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solalunar-eclipse · 4 years

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Team Dark: A Holiday Special

Chapter One: Omega

Two | Three

Word count: about 5800 words

WARNING: this chapter contains entomophagy (eating insects)

Author's Note: I'm finally back! Sorry to make you all wait so long, but I really wanted to get this project out by December, so...here it is. I hope you all enjoy! (Also, apologies in advance for any bad formatting: Tumblr is being very uncooperative right now.)

...

It was, officially, a ‘lazy day’.

Team Dark was spending time at home, resting after the holiday frenzy of yesterday. Rouge had suddenly realized that they hadn’t decorated yet and that they all still needed to come up with present ideas for Team Sonic, so she and Shadow had spent the entire time in a sort of constant state of panic. Omega tried his best to help them, intermixed with a lot of gloating about his perfect memory and how he’d remembered to get a gift already.

He’d gotten punched halfway across the room for that one.

Now, a certain striped hedgehog was relaxing in his room, reading a book quietly. Until (of course) the peaceful silence was shattered by a loud blaring noise that sent him racing out the door and halfway down the stairs to their common area. Rouge was standing in the middle of the room, and shouted out to him, “Shadow! Come down here, I’m calling a group meeting!” Shadow winced and massaged one of his ears, his quills relaxing from their startled position as he walked over and sat down on the couch. He glowered at Rouge, who stood in front of him with the ‘team meeting airhorn’ still in hand. Despite his stare, she was still poised to blast again if Omega didn’t show up soon. Thankfully for Shadow’s hearing, Omega appeared quickly, albeit with much complaining about being dragged away from his targeting system calibrations. “Alright, Rouge, what’s all this about?” the hedgehog sighed, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees. She smiled cautiously at the two of them. “Before I say anything, I want you guys to know that this offer is optional. If it’s too much for you, you don’t have to say yes.” Omega spun one of his hands around, making a slight whirring noise. “Please continue.” Rouge sat down on one end of the aforementioned couch, sinking into the cushions with a sigh. “Okay. Let’s see. I haven’t...ever talked to you guys about my family before, have I?” “I do not recall you initiating any such conversation.” Omega answered, at the same time as Shadow replied, “No….?” “Well. Considering everything...I kind of figured it’s about time I told you all my story.” She smiled again, but it was a little bittersweet. Shadow inched closer, caution sparking in his eyes. “Where to start...I mean, I have a mom, two sisters, a stepsister, a stepbrother, and a stepmom. And a dad too, I guess?” “You guess?” Omega asked skeptically, before being shot a fierce ‘no questions‘ look by Shadow. “It’s alright, hon.” Rouge said, putting a hand on the hedgehog’s shoulder. “I guess I should really start at the beginning.” “My dad was a cat and my mom is a bat- obviously, hah. My two officially related sisters are twins, three years younger than me. Right before they were born, though...my dad left. He took all the cash with him when he did. And, well. Left Mom with a barely-paid-for apartment and without a job. “We, uh. Heard later that he ran off with some lady from his job. Mom...didn’t take it too well.” Shadow’s eyes widened and Omega smacked a fist into one hand. “Rouge. Is your father, hypothetically, good at withstanding high-powered attacks from a hypothetical extremely destructive robot?” She snickered. “No, he’s not. But please don’t actually fight him, alright?” His hands crackling with chaos energy, Shadow hissed, “Rouge...I think I like his plan.” He bared his fangs as he spoke, looking furious. Rouge smiled gratefully at the both of them. “Thanks, guys, but he’s really not even worth your time. Let me keep going, okay?” Omega sat back, irritated at the lack of pulverizing Rouge’s father going on, and Shadow, reluctantly, allowed his chaos energy to dissipate. “Yeah, so he left, and that was a whole thing. Mom worked hard for us, but it just...wasn’t enough to make ends meet. I started my career of...relieving people of their fancy objects-” here she winked- “at the age of eleven to help out. Dropped out of school after eighth grade to start full-time thievery once I turned fourteen, and, yeah. I had to leave home, otherwise Mom and the twins would’ve been in real trouble. “I got busted after two whole years by the one and only Guardian Units of Nations- not a bad streak, if I do say so myself. Then, I started working for G.U.N. to pay my dues to society, and...you all know the rest after that. I still kept sending checks back to the family, though.” Shadow and Omega were both looking at her with unreadable expressions at this point. “I’ve stopped doing that now, actually, since Mom’s been with her girlfriend for like a year now. She’s dating this super sweet cardinal who gives her basically everything my dad never did- her name’s Camellia and she has two little kids from her last marriage. She’s been so good for Mom, honestly.

