks left?”

You blink. You don’t.

You want to scream.

“(Y/N)?”

Minghao’s a nice guy; you’re not close to him but you make smalltalk with him without qualms in the classes you have with him. Even so - you aren’t best friends or anything.

Which is why, needless to say, he’s just a little concerned when you quasirobotically respond to his question with a succinct “I’m a shell of a person.”

“Uh...”

“(Y/N) doesn’t have any darks left, is what this... shell of a person meant to say.”

Jungkook swoops in, less smoothly than intended, to save your ass. You nod, embarrassment overcoming you as you realize your dramatic flair isn’t understood by everyone. Minghao nods, eyebrows still a little furrowed together, and turns around.

“Nice one.” Your friend snorts. You knock your shoulder against his in mock annoyance. He laughs, just a little too loud.

“Mr. Jeon, since your head obviously isn’t in the lesson, would you mind telling the class what you were thinking?”

This time, Jungkook is smooth. For once. “I’m thinking that (Y/N) just needs to sell a few more chocolate bars to finish this last box and to raise a few more dollars for the breast cancer foundation. Does anyone want to buy some?”

Red creeps up your neck and you cough, looking down. Unseen to your eyes, the teacher’s face softens.

“I’ll have three of whatever you have left; I should have a few dollar bills in my bag. Anyone else?”

Jungkook goes around with your box for the next following minutes, emptying it out and collecting the last $11. There’s a “finally” on the tip of your tongue. Now you can turn in the money you’ve raised to the front office - you hope the total is over $5,000.

After the bell rings you throw your arms around Jungkook’s neck enthusiastically and he laughs at the suddenness but buries his face in your shoulder in response nonetheless.

It lasts just for a moment.

You’ve hugged him before, of course you have. For some reason, though, it’s never felt like this.

His arms are warm around your waist; you can feel his body heat through your clothes. The inside of your forearm brushes against the junction of his neck on accident when he pulls you closer and - wow, have his shoulders always been this broad? Jungkook moves so his hands are resting on your hips for a moment. You take a step back, your palms flat against his shoulders. His muscles shift underneath your fingers as he holds you an arm length away, smiling down at you.

Why’s your heart beating so fast? You try your best to shove the obvious answer out of your head.

You clear your throat.

“I owe you one, Kook.”

He lets go of you and you move your hands to your sides. “Sure.” Jungkook grins at you. “I was just being a good friend, though.” You two begin walking towards the main hall.

Friend. That word’s never filled you with dread before.

(That’s a lie - it always has with Jungkook. You’ve always been good at pretending it hasn’t, though.)

“Don’t you have to go to lunch?” You wave at him, turning right to get to class.

“Yeah. See you later, though.” He waves back. Turns left.

“Later.”

Door duty.

It could be worse, you decide while flipping through your history notebook absentmindedly (they’ll curve the test anyways, you’re sure of it) and simultaneously keeping an eye on the front door. The stream of kids trick-or-treating isn’t steady - an hour ago you were forced to stand by the door as the doorbell was ringing nonstop, but for the past twenty minutes it’s been fairly quiet. Probably because it’s getting late, honestly. Now only some middle school age kids and other teenagers are out, and, even then, it’s a school night. Some, like you, have tests tomorrow to study for tonight.

It’s both a blessing and a curse, actually. The less kids there are, the more time there is for you to think. The only problem is that instead of pondering the differences between Legalism, Confucianism, and Taoism, your mind keeps drifting back to the one and only Jungkook Jeon.

It’s been four days since what you’ve mentally deemed the Fateful Hug happened, and you’ve forced yourself to face reality. You’ve fallen in love with someone who’s one of your best friends.

It doesn’t help that he probably doesn’t like you back - after all, literally everyone on the planet is enamored with him. He could pick anyone, you surmise, why would he pick you? Especially after he’s seen you not just at your best, but at your very, very worst.

You’ve put Jungkook through a lot, and you know it.

Closing your notebook you shove it away from you, causing it to slide across the table. You’ll retrieve it later. You choose, instead, to shoot Ailee a quick text, asking for help. There’s not much else for you to do.

i need help getting over jungkook send help pls and thank

Your phone dings not a second later, and you pick it up again.

you like kook?? -nj

why the hell do you have A’s phone joon

were neighbors remember

yeah but still

kook is my neighbor and he isnt over at mine

im helping her dogsit, her parents dont trust her

and shes in the bathroom

and they trust you??? you nearly burned down their HOUSE

anyways thats not the POINT

you like JUNGKOOK is the point

pls give ailee her phone back

also dont u fuckin DARE tell kook

forget i said anything disaster man

i resent that nickname

You wince - this wasn’t meant to happen. You trust Namjoon though - out of all of the boys, he’s got his head screwed on the straightest... even if he’d lose it if it wasn’t screwed on at all.

