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the-letter-horror-lover · 2 years

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Summary:

Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.

In this chapter, Alan's feeling warmer and Rox cleans up a loose end.

Notes:

I am so sorry to be so late! This chapter is brought to you by the government shutdown, a business trip, a workvalanche and bronchitis. I hope to have fifteen up on schedule!

Chapter Text

Invited was wonderful, and included was better - even if Eric and Ronald mostly let Alan sit back as the pair of them alternately worked together, bickered, and did the peacocky strut and preen. Eric relaxed was funny as hell, but fading fast by midafternoon. Alan excused himself to bring his haul home and let the man sleep - which Eric did, curled up in the Grape Grope Grotto before Alan and Ronald were down the stairs.

Alan arrived home a little tired himself, and put away his haul. He found that Eric had made some change-ups, knowing about cancer and chemo. Smaller meals, dense with nutrients, the grains trending to oats and barley. Corn made an appearance in a creamy mushroom polenta, but not otherwise. Alan decided that stuffed whole-grain French toast made a good afternoon snack, finding that the rich pumpkin-and-spice ricotta filling was satisfying on its own - the maple syrup in the batter making for a bit of creme-brulee crunchiness.

The brownies were letting him wean himself away from the ativan as well as the opiates, and Alan prepared his evening dose along with the filgrastim. Tomorrow was his short day, and then Friday was the last treatment in phase one. Then he'd have a whole week with no chemotherapy, and hopefully no filgrastim. Maybe he could do something fun. Something normal. He could visit a museum, or go to a park.

He packed for Tuesday morning's short session - slippers, new Kindle loading with media and games, two Juicy Lucy's - a Mean Greens and Mango Mangler - plus a couple of Eric's new high-nutrition snacks. And a small brownie - Eric had done his research and marked the waxed paper according to dosage and type.

Should Alan inform his "team" about his decision to use marijuana in a therapeutic context? According to research, certain natural cannabinoids increased the uptake of chemotherapy drugs as well as having cytotoxic effects themselves. However, in New York, marijuana was still an offense punishable by fines (not a concern) and incarceration (a big one).

So, here was his dilemma - take drugs that had proven track records as addictive substances, with the side-effect of making him utterly stuporous? Or should he use something that worked so profoundly that he slept sixteen hours out of twenty-four, and was able to function afterward? Risk jail and possibly death from medical oversights? Or look up a good bail-bondsman and attorney with a track record in marijuana cases?

A call to Harold Foreman was returned post-haste and then a call with another attorney - Sandra Shapiro - resulted in a just-in-case retainer and a reference to a good bondsman.

"All I am able to do is to advise as to the contents of the law, Mr. Humphries. I can't advocate one way or the other as to your decision, nor do feelings have any impact on the law," Ms. Shapiro cautioned. "You're white, a professional, and wealthy - not of color, poor, and walking. In addition, you're a cancer patient and judges are political creatures. Throwing a guy on chemo into Riker's not only looks bad, but it's likely that he'd be dead pretty fast. Even the most law-and-order, by-the-book asshole on the bench would think twice."

"But if this were to happen, and I was arrested, could you and your preferred bondman get me out in time for my meds and chemotherapy?" Alan asked. "That's the first thing on my mind."

"I'd drive you to Sloan-Kettering myself."

"What's your retainer and will you take a debit card or should I have Mr. Foreman do a bank transfer from the trust?"

"I'll give Hal the details, Mr. Humphries. And if you have a little extra, it would further my pro bono work for people without your luck."

"I usually give to the Lambda Legal Defense fund and the Point Foundation," Alan said bluntly. "Is this for you as a practice or do you have an organization with a 501(c) status?"

"I've worked with Lambda before, they'll be able to vouch."

The minutiae of illness were complicated and not what one expected, Alan mused as he programmed two more numbers into his phone after hanging up with Ms. Shapiro. And while he did not mind a donation, or someone pointing out his luck and privilege, he was wary of a potential shakedown.

The evening brownie went down on the heels of a very nice herb-and-barley stuffed turkey thigh. The chocolate was accented with a ginger and a citrus note, and taken with a big glass of almond milk, was really a delicious and deeply satisfying dessert course. Someone had been doing research on calcium bioavailability, and apparently experimenting with nut and hemp milks. His haul was loaded with them, and Alan liked the vanilla-infused almond milk best.

Someone did research for him, which of the brothers was open to question. He was oddly hopeful that it was Eric.

Not that he was… crushy… or anything that juvenile.

He simply appreciated Eric's form.

In context with his generosity and compassion.

Both the brothers were warm and friendly - Eric initially reserved and Ronald notably not. They unblinkingly accepted Alan and the mass of complications that came with his cancer. They had been open-hearted, generous, good Samaritans when he was feeling rather like the poor soul left on the road to Jericho. It was easy to like them.

It made him feel very guilty over some of his thoughts about Eric, though. Even if Eric could be butch-flirty, Alan didn't actually take it for real flirting. How could he? Losing weight and hair, freaking out in Eric's cafe and then passing out in his recliner was not a good recipe for a good date or even a hookup that wasn't a pity fuck. And while Alan could handle a laundry list of ills, being pitied was not one of them.

Besides, Alan had an inkling that Eric was involved in something with Rox Sharp.

Something that involved ligature marks on the wrists.

Which made Alan speculate.

Though Alan had never used handcuffs - not when silk neckties were so strong and made such a statement.

Hush, Alan.

"And while I'm at it, you hush, too." Alan spoke to the rise in his khakis. "We're not prime material right now. And quit with the dreams; I don't want to be a creeper."

The dreams were insistent and troublesome as much as they were enjoyable, aside from having to do the laundry afterward. It was frustrating to want from afar. If he'd been healthy, Alan was certain that he'd have rolled up on Eric the second Ronald pointed him out.

Some part of his brain laughed at him. Loudly. Then gave him the mental image of himself doing a Kermit the Frog flail.

"Shut up." His face hurt from the blush. And to his dick he said, "You, too."

Make me, buddy. I'd like to see you do yoga with pointy pants.

Alan was going mental. He could hear his dick smirking. That left aside having a conversation with it.

"I'm going to shut you up." He unbuttoned, unzipped, and swore he'd throttle the pestiferous thing. "And I am not going to do laundry in the middle of the night tonight."

Your brain wants some Tail of Hot Butch Honey, trussed up and oiled dowwwwn, baby, dowwwwn. Don't get mad at me when it's the brain's deal!

Closing his hand on his dick sent a jolt of heat through him, and Alan's imagination returned again to Eric's toned back with gravy train. Nope. Alan wrestled back the brain and pointed it to the memory of Things Done In Aspen With A Vacationing Corporate Litigator. The brain lingered momentarily over positions in a Jacuzzi and pleasurable things that a stream of pressurized water could do. Then the dick staged a mutiny with the brain's help, delivering a montage of Eric butt-shots and ligature marks, leavened with unwarranted graphic speculation.

Alan, quit bullshitting yourself. You would be on that man so hard and deep that if anyone managed to pull you out, they'd be crowned the true king of England.

Spit and palm were a poor substitute, but when you wanted a Chateaubriand and the only thing open was Joe's Burger Joint, you took what you could get. And right now, Alan was so hard that he ached. A stroke into his hand, the muscles in his thighs, abdomen and ass tensed and flexed. The images and thoughts in his mind returned to Eric, no matter how Alan redirected.

Fuck, but he had it bad.

Okay. Admit it. You want to fuck him. Admit it, then put it in a box and move on. You don't have to be a creeper.

"Yeah, I want to fuck him. He's the whole package, honestly."

In vino Veritas, his ass. If anyone ever wanted to hear absolute truth, then they needed to ask questions when someone was about to come. Alan slowed his hand, tugging his balls down in a "you are not the boss of me" gesture to his libido. Nope, if he was going to spank one out, it was going to feel as good and naughty as that fast-food burger tasted. Cockteasing someone else was fun, cockteasing yourself was an art form.

Alan shucked his clothing off and settled back into the sofa cushions, right hand and fingers gripping the shaft of his cock while he teased the head with his thumb. What he'd want to do… come on Eric's back. Imagine the heat of his body, the motion of his ass… was he loud? Alan liked loud. Or quiet - a semi-public place, or even an open window, something that called for self control even as your body flushed with passion. Holding back the noises you needed to make as much as you needed to come, as much as you needed to bring your lover off.

Alan's hand betrayed him with short, quick strokes, and he clutched the cushions with his left hand, bucking hard into his grip. His brain swamped with flickers of images, ideas, desires that made Alan break his silence with heated moans.

"Fuck fuck yeah I…"

The image of Eric from the back, wrists bound above that exceptional ass-

He saw stars, cried out wordlessly, spattered with his own shot as it arced onto his belly. The intensity of orgasm left him ringing like a struck bell, and completely dumbfounded.

Alan knew lust. He understood it and the flipside of lust that was infatuation. When he was in the frame of mind to hook up, then Grindr was like a delivery service for orgasms in all flavors, colors, and nationalities. He'd had affairs, and boyfriends, and flings. This felt different, and strange, and as wildly thrilling and frightening as the first time he'd kissed another boy - but at the same time, it called to him like home.

And for the life of him, Alan could not understand why. Eric called to something in him, and part of Alan was delusionally convinced that if he ended up in Eric's arms, he'd never leave and never want to.

But.

His treatment for leukemia was far from a sure cure, and that it couldn't be said if he'd even have five years of survival after completion. Or even that he wouldn't need a more extreme intervention like a bone marrow transplant or a stem cell treatment. Alan knew that he would never have a bucket-list last fling with anyone. Because even if he could give himself heart and soul, love and trust someone so much, he understood that his beloved would survive him. And someone he'd love so much deserved more of a future than a box in the ground.

Ze needed to clear zir head.

Fucking the daylights out of Eric, that happy little deviant, certainly helped. Letting Rox the Bad Cop out to play with Eric and been a lovely scene. Handcuffs were good for so much more than hands, and a nightstick made a very versatile toy. That boy came buckets first on his motorbike, later in the stairwell, and finally in a mock-up jail cell. The incorrigible tart then cooked dinner on command, served as a bath attendant, and slept until around eight in the morning - giving Rox a sound 'good morning' buggering before rising and making a manly breakfast of steak and eggs.

Fucked and fed put Rox in a more serene state of mind as ze prepared to visit one of her prisoners. There was one special moment ze'd been waiting for, and with a couriered delivery from zir associate in Bangkok, Rox could see an end to zir involvement with that being. Nobody liked to be made a fool of, and nobody could make a fool of one better than oneself. If Grell - as ze had been then - had not realized the full measure of perfidy she faced, it was a mistake of flaming youth with horrendous consequences.

While what ze did now could not alter the past, it soothed the wounds to know that at the very last, dear Sebastian had egregiously underestimated Grell Sutcliff. Ciel Vincent Edward Phantomhive's soul had been collected - stolen - from right under the demon's nose. And while the vast majority of it went on to the Origin, Grell kept a small part of it close to her heart.

Not for sentimental reasons, but tactical ones.

The contract was not completed. Since Malphas had been unable to consume his long-anticipated meal, he could not contract with another mortal, nor could he change form. Rox Sharp had all but tripped over him in 1932, as he scavenged like a wharf rat on whatever souls he could find in a waterfront heroin dealer's shooting gallery.

Stepping into the ether, Rox traveled from modern New York to the emptiest of ancient wastes in the Rub al Khali. Around zir rose walls of red stone, formed in ancient seas and now sinking beneath the sands. Ubar, the legendary city, had not been consumed by a sinkhole, but had originally been built into the canyons and crevasses below the dunes. The downfall of the proud Red City sprang from her own lifeblood. The plague came to Ubar in the silks and spices, spreading among the caravansary and city, replacing the savor of incense and perfume with the stench of dead and rotting meat.

It was, perhaps, a saving grace that a sandstorm wiped the road from the map and toppled landmarks before another caravan could come to carry death forward to the great cities of trade. Another two hundred years would pass before Europe felt the lash of bubonic plague. In time, even Reapers forgot the location of the city, the pertinent files lost as the Akashic collections were moved, retranslated, reformatted, rewritten. Precisely how Rox obtained the coordinates was a measure of how willing ze had become to take on even zir own kind. The owner of the knowledge had not given up the information easily.

Now the only beings moving in Ubar were the animals - small canny predators, and smaller, cannier prey.

And one other, though he could hardly be said to be moving or even going anywhere any time soon.

Rox pursed zir lips. Over the decades, ze had become enamored of the place. It was akin to zir own self - beautiful and desolate, deceptive, red, and steeped in death. Compared to the mortal hurry-scurry of New York it was very quiet and restful, and ze decided that ze would return here after the current play had run.

At the end of one crevasse was the place ze sought, the marks on the walls of the courtyard, the floors and beams a language long extinct, but yet effective. Rox called it the House of the Summoner, for whomever the inhabitant had once been, he now lay mummified in his robes at the bottom of a staircase. He was still ensouled but too salted with magic for anything to touch and survive.

Almost anything.

Except a demon.

And the canny old fellow had taken care of that eventuality, too. His home was to demons as a spider's web to a fly. What it had taken, in those times, to bring in meteoric metals, ingots of purified silver, and even entire slabs of salt, Rox had no idea.

However, after all that preparation, all those precautions, and what happened? The Summoner fetched himself some tea one day, tripped on his fancy robes, fell down the stairs, and died of a broken neck and back. Ze stepped carefully over the body, and summoning a ring of keys from zir scythespace, applied them in a given order to an elaborate door under the main stairway of the home. A flashlight from the same origin guided zir down the stairs into the heart of the web. And there hung zir fly - bound in strands of sky-born metal, in a sarcophagus of nearly solid salt, in a room with pure silver walls as thick as zir body.

If the decades between Ciel Phantomhive's reaping and zir capture of him had been unkind, the decades between then and now had been even more so. Sebastian, or Malphas as he preferred, was starving to death.

"Poor Sebastian. You hanged yourself in expectation of plenty, and see where you are now." In the cold LED of the torch, the sunken-eyed form appeared dead already. "Alone. In the dark. Starving. Dying. It's a balm to my heart."

"Grell… mercy… you have won… I will serve you…" Sebastian did not even open his eyes. "You hold my Name-"

"There was a time, old chap, when I would have thrilled to hear it." Hadn't she been a silly creature then to be carried away with such enthusiasms. "However, the truth is that you have nothing to offer me that I would want. Time, being the river that it is, has washed it all under the bridge and out to sea."

Out of Scythespace, ze pulled the props ze required for the last act.

"I'm truly not interested in your service, nor with your history would I be fool enough to accept it. Your nature is your nature, after all." A roll of silver leaf, atomizer of water from the depths of a glacier, and a large bottle of silver-fumed borosilicate glass all took their place on the edge of the sarcophagus. "But an artist I retained finished a my farewell gift for you somewhat early, so here is our parting kiss."

The last piece came from zir scythespace, and she held it between the thumb and index finger of her right hand. It shone and refracted an otherworldly azure in the light, like the ocean in a Dzigursky painting. If it seemed to have a lift of its own within the facets, one might allow that to be said. It was, after all, a part of a human soul, though only perhaps a dozen frames.

"For such a short life, his record was so bright. I almost regretted taking this portion - though I believe knowing he was properly collected was a comfort to Elizabeth."

Sebastian's lips parted, a sound of desperate hunger rising from his throat as his eyes dragged themselves partially open and fixed on the soul gem.

"It was only the last of his life. He was already dying, but what an exit!" Rox leaned in. "It was so naughty of me, but I had to take this small trophy. A little trinket of our adventures, dear Sebastian."

Removing the glass stopper from the bottle, Rox dropped it in - and it splashed in a scum of black liquid at the bottom. The scent of sulfur and rot whiffed from the neck of the bottle and Sebastian's eyes opened the rest of the way, nostrils widening in alarm at the scent.

"Close it! Close it!"

"Oh, do be quiet. Yes, it's an imp bottle but - like you - they're all but dormant from hunger." Zie wrapped a bit of silver leaf around the ground joint of the stopper. "This is going to hurt, but not as much as you've hurt me."

With a precisely calculated blow, Rox rammed the stopper through Sebastian's chest wall, the silver and pure glass boiling the flesh around it, but allowing zir to obtain a bit of heart's blood before pulling it out.

"There we are." The silver on the stopper began to run as Rox slammed it home and sealed the bottle shut. "No need to be nervous. I've rehearsed this extensively."

"I will serve you faithfully, Grell. However, wherever, and whenever you say. I will serve without question or deceit-"

"Ages too late for that." The darkness rose from the bottom of the bottle, obscuring the gem within as the uncountable imps scented food. "I'd love to tell you my plans, dear, but I've spent so much time on you already."

Ze set the bottle between his feet and picked up the glacier water, spritzing it on the inner lid of the sarcophagus. Rox had never seen a demon fear before, and it made zir smile.

"Your blood is their aperitif. They're awake and hungry, and they know what food tastes like. If they manage to breach the soul gem, they'll gain enough power to break that bottle and there you are like a big, tacky Las Vegas buffet." With a Reaper's strength, ze hefted the carved salt lid as easily as a mortal would lift a cup of coffee. "Consume the soul gem before the imps consume you and Sebastian's contract is fulfilled, and Malphas 'free' within salt and silver, for whatever it gains you before the imps eat you whole."

"Grell. I can give you anything you want. I can spread kingdoms beneath your feet, make William Spears love you as flowers love the sun in the sky. I am Malphas and I-"

"Give me back Eric Slingby, Alan Humphries, and Ronald Knox." Silence. "I thought not."

Malphas closed his eyes. "All this? For them?"

"No. The dead are dead - this is my revenge alone. Farewell, my Dark Prince." Ze placed the lid gently, the water sealing the slabs of salt together. "I will inform Pytheas of your probable demise."

Ze sealed the sarcophagus, then the chamber, and then the staircase behind zir. Each key in order locked the massive deadbolts in the meteoric iron door - and a squirt of Gorilla Glue in each keyhole sealed the lot.

And then it was done.

Rox stepped over the body of the Summoner, eyeing the soul still locked within the dried flesh like a fly in the amber of a long-dead tree.

"Exit the Red Juliet, stage right, with dignity and grace."

Then ze Stepped into the ether, leaving Ubar to sun and shadow once more.

Chapter 15: Chapter 15

Summary:

Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.

Alan closes in on his final week of induction phase and anticipates a break. Rox has a visitor, and some explaining to do.

Notes:

So sorry that this took so long! The block seems to have been broken, and I'm hoping to get back on a regular posting schedule. Thank you one and all for your patience!

Chapter Text

"Good morning, Alan." Andrea's favorite patient had settled himself into the therapy bed, Kindle at his elbow, and holding in his lap a box of… oh, no. "Cake pops? Alan."

"Cheesecake pops!" The cheery grin heartened her. He'd been struggling lately, and it had been hard to watch, able to do little else than prepare to pick up the pieces. "Chocolate covered, even."

"Alan, tell me you didn't have cheesecake pops for breakfast," she scolded. Whoever ran that place on Pearl, they had a sweet tooth. Carmine had dusted off the Bowflex in the basement because of the cookies. And there really was something different about Alan this morning. Then it hit her - the knit cap still on his head. His hair.

He caught her glance and the grin faded. "It was kind of a rough weekend." He took off the cap to reveal a short buzz cut. "Some friends took care of me when I lost it."

Sometimes you had to hug the patient, because the patient was a person who needed hugging. More than that, Alan wanted hugging, leaning into it. "I'm so sorry, Alan. I know it's not easy, even when you're expecting it."

Alan rested his head on her shoulder quietly for a few moments before he spoke. "They took good care of me. One of them did my buzz so I didn't have to go see my barber with it."

"You're doing really well, Alan. You know that, don't you? Every week your bloods are improving." Andrea rocked him, just a little. It was so hard to encourage someone in this kind of situation. You didn't want to give false hope, but sometimes too little support was deadlier than the disease. "If nobody else is going to give you all the rah-rahs you deserve, I will."

Alan's return hug was strong enough to squeeze the breath out of her. "Now you get two cake pops," he said.

"Tsk! And you didn't have those for breakfast, did you?" One of them had a little tag that said 'Red Velvet' - ooh. Her that was her favorite. "And you do have some healthy snacks?"

"I had buckwheat pancakes with peach-and-maple-pecan topping, and a mustard-green and mushroom omelette cup with caramelized onions and pancetta." Alan recited the list smugly as he took off his flannel shirt and chemo shirt for her. "And fresh orange juice."

"I had scrambled eggs and cheese in one of Annabella's sippy cups." Her mouth was watering. It had been a hassle to get the kids moving this morning, and there had only been time to nuke something fast to eat in the car. "I'd be smug, too, if I had a breakfast like that. Was it from that Pearl Street place? Carmine picked up that white seafood lasagna dinner on Friday and it was amazing. Even the nonnis were impressed."

Hm. There was something else behind the breakfast preen. That was a look-what-someone-did-for-me preen. The warm tone of voice was a giveaway. Oh, my. Alan had met someone he liked. Andrea would bet her minivan on it.

"What?" Alan went just a little pink. "What's that look for?"

"Okay. You're in a good mood, smug even, you've put on a half-pound, and… who is he? Is he nice?" He'd better be nice to Alan, or she'd bust him into itty-bitty fish-food sized bits. "He cooks, too?"

"I… what? Wait a second. What makes you think… and… and… I don't know what you're talking about, Andrea!"

"Your new friend." She palped his shoulder and down his arm. Everything normal. No puffiness, discoloration, or tenderness. He was immunosuppressed, and didn't really seem to understand what that meant. "The one who made you that nice breakfast."

"Oh, wow. You take the gold in the Leaping to Conclusions event!" He took off his flannel shirt and unbuttoned the panel of his chemo shirt. "Wow. Seriously. Wow."

"Sh. Stop flailing." The protocols for accessing the portacath went smoothly, Alan's protests notwithstanding. "I'm only saying that because you seem so happy in spite of things."

"He's a friend-friend, not a friend-in-quotation-marks friend." Alan then did a quick backpedal. "Friends. He and his brother are my friends."

"Okay, but the first 'he' -"

"Hush, you."

"You're blushing."

"I'm 28 and have no reason to blush. Or at least not about this," he huffed.

"But what if you did?" Andrea grinned as the blush bloomed redder. "Not a bad thing, right?"

"An. Dree. Ah. Ca. Pel. Lo."

"Alan, do we need to have the 'How to Have Sex on Chemo' talk?" Because fairly often, the sick person was desexualized - reduced only to their illness and the requirements of the illness. Intimacy and tenderness were often casualties when they were most needed, and personhood became patienthood. "Because you can still have sex, you know."

He stared at her with huge grey-green eyes and scarlet cheeks, then put on his headphones. "I'm not listening. Lalala."

"First class adulting there, Alan." She gave him a double thumbs-up. "Top-notch."

"Lalalalalalala-"

Oh God, he could be silly. "I'll put the printout in your bag."

Alan's eyes bugged out. "There's a printout for this?" he sputtered.

"I thought you weren't listening." A look at his Kindle confirmed that the music wasn't even playing.

"You're terrible."

"Alan, seriously. Sex and intimacy are not off the table if you want them on there. A hollering good-"

"AN. DREE. AH." Alan crossed his arms. "I'm telling Carmine."