“I know it’s usually supposed to be this whole thing where the stepdaughter hates the stepmom, but that’s not for me. When I got the news, I was just like ‘Oh, so that’s why I’m pan’ - yeah, really- and now I’m cool with it. Plus, I’ve got two new little sibs, so it’s all fine.

“So...yeah. That’s my family.”

Shadow sat there in deep thought for a minute. “Your family sounds nice...I’m just sorry you had to go through all of that.” he said, when he finally spoke up.

“Yeah, they’re great- and it’s okay. I mean, if it wasn’t for all that, I never would’ve found you guys!” she said, looking much brighter now. “Now that you know about them, you wanna see some pictures?”

“Certainly.” Omega said, curious to see these people that Rouge cared for so deeply.

“Okay, so...these are my twin sisters, Midori and Neela.” she said, showing a social media post of two identical coffee-colored cats posing for a selfie. Even their fur markings were exactly the same, as well as the shade of their golden eyes. Despite the fact that they were felines, something about them looked an awful lot like Rouge. The shape of their faces, perhaps?

“And here’s Camellia and Mom.” A picture came up of a beaming, moderately curvy white bat and an equally overjoyed cardinal with their arms around each other in front of a beautiful sunset.

“This is Jade, my stepsister, she’s ten-” Rouge showed an image of a young goldfinch playing soccer, kicking the ball fiercely. “-and that’s Spark, my stepbrother.” A small cardinal with a grin as broad as his mother’s was swinging on a swing at a playground, his eyes bright with the excitement of childhood.

Shadow smiled, looking as though he were a mixture of genuine happiness and a little ever-present pain. “They all look wonderful, Rouge. I’m...honored...that you felt like you could show us this.”

“That wasn’t so bad, honestly- I’ve been wanting to figure out how to do that for a while.” the bat said. “This is going to be the hard part.”

Two pairs of eyes watched her expectantly.

She exhaled. “Every year...my family has this big, three-day Wintersweek party. And when I say big, I mean seven out of my mom’s nine siblings and their spouses and kids. Like, more than twenty guests big.”

Omega interrupted her there. “If your mother has nine siblings, why did none of them bother to help her when she needed them?”

Rouge looked at the floor, a little sad. “Four of them were in debt themselves, two live in crazy places around the world and didn’t really know, and...the other three tried to help. Mom refused to take more than she could pay back. They still helped do other stuff like watch us while Mom was working, though.”

“Understood. You may continue.” Omega replied, shifting into a slightly less confrontational pose.

“So. I always go to this party, except for those two years when I was on the run. This is going to be my third year back. And…

“I really, really, reallyreally want to introduce my family to my two best friends. You know, the ones who live with me and always have my back and mean the world to me.” she said, looking straight at Shadow and Omega. The former blushed a faint green at the praise, while the latter scoffed.

“Of course you wish to do so. Our excellence is unparalleled.”

Rouge smiled hopefully at them. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you guys, but...will you come to the party this year?”

Omega processed this for a minute. “How amenable is your family towards weapons of incredible destructive power being present in their home?”

“Well, see, about that….” Rouge muttered. “...you might have to empty your weapons cartridges before we go.”

“I am unsure if this is an acceptable outcome. I will respect your wishes to an extent, but I refuse to be without weaponry at my disposal.”

The bat thought for a moment. “...you can bring the flamethrower, but only if you put a PIN lock on it.”

“...”

Rouge stared him down. “There’s going to be kids there. Kids.”

“Accepted.” Omega said finally. His tone switched to a more triumphant note as he added, “I shall come and impress all of your relatives with my power.”

Shadow had reservations, too. “Won’t it be weird, having people who aren’t really your family there?”

“Shadow…” she said gently. “...you two are as close to me as my ‘real family’, and I want you to be there.”

Omega noted that Shadow was behaving in a manner that suggested he was ‘flustered’. He folded his arms tightly, lowered his head, and his mouth was pressed tightly into a line- an attempt to hide a smile. “...but won’t I take up too much space? An extra bed is more difficult to manage than an outlet.”

Rouge sighed sharply, becoming frustrated with his hesitance. “Mom has air mattresses up to her ears specifically for this, and she lives in Camellia’s house now, which has like ten bedrooms anyway. And you’re totally not going to be ‘a bother’ or anything, so don’t even say that. Mom basically screamed when she found out I was bringing people, and I mean that in a good way. She didn’t stop asking me questions for half an hour.”

“I…” Shadow said tentatively, close to giving in.

“If they’re ever too much for you, though, just feel free to hide in one of the back rooms. There’s plenty of places where you won’t be disturbed.”

The hedgehog sighed, but he didn’t look upset. “I suppose I can try, for you.”