You receive a text.

ok but whats new tho - ailee

wdym...?? i like kook is whats new

youve liked him since like the beginning of time

thats sooo not true

youre telling me you just realized NOW?

well yeah bc i just started liking him

anyways just

how do u get over a guy you see everyday

Do Not

im 99% sure he likes you back

ailee ur a lotta things but uve never been a LIAR before

namjoon says kook is so far up your ass that

he can prob see your intestines

joon says he needs you/kook to get together

namjoon needs to work on analogies

is what namjoon needs

just like

kiss him or something idk man

thats not how it works

thAts nOt HoW iT WorKs

joon said he’ll help u

uhhhhh

is that a good

IDEA

It’s been a solid five minutes of no response from Ailee when suddenly the doorbell rings, startling you. The idea of Namjoon helping you with anything scares you - after all, putting two overthinkers together just results in more overthinking.

The doorbell rings again.

The phone dings.

You sigh. You’ll respond to Ailee in a minute - it’s Halloween and some poor kid is on the other side of the door waiting for candy. Grabbing a handful of Hershey’s kisses you swing open the door.

Only to find yourself face to face with Jungkook.

“Trick or treat.” He grins, slightly sheepish. His right hand comes up to scratch at the back of his neck, something he does when he’s nervous or uncomfortable. Huh.

You blink.

“Oh.” You shake your head immediately, mentally chastising yourself. He’s still a friend - act like it! “What’s up. Come in, dude.”

Jungkook steps in, closing the door behind himself. “I can’t stay long, it’s game night and you know how my brother gets about not getting the chance to kick my ass in Call of Duty, but, uh...” He scratches at his neck again.

“You okay?” For some reason, your heart is in your throat. Kisses are still in abundance in your palm and he reaches over, unwrapping one and putting it into his mouth. It seems like an effort to calm himself down.

You set the rest of them down on the table. Jungkook jerks his head to the left for a split second - something he does before proving himself or readying himself to overcome something. Usually, of course, it means he’s about to whoop Seokjin’s ass in a video game.

There’s not much time to think about that though, as Jungkook lips are, almost out of nowhere, hovering above yours. Your breath catches.

“You know how you said you owe me one a few days ago?” His voice is lower than usual. You let air out between your lips.

“Yeah.” Words are straining against your lips, on the tip of your tongue. For some reason, however, you can’t say them out loud.

“You didn’t say what you owed me.” His nose bumping yours, whether accidentally or on purpose, reminds you that you’ve known him for forever. You’ve known every curve of his face, every type of laugh he has, every expression he makes like the back of your hand for years. Why are you so afraid of speaking now?

You shouldn’t be. So you aren’t.

“Just kiss me, you asshole.”

Jungkook obliges.

He tastes like chocolate, the Hershey’s he’d just let melt on his tongue serving another purpose than just steadying jitters. The kiss doesn’t last long, and when you pull away Jungkook looks awestruck. Red rises in both of your cheeks.

Realization hits as your phone notifies you of another text.

“Did Namjoon text y-”

“Yep.” Jungkook allows his smile to widen. You laugh and take a step closer to him, pulling him nearer as he hugs you tightly.

“I’ll kick his ass,” You pause. “You know, I was starting to hate chocolate.” Words are muffled by his shirt. He chuckles into your hair.

“Did I change that?”

“...Maybe so.”

After what feels like an eternity you both let go of each other. You both begin speaking at once.

“I have to study for history-”

“Bro’s waiting-”

It goes silent. You roll your eyes. Press a kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t keep him waiting. I’ll see you in first period tomorrow.”

Jungkook grins and leans in, his lips meeting your forehead. Too soon he’s out the door and walking the twenty feet to his front porch. Before walking in, he sends you a flying kiss.

You send one back and shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a second. Wow.

Your phone is exploding on the table and you assume that Jungkook must’ve told Namjoon what happened. You’ll deal with that later, with Ailee and Joon later. Right now you need a minute to process everything yourself.

(A really, really, dumb, sappy, in-love smile takes over your face. You’re sure you look like you’re insane - it’s a good thing that nobody’s around to see it.)

You get your history notes from across the table and settle down in your chair again to review everything you need to know. Holding the notebook with one hand you absentmindedly grab a chocolate from the tabletop, unwrapping it and placing it on your tongue.

It’s funny, really - a week ago you would’ve denounced chocolate willingly for the rest of your life, and now, you’re enjoying some good ol’ Hershey’s without any strong emotions tied to it.

It’s also the second best kiss you’ve had all day.

hoo boy this ending...needs work but idk how else to end it...i hope it wasn’t too bad!! i feel like it was rushed and im prob gonna edit later

#jungkook #bts #bts scenario #bts scenarios #jungkook scenario #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jeongguk #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #bts preferences #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook

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