"Alan? We have two kids together, I've been married to him for ten years, and been his girlfriend since third grade. He knows." It was funny. Sex and desire was normal, even for sick people. It was healthy, and a good sign. "How do you think we got the kids?"

Looking into the box of cake pops, Alan selected the Red Velvet one and held it out to her. "I promise to read the printout," he said earnestly.

"And it's time for me to hush." She accepted and unwrapped the bribe, biting into the chocolate coating. "Oh… that is sensational."

It was amazing, rich, and tasted like a perfect Red Velvet cake - with the addition of graham cracker crumb crust cupped around the creamy filling. It was three perfect bites of decadence and she even dragged her teeth down the popsicle stick to get the last bits.

"Yeah, the chef at Pearl Street is pretty amazing. Before I met him, I figured they had a whole bunch of chefs working in rotation."

Oh, yeah. There was that tone - warm and resonant - and the look. Alan was going to need that printout in a hurry. And rubbers. Maybe she should leave that bit up to Carmine. "He cooks like an angel or a devil. It's hard to say which."

"Devil - he'll argue with you all day about seasonings. I'll bring you a pudding cup on Friday and you can dip the cookies in it."

"You and your sweet tooth." The line was clear and she gave it a flush as they debated the nutritive values of cookies and pudding. His phobic reactions to the needles were easing up, for which she was grateful. "What did you bring for snacks?"

The snacks somewhat mitigated the cookies and pudding, though she had a laugh over the Sriracha-spiked "Lava Nuts" and Alan's blush.

"I'll take your bloods and be back in a few." She took the blankets off the warming rack and spread them over Alan. "Comfortable?"

"I'm good. Let me know, okay?"

He wanted off the filgrastim so badly. "Your ANC's been improving steadily."

"It would be great if I could drop the filgrastim for my week off."

"How's the pain been doing? Is the evening dose helping at all?" And there was an immediate guilty face from Alan. "Oh, Alan. Tell me you haven't been skipping-"

Alan reached in his bag and set something dark and wrapped in waxed paper on the table. "Um. It's medicinal."

Andrea nearly cracked that most chocolate was medicinal before it dawned on her. "Oh! Okay, this changes stuff a little." The doctors fretted about the theory, but Andrea was primarily interested in results. If he was sleeping well, eating well, and putting on some weight, she'd do everything in her power to make sure he could continue. "From this weekend?"

"The person who gave it to me used it primarily for PTSD, but I was having that meltdown. Andrea, I slept for hours! I wasn't sick or cold! I ate so much food, too."

"Those are all good things, but they can increase uptake on some chemotherapy agents and-" Alan handed her his Kindle and looked smug, all the research was in charts and bullet-pointed lists. "I'm going to have you bucking for your RN, Alan."

"Look, they were willing to chance that reaction between the vincristine and the filgrastim. And they've been willing to provide me with other drugs with a proven record of being addictive." He was trying out his arguments on her first, and she had to agree with the points. "They all but shoveled Oxycontin at me even before I started chemo."

"I know, and I'll back you on this, but they're going to worry about their licenses to practice. And I will tell you upfront that they're going to trot out lines about risky street drugs and no real research." Alan pointed to the tablet, jaw setting. "I know, but you're going to have to make your case. And this is covered by medical confidentiality, so stand your ground."

Alan sighed. "But you'll back me up?"

"Of course I will. I'm more interested in results than in theory, and if the result is more restful sleep, more eating, and more weight gain, then I'm all for it." Finishing the blood draw, she flushed the line again. "I'm more concerned with what works for my patients and what helps them. If this works for you, you know that I'll have your back. Just-"

"Just what?"

"Be careful. I mean you're getting it from a reliable place, right?" That worried her. Medical marijuana was a long way from being functionally legal anywhere in the tri-state area, despite laws on the books. "Not from some shady guy somewhere, right?"

Alan laughed, "You are such a mom. I'm getting it from a guy named Louie the Fish over in Red Hook- Hey! Be nice to the cake pops!"

Ze though that ze'd feel better about it. All things considered, putting paid to Malphas/Sebastian's long tab ought to have been a relief. Rox didn't feel relieved. Ze just felt every last minute of two hundred and thirty-odd years. For zir kind, that wasn't even considered middle-aged. Certainly there was a feeling of satisfaction to it; the arrangements since capture had been painstaking. One slip and Rox would have been demon-chow, Sebastian having starved himself for so long. Now that being would most likely be food for his own kind. Imps were often cannibalistic, and would peel even an adult demon down to the clean bones in roughly a minute.

Instead, ze felt… empty. As if it was just another thing to check off the list. Pick up the dry cleaning, clean the toilet, kill a demon, pedicure at 3:00 - buy eggs on the way home. So, yes, it was satisfying. Ze'd made a plan and followed it through. You go, Rox!

Yay. Whoopie. Now what? Go ink some ass antlers?

Since ze'd cleared the day in anticipation, ze couldn't even do that.

So, instead ze made herself a cuppa, queued up zir favorite movies, and-

There was beautiful black-and-white butterfly with green spots on her windowsill. Well, that child always did have the most lovely manners right up until she tried to run you through with live steel.

"Only you would be so polite, Elizabeth. Goodness. Did Will tell you how to find me?"

With a soft fuff of air, Elizabeth Phantomhive morphed her form. Wings resolved into the black-and-white of the modern-cut Dispatch uniform and a pair of lavender-pink wire-rims.

"Don't be silly. I nicked it from his ledger."

"The demerits will be epic, and so will the overtime, Dizzy Lizzie." Rox opened the window so that the Dowager Countess Phantomhive could slide through. "Will's going to give you seven shades of hell."

"I'm his Dispatch manager, so he can kiss my bottom parts in Fortnum's window, though I'm terribly glad that he found you."

Rox could feel the smile crack on zir face and ze hurt all over again. "He's not."

"Yes, he is. And I told him that he ought to have been run through for that comment about fixing it."

"You're terrible. I love it, but I hope that if you're kicking him that hard, that you're fucking him, too."

"Your missive was most exacting, before you ran off on me, and I have kept to letter and spirit, you may be sure. And it's Cordelia now."

"Call me Rox, then?"

"I shall, but I have missed Grell."

"She's missed you, too." Oh, fuck, was ze really going to blubber? Yes, ze was. Perhaps it was only fair that having seen Elizabeth at her worst, that Elizabeth see Rox a train wreck. "I killed the demon. I wanted to feel better about it than this."

"Oh, Rox. I'm so sorry." Eliz- Cordelia reached out and gently stroked zir hair. "What it must have cost you."

Alone of all of them, Elizabeth had never judged zir as fool or as foe. Even on the Campania, Grell had not been more than a target to her. Ze appreciated any woman with a such standard of professionalism, as well as such ferocity as to attack a god. And for a mortal, Elizabeth was very pragmatic, having simply regarded the death of Angelina as a mercy killing that spared the family from horrid disgrace. As an adult, she had even gone so far as to rewrite her aunt as a brave doctor trying to track down Jack the Ripper. Trust a duchess to understand expediency.

Living alone was just no good when you had to melt down. There was nobody to pick you up from the floor, wipe your tears and snot, then make you a hot cuppa. Most mortals were good at it; Cordelia was no exception. It had been a long time since anyone coddled zir, either as Grell or Rox.

"You won't tell William, will you?" Rox cupped a hand around the big mug of tea, and nibbled at a slice of tart. "I'll understand if you do."

It took a couple of bites of tart - Eric had bloody well outdone himself - and a few sips of tea for Cordelia to turn that over.

"Sebastian would have consumed Ciel's soul, and you stole it away from him. I am completely, eternally grateful to you for that. I loved him, you see, and I still do." Her smiled wobbled but it was a smile. "Love does not stop because someone is no longer there to love. The possibility of his soul's ending grieved me more than the certainty of his death. I owe you more than I can ever repay, and you are aware I am a great repayer in like kind."

"I did my job. I'm a Reaper." Was. Ze was a Reaper. "I wanted to die when they made me an outcast, Cordelia. You were the only one, the only person who spoke for me."

Crying in your Prinzeregententorte was disgusting.

"And I still would, and I will. Come back. Come home with me. Please."

"I can't. I've just found them and they're such a mess and I buggered it up so badly and I won't lose them again I just can't-" And 'run-proof mascara' zir ass! MAC had some explaining to do. "I have to bring them home, and make sure they come back to us." The mascara made an awful mess of Cordelia's shirt, too. "Sorry-"

"It washes off." Cordelia pulled a jar of cold cream and a flannel from her scythespace.

"It will be a dead giveaway. He'll know you've been to see me." However, Cordelia a century on was rather formidable, and she'd have to be to manage the Dispatch.

"He's not a demon, Rox. He's a man being clobbered by his own late-arriving clues. You may name him without having him show up and eat you for dinner. Hold still."

"It's cold cream. It will make my freckles stand out." The problem with self-healing flesh was that not only did ze need to redo piercings from time to time, but freckles would not stay bleached. "Do you know what I spend on foundation?"

"Sh. You look like a panda."

Rox sighed and closed zir eyes. "You changed your name."

"Yes. Rachel named one of her daughters Elizabeth, Edward named my first-born niece Elizabeth, and my grandson Francis named one of his daughters Elizabeth. I was going to family gatherings with a dozen Elizabeths, Bettys, Lizzies, and even Buffys."

Oh. Rachel. Born in 1894. "Rachel?"

Cordelia's hands were gentle, swabbing the eye makeup from Rox's cheeks. "She passed in 2010."

"Lizzie, I- I just can't imagine how you must feel." To most Reapers a name change was not a big deal. They changed names over the courses of their long lives, some Elders had long since forgotten their original names. But for Lizzie to stop being Elizabeth and become Cordelia? "I didn't even think that she must have-"

"I collected her myself." Softly said, with a well of pain under the words. "I brought her in, and I thought it only right to see her on. It was peaceful, and she was so very old."

Reapers came from the Origin, Never mother, never father, never child - never to know the pain of reaping one's own flesh and blood. But for the Reborn, old lives and old ways were not easily left behind. For Lizzie, she could be Grell this time. Heavens knew ze had the shoulders for it.

Goodness, they were bloody weepy gits.

"I've missed you." Rox stroked her hair. "Oh, how I wanted to see you grow into a fearsome reaper!"

"Come home," Cordelia repeated. "I'm the Dispatch manager, and I can reinstate you."

"You'd catch so much hell, and not just from William-"

Cordelia expressed her opinion of Upper Management in terms that neither Grell not Rox would ever believe that Elizabeth Cordelia knew, much less would think or speak. However, in terms of cursing, perjoratives, and scurrilous speculations, the Dowager Countess could have fried a lead ingot in five sentences. She did indeed know the word 'arse' and a rather more scandalous number of others, too.

"We don't have mothers, love. I don't think that's possible-"

"I just want you back. This lover of yours can come, too."

"And that, poppet, is where the complications come in. I think you're too young to remember, so come sit on my lap and I'll tell you a tale-"

When Andrea came back in, her grin was amazing. "Guess who has normal ANC?"

Alan found himself surging up out of the recliner and shouting, "Yes! Yes!" Waving his arms in the air like a lunatic at a Rangers game. "I am awesome!"

Good news. Finally some really, truly good news. And after hugging Andrea, they had to go through the palp and protocols again but he was better! He was getting better! The brief nap during the infusion and another on the ride back home made him feel better instead of groggy and confused, though the aftermath of the infusion was as miserable as ever.

"But just one more chemo day and you have a whole week off!" Alan told himself, the hot water loosening the muscles in his neck. For someone who hated to vomit, he did a lot of it lately. "And next time, eat the brownie after you leave the hospital. It doesn't do any good when you're puking it up."

A whole week of no chemo, hopefully no filgrastim, and no ativan or prednisone. He could do things and go places! He could go out to the Bronx, and spend a day at the botanical gardens. Or he could go uptown for a visit to Museum of Natural history, or the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He might even take a ferry somewhere, just to go. A whole week to himself before the next phase began sounded good. He could get his feet under him again, instead of lurching back and forth, trying to keep his equilibrium.

He could get things done!

Well, he could get things done after recovering on Saturday and Sunday. Then he had four whole days to use as he saw fit. Turning off the shower, Alan pulled himself to his feet and reached for his towel on the warming rack. Maybe he'd do one thing per day. He could get a bunch of snacks to take with him and do four things he really wanted to do. Wrapping himself in his bathrobe, Alan padded into the kitchen and went to the fridge. Something easy for his stomach was just the thing before bed - almond milk and a little bit of non-medicinal brownie. That would be great. He took his treat back to bed, and tucked himself in. He was going to be fine - all he had to do was get through Friday.

He spent the next two days honing his medical cannabis arguments, spending evenings on the phone with Andrea and on the computer with various sites.

"Did you know that there are over six thousand - that's thousand - research papers published in the last three years alone, and over twenty thousand extant?"

"Alan, I am going to send you to nursing school."

"I happen to think I'd be a very good nurse." Alan paused and considered that. "Research type, maybe. I'm not good with people. I'm good with numbers."

"Okay. Give me the arguments again." Andrea spoke over the sounds of three dogs, two small children, and a pair of grandmothers. "I've worked with almost all of them, and I can tell you exactly how they're going to respond."

"All right." Alan gathered himself and began his opening statement. He'd had a little more than a week to compose what was essentially a thesis and hone it into something he could use on a bunch of highly conventional MDs.

Andrea know where the buttons were, he had to give her that. Hospital politics, funding politics, research politics, Andrea had her fingers on every pulse there was in that building. "Are you sure that your name isn't Niccolo Machiavelli?"

"Borgia, actually. Those medieval Italians got around - easy to do when your daddy's the pope," Andrea deadpanned. "What are you doing to do with your week off?"

"I was thinking some museums, maybe the botanical gardens." There was a very long sigh on the other end of the phone. "Andrea-"

"Alan. Listen, please. Your therapy is suppressing your immune system. I know you want to go out and do things. I know you have cabin fever-"

"I just want to get out of this house, to go somewhere aside from the hospital." He was desperate, as a matter of fact. It was almost claustrophobic, how he felt at times.

"But right now you are so vulnerable, sweetheart. Norovirus, herpesvirus, even the common cold can turn into something that could really harm you right now." Andrea's voice was gentle, but the words hurt. "Your ANC is up, yes, but you need to please, please be careful. You couldn't fight off an infection, and the drugs that could help you do it would delay the second phase of your therapy."

"I need out." He didn't mean to speak as intensely as he did, but it came out raw and desperate. "I need to feel normal. To go somewhere that isn't the hospital or my apartment. I'm suffocating."

"Okay. I understand that. Sunday or Monday?"

"What?" For a second, he had no idea what she was asking him.

"If you have your heart set on Tuesday or Wednesday, I can switch with someone, but I really think you're going to need to rest up for Friday. No joke, Alan. It's not called 'intensification' for nothing."

"No. No. You need your days off, Andrea."

"And you need someone who can show you the ropes of traveling with cancer. Where do you want to go?"

"I am not asking you to do that-"

"You didn't, Alan. I offered."

It rattled him. "Do… do you really think that it's necessary?"

"Yeah, I do. I don't think you're ready to solo yet, okay?"

He wanted to snap at her, but reined himself in. This was her area of expertise. "What I want to do is kind of boring."

Andrea laughed, "Alan? Gimme boring. I need boring in my life. Boring is wonderful!"

"I wanted to go to the New York Botanical Gardens-"

"That's not boring. That's fun!"

"I should have known you were a fellow nerd when Carmine told me about the Ghostbusters."

"Oh. He is gonna die," Andrea gasped.

"Come on, Janine was a Ghostbuster, too." Alan let his temper smooth over. Andrea was right - he didn't really know what immunosuppressed looked like in action, whereas she unfortunately did. "Let's go on Monday? That way you don't have to switch because of me."

"I think that they're closed Monday. I can switch a Tuesday, then since Carmine has Daddy Duty that day, we can take the whole day before I have to head home." There was a jingle of keys and the sound of a door. "Just a sec. Going to the Mommy Room."

"I finally get to see the legendary minivan!" Alan had to admit he was curious. "Why don't we meet up here, then provision at Pearl Street?"

"Does he do breakfasts like that one all the time or just for you?"

"All the time. I'm nothing special." And he was not blushing. Eric and Ronald were just exceptionally generous people. Wait a second. "You're not saying anything. Loudly."

"Mhm."

"Andrea. It's not like that."

"Mhm."

"Oh, Lord. Listen you-"

"Am I arguing? No. I'm not. You're arguing with yourself."

Alan sighed. "He's just a very good person. Compassionate."

"Mhm." This time she added, "And you think he's cute."

"He's not cute." Masculine. Butch as hell. Very bearish, when you got down to it.

"Hot."

Alan had to admit he'd never had a confidante when it came to his sexuality. Andrea was his sassy straight girlfriend. "Are you sure you're not a gay guy?"

"Sh. Don't tell Carmine."

Chapter 16: Interlude: Eric and Rox

Summary:

Eric and Rox, pure porn, and they like it like that.

#black butler fanfiction

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moeblob · 4 years

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My manakete OC I draw from time to time... Nadja.

#fe oc #nadja #feels like a bundle of anxiety topped off with no self worth #draws my oc that is a bundle of anxiety topped off with no self worth #honestly it was this or doing vent art with another character and this required less energy lmao #ill be okay guys im just Really Feeling That Anxiety today #like a guy at work who normally tries to tell me OH THE DAY WILL GET BETTER :D when I say I'm doing okay?#asked me how I was so I brightly said I AM DOING TERRIBLY THANK YOU FOR ASKING!#because I was def on the verge of crying at that point and ive worked with this guy for years now and he was like oops big red flag #today is not the day to be pushy about anything good #and he refrained thankfully #and everyone else that saw me crying was like you okay? and id shake my head #and they would pause like if i needed them i could say so #but after i said nothing they just kept walking #and legit ??? that helps me SO MUCH because i do not want to be crowded while having an anxiety attack #the acknowledgment im not okay and they notice is good enough #and i did end up taking my extra JUST IN CASE MEDS and made it through the work day so yay me #and i know most of them probably feel really awkward NOT doing anything or being comforting but its just.... time to leave me alone #anyway sorry for ranting in the tags about my work day instead of the oc #her name is nadja and ive doodled her a few times before #she was uhhhhhh originally for a group of fe ocs with other people #and the group died out and i still love her #havent done much with her on her own i just like drawing her

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creativeashproductions · 3 years

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Change of Scenery // Evan Buckley

IN WHICH: Captain Bobby Nash has kept a secret from his friends, his wife and his step children since 2015 when he came to LA. Bobby’s eldest and only surviving child comes to LA to reconcile and make amends all the while she catches the eye of a certain blue eyed firefighter.

Warnings: Swearing, death/familial loss, pregnancy, blood, angst, injuries/medical emergency, and fluff

Words: 8k

A/N: Back at it with another 9-1-1 fic. Hope you enjoy, and I may just have to do another crossover with 9-1-1 and Julie and the Phantoms.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

There are moments in our lives that define us, whether it can be known as a positive or negative, but the outcome is always the same. A six-letter word that strikes fear and excitement into the souls of humans is change. The fear can be for ourselves or as a result of a child, a sibling, or a parent branching out on their own. Unfortunately, you had gone through a harsh and cruel experience on a cold winter night in the city you grew up in.

A typical Thursday filled with classes at the college you attended in Minnesota on a scholarship, nothing out of the ordinary. The plan had been to drive to your parents’ apartment to catch up with them for the weekend. Saturday morning was already reserved for a girls day with your little sister Brook and your mom. In the afternoon, you’d promised to take your brother Bobby to the ball diamond.

Your bag was packed, the plan to drive straight from class to St. Paul the following day to arrive in the daylight. Your dad struggled with worry when it came to you driving in the dark and especially in winter with icy roads.

“Y/N!” Dottie screeched from the living room of the four-bedroom dormitory. The pretty and curvy brunette had been the first friend you made in college.

Typically Dottie was on the quieter side, so when she screamed, you practically sprinted to the girl.

“Where’s the fire?” You demanded with a smirk at the reference to a topic that was a constant in your family.

The fire drills your father conducted every four months for an exit plan in case of a fire and general information to save yourselves. He had also trained you to remember fire hazards and how to call dispatch with clear information if that time ever came. It never did and hopefully never would.

“The Lakeview Apartments in St. Paul.” Dottie’s dark brown eyes spoke only of pity and concern. The five foot ten roommate literally caught you as you tumbled into her arms with a loud grief-stricken scream.

You were forever indebted to the brunette for the plans she sacrificed to drive you back to St. Paul. There was absolutely no chance Dottie would allow you to both drive and be alone with no news. The media hadn’t released the names of the 148 deaths the fire relentlessly tore from the land of the living.

“I want to prepare you for what you’ll see. Your mother suffered severe third-degree burns over the majority of her body.” The kind nurse, also one of your friend’s parent, explained as she guided you to the Burn Center in the Regions Hospital, “I don’t want to lie and tell you she’ll be fine. You’re an adult Y/N. You deserve the truth and not be coddled.”

“Is she gonna survive?” You quietly asked, “Has she woken up since she was brought in?”

“The doctor placed her on a high dosage of morphine for the pain. Your father hasn’t left her side.” Lucinda informed you with sympathy written as over her face, The hazel eyes unable to adequately meet yours.

“I’ll check on her, then could you take me to the rooms my siblings are in?” You asked, completely unaware Brook and Bobby had been DOA at the hospital.

Your father hadn’t answered the text messages or the voicemails you had left on his phone—radio silent. You couldn’t be mad when he was with your mom, but a text would have been nice.

“This is where your mother is staying for the unforeseeable future. If you need anything, you can call me.” Lucinda softly replied before turning her heel to head back to the Burn Centre’s front desk.

It was horrific walking into a room with no idea if the occupant who had raised you would survive. The confident, gorgeous mother you had for the past nineteen years was unfamiliar to you, the extensive gauze covering nearly every inch of her body. You almost couldn’t even recognize the man sitting in the chair with his hands wrapped.

“Dad? What happened?” You questioned the grieving man. The only person left in your family as you would soon come to know.

“Y/N?” Bobby gasped, pushing himself to his feet, staring at his only living child. The guilt ate at him just staring at you with those light brown eyes, “Oh, sweetheart.”

Your dad crossed the room in a few steps. The scent of smoke was still clinging to every part of him, but it was fine. Your dad was okay, minus the wounds on his hands. You’d always been closer with your father than your mother.

“Dad, what happened?” You quietly asked the ashamed firefighter that had to reconcile his feelings on the fire and his career—that struggle ending up pushing you away when he really just wanted you as close as possible.

“The building caught on fire after an ember from a heater lit a blanket on fire,” Bobby informed you with his eyes pinned on his wife. Bobby knew the chances of Marcy surviving were incredibly low, and he had to tell you that.

Bobby only knew the details passed on from a firefighter who pitied the man who’d lost most of his family.

“Is Mom gonna be okay?” You questioned, and the said injured woman in the bed weakly responded.

“Baby?” Marcy quietly questioned from her absolutely still position on the hospital bed, “Uh, Bobby.”