“Yes!” Rouge shouted, kicking her legs before getting up and bouncing up and down. “Heck yeah! This is gonna be great!”

…

Over the next week, they discussed the party numerous times, and Rouge spent a lot of time sitting in the middle of mountains of wrapping paper, packaging presents for her family. Omega and Shadow had tried to help her, but she’d insisted that they not worry about it. “It’s my family,” she had said, waving them away. “You being there is already more than enough. I’d never ask anything else of you.”

Shadow had still made cupcakes, though. Omega helped with the icing.

On the first day of the event, they set off early, making the several hours’ drive from Central City up to Rouge’s family’s house (north of Empire City) so that they’d arrive just before lunch. Thinking of Shadow, Rouge didn’t want him in particular to get caught up in the early (and supposedly quite intense) greetings that her family usually participated in. Omega resolved to turn his force output down just a little- he didn’t want to accidentally break someone’s hand instead of merely shaking it in introduction.

Of course, this all meant they had to endure a four-hour car ride together, involving lots of fights over what music was playing, several different long-distance driving games, and multiple threats to toss one another out the window while moving at 80 mph or more.

So, generally uneventful for them.

...

When they arrived at the family’s house, the E-series robot decreased his optic zoom to 85% just to take the entire place in. It was truly an enormous building, built from what appeared to be stone but on closer inspection was...actually stone. Unexpected, yet impressive.

Omega was mildly uncertain about the heating capabilities of such a house, but at least it was structurally sound. He would have to decide on its defensibility later.

“Wow.” Shadow muttered, his eyes wide. “I know you said it had ten bedrooms, but...wow.”

“I said I wasn’t messing around with you!” Rouge laughed brightly. “This place is crazy big.”

As soon as they opened the door and the bat stepped inside, the team was greeted by a loud shout of “Rouge!” from various delighted family members.

Her immediate family rushed over first, giving her lots of hugs (while her parents relieved Omega of the numerous presents she’d had him carry). Her stepbrother jumped up and down, asking, “Did you bring a present for me? Do I get one? Do I?”

Rouge smiled at him, picking the little cardinal up and giving him a hug. “Of course you do. There’s one right over there!” she said, pointing towards the giant pile of presents.

Rouge’s mother came rushing back over at that, greeting her daughter with a tight embrace. “Oh!” she exclaimed, noticing Omega and Shadow standing by the door. “Are these your friends, Rouge? Come on, introduce us!”

The younger bat grinned. “Alright, so this is my partner-in-crime and our resident edgy goth, Shadow,” she said, gesturing towards the hedgehog. He responded with a glower at Rouge for the latter remark and a polite “Nice to meet you.” to the family.

“And this is my personal palanquin (just kidding, just kidding) and awesome destroyer of enemies, Omega.”

“Greetings, Rouge’s relatives.” Omega said, turning his volume down to a level that Rouge had termed ‘inside voice’. First impressions and all that.

After making their way through many, many more greetings- which Omega recorded to play back for name storage later- the team were finally seated at one of the large couches in the living room. Rouge, being Rouge, began to chat cheerfully with a couple of her family members, describing her latest escapades with the other two team members as well as her general social life.

Shadow and Omega didn’t speak much at first, but the latter in particular soon began to interrupt her stories to point out multiple inaccuracies (mostly Rouge underplaying how utterly awesome he was). He found that he quite enjoyed talking about their various adventures, in fact.

However, the three quickly discovered that some of Rouge’s relatives had...misunderstood her stories.

One of the many aunts- whose name Omega had not yet stored- spoke up. “Rouge, I know you said you were bringing friends, but you don’t have to be shy with us, sweetie. Shadow here seems like a very thoughtful boyfriend.”

Chaos ensued. Rouge choked on her water and Omega had to pound her on the back to help her breathe again. Meanwhile, Shadow seemed to have reflexively assumed a defensive, curled-up position, yet Omega could still make out a faint glow of green from within the black and red ball.

“No!” the bat shouted, once she’d regained her breath. “No, no, we’re only friends, really!”

Her aunt seemed unconvinced, as did several other guests.

Shadow slowly uncurled, prepared to back Rouge up- though he seemed to have temporarily forgotten how to speak in his shock. His mouth moved silently, and he seemed to be having trouble stringing together a coherent sentence.

“I am not romantically involved with Rouge in any way.” he began slowly. “I assure you, she means the world to me, but in a platonic manner. I am grateful to have a friend like her, but that is all we are to each other.”

Several other relatives decided to weigh in on this.

“He seems like a very polite friend!”

“Rouge, even if you’re not together, you had better hang on to this one.”

“He certainly likes you, and that’s what’s important.”

“It’s alright if you aren’t dating, honey!” Rouge’s mom added. “Healthy platonic relationships are very important.”

The younger bat shook her head, covering her eyes with her hand. “Guys, please.” she groaned, before looking over at Shadow.

The hybrid appeared to be surreptitiously trying to get in touch with his hedgehog heritage and burrow underneath the cushions by this point. Rouge grinned at him and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him back out into the open. “Come on, don’t make him embarrassed! It’s only day one, guys!”

Shadow cringed at that. Omega, meanwhile, was most definitely not recording any of this and storing it safely in his blackmail folder. Not at all.

…

A little later on, after everyone had eaten lunch, Omega (being the strongest on the team, despite Shadow’s protests otherwise) hauled their suitcases upstairs with little trouble. Rouge had been too busy talking to come with him, and Shadow looked as though he’d buried himself in a pile of cushions and probably wouldn’t be moved without extreme force, so he’d gone up alone.

Looking around the small room, he...found it quite tolerable, honestly. Sunlight streamed in through two medium-sized windows, and there were several empty floating shelves on the walls for their things, as well as a linen closet. There were only two beds in the room, since Omega just required a…

Ah, there it was. A charging port.

The robot was actually more pleased than he expected with the amount of mock evergreen, poinsettias, and other such ornaments in the room, though. He wasn’t much one for artistic expression himself (preferring to express his thoughts via some choice language and a few well-aimed rockets), but his friends were more...appreciative of such things and would likely enjoy the decoration.

Bored with examining the room already, he put down the suitcases and began to explore the house, trying to figure out what the floor plan looked like. He walked through all of the different rooms, enjoying himself while examining all of the possible defensive vantage points and the most optimal attack areas.

Sure, fighting was his job, but who said he couldn’t enjoy contingency planning? Mapping out attacks on his place of residence and figuring out how to best repel invaders was one of his favorite pastimes (right up there with visiting the mall with his friends).

However, once he had planned out about five different strategies, he realized that an hour had gone by and that it was probably a good idea to go check up on said friends.

After he carefully made his way back downstairs- trying to walk in a way that didn’t shake the house was difficult- he saw Rouge still chatting with some of her cousins and looking very happy. Shadow was barely even visible, curled up in a dark corner and alternating between reading and listening to the conversation. Everyone honestly seemed to be enjoying themselves.

However, there was one jarring thing about this warm, familial scene that Omega noticed.

The little children.

They were everywhere. Climbing their parents like a jungle gym, interrupting conversations left and right, running around underfoot, and generally causing mayhem in their wake. While Omega highly appreciated their impressive ability to cause confusion and chaos, he suspected that most of the other people here did not. Multiple guests looked ready to break something, and the robot was fully aware that Rouge’s family did not share his opinions on wanton destruction.

So, he decided to do something about this.

“SMALL CHILDREN,” he shouted, gaining the attention of the entire household. “I CHALLENGE YOU TO A SNOWBALL FIGHT.” That was an acceptable (and fun) form of violence, if he remembered correctly. Rouge certainly looked interested.

The children began to bounce around in various states of excitement, their energy somehow increasing exponentially at this prospect. “Whose team will you be on, mister?” Rouge’s stepbrother asked bravely.

“MY OWN. NONE OF YOU CAN DEFEAT ME.” Omega declared.

“Yeah, right!” an older child shouted. “Come on, guys, let’s go!”

The entire group rushed outside and began to build a snow fort for the upcoming attack. Most of the children were clearly struggling to organize, as half seemed to comprehend the need for a well-structured creation and half were just piling up snow like maniacs.

Meanwhile, Omega began to carefully form large building blocks out of the snow, building a formidable fortress (snow could be imposing, alright??). Once he was satisfied with his semicircle construction, he noticed that he still had a few minutes to wait before the children finished theirs. He spent this time making snowballs, as well as a few other...adjustments. When the children shouted out “Ready!”, he was more than prepared.

Since they were, again, Rouge’s relatives, he was very, very generous and gave them the first chance to fire. The children launched snowball after snowball, but he ducked behind his fort and only one found its mark. Once they were all out of ammunition and scrambling for more, he felt a smug sense of satisfaction.

It was time.

He loaded his arms full of snowballs…

And proceeded to launch them out of his machine gun ports at the children.

The kids scattered in all directions, shrieking with a mixture of fear and excitement. Omega, during their attack, had thought to make even more projectiles, turning what was supposed to be organized warfare into a one-sided rampage of destruction.

By now, Rouge had appeared on the deck and was currently howling with laughter, tears streaming down her face as she watched Omega launch his onslaught of snow. Shadow was standing at the doorway along with several others, a giant wicked grin spread across his face.