You left your father’s side to be as close to your mom as possible, with the clear plastic separating you for her safety. Your heart shattered at the sheer exhaustion in her pretty blue eyes.

“Hi, Mom.” You shakily spoke with one hand lightly pressed against the plastic divider. You didn’t even notice when your dad stepped up too.

“Marcy?” Bobby called out from right beside you, just as torn up, but Bobby carried extra weight on his shoulders, “We’re right here, Marcy. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

The muffled grunt of pain, your mom’s attempt to save you from grief, Marcy let out as she turned her head to look at you. You knew deep in your gut that this was the time place you would see your mom alive. And by the look in her eyes, she knew too.

“The...kids…?” Your mom’s breathing became more erratic as she questioned the man she viewed as her hero. The man she believed had saved her and their youngest children, “Where...are they?”

“The kids are fine.” The way your father said it and the tears led to the knowledge once kept from you.

“No.” You whispered, seeing the total grief written clear on his face. The pain meds and agony kept your mom from knowing the truth.

“They’re safe.”

“I knew you’d come and save us.” Your mom breathed as her eyes started hiding the pretty blue you’d now only see in pictures. In your dreams, until even those faded as father time cruelly pulled you along.

Then your worst nightmare happened. You watched as the woman you looked up to flatlined with the thought of her children safe. You’d always know she’d held on just long enough to find out the state of her children. You could only hope she’d forgive your father for lying to her as she died.

“Mom!” You screamed, fighting the arms of an orderly restraining you. You barely noticed the resistance to your frantic attempts.

One minute you were staring at a team unsuccessfully trying to revive your long-gone mother, then you were in a hotel room. The atmosphere tense and quiet between father and daughter, with the ghost of your dead family to keep you both company. You could hear Brook gagging every time you’d kissed your now ex. You could see Bobby toddling after you years ago.

At least you had your father—a father whose guilt festered until he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“It was my fault.” He murmured, staring at the barely eaten burger that tasted solely just cardboard. He couldn’t bear to look at your face, “I didn’t mean to leave it on.”

Your head snapped to stare at him in disbelief, “What do you mean you didn’t mean to leave it on?”

“I-I went to the roof to sleep after your mom kicked me out. I didn’t have my keys to the apartment I had below ours.” Bobby began spilling the lies he’d told to you about his addictions. Of the apartment, you’d had no clue was even in his possessions.

The pain of losing your family tore into you, “You took my mom away from me. I’ll never get to share my wedding day with her. Shopping for a dress and gossiping about boys. I’ll never be able to wipe Brook’s tears during her first heartbreak.”

Each word broke Bobby more and more.

“You stole my future. You’re selfish, ungrateful and utterly pathetic. You cost so many people so much, all because you sought out your next high.” You spat, glaring at someone you’d never expected to hurt you. You didn’t notice your hands grabbing your possessions nor opening the hotel room door, “You couldn’t even properly try to get clean.”

“Y/N-”

“Get your shit together before you kill anyone else. I never want to see you again.” You sobbed with regret already festering in your body, but pride held you back from apologizing.

Upon your return to your dorm with Dottie by your side, you immediately began the process to enter an exchange program. Within a month, your feet entered Sydney Airport. You didn’t return to America for several years.

You took a job as a casual lifeguard on Bondi Beach, met Lucas in a meet-cute situation at the grocery store. You graduated college and found a job as a paramedic as you began becoming a flight paramedic. In 2020 Lucas and you discovered you’d be bringing in a little baby into the world.

Learning about your little Cashew growing safe in your womb fanned the flame of desire to reconcile. Ultimately the pride kept pushing the urge to apologize for the cruel words you told your father further away. You naively believed you had all the time in the world.

Remember the six-letter scary word? If losing your mom, siblings, and father was a devastating blow, losing Lucas was nearly tied. Your little Cashew lost their father before they even got to meet him. That was push enough to pack up your home and fly back to America with your father’s new address as soon as you could.

In the fallout of the apartment fire, your father relocated from Minnesota to Los Angeles.

Los Angeles, 2020

As soon as you’d found the nicest but cheapest hotel to stay in until you found a place, you walked the streets of LA. The first order of business of approaching your father at his workplace as you had no personal address. Residing still in Minnesota, Deputy Chief Evans had only given you the address of Bobby’s work.

You could only hope Bobby wouldn’t turn you away. That he was willing to bridge the gap, you’d widened over the years. That he could forgive the silence to each email, he sent when you changed numbers.

“We should go out to dinner.” The female voice was what brought you back to the present time. The woman was beautiful with her buzzed head and clear skin.

Right by her side was a dark-haired male of Asian ethnicity with a bag thrown over his shoulder, “If you’re paying, you bet I’ll be there.”

The two continued to converse in their own world until the man had to literally dodge you when they finally noticed you.

“Does Chief Bobby Nash work here?” You inquired, having no desire to enter small talk when the baby was sitting on your bladder again. You nearly retched when the man stared down at your swollen midsection, shocked, “It’s not his baby.”

Hen caught the evident disgust on your face, “He’s in his office. I’ll guide you there…”

“Y/N.” You supplied the firefighter. Hen smiled in response, “And your name is…”

“Henrietta Wilson, but you can call me Hen. That was Howard Han. He goes by Chimney, and I’ve been sworn to secrecy on the name.” Hen chuckled in her steps to the closed door of the fire chief. Hen swiftly knocked on the door to give Bobby a heads up.

“Come in!” Bobby called from his pile of paperwork he had pushed and waited to work on. It had slipped as the date came closer. Your twenty-seventh birthday, the seventh one since he last saw you.

“Cap, a woman is asking for you,” Hen told her friend and boss. It’s a good thing you didn’t choose to surprise your father because Hen was shorted, and your bump made manoeuvring around tricky.

“What can I do…” Bobby trailed off when he saw the girl waiting to talk to him. The pen in his hand dropped to the table in shock.

Hen glanced between the two equally taken aback individuals, “Am I missing something here?”

“Hey, dad.” You whispered to the man who’d been dreaming of this moment since the minute you left. He’d searched for you at your previous college and nearly made a missing person report.

“Dad?” Hen couldn’t pick her jaw up from the floor if she even wanted to because this was juicy information. Sure, Bobby had caved into telling his team, his family that he’d lost his wife and two children in a fire.

He rarely talked about his life before the 118, but he’d never mentioned having a surviving daughter. Not in the handful of times he’d talked about the tragedy, nor did he have any objects or photos of you.

“You’re really here?” Bobby lightly chuckled with a twinkle in his eye. Hen had only seen a handful of times. All of them had Athena in the scene, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You beamed, stepping closer to the man you’d missed dearly, “I’m so sorry for the way I left. What I said was cruel and untrue. You aren’t selfish, and I can’t blame you for something you couldn’t control.”

Bobby grinned. He’d stepped around his desk only to halt when he took in an undeniable development—the baby bump you carried.

“Is-”

“I’m pregnant. Six months along with a baby girl.” You laughed to the apparent disbelief in your father’s light brown eyes. His gaze continued to shift between the bump and your e/c eyes.

“Wow. Sorry, this is...wow.”

“She’s one of the reasons I wanted to come back. To fix our relationship because I want her to know her grandpa. You’re the only grandparent Poppy will know.” Bobby was quick to tug you into his arms as soon as the first tear dropped down your cheek.

There was so much you wanted to tell your father, but that overwhelming grief rose higher. You’d left Australia where Lucas laid in a plot in a cemetery. You left the friends you’d found in the city. Left the lifeguard job you’d come to love.

“Where are you and your partner staying?”

“He...uh...Lucas passed away recently.”

The arms holding you tightened in response to your confession, “Oh sweetheart.”

“I didn’t know where else to go. I can’t stay in the home we bought. Not the place he died when I couldn’t save him.”

“I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’-”

“Don’t coddle me. I was...am a paramedic. A flight paramedic, to be specific, so I know that my hesitation could be the reason he died.”

Your career took the father by complete and utter surprise because you’d always planned on a different job. Before the fire that claimed so many lives, you’d never entertained a career in the emergency field.

“We have a lot to catch up on. First, you need to know that I’ll always love your mother no matter what, but you need to know. I met someone when I first moved here, and we were friends at first. She divorced her husband. We started dating...sweetheart, I remarried.”

A wave of emotions flared in your chest, from betrayal to sadness and ultimately happiness. Having lost your first love, you understood and knew if love came around for you, you wouldn’t ignore it. Lucas wouldn’t want that.

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

Re-entering into Bobby’s new life was a difficult adjustment for everyone included. Tension had risen between Athena and Bobby for a brief period. Athena hadn’t even been aware of your existence, but she could fault Bobby. Athena had even told her first husband about her late fiance Emmett when they were still together.

It was difficult for you with the new addition of two step-siblings in the same birth order as Brook and Bobby had been. The Grant siblings had welcomed you into the family without any reservations.

“Did you ever get to fly the chopper?” Harry asked as he scrubbed the dirty dish from the Sunday family dinner.

It was the first dinner that had no awkward tension since you arrived back in the country. Athena had taken a bit to warm up, but it was nothing personal. She’d actually been the one to find you you’d been staying at a hotel. Mama Athena did not like her pregnant step-daughter living at a hotel. She’d actually stormed your room with Hen and Karen as back up to pack your room and leave for the Grant-Nash house.

“No. I had to help keep the patients alive. If I’m telling the truth...sometimes I didn’t even notice I was in the air.” You whispered to your stepbrother. He was just invested in your career as he had been when Bobby first entered their lives.

“That is so cool!” Harry enthused with soap suds splashing your thin knitted sweater. Harry’s mouth formed an ‘o’ when you flicked water onto his face in retaliation.

“Do you know Bondi Beach in Australia?” You inquired the youth with the chore of dishes completed.

“Yeah! There’s a tv show called Bondi Rescue! I watch the clips on YouTube!” Harry exclaimed, hot on your heels to the couch. Out of May and Harry, he followed you around with questions about your life in Australia.

“I was a casual lifeguard. I’m not featured on that show, but I would get called in when a lifeguard was needed. It paired well with my job as a flight paramedic.” You half-smiled, remembering the Bondi lifeguards who had welcomed you into the family. You became one of them when they started pranking you.

“Did you ever see a shark-”

“Harry, go brush your teeth. Leave Y/N alone.” Athena informed her youngest from the open patio doors. Your father, Athena and May had been outside as soon as the table had been cleared.

“But-”

“Harry,” Athena warned the youngest Grant. Harry didn’t attempt to argue with his stern mother; all he did was hug you quickly. You watched the young boy disappear into the hallway.

“He reminds you of your little brother?” Athena questioned. In your time of reminiscing, the older woman had settled in Harry’s previous position.

“A little.” You whispered, “Thank you for welcoming me into the family. For making my dad happy.”

“You know I may have some baby clothes put away if you’d like to use them?” Athena offered with that smile that made you feel at home. Athena was far different from your late mother, with her presence commanding respect and intelligence. Your mom was similar, but I suppose it could be described as a softer touch.

“Anyway, saving a penny is appreciated. I have a question for you also.” You hesitantly started with a bundle of nerves deep in your belly. Athena turned to give you her full attention.

“Well? Out with it.” Athena pushed, but she had a slight feeling of what you were about to ask her.

“My mom was one the strongest women I know. It hurts that my baby won’t get to experience her love and guidance, and you can say no. We’ve only known each other a short time, but would you consider...maybe being a grandma to my baby?”

Giddy was the feeling Athena developed along with the laughing smile that only came from happiness. The woman could only nod her head in response to your hesitant question. To Athena’s knowledge but not yours, Bobby was softly smiling, watching his formerly estranged daughter getting along with your stepmom.

“Oh!” You gasped as your baby kicked hard enough for her foot imprint to be seen through your knitted sweater.

Bobby was by your side in concern the second he heard your startled sound, but Athena wasn’t that concerned. Athena remembered having the same reaction.

“Are you okay?” Bobby frantically questioned. He faltered when the woman shared a belly-deep laugh at the sheer fear written in the seasoned firefighter’s eyes.

“Poppy was kicking.” You chuckled as your father’s shoulders dropped in relief, “Here.”

Your nimble fingers clasped around your father’s wrist to bring his palm to the spot Poppy was kicking. A certain lightness flooded your entire body, being capable of sharing this experience with Bobby. Watching tears well up in the grandpa to be’s brown eyes.

“Whoa.” Bobby breathlessly spoke as Poppy kicked against his palm. The feeling building in his was exhilarating with the small amount of grief mixed in, “I remember when your mom was pregnant with you. We didn’t know if we were having a girl or boy, but she was adamant you would be a kickboxer. So active.”

Athena watched as the relationship between father and daughter started healing directly in front of her eyes. The Sergeant was about to give you two some privacy when you caught her hand in your free one.

“Here.” You informed the older woman shifting to place her hand where your father’s hand had previously been. Your e/c eyes sought the wonder-filled different shades of brown eyes the couple had.

“You should get some sleep,” Athena spoke, staring at her hand resting on your bump. Her dark chocolate brown rising to find your gaze, “You won’t be getting a lot once she arrives.”

Bobby and Athena watched as you turned the corner to the spare room Athena’s parents used when they visited. For the time being, you’ve moved into the room, and the Grant-Nash house hoped you would stay. May had always wanted a sister, and Harry loved all the stories you told about Australia.

“You know, at some point, you’ll have to talk to her.”

“I just was-’

“-without anyone else being the buffer. Bobby, both your lives is evidence enough that some things are too trivial to stress over.” Athena pinned her stern gaze on her husband. The same husband is actively trying to avoid her penetrating gaze.

“What I did-’

“Is in the past, Bobby. You have a second chance with that wonderful woman in that bedroom and our grandchild. Now, are you sure that having the party at the firehouse is okay?”

A hand supported the base of your back where an ache tended to stay for most of the day. That ache wasn’t the worst symptom of your pregnancy. You had heartburn constantly that tied with unfortunate constipation that had thankfully lessened. Your purse always had a cardigan for the hot flashes as well.

“Perfect! May has my car, and Bobby needed that.” Athena beamed from the open bay of the 118. One of the firefighters, Eddie, if you recalled, snagged your purse and the specific ingredient for a recipe.

“You could have borrowed Bobby’s-”

“His vehicle is in the shop Buck.” Athena interrupted the only member of the 118 you had let to officially meet.

Now there were two suspects of the sudden shortness of breath you started experiencing. It could be Poppy in the limited space in your body or the handsome firefighter. Buck had to be hands down none of the most attractive men you’d ever encountered. His dark blonde hair had minimal height, but the soft waves made your fingers itch to feel it. His ocean blue eyes crinkled at the corners with mirth.

“Ah, so you’re flesh and blood of Cap?” Buck questioned from in front of you. His blue eyes centred solely on you, with half a mind thanking himself that he could navigate the station blindfolded in the dark.

“For the last twenty-seven years, I have been.” You retorted, stopping at the edge of the stairs to the apparatus. Your keen sense of smell catching one of your favourite meals your father had dug up from the recipes he hadn’t used in years.

A zing of electricity trailed off your arm when a calloused palm met yours. Your e/c eyes followed the path of tan skin until it reached the shirt sleeve of Buck’s t-shirt. The shirt emblazoned on the chest with the department’s insignia. The man in the casual uniform guided you safely up the stairs with his hand on your back.

The pressure of Buck’s hand on your aching back muscle nearly brought what would be an embarrassing moan from your lips. Thankfully a gasp of surprise fell out instead at the banner hanging with other decorations.

“What?” You choked, cupping your hands to your face. Pure unadulterated shock and affection flooded every inch of you.

The entire 118 squad intermixed with their loved ones surrounded the open area with grins. On a table behind everyone was many wrapped gifts. But the cake was the most impressive.

A large rectangular cake in the realistic shape of a fire engine parked in front of a fire hydrant with a fondant hose going to the truck. On top of the fire truck was the turnout boots next to the matching helmet, the 118 proudly on it. You adored the turnout coat draping off the top to hang off the side.

“If you look at the helmet, it says Poppy.” Buck enthused, guiding you even closer to catch the immaculate cake, “It has to be the best cake we’ve gotten from them.”

“Hey, my rebar head cake was phenomenal!” Chimney called with a belying grin on his face. His hand encased by a brunette woman about his height with her heels on.

“It’s a long story.” Buck offered as soon as you gave him a weird questioning look, “Let me introduce you to everyone!”

For the next five minutes, you spend it by meeting the family of 118, including Eddie’s completely adorable son. Christopher was happy to sit next to you as soon as Harry had found you. Slowly the others came closer to hear the stories.

“What’re the most common injuries on the beach?” Denny, Hen and Karen’s ten-year-old son questioned.

“Bluebottle Jellyfish stings. On one day, we had hundreds of people come to the tower for stings, and the treatment for the minor ones is stingose spray and ice.”

“My question is how a girl from Minnesota is a lifeguard in Australia. Especially on Sydney’s most dangerous beach.” Chimney inserted, waving his bottle of pop at you, his eyes kept moving towards the wine Maddie brought.

Unfortunately, the 118 wouldn’t be celebrating with the wine until their shifts ended in a few short hours. It was a damn miracle they hadn’t been called out yet.

“This former Minnesotan spent summers at my best friend’s parents’ place in Cali as a lifeguard. Also, Bondi is not the most dangerous beach in Sydney. That’s Tamarama.” You pointed towards the man who raised his hands in surrender.

“Have you ever seen a dead body?” Harry asked, bringing a sobering silence in the question’s wake.

Your body language changed as soon as he asked, “Unfortunately, I’ve seen death as a paramedic and as a lifeguard.”

“You’re a paramedic? I thought you were just a lifeguard?” Buck asked, interested in the new information. Buck could feel his Captain’s eyes on the back of his head; he was sure Bobby could smell the attraction on Buck.

“Casual lifeguard. Called when needed as a backup.” You turned your e/c eyes towards the arguably youngest member of the 118.

“How many dead-”

“Harry.” Athena warned her son from continuing a topic that killed the ease and happiness you’d shown previously, “Why don’t we stop talking about-”

“Too many, Harry.” You interrupted your stepmom with a gentle smile towards the woman, “It’s not just drowning that claims lives but also the cliffs surrounding the beaches. Lifeguards patrol more than the beaches and water. Lifeguards respond to medical emergencies, mostly spinal until the paramedics arrive.”

“Oh-”

“I had a fellow lifeguard leave the job because of the suicides we deal with.”

“...who wants cake?” Karen used the quiet interlude of the much too serious topic for a group of kids barely in the double digits of ages. All referenced children followed Hen’s life to the beautiful baked creation.

“Sorry for getting dark there.”

“We all know the dark side of the jobs we chose to do. You sound like you miss Australia. Are you going to return there?” Eddie questioned with one eye pinned on his son, consuming more sugar than he wished.

Eddie’s question did raise self-doubt, but you knew that ultimately living in Australia was no longer a viable option.

“There’s nothing there for me.”

Eddie, Buck and your father understood that mentality to a ‘t’ with family complications keeping them away. Your father for obvious reasons, whereas Eddie and Buck each had a living family with opinions only they saw right.

“You’re always welcome here. Especially when you bring that little cutie to the firehouse.” Maddie cooed towards your baby bump. The 911 dispatcher had asked many questions about your pregnancy.

Maddie was the type of person who could make a stranger feel like they had known for their entire lives.

“Here.”

A plate of the cake was thrust in front of your face courtesy of Maddie’s brother Buck. It is quite literally the perfect size you could ask for. In his other hand, he had a new bottle of water waiting for you to grab.

“Thank you, Buck.” Your shock must have shown in your voice when his cheeks flushed.

“This whole party is a celebration for you, so you shouldn’t have to get up...unless you want to!” Buck rushed to respond, getting more flustered with the amused look of his older sister on him, “You’re already doing something absolutely amazing, so you should get to rela-”

“Buck!” You laughed, ending the older man’s rambling thoughts. The entire party attendees had started watching Buck’s failed smooth attempt.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Buck mutely nodded in response, “No prob-”

The bell was the one to interrupt him instead. The on-duty firefighters rushed down from the upper levels to the lockers. The swift suiting up impressed you as it was like you blinked, and the bay was empty.

“Should be the last call before they get off shift.” Maddie, still occupied with the cake she was eating, “That wine looks so good!”

Your attention snapped from the vacant spots the 118 vehicles parked to the woman ploughing down on the cake. Sure it was good, but not that good. Maybe you could tell as a pregnant woman, or perhaps you just caught some of the symptoms you felt.

“How far along are you?”

Maddie froze, “What are you talk-”

“You’re pregnant, right?”

“Don’t tell anyone. Chim and I found out recently, but we want to wait on telling people. Once the first trimester is over, everyone can know.” Maddie pleaded with two hands cupped under her chin in a prayer position. The pretty brunette using the puppy dog eyes on the new friend she’d made.

“You should tell Buck-”

“We will once we enter the safe zone. So tell me about your baby’s father.” Maddie swiftly changed the subject, unaware of the ache developing in your midsection.

“Lucas Gowan.” You mussed, recalling the freckled half Australian half Scots man with the thick red locks.

“Ooh, is he still in Australia?”

“Technically, he is. I met him at the grocery store near the university campus. I’d transferred to escape my grief. It was purely an attraction at first sight before developing into love at first sight. We convocated and moved into a cosy little place. We’d only just found out about the baby when Lucas passed away.”

As you told Maddie, your hand had moved to cradle the only remaining piece of Lucas.

“His death was unexpected and sudden. He’d taken a run the morning of our scan to find out baby Gowan’s gender. He fell off the side of the cliff. I was told he died instantly. The investigator believes his shoelace untied, and he stepped on it. Fell right off the side.”

“I’m so sorry.” Maddie breathed, leaning closer to hold your hands in her own, “He’d be so proud of you. For returning to the states. Do you keep in contact with his family?”

“He was an only child. Parents died in a car accident when he was ten years old. He was in foster care until he aged out of the system. Poppy is named after his mom.”

Maddie instinctively knew talking about Lucas was, “You know you get along pretty well with Buck... I’ve never seen him so flustered.”

“Maddie, I can tell you are a very intelligent woman, but you’re wrong here. Why would a guy like Buck be interested in a pregnant woman with a reconciling relationship with her father and his Captain while grieving her baby’s dad?”

Maddie tilted her head to the side, “Because I know my brother. He’s only ever had that look when I first moved to LA. Back when Abby was still important to him.”

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

Maddie’s mouth opened to speak, but you were saved by the bell when Athena called you over for pictures. Then her attempts got thwarted once more when the 118 returned to the house perfectly synced to the end of shift.

“Driving here was the last time until the baby’s here. You’ve got precious cargo-”

“I’m seven months pregnant; I can still drive. There’s no law saying I can’t-”

Never argue with Athena Grant-Nash, “It may not be illegal, but I won’t endanger my daughter or my granddaughter.”

“I have to get to my OB/GYN appointment tomorrow. You and Dad each have a long shift during my scheduled appointment. Harry is both too young to drive and in school. May has a shift at dispatch. There’s literally no one available to take me.”

Bobby watched as two of the most important women in his life argued over something as trivial as driving. Harry shook at listening to someone fighting against his mother; she could be terrifying.

“I can take her.”