The E-series robot truly wished he could make that second expression right now. He turned to Rouge, watching her cackle…

...and immediately proceeded to fire a massive amount of snow at her as well. Her laughter transformed into a gasp of mock betrayal as she scooped up some of the offending substance, packing it into a weapon of her own. “Oh. It. Is. On.”, she hissed, shaking the snow off her wings.

Taking to the skies, she began a counterattack, distracting Omega with varied sizes of snowballs and forcing him to try and fire directly upwards. The children, realizing that they had a powerful ally in Rouge, began to make new projectiles themselves and threw them at him from all sides, until Omega finally found that he was struggling to handle the attack.

As he began to turn the tide again, he realized suddenly that this was entirely due to Rouge’s absence…

...and of course that was when a shadow fell over him.

Followed by a giant pile of snow.

He flailed in the icy trap as he struggled to regain his bearings. Once he had managed to clamber halfway out of the snow, he saw Rouge hovering above him. Her wings struggled to hold her in the air as she laughed again, and he noticed sulkily that she was holding a sheet.

“Cheater.” he muttered, indignant at having been trapped in such an unflattering manner.

“Cheating?! From the guy who launched snowballs like missiles? Really?” she shouted down to him good-naturedly, shaking her head. “Talk about hypocritical, Omega.”

The E-series robot still insisted on having the last laugh, though- he had to get out somehow, so he powered on all of his fans at full blast to clear away the snow. And if everyone was standing too close to avoid the resulting icy shower, well then that was their problem.

After that, though, everyone had to go inside and dry themselves off. Organics couldn’t handle being wet and cold very well, and Omega didn’t like the idea of his circuitry being shorted out. He felt a great sense of satisfaction at having established his status as the cool one on the very first day, though.

He spent a little more time with the young ones after that, playing several rounds of a popular card game called One with them and stacking up all of the plus-fours. The robot showed no mercy even in games.

Several children, evidently impressed by his prowess (or perhaps just in awe of the fact that he was a giant robot) begged him for promises that he would play more tomorrow, to which he quickly agreed. Not long after, to everyone’s disappointment, the kids’ parents came and practically dragged them to the dinner table, having shouted their names four or five times by this point.

As he walked into the dining room, Omega surveyed the area, focusing for a moment on the glow that the many candles gave off on the table. Fire was always a nice touch.

Looking further, he noticed that the wooden table alone was a formidable piece of furniture, filling the largest room in the house and forcing some chairs to squeeze up against the wall just to make space. And that wasn’t even mentioning the feast laid out on top of it. Omega ignored that for now in favor of sitting down on one side of Rouge after he saw her at the table. Looking over to her other side, he noticed Shadow surveying the food spread out on the table with what most would consider a completely blank look.

Omega, however, had experience with analyzing Shadow’s facial expressions, and noted the slight tension in his face as well as the fact that he was fidgeting with his silverware. Both he and Rouge had a good idea as to why, too- Shadow didn’t need any of this.

The hybrid had been created with incredible physical resilience, able to withstand the most arduous of conditions. This included a significant lack of food. He actually ate only about three times a week, and even then he only consumed small meals. While it was about time for him to eat today, the fact that there would be even more food over the next couple of days seemed to have produced a conundrum for him.

If he ate now, he wouldn’t need to later, which could be quite awkward, particularly when everybody else would. Omega thought through the options and decided that there were three main paths he could take: eat now and not later, not eat now but do so later, or possibly attempt to eat a little on all three days.

Rouge seemed to have realized this as well. Leaning over to Shadow, she whispered, “Whatever you want to do is fine, hon. It’s okay if you eat a lot over these few days- everyone else here will too. If you don’t want to, though, that’s cool- just make sure you have something at some point, alright?”

The robot watched as Shadow relaxed slightly at her understanding words. The change was almost imperceptible, but he now sat back in his chair instead of forward, and he’d stopped adjusting his place setting.

Once everyone was seated and they’d given a quick toast, the family began to dig in. Shadow sat back and waited for everyone else to take some food first- a wise choice. Rouge, on the other hand, entered the rather impressive food frenzy with a voracity that her team members knew all too well- she often complained that one of her few vices (aside from gems and other sparkly objects) was food.

Omega took this time to survey what he could see of the dishes, interested in finding out for himself what a proper Wintersweek meal looked like. He saw two dishes that appeared to be some sort of poultry, as well as bowls of finger food that looked like they were filled with crickets and beetles. Various platters of cooked vegetables in every color of the rainbow covered the table, some with sliced fruit available as well. Loaves of bread in multiple shapes and sizes were scattered throughout the presentation, accented by artfully placed centerpieces.

Quite honestly, it looked impressive.