Everyone in the fir house turned to the voice who’d offered suddenly and found the sheepish form of a tall firefighter. Eddie’s eyebrows raised at his best friend.

“I don’t work tomorrow. I’ve got no plans. Albert’s got some date with a girl at her place.”

“I couldn’t put you out.”

“You need a ride, and I’ll be bored, so why not take my new friend to her baby doctor.”

“Baby doctor?” Hen parroted to her wife in astonishment towards her coworker and close friend. Both the women found the blatant flirting from Buck to the soon to be mother.

“She’ll take you up on the offer. She’s staying in our guest room. Come early for breakfast before you go. We’ll be having waffles.”

Buck found any excuse to visit the Grant-Nash home with the motive to hang out with you ever since the baby shower. From delivering baked goods from your favourite bakery to insisting on driving you to appointments. Didn’t matter if Athena or Bobby could take you; Buck was adamant he drove you.

The friendship was easy going and very natural, like a ball glove still moulded perfectly to your hand. The hangouts in your home evolved to weekly visits to restaurants with guidelines to the current event happening worldwide.

Ultimately it even led to a test date.

“You look breathtaking.” Buck breathlessly informed you once he’d gently pushed your chair closer to the table.

“Thank you.” You kindly responded despite thinking the complete opposite to the charming man sitting across from you.

Athena and May had helped you get ready for the date with calming words on how going on a date so far into the pregnancy was okay. Then, your father had tentatively inserted himself with sage advice on re-entering the dating scene.

“I thought we could grab some ice cream after,” Buck spoke up as soon as the waiter had taken your drink order. Buck had decided to refrain from alcohol and went with glasses of lemonade and water.

“You shouldn’t say that. I’ll just want ice cream.” You snickered, caressing the taut belly you’d grown to love. In fact, the firm push of a heel announced Poppy’s agreement with ice cream as dessert.

“How is Poppy?”

“The doc says she’s right on track. Healthy all around and in the position, she’s supposed to be at this stage.” Buck adored the affectionate smile that always appeared when the topic of your pregnancy was brought up.

“That’s amazing! Bobby gushes about you and Poppy. The fridge has an entire door dedicated to sonograms of Poppy. Even a few from that maternity shoot Hen and Maddie surprised you with.”

A few weeks had passed since the baby shower the 118 had surprised you with. Maddie had announced her pregnancy to the joy of the chosen family she had. Bobby had put together a crib he had painted. Michael, Athena’s ex-husband, had started making plans for adding on to the house for a room for the baby.

Despite informing the architect, you planned on moving out when you had saved enough, he’d made a sound argument. Athena would want a place for the baby to stay when you visited, or the woman demanded to babysit.

Now you found yourself in a National forest not far from Los Angeles, posing in front of nature. A surprise photoshoot Hen and Karen had organized with Karen’s brother Trey. Maddie and Athena had been the ones who drove you.

“Hold the teddy bear on your bump,” Trey informed you from behind his professional and intimidating camera. The photographer praised you in the rapid movement to listen to his offer.

“Hey! Maddie! You should take a few photos. I need a pee break.” You didn’t wait for Maddie to respond in your rush to the somewhat rustic bathroom hut.

By the time you returned, Maddie was taking a couple pictures. Then you took some with Athena to have on the nursery walls and for Bobby to have a photo for his desk.

“Now one with all three of you.”

Present

“So a daredevil.” You stated unsurprised that the firefighter had a history of recklessness. You don’t go into firefighting without a taste for danger.

“The bruises and blood fit better than the awful bleached hair during my time in Peru.” Buck laughed, recalling the questionable choice in his fashion pre-firefighting. Sometimes he missed the people he encountered in his period of self-discovery.

“You didn’t wear puka sh-”

“I did. Bleached hair, puka shells and Hawaiian shirts were my staples during my bartending years. I fit in with the aesthetic of the bar I tended.”

“Buck!” You nearly gasped at his raw honesty. Buck didn’t hold back any answers to your questions, but you each strayed from the topic of family.

Talking about the tragic family history wasn’t a good idea on the first time regardless of the time you’d known each other.

“You’re telling me-” Buck halted as soon as he caught the flash of discomfort flicker over your beautiful features, “Are you okay?”

“She shifted. Been sitting on my blad-” You cut yourself off with a hiss of pain. Buck’s eyes widened at the pain taking over your features, “Oh, that hurt.”

Buck went straight into work mode, “Have you been in pain for long?”

“No. A few cramps here and there today, but my doctor said it was nothing to worry about.” You informed the experienced first responder resting level to your knees.

Buck didn’t want to say it, but he was sure that you’d gone into early labour. There was no indication your water had broken, but he kept over the last hour together. Every once in a while, you shifted or pressed a hand to your bump.

“Has your water broken?”

You shook your head, “No, but...oh... that’s not a cramp.”

With that statement out, you clenched your fingers tight on the edge of the table as pain rippled in your belly. A contraction that stole your breath momentarily. In your contraction, Buck had dialled 911. Buck recalled that sometimes a woman’s water doesn't break until right before the birth.

“We’re not getting that ice cream, are we?” You snorted upon being lifted onto the gurney. How fortunate or unfortunate you were to have the 118 right there.

Hen had taken a position at your feet to check on your lower body while Chimney took your vital signs. You honestly didn’t like the look Hen and Chimney shared with Buck.

“What is it?”

“We’re gonna need to deliver here.” Hen sighed, giving you the facts that terrified you. When you envisioned having the baby, it was in a medical centre. Not in a restaurant.

“My office is large and away from the crowd if you want. I can show you the way.” Sophie, the restaurant manager, offered already starting to lead the way. Sophie would never know how thankful you felt for being able to have privacy.

“Okay, Y/N, is it okay if I check how dilated you -.” Hen breathed with her hand, gently disappearing until the thin blanket Chimney procured from the stocked ambulance, “Y/N when I saw I want you to do that.”

Hen didn’t need to check your dilation when she could see the baby’s head already.

“I’m right here.” Buck cooed in your ear. He had held your hand as his coworkers did their jobs around you.

“This isn’t the way I envisioned you seeing my pu-”

“Push.” Hen urged, cutting off your almost vulgar language, but it eased the tension in the small restaurant office. You couldn’t even see Buck’s flustered reaction as you bore down with the contraction, “Good! Take a breath.”

“You’re a strong woman. It never ceases to amaze me the strength women have.” Buck spoke, keeping your e/c eyes on his blue ones. His hand raised to push a strand of your sweaty hair off your temple.

“Once more push!” Hen called out just in time with the last contraction. The feeling of the pressure between your legs popping was moan inducing.

Poppy was silent. Your entire body froze, yearning for the sweet sound of crying instead of the eerie silence. The world stood still as Chimney worked on your baby girl.

“Pulse is strong,” Chimney announced, keeping his attention on the task of clearing Poppy’s throat and nose. And that sweet sound of crying commenced, “Congratulations Y/N, you have a beautiful baby girl. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

Your father beat the ambulance to the nearest ER in pure anticipation at meeting his granddaughter Poppy Nash Gowan. He barely noticed as Buck stuck to your side like glue. Bobby waited outside the door as you got checked over in the room.

“Quite the first date.” You mused towards Buck, who hovered in awe over the life form you had carried for nine months. You’d been pregnant for three quarters of an entire year to his fascination.

“All my meaningful relationships started with a medical emergency.” Buck finally looked up at you. He’d kept Poppy company in the bassinet while you delivered the afterbirth upon entering the hospital.

“Seriously?”

“Had a tracheostomy on Valentine’s Day with Abby, an earthquake with Ali and a newscaster in a crashed helicopter.” Buck listed off. He hadn’t even noticed scooping the newborn into his arms until he’d sat in the chair by your bed, “Why not add a sudden labour and delivery.”

“He would have liked you.”

The sentence came out of absolutely nowhere. Almost like something had ripped it out of your vocal cords. At the look of confusion, you elaborated.

“Lucas. He would have liked you. I think if it is possible, he might have pushed me into meeting you. I’ll still need to take it slow, but I’d like to give this a shot.”

That was all Buck needed to lean in closer to kiss you—the first of many kisses.

Some might disagree on how quick your relationship with Buck developed, but they didn’t know yours at all. It was natural with the firefighter who stepped into the role of father figure for a growing Poppy. By the time Poppy was one, you’d moved into a house not far from your father’s place with Buck. By the time Poppy was three, a pretty ring had sat on your finger. By five, the young girl had a baby brother.

“Your parents spoil Poppy.”

“You say that like you didn’t crawl into her crib during her afternoon naps.” You deadpanned towards your husband. Buck had the nerve to sheepishly grin, “You give in each time she says ‘pwetty pwease’ for a cookie.”

“It’s a crime to make her sad!” Buck defended himself, but a grin of amusement threatened his act, “Besides, you crack each time too!”

“Mhm. Just wait until Theo can talk.” You pressed a kiss to the sleeping infant strapped into the baby carrier. Theodore Robert Buckley could fall asleep in a thunderstorm if he was in Buck’s arms.

“Oh! Maddie wants to have Poppy over for a play date. Madster’s been begging for her cousin to have a sleepover.”

Maddie and Chimney’s daughter was only a few months younger than your daughter, but the two were thick as thieves. Buck had referred to the Han daughter as Madster with how similar her mannerisms were to her mother.

“Think they’d take the rascal?”

“Is this code for you wanting to have another?” Buck questioned with a twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes. The same blue Theo had inherited along with a birthmark like Buck’s on his bicep.

“I-” You choked, blinking furiously, “Evan, I pushed Theo out of my body barely three months ago!”

Buck inconspicuously winked in response with the sudden scream of excitement coming from Poppy. The rambunctious five-year-old ploughed into Buck’s legs full force. Falling into the practised ease, you’d unstrapped Theo from Buck’s chest and promptly had his tiny body stolen into his grandpa’s arms.

“There’s my boy.” Bobby cooed to the sleep drunk tiny infant. The little baby is crowded by his Gram Athena and Aunt May, “Gonna have to get you a Minnesota Wilds jersey.”

“Hell no. That boy is LA born and bred. He’ll be wearing a Kings jersey like the civilized.” Michael announced with the sudden arrival of Theo and Poppy’s Uncle Harry.

“Mommy? When are we going to Stralia?” Poppy inquired from right beside your leg. Her tiny handheld is the giant one of her dad.

“In a few weeks. Are you excited to see the mommy’s old friends again?”

“Hm. Can we see Dada?”

Buck may be Poppy’s father, but he’d never let Poppy go without knowing she had two fathers in all. Her first one waiting to meet here decades from the time she was born and solely referenced Lucas as Dada. Buck was grateful for the man who brought Poppy into existence; the little green-eyed tot Buck could never regret. Unlike Buck’s parents keeping his older brother’s existence a secret, the firefighter refused to follow in their footsteps. He’d continue to shower the late Lucas in gratitude and respect. He refused to make the same mistakes as Phillip and Margaret Buckley.

“Of course. C’mon Poppy, time to say goodbye.” Buck guided the little girl to the extended family showering her little brother with love. The little girl was quickly swung into Bobby’s arms, and Athena cooing at your infant son.

Changes. The six-letter word doesn’t have to be terrifying. It can be breathtaking, memorable and beautiful to experience.

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raibebe · 4 years

Text

Of needles and seduction

Genre: Fluff and smut Words: 15.2k Prompt: Johnny tattoo shop AU featuring best friends Yangyang and Jaemin Warnings: contains smut, Daddy-kink, size-kink, mentions of mirror-sex

A/N: This is very self-indulgent, I’m sorry. While I do have piercings myself, I know next to nothing about tattoos, so I’m sorry if anything is inaccurate. Also I don’t advise what some characters in this are doing for yourself. Just a quick special thanks to @burtonized who has listened to me ramble about this story and Johnny and helped me write this by giving me ideas and support. Thank you darling! This fic is a beast, I have never written anything this long,it’s insane. If smut isn’t for you, you can stop reading after the phone call and still have a pretty decent story. If you feel like, you’ve seen this post before, you might have. I deleted the original one because tumblr decided to delete it from the tags.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You asked for what you felt was the tenth time in the past five minutes. “It’s going to be fine. The shop is clean and sanitary,” your friend Yangyang groaned while running his hands through his messy, blonde hair. It was getting way too long, hanging low into his eyes. “I’m just saying that this doesn’t seem like a safe place,” you mumbled but followed your hyper friend through a more than dubious looking side street of Itaewon. “Jaemin got his piercings done in the same shop and those healed just fine, stop being a baby,” the blonde said while rolling his eyes. He quickly checked his phone for the address of the (probably illegal) piercing and tattoo shop and took a sharp turn into an even shadier looking street. “I still don’t get while you need me to come with you when you want to get your nipples pierced for god knows what of a stupid reason.” “It’s easy,” Yangyang grinned at you, “Ten said I wouldn’t dare to do it. And I’m going to prove him wrong and you’re going to document the progress.” “Do you ever listen to yourself talk? You’re literally paying someone to stab you into your nipples to shove a piece of metal through it just to prove a point.” “It’s just one nipple though.” “How does that make it any better, Yangyang?” You deadpanned. Your friend groaned again. “I knew I should have taken Guanheng with me. He would have been supportive.” “He would also be supportive of getting ‘I love Tacos’ tattooed on your ass.” “He would,” Yangyang agreed with an exaggerated dreamy look on his face. “What a madlad.”

You sighed but couldn’t help smiling at his antics. You had befriended the hyper exchange student when you had been assigned to be partners for a group project for your mandarin class. Yangyang had only taken the class for extra credit and easy good grades while you were struggling like crazy and had seriously questioned all your life choices that had let to you taking the class. (But mostly you regretted listening to Renjun who had convinced you it would be an easy class.) The group project turned out to be rather easy when you had a native speaker as your partner and you had become fond of the younger student, staying in touch with him and helping him find his way around the big campus. If you had known that he was a package deal with a bunch of other equally hyper and questionably crazy exchange students, you might have thought a little longer about keeping in touch after the project was over. But who were you kidding, the other boys and Yangyang were incredibly dear to you and if Kun had his regular morning coffee, the others weren’t even that chaotic.

“That’s it,” Yangyang suddenly exclaimed, pointing at a small beat up looking wooden door that looked like it was ready to fall out of the doorway any second. But a little green neon sign that hang next to it flashed the word “open” onto the street indicating that a shop must be hiding behind it. Your arguably best friend quickly grabbed your hand as if he had been sensing that you were about to complain again and dragged you into the shop. A little bell jingled quietly when Yangyang closed the door behind you two. You took a deep breath to calm your nerves (hell you weren’t even the one to get stabbed with a needle) and took a look around the small room. It was small and poorly lit and every free space on the walls was plastered with drawings and photos of both freshly done and healed tattoos. You had to admit that whoever had done those had done a good job, they looked really neat. You guessed that at least two artists must be working in the shop. A good portion of the art were very neat black and white works (some looking freakishly realistic) while others were very vibrant and artistic.

With a confident bounce in his step, Yangyang went up to the counter to a man with wild bubblegum pink hair wearing a black tank top that showed off the ink on his arms and torso, all kept in black except for a deep red rose on the side of his neck. His eyes were lined with dark eyeliner, making them seem like dark bottomless orbs, and they were fixed to the screen of a laptop that was covered in stickers that were a wild mixture of cute characters and various rock and hip-hop bands. “And what brings you here?” The man asked with a surprisingly deep voice, turning his head towards your friend. “A friend of mine told me I could get pierced here,” Yangyang spoke, his hands fumbling with the loose threads of his sweater. “And if that was the case, what would you want to get pierced?” “My nipple.” At that the other man raised one of his perfectly arched eyebrows. “People usually start off with getting an earring or something.” “Go hard or go home,” Yangyang grinned, making the other man snort. “If you have 70.000 Won in cash, I can look if one of the piercers is free.” When your friend got out his worn wallet and put a couple of bills onto the counter, the other man smiled for the first time. It didn’t quite fit his whole dark punk aesthetic but you couldn’t deny that he was really good looking.

“Don’t run away now kiddo, I’ll see if someone is free,” he grinned, “I’m Taeyong by the way.” When he disappeared behind a curtain made out of pearls into the back, Yangyang turned towards you with the biggest smile on his face. “I told you it was going to be fine.” You just hummed nonchalantly, still not entirely supportive of the whole idea. “One of the guys is ready in a bit,” Taeyong said when he came back to the main room. “Are you getting anything?” He asked, looking at you. “Oh no, she’s a scaredy-cat, just here for moral support and to document that I actually did it,” your friend answered for you. Your face immediately heated up under the intense gaze of the pink haired tattoo artist. “Too bad,” he just shrugged. “So technically you need to sign stuff for legal issues and whatnot. But since this place doesn’t exactly exist on records, we’re skipping that part. You’re not on drugs or any meds, right?” “I’m not,” Yangyang shook his head, making his hair flop back into his face. “Any issues with fainting or other medical conditions?” “Nope.” “Great. Had a good meal before coming here?” “I had breakfast,” Yangyang shrugged. “You had a slice of cold pizza from yesterday,” you groaned. “That I ate in the morning, therefore it’s breakfast,” he argued. “Well in that case,” Taeyong interrupted your bickering and threw a granola bar into Yangyang’s hands, “Eat that and let your girlfriend treat you to some proper food afterwards.” Before the blonde could deny anything, you had already opened your mouth to tell the other man that in fact you weren’t dating.

“Sure, sorry for assuming,” he shrugged and sat back behind the counter, taking out an iPad and began drawing something, probably a tattoo design. “Nervous yet?” You asked Yangyang who was uncharacteristically quiet while munching on the granola bar. “Shit, I’m really doing this,” he replied, exhaling shakily. “You don’t actually have to, Yangyang,” you tried to comfort him. “And let Ten just get away like that? No way. I am doing this. I’m not his little baby Yangyang anymore,” he said like the stubborn child he was. You could just sigh and roll your eyes at him. “He might have just been joking, you know?” “One does not simply challenge Liu Yangyang like that and not expect consequences.” “Kun is going to actually flip and pop a vein,” you tried to reason with your friend for a last time. Kun was doing a lot of coordination work for the exchange students with a Chinese background and had taken on almost a fatherly role for the younger students that hadn’t been in Korea for long. And even though Ten wasn’t even that much younger than Kun, he almost lost his otherwise calm composure when the Thai boy had announced that he successfully had pierced his ear by himself yet again after he had convinced a poor med student to smuggle some equipment for him. And from there the situation had somehow escalated into Ten daring Yangyang to get a nipple piercing. “Well he can’t do anything about it once it’s done. We’ll just make sure he’s with someone who can call an ambulance if he ends up having an aneurism.”

“Someone still wants their nipple pierced?” A new voice interrupted your conversation and a tall man with dark inky hair came into the room, making the pearls of the curtain clink against each other. One side of his head was shaved while the longer hair on the other side framed his handsome face beautifully. He was wearing a loose black T-shirt paired with ripped jeans with almost as many holes as there was fabric that hugged his long legs perfectly, showing that he had also ink on his legs. From his lobe dangled a little silver chain and of course his arms were covered in intricate designs, one arm strictly black ink while the other sported some colorful pieces as well. In the center of his plush lower lip sat a black ring and just beneath his left eye two little silver balls were reflecting the low light. You couldn’t deny that the man looked absolutely stunning despite his unusual appearance.

“Yes, me,” Yangyang eagerly answered the man’s question and walked towards him, tugging you with him. “Too bad,” the piercer grinned cheekily and winked in your direction, making your heart flutter in your chest and heat rise to your face, before he extended a big hand to shake Yangyang’s much smaller one. “I’m Johnny,” he introduced himself before leading you both into a smaller room in the back with a simple black padded bench in the middle of the room and a desk tucked into a corner. The walls were plastered with art and photos like the main room, showing that Johnny apparently was able to pull off a bunch of different tattoo styles. He seemed to have a thing for florals and roses though. The only free space was taken up by a full body mirror at the opposite wall. Johnny sat down on the little stool that was standing by the desk and motioned for Yangyang to sit on the bench while you sat down in the only other chair in the room, made of worn looking black leather.

“Let me see your chest before we start this whole thing,” Johnny spoke to your friend after he had grabbed a pair of silver framed glasses that sat low on his elegant nose and slipped on a fresh pair of black gloves. With only slightly trembling hands, Yangyang pulled his sweater over his head, keeping his hands buried in the fabric. “Looks good to me. Left or right one?” “Ehrm, I haven’t really thought about it,” he confessed. Johnny chuckled. “Spontaneous decision to get your nipple pierced?” “He does it to prove a point to a friend,” you supplied before Yangyang had the chance to answer. “Seems like a valid reason,” the tattoo artist grinned, “You play guitar or anything where the strap could irritate the new piercing?” “Just the violin,” Yangyang supplied, demonstrating how he would hold his instrument. “Then I’d suggest we go for the left one,” Johnny concluded, grabbing a bunch of stuff he needed. “Is it going to hurt badly?” “No idea, mine aren’t pierced.” “The first one is fine,” another voice chimed into the conversation and a pink mess of hair appeared in the doorway. “My client is there and Jaehyun isn’t back from his break yet, have an open ear for the door.” Johnny just hummed but it seemed enough to satisfy Taeyong who disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared.

“You ready?” Johnny asked one last time. Yangyang took a deep but shaky breath and nodded. “You better film this so Ten knows it’s real,” he said, holding out his phone towards you. Rolling your eyes, you got up from your actually really comfortable chair and took the phone from your best friend’s hands while Johnny disinfected Yangyang’s nipple and drew two little circles where the bar would go through it before grabbing a small mirror to show him. “Let’s do this,” your best friend nodded and you pressed record. “It’ll be quick,” Johnny promised, disinfecting one last time before he grabbed a pair of tongs to hold the nipple in place and freed a needle from a foil package. “I’ll count to three and then I’ll start, alright?” “A-Alright.” “Last time to chicken out.” “No, I’m doing this,” Yangyang gritted out, closing his eyes. After that everything happened really fast: Johnny counted to three and steadily pushed the needle through Yangyang’s nipple, who bit his lip hard. He then let the needle dangle from the nipple while freeing a little barbell from another foil package to insert it through the canal he just had made. “And that’s it,” he announced when he secured the little balls on either side of the barbell. You ended the recording when Yangyang left out the breath he had been holding in. “Now no sports, especially no swimming or sexual activities for a while. Clean it well and don’t worry if it gets sore, that’s normal. It can take a while to heal, so be patient and don’t let it get infected. You can get a smaller barbell or a ring once it’s healed. Just come back to get it changed to be safe.” “Fuck I really did that,” Yangyang cursed and looked down to his chest, “I think I need a minute before I can get up.”

“Take your time, I don’t have any clients for another half an hour,” Johnny reassured him, putting the used materials into the trash. “Just please don’t vomit all over the floor or hit your head while fainting.” “That has happened before?” You asked, eyes wide. “Not on me but it’s not unheard of. You sure you don’t want anything?” he asked, turning towards you. His silver framed glasses had slid down his nose a little and you couldn’t deny that the man looked really hot, looking at you from beneath his lashes. “She’s too scared,” Yangyang teased. He couldn’t feel too bad if he still could do that then. “Too bad, I think you would really suit a little conch or something,” the piercer motioned around his own ear to indicate what piercing he meant. “A conch?” You asked, turning towards the mirror to try to imagine it. “Wait let me show you.” Johnny quickly got up to search through the drawers of his desk before he pulled out a little box with a bunch of jewelry, grabbing a small hoop. He stood behind you in front of the mirror. “Hold still for me,” he breathed and bend down to push your hair behind your ear before he carefully put the fake piercing in place. For a moment you could swear that time had stopped. You felt his breath fanning over your skin gently and could smell the intoxicating smell of his cologne. You were so close to each other, you were sure that if you turned your head, your noses would brush against each other. But before you could do anything stupid, Johnny pulled back and gently turned your head so you could see the little silver ring. “I think I could put an even smaller one if you wanted,” he said, watching you through the mirror with an intense gaze from his dark eyes. “I’ve never thought about getting a piercing,” you admitted shyly. While you did get your lobes pierced when you were a child, you never thought of it much. “It looks good. Not so much like daddy’s good girl anymore,” the piercer grinned. You almost choked on air when the words left his plush lips, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks.

“How much?” “For you I’ll do it for free, darling,” he grinned, running a hand through his thick dark hair, making his muscles shift beneath his inked skin. While your brain was still short-circuiting from the nickname, Yangyang seemed to be back to 100%, destroying whatever the atmosphere between you and the tattoo artist just was. “Are you really going to say no to a free piercing, dude?” You could just groan and roll your eyes at your best friend. “Stop calling me dude, Yangyang.” “Only if you get that piercing.” “That’s blackmailing.” “Just do it, it won’t even hurt right?” “It’s just a bit of pressure,” Johnny assured you, his lips curled into a smile. “I can always take it out if I don’t end up liking it,” you thought out aloud. “The beauty of temporary body modifications,” Johnny sighed before he stepped in front of you to take the fake piercing off again. With his face so close to yours again, your eyes traveled over the little silver balls beneath his left eye, over his elegant nose down to the black ring in his lower lip and you briefly wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. “So what will it be?” You looked over to your best friend who had put his hoodie back on and nodded his head enthusiastically, making his fluffy hair flop into his eyes. He really needed a haircut.

“Alright, let’s do this,” you decided. “That’s what I like to hear,” Johnny grinned and moved to get his stuff ready. “Need me to hold your hand?” Yangyang grinned when you took his place on the bench. “I wouldn’t want to contaminate you with girl germs,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind some girl germs if they’re coming from such a pretty girl,” Johnny cut in when he rolled back over on his stool, his glasses pushed back up his nose again. You couldn’t even fight the heat that crept onto your face at his words, he sure could feel it radiating off your cheeks from where his gloved hands were touching your skin. “I’ll do it where I placed the fake one, just with a smaller ring, alright?” He spoke softly when he disinfected your ear. You could just nod, anxiety taking over, making your heart race and skin prickle. When you heard the plastic bag that held the sterile needle rip, you pressed your eyes shut and balled your hands to fists. “Take a deep breath for me, doll,” Johnny mumbled, gently caressing your skin where he had grabbed your face to stabilize you. “In and out.” You shakily did as he asked you, his low voice comforting and calming your anxiety a lot. “Now you breathe in and let me count to three, then you gently release that breath. Can you do that for me, darling?” “Yeah,” you breathed, eyes still closed so you missed the soft smile on Johnny’s face. “Alright, deep breath in. One, two, three,” the pain of the needle piercing through your skin made you clench your fists harder, “And breathe out.” You tried your best to release the breath evenly until the pressure of the needle was just a low thudding. “You’re doing great, darling,” the handsome piercer reassured you, “I’ll just push the ring through and we’re all done here. Take another breath for me.” This time the feeling wasn’t as painful, just a really uncomfortable feeling of pressure. “All done, pretty,” Johnny concluded, clicking the ring closed. “Open your eyes.”

When you did open your eyes again, he held the little hand mirror from before in his still gloved hands so you could see the little ring that sat against your ear now. The skin was a bright red and you could feel your pulse throb around the metal but it actually fit the shape of your ear really nicely. “Thank you,” you smiled at Johnny. “It’s been a pleasure,” he winked before gathering the used needle and tissues to throw them away. “Take good care of it and try to not sleep on that side for a couple of nights and it will be healed in no time.” “Let’s go home, big baby,” Yangyang chirped in, already on his feet to leave the room. “I’m starving.” “There’s a good ramen shop a little up the street, not too expensive either,” Johnny recommended.

“Thanks for the piercings, man,” your best friend thanked the artist when he took you back to the main room. “No big deal,” Johnny shrugged and sat down where Taeyong had sat before, putting his long legs up on the counter. “Well, have a nice day, maybe we’ll come back for more some time,” Yangyang grinned, opening the door to leave the shop. “Oh I’m sure you will,” the artist replied, locking eyes with you before winking. “Take good care of that piercing, doll. You know where you have to come to if you want more.” You nodded shyly before bowing to the man. “Thank you, Johnny.” “I’ll see you again,” it wasn’t a question. Somehow you and him both knew that this wouldn’t be the last time you would step into the shady tattoo shop.

The next time that you found yourself in the shady streets of Itaewon came faster than you had thought. This time you were accompanying Jaemin to his tattoo appointment after Jeno had ditched him because he had to take over a shift at the cat café he worked at. (That poor boy had to take antihistamines before every shift because of his allergies but couldn’t resist the charm of the kittens.) “You’re a lifesaver seriously,” the hyper boy repeated while jumping up and down excitedly, “Sitting still for hours on end is really so boring if you have no one to talk to.” “Can’t you talk to your artist?” You asked confused. “He threatened to stab me with the tattoo gun the last time when I was trying to talk to him while he worked,” Jaemin pouted. You could only imagine how irritating Jaemin and his moods could be to someone who wasn’t used to him. Ever since he had decided that he wanted to commit to what he had dubbed a soft punk look, he had been going to the shop somewhat regularly to start a collection of tattoos and piercings. It had started a year ago when he first had dyed his hair to a light blue color. Shortly after that he had first gotten his ears and then his nose pierced. The two lip rings in his lower lip were his newest addition as far as piercings went. The tattoos came a little later. After much consideration he had made the decision to start a floral piece on his arm, the center would be a hummingbird, all with black ink for now.

After a little bit of Instagram stalking you had easily identified the intricate flowers that adored Jaemin’s upper arm as Johnny’s work and the thought of seeing the handsome tattoo artist again had made your heart beat faster in your chest. Not that Jaemin needed to know that you weren’t coming with him for his sake but rather because of your desire to see the dark haired flirty man again. You had been thinking about his dark eyes behind his silver framed glasses and how he scrunched his eyebrows when he was concentrating a lot for the last weeks. (Not that you had replayed the video of him piercing Yangyang an unhealthy amount of times or anything…) Every time you took care of your new piercing it reminded you of how his fingers felt on your skin and how his deep voice had gently guided you through everything. Not to forget how easily the pet names had rolled from his lips. And oh god his lips… His Instagram account featured a good amount of pictures of himself both casual and while working and the way his plush lips would curl into a confident smirk did things to your heart. His latest update had been the actual death of yours though. It had shown the new tattoo he had gotten recently: It was an intricate eagle that spread over his muscled chest, the feathers of the wings blending seamlessly into the other art covering his strong shoulders and biceps. Did you already mention that he was freaking shirtless in the picture? And that he was hiding a seriously ripped body beneath the wide T-Shirt he wore the last time you were at the shop? So to say that your thoughts had started to spiral after seeing that post was a little understated.

You still felt a little uneasy when you followed Jaemin through the backstreets of Itaewon but when the shabby door with the neon green ‘open’ sign came in sight, you felt the feeling disappear, only for it to be replaced with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Jaemin grinned widely when he pushed the door open and his good mood was always infectious, a smile creeping on your lips. This time a new man sat at the counter, lazily rocking back and forth on the chair with his phone in his hand. His hair was dark and hung into his eyes and he wore a dark, long sleeved hoodie, so you couldn’t see if he had as many tattoos as his colleagues but if the tattoos on his hands and neck were any indication, he must be pretty covered as well. You recognized the rose on the back of his hand from one of Johnny’s Instagram posts. When the man looked up, you saw that he didn’t only have tattoos but piercings as well: In his lower lip sat two rings right next to each other, a ring dangled from his nose and two little silver balls sat in the hollows of his dimples that showed when he smiled at Jaemin. “Back for more?” He asked with a deep, rumbling voice and got up to greet Jaemin properly, bumping their shoulders together. “Got an appointment with Johnny for my sleeve,” the blue haired boy replied. “I see the snake bites healed well.” “Done by the best piercer of the shop.” “You know it,” the man laughed, throwing an arm around Jaemin. “Brought your girlfriend?” “I’m just a friend,” you quickly corrected the piercer. (Why couldn’t you just platonically join a friend for his tattoo session?) “Alright, just a friend, I’m Jaehyun. Johnny should be ready by now. You know the way?” Jaemin nodded and pulled you with him to Johnny’s room.

When Jaemin pulled the curtain to the room open, you weren’t prepared for what you were seeing: Johnny was standing in front of the full length mirror with his black button up shirt unbuttoned, applying cream to his still tender looking eagle tattoo on his chest, making his beautiful sunkissed skin glisten. “You’re early, Jaem,” he spoke. “Jaehyun said you were already ready,” the blue haired boy shrugged and plopped down onto the black bench. “Oh you brought company,” Johnny turned around when he spotted you and grinned, “I knew you’d come back, doll. How’s your piercing healing?” You had to summon all your strength to rip your eyes from Johnny’s strong and glistening chest to meet his dark eyes. “It’s fine as far as I know, doesn’t hurt anymore,” you stumbled across your words. Couldn’t he just button his shirt back up? “Let me see.” Before you could protest he had made two big steps and was right in front of you, the intoxicating smell of his perfume filling your senses. He gently tucked your hair back to have a look at the piercing and you swore you could feel electricity buzz beneath your skin where he had touched you. “You took great care of it, darling. Not regretting it yet?” “No, I like it.” I like you. The words had laid on your tongue but you managed to swallow them back down.

“Stop flirting with her, I’m the one paying for your attention,” Jaemin whined from where he was sitting. You of course immediately felt all your blood rush to your head but Johnny just chuckled. “I haven’t seen any cash yet, boy.” The tattoo artist gave you a last wink before turning towards his actual client, buttoning his shirt back up but leaving the last two buttons unbuttoned, letting the head of the eagle just barely poke out. Taking a deep breath you sat down in the worn leather chair while Jaemin handed Johnny a bunch of bills that the taller quickly counted. “Alright, I’m all yours for the next five hours or so,” he grinned, “You saw the drafts I sent you?” Jaemin nodded while he took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeve of his T-Shirt to expose the ink on his arm. It was already beautiful even though it wasn’t even halfway done. The hummingbird was still missing its shading and he hung in the air for now, the flowers and leaves stopping above its head. “Yeah, I’m still not sure about the color though. Can’t we just do more flowers instead?” “Sure but the inner arm and near the elbow is going to hurt like a bitch. So it’s either that or you let me color that hummingbird.” Jaemin groaned dramatically, turning his arm to look into the mirror. “He does look weird just half-finished like that.” “So color it is?” Johnny asked while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt a bit, exposing his own tattoos: A snake like dragon curled around his entire right arm, kept in all black ink. “I really liked that green-blue watercolor thing you sent,” Jaemin supplied when he turned to lie down. “Right, then I’ll do some flowers directly surrounding the bird and color that thing.” He snapped his black gloves on and turned to prepare his machine and the colors.

“Come closer with that stupid chair,” Jaemin whined, making grabby hands at you. After Johnny nodded, you pushed the chair closer with great effort. “Are you going to whine for the whole time?” You groaned but smiled fondly at your friend. “Most likely,” Johnny answered instead of Jaemin and rolled over on his little stool, his silver framed glasses back on his nose and a pen between his lips. “I’ll freehand a bunch of flowers first to make sure they fit around that little guy nicely.” “And I thought you liked putting others in pain,” Jaemin joked when Johnny adjusted a little lamp and began to draw flower after flower. It was really fascinating how quick his hand drew delicate petals and leaves, filling up the space around the hummingbird. “Oh if I put others in pain, they usually like it,” he grinned, his voice dropping an octave. You almost choked on plain air and had to try to mask it as coughing but if the way Johnny’s eyes twinkled was any indication, he had seen right through it and dared to be smug about it. “Wow my third appointment and we’re already talking about kinks?” “Sorry Jaem, not interested,” the artist laughed, “I’m more into cute girls.” He leaned back to examine his drawing, throwing you another quick wink. You barely held in a squeak. He really wasn’t even trying to be subtle about his flirting anymore. “Ready for the big gun?” “Oh dick jokes now, nice,” Jaemin chuckled while you were sure your head was about to explode from how much blood was collecting in there. You covered your hot cheeks with your hands in a hopeless attempt to cool them. “Oh look Johnny, she’s getting shy already.” “I haven’t even started yet, baby.” That was it. This man was going to be the death of you. You really didn’t need to know what it sounded like when he spoke those words that were dripping with honey. “Why did I agree to come with you?” You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Because you missed me”, Johnny said at the same time as Jaemin said: “Because you’re a good friend.”

After a beat of silence in which Johnny arranged his actual tattoo gun and Jaemin stared at you while his smile grew bigger and bigger, he asked: “Now which one is it?” “I’m not answering that,” you mumbled from beneath your fingers. “No answer is an answer as well,” Jaemin singsang but luckily the low buzzing of the tattoo machine saved you from any further embarrassment… For now… “Now hold still or I’ll actually stab you,” Johnny warned before he dipped the needle into black ink and began to trace the lines he had just drawn on with a fine needle. “Yessir,” Jaemin joked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Johnny was unusually quiet while he worked, completely tuning out the chatter of you and Jaemin about shitty professors and assignments. You were absolutely fascinated by the confidence he radiated while dragging the needle over his client’s skin. He went back and forth between two different tattoo guns and rubbed Jaemin’s skin every now and then to get rid of excess ink. Soon Jaemin’s whole upper arm was decorated with delicate flowers and leaves and Johnny leaned back to both take a deep breath while stretching his back and to look at his work. “Let’s take a break before I do the color,” he proposed, wiping down the skin. “It looks great,” you complimented his work, taking a picture for Jaemin so he could see it himself. “Damn that pain really pays off,” your friend grinned, zooming in and out of the picture before posting it to his Instagram. “Does it hurt badly?” “You get used to it,” he shrugged, not taking his eyes from his feed, “It’s more like someone continuously scratching you.” “I can show you if you want,” Johnny chimed in from where he was cleaning his tattoo gun from the black ink. “I don’t think I’m spontaneous enough for a sudden tattoo.” “Not even if I offer it for free again?” He laughed. “I’m not mentally prepared for that,” you tried to reason. “I can still show you how it feels though. Without ink.” You shyly nodded and held out your arm for him that he quickly wiped down with disinfectant when he was done putting a fresh needle into the gun. “Just don’t flinch, darling,” he softly spoke before the buzzing of his tattoo gun filled the silence. You expected it to hurt a lot more when the needle touched your skin but it really wasn’t that bad. It was an odd kind of pain you couldn’t really describe. “It’s not that bad,” you told him, looking into his beautiful brown eyes behind his glasses. “It hurts more when it’s directly on the bone or at a more tender area,” Johnny explained and turned the gun off again, bending down to look at the slightly reddened skin of your arm before chucking the used needle into the nearby trashcan. “Let’s patch that up real quick, just treat it like any other scratch.” You nodded and let the handsome man put a band-aid over it. But before you could pull your arm back again, he leaned down to press a kiss on the cloth “For a good and quick healing,” he breathed and grinned smugly when you quickly turned your head away to hide your heated face.

“When you’re done flirting, will you finally put some color into me?” Jaemin interrupted, grinning widely. “That’s what she said,” you mumbled under your breath, making Johnny chuckle. “All you need to do is ask, darling.” Before you could even wrap your mind around what the tattoo artist had just implied, he had already rolled back over to your blue haired friend to take a look at the hummingbird. “Alright let’s do this,” he grinned before wiping down the skin once more. The buzzing of a new machine filled the room and Jaemin scrunched his eyes shut when the needle dipped in turquoise ink met his skin. “This is nasty,” he complained. “Don’t be a baby,” Johnny murmured, dragging the needle over your friend’s skin that accepted the ink quickly. “You want to hold my hand?” You giggled. What you didn’t expect was for Jaemin to actually reach out to you with his unoccupied arm, making a grabby hand. “Jeno always holds my hand,” he whined. “You’re such a big baby, Nana,” you sighed but still laced your fingers together, yelping loudly when Jaemin squeezed down hard. “You said it didn’t even hurt, you big liar,” you squeezed out between gritted teeth. “You’re not the one getting stabbed,” Jaemin argued, “That shit hurts different than the black.” “It’s a different needle,” Johnny explained, “People usually say it hurts less than outlines though.” “It’s not more or less, it’s just different.” “Well it’s going to hurt more if you keep seizing up like that, relax.” “You’re one to fucking talk,” Jaemin sounded upset. “Don’t curse at me for giving you a pretty tattoo,” Johnny just said, dipping his needle into the little pot that held the color again. “Talk him through it,” the artist said to you, looking up from behind his glasses that had slipped down his nose again.

“Hey, remember that time when Donghyuck was so drunk he wanted to jump from the roof into the pool at that frat house?” You quickly said, the silly story coming to mind first. The memory made Jaemin giggle. “Jeno and Mark had so much trouble holding him back once he managed to climb out of the window,” the blue haired boy chuckled. “They were lucky they didn’t fall off.” “That would have made for an even better story though,” Jaemin laughed. “They could have hurt themselves,” you said, scandalized, “You’re hanging out with Renjun too much.” Jaemin didn’t answer, instead he just hummed and wiggled his dark eyebrows.

“Did you ever go to college?” You asked Johnny out of curiosity even though Jaemin had said that the artist preferred to keep quiet and concentrate on his work. “Do I look like I went?” He just laughed, cocking one of his stupidly perfect eyebrows at you when he looked up. “Well, I didn’t want to assume,” you shied away under his gaze. “I dropped out of high school to learn tattooing,” Johnny shared while painting Jaemin’s skin as blue as his hair, “I wasn’t good in school anyways. So art school or something wasn’t an option either. Not that I would have had any money for that.” “What made you want to pick up tattooing then?” You asked curiously. “Art usually is very temporarily and if you make a mistake, you can just erase it or paint over it with another color. Not so much with tattoos. I like that. It’s immortal as long as you don’t start shooting lasers at it.” “I’ve never thought about it like that,” you confessed. Tattooing had never seemed like art to you but that was exactly what it was. Just not on a canvas but under your skin. “Thinking about getting one now?” Jaemin teased, squeezing your hand that he still held. “I haven’t even told my parents about the piercing,” you scoffed, “They would disown me.” “Well too bad, I know a pretty good tattoo artist,” he joked and poked his tongue out. “Do you now?” Johnny asked, a grin on his lips, wiping down Jaemin’s arm before going in with a lighter color. “Yeah, he works in this shady ass shop in Itaewon and I am pretty sure you can buy drugs there as well.” “Those are not for sale,” the artist chuckled when he saw your scandalized expression. “It’s just anesthetics for certain piercing procedures, calm down doll.” “So sadly, it turns out you can’t buy drugs at their shop but it still looks shady and I’m pretty sure they’re paying part of the mafia so the police won’t come to investigate.” “I know nothing of transactions of this sort,” Johnny commented before you could get an actual heart attack. Illegally tattooing and piercing was one thing but mingling with the mafia was a whole other thing. “Anyways, he does pretty cool tattoos and pierces as well,” Jaemin continued, a grin on his lips, “Also talking male to male here, he’s pretty ripped.” At that Johnny started grinning as well. “Wanna know his name?” Jaemin asked you when Johnny turned to clean his needle and you just rolled your eyes but nodded, wondering what he was getting out of all of this. “It’s Jaehyun.” “Excuse me?” Johnny exclaimed with wide eyes when both you and your blue haired friend started laughed at his stupid joke. “This kid,” he mumbled and shook his head before putting the needle back to Jaemin’s skin who seemed to have forgotten to whine about the pain.

The rest of the appointment was spend with you and Jaemin chatting about this and that and a short video call from a red eyed Jeno who had finished his shift at the cat café and wanted to apologize and promised to buy you two dinner after you were done. “I think that’s all I can do for today,” Johnny said after he had stared at the little hummingbird for a while, “Your skin took the color well but if I do any more, I’ll stress the skin too much. I can go in another time if I need to fix anything.” Jaemin nodded, sitting up so he could inspect the colorful hummingbird in the mirror. “Wow that looks sick,” he commented, his eyes going wide, “Totally worth the pain.” “That’s what I wanna hear,” the artist grinned, grabbing some paper towels to rub the tattoo down once more. “Let me snap a picture to post.”

After both men had taken about 20 photos each, Johnny quickly wrapped Jaemin’s arm in plastic wrap, reminding him how to take care of it. “Text me for the next session, I think we could fit some pretty roses at the bottom. Maybe add a dash of color here and there or other animals,” the artist smiled, slipping the glasses off his nose, gently placing them on the table. “I’ll think about it but first I gotta slave away behind the bar to make more money,” Jaemin sighed, shrugging his jacket back on. “And you darling?” Johnny asked, putting on his confident smile again. “When will I see you again?” You just stared at him, at a loss for an answer. Did he really want to see you again? But before you could even open your mouth, Jaemin had already pulled your phone from your grasp, unlocked it and shoved it towards Johnny. “Put your number in already,” he sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. Laughing, Johnny did as your friend had said. “Very smooth, Jaem.” “I- I guess I’ll text you,” you stuttered when Johnny gave your phone back, your fingers tingling where his touched yours. “I’ll be waiting, darling,” he winked, raking a hand through his inky strands. “Alright, time to leave, before you start drooling,” Jaemin destroyed the intense atmosphere and grabbed your arm to pull you back to the main room and out of the parlor, leaving a laughing Johnny behind in his room.

“I wasn’t even drooling, what the fuck Jaemin,” you argued when you were outside, your phone clutched to your chest. “Stop complaining, I got you his number, you should be thankful,” he just grinned, absolutely shameless, tugging you along through the little street. “I will not thank you for embarrassing me in front of him,” you pouted, unlocking your phone to confirm that Johnny had indeed put his number into the contacts with a little black heart behind his name.

“Is it too early to text him?” You asked when you and Jaemin sat in the subway on the way to his and Jeno’s dorm to take him up on his offer for food. Your friend just laughed at you, making an elderly man scowl at the two of you, who shook his head in disapproval. Well, Jaemin’s visuals didn’t help him when he acted like this in public. But as long as he didn’t care, you wouldn’t care either. “Text him after we’ve eaten,” he advised you. “Then you don’t seem as desperate as you are,” he added, which earned him a punch to his not tattooed arm.

All through dinner, Jaemin retold every embarrassing moment that happened at the tattoo parlor, making Jeno laugh so hard that he almost choked on his rice. You really needed to find new friends. These ones were just harassing you at this point. (Aside from the fact that Jaemin had indeed managed to get you Johnny’s number, you’d thank him later when he couldn’t make fun at you.)