Rouge had a little bit of everything on her plate, and was currently digging into a buttery baked potato like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Omega silently put his napkin next to her plate, the (sarcastic) message clear: You need this more than I do.

Shadow, meanwhile, had taken a little fruit, one piece of meat, and two slices of bread, but seemed very hesitant to eat much more than that. He looked to be quite invested in a conversation that several of the adults were having about their own teenage experiences, often leaning in slightly when a funny story came up.

Omega mostly kept an eye on his friends, while also half listening to the children talk about the latest video game that had become popular. It seemed to contain lots of fighting combined with some impressive storytelling, and the robot made a note of the game title for his own use later.

However, as he checked on Rouge again, making sure she hadn’t choked on her food, he noticed that she had left her plate to the side in favor of talking to her family about...wait.

Omega knew this story.

This was a story where he was walking through the halls of an abandoned underground hideout for a highly sophisticated ring of criminals (an assignment for their entire team). In which said diabolical criminals had installed multiple traps designed to keep people out. And these traps. Included magnets. That specifically messed up artificial intelligence.

Omega’s memory had been severely impaired by the event, but Shadow and Rouge told him later that they had discovered him stumbling around the main hub of the base, rambling out loud about things as ridiculous as current weather patterns and- he shuddered internally- kittens. He was eternally grateful for this memory loss, though, as the two had apparently, instead of taking this seriously, dissolved into helpless laughter on the spot.

Of course, they had taken him to Tails to get fixed up. But not until after Rouge had filmed another five minutes or so of him acting absolutely loopy while their laughter, punctuated with the occasional gasp for breath, filled the background.

And she was just getting to the part where they found him now-!

The E-series robot shot out of his chair and clamped a hand over Rouge’s mouth, turning his volume low and hissing “Don’t you dare.” in her ear.

Unfortunately, this only added to everyone else’s interest, as Rouge began to cackle loudly at Omega’s evident embarrassment and her memory of the event. “Tell us! Tell us!” Camellia (Rouge’s stepmother) cried out, clapping her hands and looking for all the world like a child who had just been handed a chocolate bar.

“Help me, Shadow!” Rouge shouted through the steel grip on her face, slurring her words with laughter. The hybrid, happy to take a break from the crowded room and equally happy to shame Omega, pried the robot off of Rouge and somehow managed to drag him out of the room as everyone now leaned in to hear her finish the story.

“So we were really worried, right? Since we hadn’t heard anything? And then we-”

Shadow shut the door on her voice and smirked at Omega, but there was a tinge of real happiness in his expression. “It’s alright, Omega. She doesn’t actually want you to feel bad, you know.”

“That’s what you say.” he scoffed. “Rouge isn’t in there telling them about the time you didn’t eat for a month on a mission and then binge-”

“Alright, alright!” Shadow groaned. “I get it, but let’s let her have fun, alright? This is her family, after all.”

“Fine.” Omega grumbled. “But I will get you back for this.”

“Sure you will.” Shadow raised an eyebrow at him.

This led to a fierce staring match/arm-wrestling battle and subsequent argument over who won, immediately followed by Omega pulling out his phone and the two watching a recently popular obstacle course show. Of course, they both agreed that they could do far better than any of the contestants.

Eventually, though, as the evening wore on, the two joined back up with Rouge to head to their room. Shadow took a hot shower while Rouge changed into her favorite pajamas- they were soft and white with little pink hearts all over (her favorite colors).

She yawned loudly just as the hybrid walked in, already wrapped in a blanket and pulling on some plain black nightwear. He didn’t really need it, but his fifty-year stint in what was essentially a superpowered freezer had left him with a distinct dislike for the cold.

Omega had already plugged into the outlet and begun to charge, but yet…”Why don’t I get a blanket?”

“What the heck d’ you want one for?” Rouge muttered, already exhausted.

“Well, you both have them.” he muttered sulkily, glowering at them from his corner of the room.

The bat opened up the closet in the room, looking up at the top shelf. “Shadow, c’mere. I can’t reach this thing by myself.”

He walked over quickly, not appearing to be tired at all. Omega, as always, knew better, and saw the fatigue from the long day that he tried to hide behind his “Ultimate Lifeform” title.

Rouge jumped onto his shoulders in a practiced movement, snatching a pale purple fluffy blanket from the shelf and flinging it half-heartedly at Omega. “There’s your blanket.” she declared, before jumping straight from Shadow to her bed.

She settled into her usual sleeping position, with her feet hooked over the headboard and her face and pillow about halfway down the bed. It wasn’t a typical behavior for most, but she was a bat, after all. “‘Night, guys.” she murmured, already half asleep.