Later that night, you laid in bed in your own dorm room, staring at the screen of your phone. Your fingers were hovering over the keyboard but you really couldn’t think of what you should text Johnny. You didn’t want to seem weird. With how confident he was, he probably did this a lot and you were too proud to make a fool of yourself. Groaning you tossed and turned in your bed for a while, still staring at the empty chat box that by now must be mocking you for your cowardice. Sighing you typed out another short message to immediately delete it again. Should you just send him a simple ‘Hi’ or ask him if he had eaten? How the rest of his day went? In moments like this you whished you were more confident in yourself.

The sound of an incoming message suddenly filled the room and made you jerk. When you saw Johnny’s name on the screen, your heart first stopped for a second before it started beating about three times as fast as it should. How did that happen? With shaking hands you unlocked the phone to see that you in fact didn’t delete the last message but accidentally send it. Luckily it wasn’t as embarrassing as it could have been and Johnny had just answered that he was glad that you had finally texted him. Before you could think of an answer he sent another text asking you why you were still awake this late when he expected you to be a ‘good girl’. You could practically hear his smirk and you couldn’t fight the heat that rose to your cheeks. You replied that you were already in bed and were about to sleep if he was concerned about your sleep pattern that honestly wasn’t the greatest ever since the semester had started. ‘Oh, sexting already’ he replied, making you shriek in embarrassment. Was this what your message had looked like? ‘You alone?’ He asked and with a furiously beating heart you answered with a simple yes.

A couple of seconds went by with no answer from him which definitely didn’t lower your anxiety before the loud sound of your ringtone tore through the silence, Johnny’s name on the display. You quickly answered it to not wake up anyone on your floor, pressing it tightly to your ear. “Hello?” “Good evening, miss,” you heard the rumble of Johnny’s voice, “Missed me already?” “You’re the one who called,” you argued, making the man on the other end of the line giggle. “That is true.” “Why did you call?” You asked curiously, shifting to lie down on your back, staring at the ceiling. “Just wanted some company. My last client just left and I’m cleaning up the shop for today, the others already left,” he explained. “Jaehyun and Taeyong?” “Yeah those two guys,” he sighed and you heard him rummaging in the background. “Is it just you three at the shop?” “Yeah, it was just me and Taeyong at first but Jaehyun is an incredibly quick learner once he had found someone who was willing to teach him a thing or two. So he quickly joined the two of us.” You just hummed, your fingers playing with your hair, unsure of what to say. It was somehow easier to talk to him like this when you couldn’t see his eyes twinkle in mischief or his lips curling up in that confident smirk. Like this he was just a boy who wanted company and not an insanely handsome, heavily tattooed man who flirted shamelessly. “Do you usually work this late?” You asked to fill the silence and out of curiosity as well. If the shop wasn’t legal there sure weren’t any laws regulating how long the artists were supposed to work. “I don’t,” Johnny laughed, “But thank you for your concern. I was just tattooing a friend for free after my last paying client left because he was in the area.” “You do that a lot? Offering up your services for free?” “Just for friends and special people, doll,” he chuckled, “Why? Are you considering getting inked after all?”

Well were you? You didn’t even know at this point. Whenever you had thought of tattoos you had only ever thought about big bold and very black lines, of skulls, names of exes on your skin forever and warped pictures of people’s faces. But never of delicate flowers, bright colors and intricate designs. Johnny had made it obvious that it was art that he was doing and that it wasn’t just some technical procedure to get color beneath your skin. “I- I don’t know,” you confessed, “I never thought much about tattoos until Jaemin started getting them.” “I thought so,” the artist chuckled, “But I bet I could design a pretty piece that would compliment you nicely.” “I don’t think I’m the type for it though,” you argued, thinking about the amount of ink on Johnny’s body and you hadn’t even seen half of it. (Not that you planned on doing so but you were curious to know if there was more hiding beneath his clothes.) “It doesn’t have to be an obvious one. Just something only you know about.” That really got you thinking. His tattoos were really delicate and you had seen that he could write in really pretty cursive. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything, darling. But if you ever want one, you know who to ask.”

“Yeah, thank you Johnny,” you murmured, lost in thought about how you would look like with multiple tattoos. “I like the way you say my name.” “You- what?” You stuttered when he caught you off guard like that, making him laugh. “You’re cute,” he said once he had calmed down. “Stop pouting,” he added when you weren’t answering. “How did you know I was?” Johnny chuckled again. “I just knew.” “Thank you for keeping me company,” he said when you hadn’t said anything in a while. “It’s alright. I like talking to you,” you confessed. You could hear a door closing and his deep chuckle on the other end of the line. “You probably hear that a lot…” you murmured, embarrassed at how the words had slipped past your lips. “I actually don’t,” Johnny said, “I appreciate the words, darling. I’m all done cleaning up now, thank you for keeping me company.” “It’s fine, no need to thank me.” “You should go sleep now, it’s already late. Sweet dreams, doll. Maybe I’ll even visit you.” “Goodnight, Johnny,” you squeaked. The last thing you heard before he ended the call was another chuckle and a hushed goodbye. Smiling widely you turned your face into your pillow to muffle the scream you let out. How could this man make your heart beat faster like that with just a few simple words? And why did this short phone call make you so happy? Sighing, you put your phone to your nightstand and cuddled tightly into your blanket, the thought of Johnny’s smooth voice guiding you to sleep where he indeed did visit you.

After that initial phone call, Johnny called you more and more often. Sometimes when he was on his lunch break and his colleagues were still working, sometimes later at night when your head was spinning from studying and he was cleaning up the shop. You two talked about your days, you complained about professors, deadlines and assignments and he told you about tattooing and his sometimes crazy clients. And every now and then Johnny would bring up his offer to tattoo you. Which made your thoughts spiral every single time. In class you would scroll through Johnny’s Instagram account, imagining what some of the intricate, more feminine designs would look like on your skin. After much consideration you definitely ruled out anything big or colorful. But something small wouldn’t hurt, right? Well it would, you would be giving him permission to stab you with an automated needle a bunch of times which in itself sounded really scary. But Jaemin’s tattoo looked nice. And after his skin had peeled, the hummingbird truly looked absolutely incredible and you couldn’t wait for him to visit the shop again to keep working on the sleeve.

So in a whim of bravery and with the help of the little glass of wine you had drank you told Johnny that he should tattoo you. “Are you for real?” He asked. “I am,” you giggled, “I’ve thought about it a lot the past weeks.” “I am honored, darling. What will it be?” “Something small and no colors please,” you told him. “That’s all you’re asking for?” “Yeah, I… I like the simple black stuff you do,” you stuttered, suddenly really nervous and unsure if this was actually a good idea. “I’ll design something that’ll match you perfectly,” Johnny promised, sounding very eager. You could hear some rummaging on his end of the line. “I could fit you in Friday evening after my last client. It won’t be too late and I need some time to come up with a design that’s worthy of being in your body.” You swallowed dryly. If you said yes, you couldn’t back out anymore. You would be getting inked. Secretly. Without telling anyone. Not to mention illegally. In a reasonably shady shop that was owned by the most gorgeous man you had ever met. Taking a deep breath, you nodded before you realized that he couldn’t see that. “I’ll be there,” you promised. “I’m looking forward to it, doll,” Johnny said before he wished you sweet dreams just like every time when he called you late at night.

The neon light in front of the door to the shop was already shut off when you arrived the next Friday late in the evening but the door gave away when you pushed it open with trembling hands after taking a deep breath. “I thought you weren’t going to come, darling, you left me waiting,” Johnny greeted you, jumping down from the counter he had sat on. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt with a little white rose design over his heart that fit him perfectly. His hair was elegantly swept back, exposing the freshly shaved part on the side. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, fumbling with the sleeves of your hoodie. “Don’t be nervous, I’ll take good care of you,” he promised, quickly locking the front door before taking you to his room where he motioned for you to sit on the bench. “Do you trust me?” He asked, tipping your head up so you would look into his dark eyes. “I- I think I do,” you stuttered. “I won’t tell you what you’re getting,” Johnny grinned and your eyes widened in shock. “You will like it and it’s not that big.” “I’m not sure, Johnny,” you voiced your concerns but he just pressed his index finger to your lips before you could say any more. Your breath hitched and he could definitely feel your shaky exhale against his finger. “You said you trust me, doll.” Taking another shaky breath, you nodded and a smile spread over his plush lips. “I need you to take off your shirt and lie down on your left side,” he spoke, his voice casual but you could feel something shift in the air between you. At a loss for words you just nodded again and did as Johnny asked when he turned around to gather his stuff.

“Take a couple of deep breaths for me, darling,” he instructed you when he rolled over on his little stool, his glasses sitting low on his nose and his hands already gloved. “It’s going on your ribs,” he told you so you wouldn’t flinch when he quickly dragged a razor over the area before disinfecting it. “I’ll draw a quick sketch first. I don’t want to mess it up when it’s going on your beautiful skin.” You felt the tip of his pen meet your skin in a gentle stroke, tickling your skin so you had to giggle. “Don’t make me mess this up, baby,” Johnny scolded, playfully slapping your back. “It tickles,” you pouted. “I’m trying to be gentle with you,” he said and you could hear the smile in his voice. While he was sketching, you closed your eyes, trying to figure out what he was drawing. But all you could figure out was that it was something rather small which calmed your nerves a bit.

“All done,” the tattoo artist announced after a while and quickly pulled his little side table with his tattoo gun and ink closer. When the low buzzing noise filled the air, you pressed your eyes shut even tighter, balling your hands into fists. Technically you knew it wouldn’t hurt badly, Johnny had shown you before. But you were still getting stabbed a bunch of times and fuck, you were really doing this. Letting this man put something on your body that was going to be there forever and you didn’t even know what it was going to be. “Relax, darling. I’ll be as gentle as I can be,” he promised, running a hand up and down your back. “It’s going to be on me forever,” you said. “It is. Your own personal piece of art on your body. Just for you to have.” That was a beautiful way to see it, you thought. It’s not just some pigment stabbed into your skin but art. Something unique no one else had. And Johnny would be painting it on just you for you and you alone. “Okay, let’s do this,” you breathed. “That’s my good girl,” Johnny praised and the words made your stomach twist with a feeling you didn’t want to further explore.

The pain was bearable. It was weird at first and the ribs sure hurt more than it had on your arm and the bones somehow seemed to amplify the buzzing, making it travel through your body. You had to grit your teeth when Johnny went over what seemed to be the middle part of the tattoo, where he grazed the skin in quick successions. “That hurts.” “I know, baby. But you’re almost done. You’re doing so well for me,” he soothed and gave you a small break to breathe before he went back in.

“All done, darling,” Johnny announced a little later, turning off his machine and rubbing the tattoo down with a wet paper towel. “Can I see it now?” You asked. “In a bit, keep your eyes closed,” he spoke softly and took your hands in his now ungloved ones to first guide you into a sitting position and then off the bench and over to what you assumed to be the mirror. He turned you so your side was facing the glass and put one of his big hands on your waist. It felt hot on your exposed skin and made goosebumps break out on your skin. “Open your eyes, doll.” You did and looked directly into his dark chocolate brown eyes behind his glasses. “I’m too scared to look now, is that silly?” You asked, losing yourself in his eyes and leaning towards his body that just seemed to radiate heat. “It’s beautiful, just like you,” he assured you, squeezing your waist reassuringly. After taking a deep breath, you tore your gaze away from him and turned to look at yourself in the mirror where a delicate, black chrysanthemum was awaiting you on the skin over your ribs. It indeed looked beautiful, absolutely stunning. It was small but looked so delicate and realistic and fit well with the curves of your body. “It’s stunning,” you whispered.

“Thank you, Johnny.” “No need to thank me, darling,” he chuckled and when your eyes met again, his were dark and almost hungry. “But I think I should reward you for being so good while I tattooed you.” Before you could ask what kind of reward he was talking about, he had already connected your lips in a passionate kiss and pulled your body flush against his. You couldn’t help but sigh now that you finally knew what the metal of his lip piercing felt like against your lips. Johnny was a good kisser and you were boneless in his strong grip not long after he had slipped his tongue past your lips after you had moaned into the kiss when he had started to push you backwards to the bench again, hoisting you back up. “Let me make up for the pain I’ve caused you,” he breathed against your swollen lips when you broke apart to breathe. “Just keep kissing me like that,” you demanded, burying your hands in his soft black locks to kiss him again. He chuckled and let you dominate the kiss for a while, toying with the black ring in his lip and exploring his mouth. Meanwhile Johnny’s hands started to wander from their place on your waist down to grope at your ass, pulling you forward against him, so you could feel his growing erection between your legs which made a spark of arousal shoot through you.

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” he breathed heavily while kissing down your neck, gently taking the skin between his teeth. “Please Johnny,” you begged, feeling the arousal simmer low in your stomach. Grinning he pulled back and raked his dark eyes over your figure before making quick work of your belt and sliding your jeans along with your panties from your legs, only shortly struggling with your shoes. “It’s not Johnny now, baby,” he rasped when he kneeled down in front of you, pulling you towards him roughly, so your glistening core was exposed to him. “It’s Daddy,” he added before licking a broad stripe through your folds and flicking his tongue at your clit. You could just mewl and throw your head back in pleasure. You didn’t know that this would be such a turn on for you. “Say it, baby,” Johnny demanded, lazily dragging his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Please Daddy,” you whimpered and you could feel his low groan vibrating against your core. He wasted no time to attach his plush lips to your clit, gently sucking and grazing his teeth over the little nub, making you mewl and shiver in pleasure. He definitely knew what he was doing, altering between stimulating your clit to the point where it almost became too much before he focused on dragging his tongue through your folds, gently prodding against your entrance before it gave away. When Johnny moaned you could feel it travel straight through you, making your head swim with pleasure. Looking down to the man kneeling in front of you, you were met with his dark eyes, staring straight up into yours. Moaning, you threaded your fingers into his soft hair and pressed his face closer to your core, not even taking the chance that he could move back. “Feels so good, Daddy,” you moaned when he spread your labia with his fingers so his tongue could dive deeper into you, stimulating your velvety walls. When he hummed it send sweet vibrations through your core and you could feel your orgasm approach almost embarrassingly fast. “Mmmh, so close Daddy.” “You wanna cum, baby?” He rasped, his hot breath fanning over your clit that he was lazily rubbing with two fingers. You bit your lip and met his dark eyes, nodding furiously. “Then beg for it, doll. I could stay here for hours,” Johnny spoke before he turned his head to mouth at your thigh, gently biting and sucking at the sensitive skin until it bruised under his ministrations. “I would just keep you right on the edge for hours until you’re a shaking mess for me, begging for release.” His lips split into a wicked grin when he saw how his dirty words affected you and he slowed his fingers on your clit until it was just enough to keep you stimulated but not enough to make the knot in your stomach snap. “Please Daddy,” you whimpered. “Please what baby?” He rested his head on your thigh, looking up at you from innocent eyes as if he wasn’t driving you insane with just his fingers. “What is it beautiful?” He repeated the question, replacing his fingers with his tongue. “You wanna cum?” “Yes please,” you whined, grinding your hips against his tongue to get more friction. “Well if you ask so nicely…” Johnny immediately slipped two fingers inside you with almost no resistance from how ridiculously wet you were and began pumping them in and out of your core fast, crooking them to search for your sweet spot. “Come on baby,” he growled, locking eyes with you again when he closed his lips around your clit. Almost screaming his name, you came hard when his fingers finally found your sweet spot, rubbing at it mercilessly to help you ride out your orgasm. Your thighs were shaking and you fell back onto the bench, the leather sticking to your back where you just laid for a while, your head spinning, breathing heavily.

“You look gorgeous like that,” Johnny complimented you, when he got back up from the floor, raking his clean hand through the mess that was his hair before he shamelessly took his fingers that were covered in your essence into his mouth, sucking them clean. Through half lidded eyes you could see the way he was still straining against the fabric of his jeans and the sight made your mouth water. “You’re still hard,” you said breathless. “I am,” he said matter of factly. You wordlessly let your thighs fall open for him, exposing your core to him. “Oh baby,” Johnny cursed, pressing the heel of his palm against his bulge, “As much as I want to fuck you right now, you still have a fresh tattoo, doll.” “Please, Johnny, I want it,” you begged. “Shh, baby,” he soothed you rubbing a hand over your thigh, “Let me dress that tattoo and then I’ll take you upstairs to fuck you on an actual bed like you deserve.” You nodded, amazed by his amount of self-control.

Johnny worked quickly and efficiently: Cleaning your tattoo one last time before putting some ointment on it to keep it moisturized. At last he gently taped down a small sheet of plastic foil to keep it safe. “All done, beautiful,” he spoke before pecking your lips, “You still want to come upstairs with me?” “Yes Daddy,” you answered and you swore you could see his eyes darken just from the word alone. “Hold on tightly,” he ordered before scooping you up into his arms, holding you up by your thighs. Squealing you quickly wrapped your arms and legs around him, holding on tightly. “I’ll get your clothes before we open up tomorrow,” he mumbled when he carried you through the back door of the shop that lead to a dusty staircase. You pressed your body closer to his, nuzzling your face into his neck where the smell of his cologne was the strongest, to have some of his warmth seep into your skin when you started to shiver from the cold air. Lazily you let your lips travel over his skin, sucking a mark next to a splash of ink.

Johnny quickly grabbed the keys to his apartment’s door from atop of the doorframe (not really safe) and unlocked his door while holding you up with just one of his arms, the display of strength making your head spin. With quick steps he crossed the way to his bed and gently laid you down on the soft sheets, immediately crawling on top of you, crowding you against the mattress. “I knew you would look good in my bed,” he rasped, kissing your neck while his hands made quick work of the bra that you were still wearing for some reason. “You’re gorgeous, doll,” he breathed after he had sat up on his knees, looking down at you with dark eyes, his big hands roaming your body. Feeling shy under all the attention and compliments he was giving you, you tried to hide your face behind your fingers but he wasn’t having any of it, quickly grabbing your wrists in one hand to pin them above your head. “Don’t hide from me baby. Daddy wants to see how much you’re enjoying yourself.” You could just nod, trying to force down the whimper that almost spilled past your lips, he hadn’t even done much yet and you were already feeling arousal pulse through your veins. “I couldn’t hear your answer,” Johnny teased, gently grabbing one of your boobs to massage the soft flesh. “Yes, Daddy.” “That’s my good girl,” he grinned, releasing your wrists to slip his T-Shirt over his head, revealing his strong chest where the eagle majestically spread its wings and the hard lines of his abs. “Like what you see?” He asked smugly, climbing off the bed to unbuckle his belt and slip his jeans off his narrow hips, revealing strong, muscled thighs. One of them was covered with the face of a growling panther while the other was decorated with a colorful koifish tattoo that disappeared beneath the fabric of his dark boxers that were doing very little to hide a prominent bulge. “Let me,” you breathed and crawled over to hook your thumbs into the waistband. But before you pulled them down, you pressed a couple of kisses to the cherry blossom branch tattoo that seemed to stretch from his back over his hipbone and further down, mingling with the koi tattoo further down. With every centimeter of skin you exposed, more ink from the blossoms became visible and you kissed every single one of the delicate flowers. When his length finally sprang free, you had to swallow dryly: His cock was huge and hung heavy between his legs. Licking your lips you looked up to him, to find him grinning down at you. “Go to town, baby.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice, you were itching to feel his heavy weight on your tongue. You pressed a sweet kiss to his tip before placing a hand at the base only to find him surprisingly soft as you experimentally pumped your hand once. “It takes a while for it to get fully hard,” he groaned when you moved your hand up and down his shaft a couple of times, feeling it pulse beneath your fingers. Damn if he wasn’t even fully hard, how big would he be if he was? Holding him at the base, you licked a broad stripe up the whole length before you swiped your tongue around the pink head, pulling another groan from Johnny’s lips. Taking a deep breath, you finally took him in your mouth and hollowed your cheeks, tasting his skin. The weight on your tongue felt just right and you couldn’t help but moan as you slowly started to take more and more of him until you felt him hit the back of your throat. Shit, you were barely able to fit half of his length in your mouth like this. “You’re so big,” you moaned when you pulled off of him with a wet pop, spreading your saliva down the shaft with both of your hands. Johnny just hummed and grabbed a handful of your hair to shove your mouth back onto his dick. He cursed when the velvety heat surrounded him again and gently began to thrust in and out your mouth. “Fuck you look so good with my cock in your mouth,” he breathed heavily. You could only moan where your lips were stretched around his length and hollow your cheeks when he pulled out, the grip he had on your hair keeping you in place while he snapped his hips. “Shit baby,” Johnny cursed when he pulled out, panting while he rested the head of his cock on your outstretched tongue. “I could cum like this.” You whined pathetically, looking up at him with pleading eyes. He chuckled and gently slapped his cock against your lips, smearing them with precum. “But you don’t want that, don’t you, baby? You want my cock inside you? Stretching you out?” “Yes Daddy, please. I need it so bad,” you blabbered, not even knowing where those words were coming from but you seemed to have said the right thing with how Johnny’s dick twitched in his hand.

“Then get on your hands and knees for me, baby. Ass up.” It was almost comically how fast you complied, baring yourself to him. “Such a good girl,” he praised, grabbing your asscheeks to knead and pull them apart. “Beautiful.” “Please Daddy,” you begged him, arching your back further. “Patience baby,” he chuckled. A frustrated groan got stuck in your throat and turned into a drawn out whine when he pushed two of his fingers inside you, pumping them quickly and curling them to find your sweet spot again. Soon two fingers became three and he had reduced you to a moaning mess with how he abused your sweet spot once he had found it again. “You think you’re ready for my cock, baby?” “Yes. Oh god, yes please,” you begged while shamelessly grinding back on his fingers that he had stilled inside of you. “Spread your cheeks for me,” he ordered while quickly grabbing a condom from his bedside table and rolling it onto his cock. Balancing your weight on your knees and shoulders, you reached around yourself to pull your asscheeks apart so Johnny could see your core clenching around nothing. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he rasped, running his palm along the curve of your body while lazily thrusting his cock through your folds, making it glisten with your essence. Finally you could feel him nudging at your entrance with the thick head of his cock. “You want it, baby?” “Yes please Daddy,” you gasped, trying hard to be good and not grind back against him. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he chuckled, “And good girls get what they want if they ask so politely.” With that he finally sank into you in one agonizingly slow thrust until you could feel his hip bones press against your skin. You had to screw your eyes shut and bite your lip to suppress a whimper. You had never felt so full before.

“Fuck baby, you’re so tight,” Johnny groaned, grabbing you by the dip of your waist with his big hands, grinding you on his cock. “I’m so full, Daddy,” you gasped when he slowly pulled out until only the head of his cock was inside you before he languidly thrust back in. “Yeah? You like that? Being stuffed full of my cock?” You could only moan and nod where your head was pressed into the sheets. His cock was so big that it seemed to press against every good spot that was inside you, setting your nerve endings on fire, the pain from being stretched like that only adding to your pleasure. “You‘re sucking me right back in baby,” he cursed and gripped your waist harder, pulling you back on his cock as he picked up the pace, low groans falling from his lips. Your moans got progressively louder and louder the faster Johnny snapped his hips. “Hands behind your back, baby,” he ordered panting and immediately grabbed both your wrists in his hands to use them as leverage so he could fuck into you faster, the change of angle and pace making you moan his name. Your head was swimming with pleasure and you could only moan and mewl beneath him, imagining how he would bite his lip while watching his dick disappear inside you over and over again, stretching out the delicate skin of your sex. “God baby, your ass looks amazing,” Johnny groaned, praise after praise falling from his lips that reduced you to a moaning mess.

With one particularly hard thrust he buried himself to the hilt inside you and draped his body over yours, his hot breath fanning over your face when he spoke, a deep rumble in his chest while grinding his dick right against your sweet spot that had you seeing colors behind your closed eyes. “Wanna see you bounce on my dick, doll. Can you do that for me?” Taking a deep breath, you nodded. Your ability to form coherent sentences had left you as soon as he had begun to fuck you in earnest. “You’re such a good girl,” he purred and gently pulled out, making you whimper from the loss. You felt the bed dip next to you and when you opened your eyes, you were met with Johnny’s pleased smirk as he leaned against the headboard of the bed, his cock resting against his hip, too heavy to properly stand up and you couldn’t stop another whimper. “Come on baby, I know you want it,” he grinned, crooking a finger in a ‘come closer’ motion. Dragging your limbs from beneath you with great effort, you climbed onto his lap, immediately claiming his lips in a messy kiss. You buried your hands in his stupidly perfect hair to mess it up and tug at the inky strands, causing Johnny to moan into the kiss. “Hmm, my baby is feisty,” he chuckled when he broke the kiss, the pupils of his dark eyes blown so wide that they seemed almost black. “But you promised me to ride my dick,” he reminded you. “And I’m gonna,” you slurred, reaching between your bodies to grab his cock, giving it a couple of strokes. “But turn around for me baby. Wanna see how much my fat cock is going to stretch you out,” he rasped, playfully biting your lips. “But I want to see you too,” you complained. “Oh you can,” he grinned and pointed over your shoulder. You reluctantly turned around before you saw what he meant. Right across from the bed was a big mirror and you gasped because of how fucked out you already looked. A couple of tears had rolled down your cheeks and messed up your makeup and your lipstick was smeared around your lips.

You carefully grabbed Johnny’s cock again and held it steady so you could sink down on him, watching yourself in the mirror until you sat snug on his lap and had to close your eyes because the feeling was so overwhelming. He felt even bigger like that. “You okay, baby?” He asked, grabbing your hips tightly to help you swivel them on his cock, making it press into your walls just how you liked it. “How does your cock feel even bigger like this?” You gasped as you leaned forward and slowly started to ride him at first to get used to his size and figure out the best angle for you. Your legs shook with the effort to keep your rhythm but the look Johnny had on his face, his eyes glued to where you two were connected, made it worth it. Suddenly a wicked grin spread on his lips and he snapped his hips up when you lowered yourself again, tearing loud moans from both of you. “Fuck, do that again,” you demanded when you raised your hips again. “What’s the magic word?” Johnny teased, holding you up so you wouldn’t drop down again. “Please, Daddy.” Groaning he started to snap his hips up every time you ground down on him, making your skin slap together with an obscene noise.

God you wanted to die on his dick. “Do you now?” Johnny laughed. Shit did you say that out loud? “Want to feel how deep it goes inside you?” He rasped, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. You went lax in his hold and mewled helplessly. Who knew that a little display of strength and a big dick were such turn ons for you that your brain was reduced to mush. Grinning he carefully pulled you up and against his chest and draped your legs over his after he had planted his feet firmly onto the mattress. “Watch, baby,” he ordered as he lifted you off of him until only the tip was barely inside you anymore before letting you drop down again. You mewled and thrashed in his hold, the feeling just on the edge of too much. Feeling him deep inside you was one thing but actually seeing it was a whole other thing and it messed with your head. Curiously you pressed your hand down on your lower stomach when Johnny had started to piston his hips up into you instead of dropping you down onto his cock every time and you swore you could feel him move inside you. A drawn out curse left your lips and you threw your head back onto his shoulder.

With the way he was snapping his hips up you could feel your orgasm approach at lightning speed and you were so far gone that you shamelessly reached between your legs to stimulate your clit. “Fuck baby, you’re so hot like this,” Johnny groaned, grinding his dick inside you as you quickly rubbed your clit, toeing right on the edge. “Please Daddy,” you cried out, not sure what you were even begging for. “You gonna cum on my cock?” He rasped, snapping his hips harshly, “Wrapped around my big cock stretching you out like this?” You nodded your head furiously, your eyes screwed shut. You were so close that you could already feel your toes curling. “Show me baby. Show Daddy how good his cock makes you feel.” That’s what pushed you over the edge, the way he was panting in your ear, his voice strained from how he was drilling into you. The coil in your stomach snapped and you almost screamed his name, your body curling inwards and thighs shivering as your orgasm washed over you, making a bunch of colors explode behind your lids. In the back of your mind you registered Johnny’s curses and how he was grinding his cock inside you to help you ride out your orgasm. “Such a good girl,” he praised when your body went lax on top of him, your chest heaving with heavy breaths. You briefly wondered if you had ever cum this hard and you couldn’t think of any other time. “Thank you Daddy,” you panted, turning your face to press a messy kiss to his plush lips that were bitten raw. He chuckled lowly when you whimpered when his still hard cock shifted when you tried to turn around.

“Will you let me fuck you for a little longer, baby?” He asked, running a hand through your sweaty hair. Instead of answering him, you lifted yourself off his dick to turn around on his lap, capturing his lips again. “Want you to ruin me,” you whispered between kisses, “Want you to ruin me for any other men. Want to only remember how you feel inside of me.” Johnny growled deep in his chest before he pushed you down onto the bed, hungrily licking into your mouth. “You’re the one who is ruining me,” he panted, rising to his knees. He quickly grabbed your legs and threw them over his shoulders before he sank into you again with a low groan. This time he didn’t waste any time with building up the pace and immediately snapped his hips harshly, chasing his own orgasm. “You’re taking me so well, baby,” he panted, folding your thighs to your chest so he could push into you even deeper, making you see stars with how he was nailing your sweet spot with the new angle. And even though you had just cum, you felt another orgasm build inside your stomach. A row of curses left Johnny’s lips when he could watch his dick slide in and out of you again and he gripped your thighs so hard you were sure you’d have bruises there tomorrow. But that was something you’d worry about later, right now your world was only made up of the handsome man with his huge cock that was currently rearranging your guts with how vigorously he was snapping his hips, making your skin slap together with lewd sounds.

“I’m gonna cum baby,” Johnny grunted, his hips losing their rhythm. “On me,” you managed to choke out, still lost in your own pleasure. Another groan left his bitten lips before he quickly pulled out and ripped the condom off, jerking his cock with quick strokes, his eyes fixed to yours. All it took was a couple of jerks before he threw his head back and you could see his abdominal muscles contract before the first burst of white hot cum spurted from his dick and covered your chest and stomach. With parted lips he stroked himself through his orgasm, milking rope after rope from his cock until he hissed with overstimulation. “Fuck,” he cursed before giggling when he saw the mess he had made of you, his cum dripping from your boobs and running down your stomach. He cursed again before claiming your lips. “You want to cum one last time, baby?” “Please Daddy,” you whined, spreading your legs further for him. “My good girl,” he sighed, sinking two fingers into your heat, quickly crooking them to stimulate your sweet spot while his thumb was putting sweet pressure on your clit, making you thrash beneath him. “You look so good covered in my cum,” he rasped before he kissed you harshly to swallow your moans and cries of pleasure. You desperately held on to his shoulders, breaking the kiss when your head was spinning from the lack of oxygen. While speeding up his fingers, Johnny began sucking bruises low on your neck and over the soft skin of your cleavage. “Shit, I’m gonna-“ you didn’t get to finish your sentence because right that moment he had sucked one of your nipples into his mouth which was just enough to send you over the edge for a third time that night, your lips parted in a silent scream of his name and your thighs shaking and closing around the handsome man kneeling between them. “That’s my good girl,” he praised breathily and gently rocked his fingers to help you ride out your orgasm before he pulled them out, instead winding his strong arms around your body, holding you to his inked chest.

For a while he just held you close, not caring that his cum was now also stuck to his chest. “Fuck that was a lot,” you chuckled, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his calming scent. “Not what you thought would happen when you get a free tattoo?” Johnny softly spoke, carding his hand through your messy hair. “Not at all.” Another question was burning inside your head but you were too scared to ask it. You didn’t want to push him and ruin the mood. “I should clean you up and see if that tattoo is still okay. Then we can cuddle, alright?” The tattoo artist said before he detangled your bodies from one another to get up from the bed. He looked around on the floor for a cloth and you could finally see where the cherry blossoms on his hip were coming from. A big samurai was stretched over half his back, surrounded by the pinkish blossoms. It seemed like it wasn’t a complete piece yet, the samurai staring at the still untouched skin of Johnny’s left shoulderblade. “Your back tattoo is really pretty,” you mumbled to fill the silence while Johnny was wiping his chest clean before he gently did the same to you, taking extra caution when looking at your still fresh tattoo. “Thank you,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, the metal of his piercing feeling warm on your skin, “We should change that foil real quick.” You just nodded and let him do his work, exhaustion settling into your bones.

“Do you do this with all your clients?” Shit. You hadn’t meant to ask that, the question had just slipped your lips and you could feel Johnny freeze where he was dressing your tattoo again before he secured the last piece of tape. He sighed and slipped beneath the covers, pulling you against his chest, so you could listen to his heartbeat. “Not all of them,” he answered eventually, “I haven’t slept with a client in a while. It happens sometimes but usually I don’t think much about it.” “And now you do?” He just hummed nonchalantly, playing with your hair. “They usually don’t come back after I fuck them.” He paused, holding his breath. “Will you come back?” Your heart started to race and you could feel a bright smile spreading over your lips. “For more free tattoos and piercings?” “Oh, yeah, I guess,” he sounded so deflated, the confident tattoo artist suddenly gone. “You idiot,” you giggled, pillowing your head on his sternum so he could see the smile on your lips, “I like you Johnny. I’ll come back if you want me to.” Now he was also smiling, his features softening. “Don’t make jokes like that, my heart is fragile,” he joked, wrapping you up in his strong arms.

“Which one was your first one?” You asked him when the silence between you stretched while you traced the scales of the dragon that wound around his arm. “My first tattoo?” Johnny shifted around for a while before he showed you his other arm that had all kinds of different designs on it, some in bright colors, some strictly black. “That little guy over here,” he said with a smile on his lips and pointed to a little sunflower at the bend of his elbow, “To remind me to always look at the sun, at the bright side of life.” “It’s cute,” you breathed, touching the yellow petals. “And then it went downhill from there,” he chuckled, “It’s addicting.” “Let’s hope I can stay abstinent.” “What a shame, I’d love to cover you in my art,” Johnny confessed, tilting your face up so he could claim your lips in a kiss. “Maybe one or two more,” you breathed in between kisses, making him chuckle against your lips.

#kafenetwork #johnny #seo youngho #johnny suh #nct #johnny smut #johnny fluff #nct smut #johnny imagines #johnny scenarios #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fic #johnny fic #johnny fanfic

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whetstonefires · 3 years

Text

heavier than a mountain, lighter than a feather

[my take on @misskirby's not-prompt about obi-wan beating palpatine to death with an office chair]

Obi-Wan had once touched the cold-burning edge of the Dark Side to give himself the extra edge he needed to cut down the Sith who had cut down his Master. He had fought with rage pushing him, he had fought with all the fear that Qui-Gon lay expiring on the reactor floor, that he might yet win and find himself seconds too late to bring the emergency med-treatment necessary to survive a lightsaber to the chest.

(Not that it had mattered; all he’d gotten from his desperate, hasty win was a few seconds of farewell bereft of comfort, and the burden of Anakin hung around his neck, and oh, he wished his padawan was not a burden. There had been no option but to take him and thus taking him must have been right, but no one should take on a student they did not feel ready for, and he had.)

If he had fought that way this time, he would have lost.

The Sith Master would have done what the apprentice could not, and twisted the Dark Side within him as it rose, and snared him in it, so he could not find his way back to the Light, and used that grip to bear him down with Sidious’ greater power, because the Sith said the Force will free me but it was the way of the Dark to place one will over another by pure force, so even what narrow freedom there was on the dark path was offered to one alone. Even in the best case, he would have been overwhelmed too heavily to fight for more than long enough to finish him.

Perhaps he would not have been killed. Perhaps he would have been kept alive to be used as leverage against Anakin. But assuredly he would not have been able to win.

Obi-wan however had what he would have thought of, if he had allowed himself to think about it, a trick for using his attachments and the desire not to lose them as fuel without reaching into the destabilizing, consuming whirlwind of the Dark Side. It was a dangerous, stupid trick, really, at least the way he used it, although Obi-wan thought of that way as fundamental to being a good Jedi, which would have explained a great deal about him if anyone had known.

The trick was this: it was easy to push yourself to where your limits should have been and beyond using your attachment to a person, without falling into the hungry selfishness of the Dark Side, if you simply did not intend to survive.

When he was thirteen, he had tried to persuade Qui-Gon Jinn, who had not yet been his Master, to use the bomb in his recently fitted slave-collar to blow open a door, killing Obi-wan but allowing him complete the mission, which was not Obi-wan’s mission

It was not difficult to return to that place, that space in himself where serenity came easy because soon there would be nothing left to go wrong or to lose—Anakin had made it difficult, for a long time; Anakin he was obliged to raise and train. Anakin who needed him.

All his obligation to the war and the Council and all the men under his command had not pinned him to himself the way his duty to Anakin had, and—knighting him had been helpful. It had been a relief, to finally cast off that weight. There is no death, there is the Force was much easier to believe of oneself than of those one grieved, and some weeks Obi-wan breathed it in and out with every breath, and there was no fear.

He knew several things, as he entered the Senate through an entrance that was technically, perhaps, a window. One that did not open, at that. That the Chancellor had some kind of failsafe embedded in the GAR’s brains. That the Chancellor was a Sith Lord. That the Chancellor had been using his access to Anakin all these years to hurt his Padawan.

That if he took the time to assemble the rest of the Council and try to stage this as a proper arrest, word would have time to reach Palpatine of Obi-wan having been publicly informed, because Maul was the least subtle sentient Obi-wan had ever had the misfortune of meeting more than once, and that if Palpatine knew the jig was up he would use his fail-safe.

So Obi-wan needed to do this alone.

It was possible, of course, that it wouldn’t be difficult. Sidious was a creature of stealth and insinuation. He spent most hours of his life maintaining a posture of harmlessness. When could he have found the time to do regular lightsaber drills, let alone practice live combat?

But Maul probably feared the man for a reason. So Obi-wan was going to do this as quickly as possible, but he wasn’t going to be hasty.

Spring the trap.

He’d closed himself down in the Force before he got near the Senate building, jumping through the hole he’d sliced into the window with only his physical strength and no Jedi edge, and only when he got near the Chancellor’s office did he reopen his senses just a thread, to make sure there was no one in there meeting with Palpatine whom he needed to keep alive. The Force didn’t slam into him with a warning, which would have to be confirmation enough.

Obi-wan yanked the door open, hurled five primed thermal detonators in the direction of the great ship-like slab of an occupied desk, slammed the ornate portal shut again, and threw himself to the ground at the foot of the wall, as far away as he could get, head tucked under his arms. He was fairly sure he’d seen Mas Amedda in there, standing beside the desk as the Chancellor in his thronelike chair raised his head with a gratifyingly startled look on his face.

Pity. The Vice-Chancellor could probably have explained so much of what had been going on behind the scenes, all this time.

The blast left the office door half-shattered, belching smoke, but Obi-wan escaped with just one splinter, not terribly large, in the back of one calf. His robes and boots had absorbed the rest of the shrapnel that had made it that far. He tugged it out as he got up—no time to do anything more, it wasn’t bleeding much. He drew a deep breath of half-clean corridor air and dashed into the opaque ruin that had been the Chancellor’s office, senses fully unfurled now that the time for stealth was over. Though in the interest of not being an irresistible target, he did not ignite his lightsaber just yet.

The Force guided him through the smoke, and he brought his sword to light even as he swung it through the murk.

It stopped, humming, against a bar of red light that hissed into being at the last instant, and that felt equally inevitable.

“You.” Sheev Palpatine’s face looked like a Sith Lord’s now, twisted with hate and lit red from below. And, gratifyingly, somewhat scorched. His hair had sizzled from the heat, and his left arm seemed to have something at least mildly wrong with it. Obi-wan hoped the explosions had affected at least one of his legs, as well, since his own maneuverability was cut by the shard of door to the calf.

“Me indeed, Chancellor,” he said, taking advantage of his two-handed grip to bear down against the block with extra force. Palpatine bore up admirably, but as his snarl tightened it was clear that it was not without cost. “Or should I say, Lord Sidious?”

The smoke was starting to thin, leaking away out of the shattered room. Sidious was still behind his ruined desk with its weakly sparking console, which seemed to have taken much of the impact for him—he was standing, anyway, sadly. Mas Amedda’s corpse, on the far end of the desk from the one Obi-wan had circumnavigated, was one of the things that was still smoking. Most of the brocade and other decorative fabric in the room must have been thoroughly treated with fire-retardant, but he had not been.

“I thought you might have learned my true name,” Palpatine said, far too complacently for someone whose long deception had been uncovered and who was staving off death one-handed. “But what brought you racing here in such haste?”

“Well, you see, they used to call me Sith-killer because of Maul, and since that’s been proven regrettably in error, I thought I had better—” Sidious tried to fling him back against the opposite wall with a sharp jerk of his wounded hand, and Obi-wan had to push back with the whole of his will and stance to slide back only a few feet.

This had freed their lightsabers, though, and Sidious chopped low with a terrible speed. Obi-wan leapt clear, knowing the blood soaking into the pale fabric of his pants was betraying the weakness in his leg—Anakin had had a point, he admitted grudgingly, about black hiding all kinds of stains.

For better and for worse.

He tried to catch Sidious with an overhead slash while he was up, to keep that red lightsaber busy for the most part, and when it was intercepted used the force of that impact to somersault back in a momentary return to his master’s old Ataru style—not too far, though, at all costs he must prevent the Sith Master’s escape.

Sidious wouldn’t need to get far, just to a room with a working holo transmitter, to destroy everything.

He flung himself back in.

Palpatine sidestepped his next attack, parried another, stepped back with the third. His single arm was telling against him, and while he was regrettably fast his movements were stiff enough that he had clearly taken at least one other hurt. Probably somewhere in the right hip. Obi-wan stayed on the offensive—it was how he’d beaten Maul, after all, though he was at pains to avoid overreaching to the point of recreating Anakin’s loss to Dooku.

His attacks did more damage to the sparking desk, bisected the thronelike monstrosity of a chair, which turned out under all the gilt, padding, and chromium to be mostly of durasteel, got close enough to put additional charred rents in Palpatine’s ornate sleeves. Nearly a minute had passed since he threw those detonators, and Sidious was still alive. Too long.

“Really,” said the politician, dropping his stance to one that would allow him to parry more from the shoulder, his first hint of fatigue. His style was not quite Makashi even as he adapted to the one-handed approach that was clearly not his preference, but there were some notes to it that rang so strongly of Dooku they could come from nowhere else. “What do you hope to achieve?”

“You won’t have Anakin,” Obi-wan said, the plot that had been in retrospect laid so horribly bare with just a few sentences from Maul, supported by a few more from some of their most trusted troopers, put together with a hundred hints and oddities and he should have guessed on his own.

Sidious grinned, the amiable wrinkles of his face lying deeper and more correct, somehow, in this attitude of wild, infinite gloating. “Possessiveness, Master Jedi?”

“No,” said Obi-wan, and it was true because he had given Anakin up, given everything up before he came here. He was holding onto nothing, he was an object in free-fall but not falling, because he was at exactly the right place and momentum at the outer edge of a gravity well that would let him remain at a constant height.

Orbits degraded, given time, if not carefully maintained. And if they were disrupted sharply enough it meant a violent, flaming spiral down into explosive doom, or sometimes out into the fathomless dark. This was not a true, secure serenity like a Jedi should strive for. But it would serve. For today, it would serve.

He fell on Sidious again in a flurry of blows, pushing his physical advantage, but although the Chancellor was clearly straining to keep up this defense, his stamina continued to fail to run out or even noticeably decline, as though he had learned to subsist on some constant well of the Force alone.

Probably he had, because it was welling up out of him, filling the room, an endless pit of the Dark that had lain concealed like a trap under pinned canvas and scattered leaves all this time. He was drawing heavily upon the Dark Side now and that wasn’t precisely goodbut it was promising.

He was beginning to develop something that was not quite optimism or confidence but approached both by the time the progress of the humming, crashing process of the duel took them past the far end of the desk, back into sight of what had been Mas Amedda. Palpatine angled his next fractional retreat toward the corps, away from the cracked and blackened windows, avoiding the treacherous footing of a shattered vase that had probably been a valuable antique.

Obi-wan tried to take advantage of the change in angle in the next rapid, whirring clash of lightsabers.

Unlike every other time they had crossed blades this duel, Sidious simply—shut his off in the moment before contact.

Obi-wan had committed a little too much of his weight to the blow to abort it entirely. Sidious ducked away from the remainder with a sinuous grace even as he activated his weapon again, now on the inside of Obi-wan’s guard—trakata, executed with terrible excellence.

The need for the dodge was the trakata maneuver’s great weakness, and gave Obi-wan time to avoid the worst of the stroke, but even still the red lightsaber clipped him across the wrist—not a clean sweep slicing off the hand entire, but a glancing blow, that seared through the skin and flesh and took a significant bite out of the ulna.

Obi-wan didn’t try to repress his strangled scream, and Sidious leaned into it in the Force, pressing at the pain, stoking it and encouraging it to drag him down into the Dark, where he would be the Sith Master’s plaything. He was smirking now, more deeply and honestly than ever, a laugh rising into his mouth, for if Master Kenobi had had a slight edge in their fight with two hands to one, with the Jedi’s primary weapon-hand incapacitated, the Sith would surely dominate.

In that moment, Obi-wan moved to rebalance the odds. His blue lightsaber chopped down—not onto Sidious’ flesh, which it was clear he guarded with the preternatural awareness of a being whose own self was as valuable as all the Galaxy else, but to sheer through the emitter end of the crimson lightsaber.

It spat and burst but, unfortunately, tragically failed to explode.

As Sidious raised his eyes from the ruined weapon looking like he might explode in its place out of pure outrage, Obi-wan brought his sword back up to go for the decapitating blow now that the Sith had no weapon to block with, but in that moment Sidious’ burnt and broken hand jabbed up, and shot a gout of lightning into his face.

His back arced so violently it threw him off his feet, and it was all Obi-wan could do to keep hold of his lightsaber in his good hand and deactivate it as he went down, to avoid doing himself a worse injury than Sidious had yet managed. The lightning followed him down, scouring its way from just beside his left eye down every nerve ending he had in a screaming, jerking chorus of pain.