Shadow carefully lifted his blankets and slid under them, trying to keep them as neat as possible. The hedgehog shifted into a half-curled position, displaying his quills to the world and protecting his vulnerable legs and chest. “Sleep well, Rouge. Goodnight, Omega.” he said softly, still trying to stay awake.

“Good night.” the robot replied.

Omega kept an eye on his teammates, the room lit only by a patch of moonlight from the window. He listened to Rouge’s slight snoring, and watched as Shadow’s eyes slowly closed and his breathing evened out.

The robot was always cautious about shifting into his own form of ‘sleep’, but reminded himself that this was not enemy territory. This was Rouge’s family’s house, and they were all safe.

Still, he watched his friends sleep peacefully for a while longer. Then, he selected low power mode from his menu of choices and allowed his eyes to go dark.

#shadow the hedgehog #rouge the bat #e 123 omega #team dark #team dark: a holiday special #thought i'd give rouge a big family to make up for shadow & omega having none #she still had a rough childhood though...#:(#90% of omega's 'contingency planning' was definitely fantasizing about awesome battle scenes #shadow is moderately sad as always #hope you enjoyed!!#sol's fanfiction

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elizabeethan · 4 years

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Now Belongs To You

The final installment of It’s About Bloody Time

Find the rest of the series on Ao3 or Tumblr

Summary: Emma liked being pregnant in the winter. She often finds herself boiling, so she welcomed the cold Maine air to cool her down. Now that it’s late-April and she’s almost 35-weeks pregnant, though, she’s a bit miserable.

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has given this monster a chance! I so didn’t anticipate a quick smutty one shot to grow into a 52k word beast. Keep an eye out for additions; I have about 4 or 5 extras that I want to include in this universe and I’m not opposed to prompts

Emma liked being pregnant in the winter. She often finds herself boiling, so she welcomed the cold Maine air to cool her down. Now that it’s late-April and she’s almost 35-weeks pregnant, though, she’s a bit miserable.

April in Maine shouldn’t be this hot. In fact, it isn’t very hot. There was still snow on the ground a week ago. Killian still wears his long leather pants, button downs, and leather jackets every day and never complains of the heat. Her mother is still wearing sweaters and thick tights. She hasn’t seen her dad in short sleeves since last August. But here Emma lies in their living room—no, in Killian’s living room—in a black maternity cami and workout shorts with a tower fan pointed directly at her.

She isn’t sure how she’ll survive the next 5 weeks if the temperature keeps rising. Someone should do something about that.

She told Killian that she would finally pick out an accent color for the baby’s room today while he was out with David picking up the crib, but she can’t seem to get herself off the couch. She barely sleeps more than two hours at a time each night, her little bambino taking any and every opportunity to practice their gymnastics routine on her bladder, ribs, and lungs, so she takes any chance she can to nap. Killian keeps referring to his many apps to try and give her advice on how to combat her insomnia, but she thinks if she hears, “maybe some warm milk, darling,” one more time, she’ll snap, and her baby will be tragically born without a father.

Once she’s fully out of her sleep-induced brain fog, she hoists herself into a seated position, somehow, and reaches towards the coffee table where Killian left the paint swatches for her to peel over. It’s difficult to decide on a color when they still don’t know what they're having. The little yellow envelop still sits on the kitchen table, although it’s been shoved to the side in favor of mail and ultrasound pictures. For a while, she was tempted to open it up and find out who their little baby is, but Killian finally whispered into her neck one night that he thinks he wants to be surprised. The concept is nice, and far be it for her to ruin this for him, so she’s been going along with it.

Although, if she were to somehow find out, she wouldn’t be upset. It would probably make this whole nursery decoration thing a lot easier.

They decided together that they wanted the nursery to be nautical-themed. She figured it would be a cute and relatively gender-neutral way to decorate their baby’s first bedroom, and when she suggested it to Killian, his blue eyes lit up brighter than she’s ever seen them. The walls are still white, but she can’t decide if she wants to paint the wall with the window sky blue or a warm shade of gray.

“Hello, my darling,” her doting baby daddy greets gleefully as he enters through the front door, holding it open for David, who’s holding up a large and seemingly heavy box. Once the door is propped, he pulls the box while David pushes the other end, scraping it loudly against the textured tile floor until it’s inside.

“Hi.” The grin he wears is adorable as he rounds the coffee table and bends down to plant a kiss on her forehead.

“Good nap?”

She shrugs, laughing internally at the fact that he just knew she was napping despite the fact that she was doing dishes when he left. She watches him make his way back over to the box and quietly count to three before he and David hoist it and start walking towards the baby’s room. “This thing kept whacking me,” she says, gesturing towards her enlarged belly, “so I wasn’t able to sleep for long.” She finally stands from the couch and follows them into the nursery.