The deep lightsaber burn on his right wrist somehow hurt more now than it had to receive, but the force of his constant convulsions kept him from screaming again.

Then it stopped. He had no idea how long it had been, and wondered if Palpatine had become too fatigued to keep up the electrocution. There had to be a limit to how long he could maintain that kind of power output. His chest was heaving, trying with animal need to make up for lost oxygen. Smoke and the scent of dead Chagrian weighed down his sensory world, since his eyes declined to open and most of his body would only say pain.

The whisper of expensive Senate slippers crunched toward him over the rubble of the ruined office with a surefootedness that no one would have expected of the elderly Chancellor. At least he was still here; Obi-wan had angered him enough to bother sticking around to kill him rather than running off to activate the troops.

Or maybe he was confident he could spin this whole event to his benefit—Obi-wan had destroyed the security cameras that would have recorded his Sith activities, after all. Maybe he would say Master Kenobi had been tragically killed defending him from the dreadful Sith Lord. Maybe he would ask Anakin to become his constant protector in Obi-wan’s memory. Anakin would do it.

He was struggling to turn his lightsaber back on and raise it, though getting it between him and the next round of lightning seemed unlikely when he was exposed in a supine position, when Palpatine kicked it. Kicked his hand, actually, so hard at least one bone cracked and the lightsaber went flying.

This weapon is your life.

“Should I summon it back and use it to kill you?” Palpatine murmured, with a deadly, vicious good humor that suggested he knew very well Obi-wan had no backup coming, that the only interruption they could expect would be Commander Fox and his men in red, here to protect the Chancellor. “Or should I step on your throat until you breathe your last? Or should I keep you alive and put you on trial, and drag the name of the Jedi in the mud through you, so that when your Order falls it will be your name that the Galaxy uses to call the killing just?”

Horror twisted in Obi-wan’s chest and Palpatine chuckled, a whispering foul sound that still resembled his polite politician’s laughter. “Yes, very good. I’ll make young Skywalker believe you tried to kill me out of pride and greed and because you despised him, until he curses your memory. Everything that happens now will be your doing.”

The rage and the fear that he had left behind when he entered were flaming up now in Obi-wan, the orbit deteriorating, the gravitational pull of abandoning them and letting the Order down and ruining everything and too little, too proud, the same hopeless arrogant padawan and of that terrible, world-tearing no dragging him down to shatter in fire against them, like he had on Naboo all those years ago but so much more utterly and irrevocably and--this wasn’t all him.

He sucked in his breath, shaking through teeth still clenched too convulsively tight to pull apart for a witty retort to all that poison, and melted away inside himself.

Over him, Sidious frowned, feeling the Jedi escape his grip in the Force. “Are you dying already, Master Kenobi?”

He thought Sidious had mentioned summoning his lightsaber through the Force to encourage him to try it. It wouldn’t be impossible. He knew the feel of it in the Force like he did few other things in the Galaxy; he didn’t need sight to reach for it.

But it was too small, and too far away, and his senses were too scorched and blasted by that awful lightning. Long before his weapon could make it to his hand, Sidious could kill him, even with no working lightsaber of his own. He couldn’t win that way, or even (that far lesser goal) live.

Instead, Obi-wan grabbed for the closest large object he knew to look for that wasn’t a corpse: the sliced-loose upper half of that baroque monstrosity of a desk-chair, conveniently bulky and only a few long steps away, just behind the desk he’d fallen from behind.

It came, and in coming swept Palpatine’s legs from under him, knocking him not quite sprawling, and then the curve of it had smacked into Obi-wan’s outstretched left palm, jolting the broken bone which did not matter in the slightest, and he rolled up onto his knees, graceless but fast, the slab of steel and leather still moving with the momentum that had dragged it to him, and clobbered the sitting-up Sith Lord across the face with it.

One of Obi-wan’s many faults was his tendency to take a vicious glee in striking low his enemies, but he did not think he had ever taken quite the joy from any beautifully executed maneuver that he did from watching Palpatine knocked to the floor by a slab of office chair. Obi-wan lunged after him, not bothering with niceties like getting to his feet, and brought the chair-slab down on his face again, this time with the strength of both arms—his right hand was mostly numb but for hurting, only the thumb and forefinger would move at all, and it was very weak, but none of that interfered with placing his whole forearm against the upholstery and slamming the searing-hot, bare metal inner side down.

There was a crunch, probably nose, and then instead of diminishing the awful seething presence of the Dark Side rose like a hurricane, and Obi-wan felt his throat close as from a powerful phantom hand, cutting off all breathing.

This caused him not an instant’s hesitation, because he had come here fully intending to die.

He raised the sheered-off slice of chair, adjusted the angle so the sharp edge where he’d cut the durasteel was pointing down, and aimed for the throat.

The ensuing explosion threw him after his lightsaber, and he knew nothing after hitting the wall.

#star wars #my writing #obi wan kenobi #fanfic #darth sidious #blows up on dying #it's canon #i feel like this wasn't #quite the intended timeline #but anyway here we are #chairdeath au #i gotta logic things #hoc est meum #i love a fight scene #i wanted to make this one more acrobatic than it is #but logistics intervened

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baekhansol · 3 years

Text

N.D.A | f.l

ℕ𝕠𝕟 𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝔸𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 (ℕ.𝔻.𝔸.) noun

a contract by which one or more parties agree not to disclose confidential information that they have shared with each other as a necessary part of doing business together.

Happy Birthday, Felix Lee!

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : fluff!

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 : mature

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : best friend Felix x gn + nonverbal reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3.7k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : reader is nonverbal, JYP is an asshole, wanting to lie about having been eating well, food/eating, mentions of wearing masks, I think that's it ?

𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 : Felix has always been your best friend, and takes care of you when you can't

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : this was beta read by the lovely Dee Dee over at @sugasbabiie . Her notes and edits were wonderful as always 💜

this is also a friendly reminder that my blog contains nsfw elements, so do not follow me if you are a minor.

At one simple glance into your eyes, once allowing yourself a moment of vulnerability with your best friend, Felix knew what a terrible day you must have had. He immediately pulls you into a warm hug, pausing in case he meets resistance before squeezing you and holding you tightly.

"Have you eaten well?" He softly asks you, playing with your hair as he sways you back and forth.

You wanted to lie and say yes. You really did. But you couldn't get yourself to respond that way, so instead, you shake your head no.

"I'll make something then," he says simply, pulling back to look you in the eyes.

Felix finds tears welling up in your eyes, so he cups your cheek with one hand. "Have you taken your meds?" He checks.

When you nod, his expression gives away a brief flash of relief before turning back to genuine concern.

"Good. Why don't you go put your pajamas on and start getting ready for bed then, hmm?" He suggests, smiling sweetly.

You hesitate, considering saying no. You rack your brain, but the fog from your mental state makes the task difficult. You were fairly certain you'd never been braless around Felix before, but at the same time, you really didn't want to wear one.

"It's okay, y/n," he softly assures you.

Looking into his eyes, you remind yourself he has sisters. So you nod as a soft whimper accidentally escapes you.

You retreat to the bathroom, scrubbing your face harshly as you wash it. You try to get rid of the self-hatred and body insecurities that consumed your entire body, but particularly your face. Of course, it didn't help.

A whine of irritation escapes you before you apply the rest of your skincare. Afterwards, you slowly shuffle to your bedroom. You stare at what pajamas you have clean (which isn't much) and end up in a long sleeved shirt to hide your arms and pajama shorts. You made sure the pair wasn't too free flowing, as you didn't want to flash Felix by some weird accident since you didn't wear underwear to bed.

You slowly shuffle out to the kitchen, finding Felix at the stove throwing something together. Padding closer, you notice him making ramen. You ask him what he is doing with a soft “Hm?”

He gestures for you to come closer before speaking, “You had some ramen, so I’m making it with eggs. And now I’m adding in vegetables, see?”

When you nod, he smiles. “Do you want to grab a bowl for yourself? I already ate,” Felix assures you.

You nod and timidly get yourself a bowl and chopsticks, your hands unsteady. You manage to set down the bowl without dropping it, and Felix notices your lack of stability.

He moves from the stove, getting a plastic cup with a lid and straw, pouring you a cup of water before getting himself a glass. Felix sets it at the table before returning to the stove, getting your ramen together in your bowl. “Will you sit down, Y/N?” he asks gently.

You nod and sit, sipping your water and swinging your legs. Felix soon places the bowl in front of you, and you begin to eat slowly. He sits next to you after getting a napkin, watching you to ensure you don't eat too quickly.

Following “Dr. Lee’s” orders, you finish the entire bowl of ramen. Once done, he inquires, “Go brush your teeth, okay? Do you need to take your night meds?”

You pout but nod, getting up and taking the cup of water with you. You take your medicine before slowly brushing your teeth, trying not to let the sensation overwhelm you. When you finally finish, you pad back out to find Felix, who was currently cleaning the dishes.

You huff at him, upset that he was doing them for you. He wasn’t just doing the ones he cooked with, but even the ones you had left in the sink.

He says nothing but smiles when you hug him from behind and bury your face into his shirt. When he finishes and dries his hands, you drag him to the bathroom and get out a spare toothbrush, silently offering him to stay overnight.

“Go lay in bed; I’ll come and join you soon,” he says. When you nod, he takes the toothbrush and gets himself ready for bed.

You lay in bed playing games on your phone, curling up under your sheets. Felix soon comes back, grabbing a book off your bookshelf. He sets his phone on your bedside table, placing his there as well. Felix sits on your bed, leaning against the wall and spreading his legs.

“Come here,” he suggests, patting the spot between his legs.

You hesitate before sitting up, moving to sit in his lap, resting against his chest. He opens the book in front of you, making you giggle when you realize what it is.

“Didn’t your mom buy you this?” he asks, kissing your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder. You nod as he opens the book. “I still can’t believe she knew it was a Star Wars storybook and didn’t think it was a children’s book,” he laughs.

A little giggle escapes you, and Felix beams. He begins to read, his gentle voice helping to lull you to sleep. When he finishes the book, he helps you lay down and tuck you in. He puts the book back and turns off the light, smiling at the soft whine escaping you.

You wiggle a little, subconsciously craving his hold. "Lixie?" You manage to murmur, not even realizing it was your first words since he came over. But he knew.

"I’m here," he assures you, climbing into bed with you and spooning you. Felix wraps his arm loosely around your waist, handing you one of your stuffies to cuddle. "This okay?" He checks with you.

You nod, relaxing into him and falling back asleep.

"I love you," Felix says lowly, and you can't quite tell if you were dreaming or not. You two had said that you love each other plenty of times before, but this time seemed different.

You wake up in the morning alone and immediately begin to panic.

"Felix?" You cry out, stumbling out of bed.

You're quick to find him in the kitchen and nearly cry out of relief.

"I didn't leave; I'm just making breakfast," he assures you, setting down the spatula and hugging you close.

When you pull away, he looks at you intently, a smile creeping onto his face. "Good morning, sweetheart," Felix says, causing you to blush.

"Morning," you manage, glancing down.

"Go take your medicine. And don't worry about being nonverbal or not, okay?" Felix says.

You tried not to go nonverbal around others, but you had mentioned your frustration to Felix before. People, especially your parents, always ended up forcing you into talking. It made you uncomfortable and took up extra energy, exhausting you quicker. Felix was rather understanding at the time, but you were always afraid to be around him while nonverbal due to the struggle of communicating. But at the moment, it was going surprisingly well. You figure it's his patience and caring nature.

You go and do as he says, briefly wondering why he was telling you what to do and why you found it so easy to listen. You shrug and come back out, sitting at the table as Felix places a plate of eggs and toast in front of you.

"Eat up, please," he says, joining you with a plate of his own.

You begin to eat, letting out a happy hum as you do.

Felix’s smile grows before he clears his throat. "I have to go into the studio today, but I'm not comfortable leaving you alone, even if I take all of your sharp objects," he admits, his expression turning serious.

You look intently at your plate, finding the yellow of the eggs to be a lovely color suddenly.

"Will you come to the studio with me? You can stay somewhere quiet and read for homework, if you'd like," Felix offers, watching closely for your reaction.

You'd never gone to the studio before. There had been times where Felix had said it would be okay, but you never had the chance. You wanted to, but you were worried about saesangs, getting Felix in trouble, starting a scandal… you had, and have, a lot of anxiety around it.

You hesitate before nodding slightly, causing Felix to grin in absolute delight.

"Okay! Great! And the second thing is… can I borrow clothes? I know you sometimes wear boxers to bed, and I just need a clean shirt and sweats…" Felix asks, and this time it was his turn to blush.

You laugh a little and nod, hoping your clothes would fit him.

"Great! Then after we get ready, I'll drive us there," he decides, smiling to make sure it was okay with you.

You nod in agreement, giving him a sense of relief.

You go use the bathroom, relieved that he didn't get up and leave without saying goodbye, or that the whole thing was a dream or strange hallucination. You take your medicine before going back to the kitchen, sitting at the table where Felix had already begun to eat.

You hum softly as you eat, letting him know to the best of your ability that you appreciate his actions.

Once you finish your plate, you bring them to the kitchen sink and wash them. You go to pick up the pan, but you can tell it’s too hot to wash. You leave it aside to cool down, drying your dishes as Felix washes his own.

After drying your hands as well, you head to your room with Felix to get ready for the day.

Felix helps you make your bed, but you manage to do most of it yourself so it was made the way you like it. You sit down and hug one of your pillows, watching as Felix goes through your clothes and picks something out to wear. He ends up picking out your clothes as well, getting you a soft shirt, your favorite pants, and a hoodie that he could have sworn belonged to him at one time.

He opens your underwear drawer before you can stop him, a noise of distraught escaping you. Felix ignores it just as he ignores your sex toys and lubricant, finding a pair of boxers for himself and a soft, simple pair of cotton panties for you along with a wireless bra.

Felix shuts the drawer and sets what he chose for you on the bed, the soft blush adorning his cheeks visible.

"I'll change in the bathroom, ok?" He states, gathering his borrowed clothes and shutting the door behind him.

In shock, you stare at the door for a moment before managing to get yourself dressed and tossing your dirty clothes in the hamper. You get up and head to the bathroom, greeted with an open door. Felix had already changed and was borrowing your hairbrush.

"Sorry," he apologizes, somewhat sheepishly.

You shake your head and dismiss it with a wave of your hand, silently letting him know you didn't mind.

"Turn around," he says.

You give him a confused look but turn around regardless, watching his reflection in the mirror. Felix runs the brush through your hair, careful about your ears. He sets the brush down and runs his fingers through your hair, braiding it. Felix then ties it off with a hair tie, beaming in pride at his creation.

You give him an appreciative smile before he asks, "are you ready?"

You shake your head, pulling out your makeup.

"You know you don't have to," he begins.

You shake your head more stubbornly, crossing your arms with a huff before you point to your concealer. Felix chuckles, and much to your surprise, he begins to do your makeup. You turn to lean against the sink, watching as he concentrates on doing your makeup. His soft breath fans over your cheeks, and you were secretly glad you gave him a toothbrush.

Felix doesn't take long, giving you only base makeup. He does your eye makeup very simply, looking through your lip products before choosing the one he wants for you. Felix applies the glossy tint, his concentration on your lips causing you to blush.

"There," he softly murmurs, stepping back for you to look in the mirror as he pockets the lip tint.

You beam at him, turning and hugging him. He gently rubs your back before leading you to the door.

"Ugh, socks!" He remembers, turning back and heading to your bedroom.

You laugh and go to the kitchen, somehow managing to start cleaning the dishes. Felix comes back and looks confused, only to realize what you were doing. He helps by drying the dishes, watching as you tie up the trash.

"Eggs," you say pointedly.

"Good idea," he hums, going and putting on his shoes.

You notice he grabbed your backpack and keys, so you put your own shoes on.

As you throw out the trash, Felix goes and starts your car. You soon join him, using the hand sanitizer you carry for situations like this.

Felix turns on soft music, driving to the company after ensuring you were both wearing your seatbelts.

Once he parks, he grabs masks from his bag for you both. Felix puts his on before going to the passenger side door and helping you with yours. He slings your backpack over his shoulder, locking your car before leading you inside. You don’t notice Felix’s fingers twitching, but you did wish you were holding hands. Even in your sensitive state, you knew holding hands here and to the JYP building was not a good idea, as the possibility of saesangs taking a photo and starting drama was too high for either of your likings.

Once inside, security tries to stop you. “It’s okay, they’re with me,” he assures the guard, taking your hand as he shows them his ID.

The security guard stares you down before nodding and taking both of your temperatures. The guard stands to the side, letting Felix take you to the elevator and towards their practice room. He doesn’t let go of your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

Once off the elevator, another security member is about to stop you before they notice Felix holding your hand. “Excuse us,” he says, leading you around them. Their puzzled expression doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you were glad they didn’t try to stop you.

He stops outside a room, pointing to it. “This is Channie hyung’s room, okay? If you need to go there for somewhere quieter, he won’t mind,” Felix explains, quickly pulling out his phone to check something. “Then we are practicing in this room today,” he says, leading you to a different door and opening it.

It was loud, as some of the others were stretching, talking, and dancing. Hyunjin smiles and waves as soon as he notices you, while most of the others shout their greetings. Changbin runs over and is about to hug you, but Felix stands in front of you, since Changbin was prone to hugging without asking.

“Do you want a hug?” Felix asks you, wanting you to be comfortable.

You hesitate before nodding, stepping around Felix and hugging Changbin. Changbin picks you up and spins you around, giggles escaping you.

“How are you? I can’t believe you came!” Changbin cheers as he sets you down, a grin on his face.

You step back into Felix, who gently holds your shoulders as you lose your balance. You look up at him, worry clouding your features.

“Y/N is… having some trouble talking right now. So, simple yes or no questions work best for them,” Felix explains, squeezing your shoulders reassuringly before letting you go.

“Oh, okay,” Changbin says, nodding despite not clearly understanding. “Sorry, Y/N, I didn’t know,” he adds, smiling.

You shrug a little, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“They don’t normally leave home when it happens. They generally are stressed and overwhelmed, so it helps them cope and is easier just to let them… communicate in other ways,” Felix further explains, moving to stand next to you and resting his hand on your back.

When you tense up, he withdraws his hand, but you stop him by grabbing his arm and shaking your head. Felix gently rubs soothing circles on your back as you accommodate yourself with the new space.

Chan comes over at the same time, smiling brightly. “It happens normally to neurodivergent people, right? Especially autistic ones?” Chan asks, looking at you for confirmation. You nod, and he continues. “Is it okay if I put my hand on your shoulder?” he asks. When you nod a second time, Chan places his hand on your shoulder and squeezes lightly. “I’m happy you came! If you need a break, you can go to my studio room, okay? Did Felix show you where it is?”

You nod, glancing at Felix.

“Okay, good! Today might not be the best day though,” he admits, looking to Felix.

“What do you mean by that?” Felix asks, rubbing your back.

Chan removes his hand from your shoulder and says in a hushed voice, “JYP is supposed to come to practice today.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Felix responds with a tight lipped smile.

Once Felix makes sure you are comfortable sitting down, he produces earplugs from his pocket (you have no idea where or how he got them), and sets them in the palm of your hand. “In case it gets too loud,” he murmurs, smiling.

He straightens up as the choreographer enters the room, who they greet and thank. They soon start practicing, and you find yourself carefully stuffing the earplugs in your ears. You watch them in awe, looking at each of them practicing the new moves. Your eyes always come back to Felix, and you soon find yourself grinning like a fool. The song was amazing, and you wrote a note down in your phone to tell Chan, Changbin, and Jisung later on.

Right as they start a break, JYP himself comes into the room. You look up from your phone, the blood draining from your face as you try to meet Felix’s eyes. They immediately turn around and greet him, bowing and thanking him for his time.

“Show me what you have so far,” JYP says, heading towards you, standing in front of the mirror. That’s when he notices you. His eyes narrow and he walks over to you, and you immediately bow in greeting.

You feel the anxiety bubbling in your chest, threatening to overwhelm you as your breathing becomes irregular.

“You’re not an intern. Who are you?” he inquires, resting his hands on his hips.

You gape up at him, but thankfully Felix is quick to come to your aid.

“Sorry, JYP! This is my partner, Y/N. They can’t talk right now, since their doctor has their voice on rest-” Felix begins, only to be interrupted. Your eyes widen in shock as he introduces you as his partner, quickly trying to hide your surprise as he lies for you.

“So they’re sick? They shouldn’t be here then!” JYP demands, his face reddening in anger.

“No! They just aren’t supposed to talk because they had vocal chord surgery, that’s all!” he explains, doing his best to pull the lie.

Felix’s words seem to console and calm JYP, who huffs.

“Someone’s going to have to give them a non-disclosure agreement then,” he huffs, looking at the staff as if to tell them they needed to. “I will have a conversation with you later, Yongbok,” JYP sneers.

You knew Felix was in for it, but he gives you a charming smile before starting to practice.

You notice JYP’s glare every now and then, so when they take a break you make a beeline for the door, heading to Chan’s studio room and sending Felix a text with an explanation. You’re so caught up in remaining calm and composed that you almost bump into who turns out to be Mina from Twice.

Your eyes widen and you apologize, bowing and managing to say a soft, “I’m sorry.”

Once in Chan’s studio room, you move his chair and curl up under his desk. You put the hood of your hoodie over your head, doing some deep breathing. You take out the earplugs and put them in your pocket before turning on some soft, soothing music.

You close your eyes and don’t realize you had fallen asleep until Felix comes in the room, calling your name. Before he panics, he notices you under the desk. He bends down and offers you his hand, saying, “C’mon, you must be uncomfortable.”

You take it and he helps you stand up, your back popping as you do so.

“Are you hungry? It’s been a while since breakfast, and we all stopped and had lunch,” he explains, gently letting go of your hand.

You shove the hood off of your head, grabbing his forearms. “Did you mean what you said?” you ask, your eyes wide as your cheeks flush.

“What I said?” he asks, perplexed.

You stare at him for a moment before blurting, “You called me your partner…”

“Oh,” Felix says, his voice small. “About that…” he begins, subtly checking his pulse before rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable…”

“Do you want me to be your partner?” you bluntly rephrase.

Felix’s cheeks turn pinker and pinker as he nods ever so slightly. “I’ve thought about asking you before, but never did. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way, and you’re my best friend…” he murmurs.

“Well…” you shyly begin. “You’re patient, caring, and help me when I go nonverbal. You’re understanding of my space and sometimes I swear you know me better than myself. You’re… Well, pretty much everything I want in a boyfriend…”

“Really?” Felix asks, surprised at your admission.

“Yeah…” you murmur with a nod, glancing downwards as you loosen your grip on his arms. You look back up and bite your lip before shyly asking, “Will you kiss me?”

Felix blinks, but smiles before pulling down both of your masks and giving you a soft kiss on your lips. You whine softly, so he cups your cheek and kisses you again.

After he pulls away, he smiles and giggles, “So about that non disclosure agreement…”

#kpopscape #kwritersworldnet #kpopficsnetwork #ultkpopnetwork #felix fluff #lee felix fluff #felix lee fluf #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #felix #happy birthday felix #lee felix #felix lee #yongbok fluff #best friends to lovers #f2l trope #felix f2l #skz f2l

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