“Blasted child,” he grunts out, finally dropping the box to the floor with a slightly-too-loud crash as Emma winces.

“I think I want gray,” she tells him, hugging her dad with one arm once he’s catches his breath and stands up. “On the wall.”

“That’s a good idea,” David says in agreement. “Where are your scissors?”

“Next to the stove. It’s a nice gender-neutral color, don’t you think? I thought blue would be good but what if it’s a girl?”

“I believe that in this realm, girls can also like the color blue, but gray is a lovely choice as well, Swan. We can run out for the paint and start it tonight while your father’s still here.”

She smiles at him, striding over as best she can with her crampy calves protesting, and wraps her arms around the back of his neck. “Sounds like a good plan.”

He hums and smiles down at her, swooping in to press a gentle, chaste kiss to her lips. “I hope you at least got a bit of sleep. Little pineapple needs you well rested.”

She laughs lightly at his remark. Each week, he checks his pregnancy apps to see how big the baby is, and he then spends the week referring to it by whatever comparison he likes best. This week, it’s a pineapple. Killian had never tried one before, so they picked up a can during their weekly grocery haul, and he loved it. She can’t wait until they're able to get some fresh. “They're gonna have to cool it with the hip hop, then. I don’t even know how there’s any space left in there.”

“Aye, well, you now have more baby than amniotic fluid, so their movements are feeling sharper. Less of a— what was the word they used? — less of a cushion.”

“Is that why I saw a hand earlier, doctor Jones?”

“Did you?” he laughs excitedly, kissing the tip of her nose as he often does.

She nods, taking his hand off her hip and pressing it softly into the bottom of the left side of her bump. She often found that giving a few light taps encouraged the baby to tap back. Sure enough, the little turd gives his or her dad an enthusiastic high five. “This kid will not stop moving. We’re gonna have to enroll them in all the sports.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “Perhaps some rum on the pacifier will calm him down once he’s here.” He raises his brows in quick succession.

“Killian!” she swats at his chest.

“No one is giving my grandchild rum until they’re at least 35.” She spins back to the door, smiling still as her dad enters and starts to cut away at the excessive packaging. “Killian, I was thinking you could go grab the paint while Emma and I work on the crib, what do you say? Mom will be here soon so we can start painting once you're back.”

“Sounds reasonable, mate.”

“Ugh, forgot my drill in the truck. I’ll be right back.”

Killian walks around Emma so that he’s facing her again, brushing away a strand of hair that fell out of her top knot. “Which swatch was it, love?”

“It’s called Dolphin Fin.”

His face twists. “Nasty buggers, if you ask me.”

“But they do make a nice wall color.”

He chuckles and presses a soft kiss to her mouth, barely slinking his tongue along her bottom lip. “I’ll be back.”

“Okay, thanks. Love you.”

He freezes. Emma freezes.

What the hell? Did she seriously just say that?

He said it weeks ago. Months ago. She still hasn’t found it in herself to say it back, no matter how many times she’s thought it. Archie says she’s scared that if she admits it aloud, it makes it real, and it means that she risks losing him.

Too late to consider that now, she supposes.

Her heart is racing and her palms are sweating; the baby even stills it’s wiggles in her stomach, as if to say mom, what the hell are you doing?

He squeezes her shoulder after a moment of silence, and it’s as if he needed the time to take in what she said before he can respond. “Aye,” he says softly, more quietly than ever. “I love you, too, Emma.”

She already knew this, but that knowledge doesn’t stop the doubts as she asks, “really?”

“I thought it was rather obvious,” he laughs, “considering I’ve already told you.”

She laughs now too, tipping forward slightly (and not gracefully—she’s so front-heavy that once she starts going, she is physically incapable of stopping), pressing her forehead into his collarbone and breathing in the soothing scent of leather and new cologne. “I haven’t really said it to anyone since… well, it’s been a long time.”

“Aye,” he replies, running a hand down her back and pulling her as close to him as the bump will allow. “For me, too. It’s alright, darling. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere. Not even if you try and force me away.”

“I won’t,” she says against his skin. “And I… I love you, too.” It comes out in a whisper, and she’s never felt so scared and excited in her life—with perhaps the exception of learning that she was pregnant. With a man whom she loves.

She hears the squealing buzz of the drill coming from down the hall and lets Killian gently press on her shoulders to help her to an upright position.

“I’ll be back, Swan.”

She smiles as David enters the room and makes his way back towards the crib. “Oh, Killian!” Emma calls. He turns at the door and hums, raising a brow at her. “We’re out of Cheez-Its.”

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles as he makes his way into the hall. “How?”

“Thank you!”

~~~~

“This is a nice one,” David says once the crib is finished. Emma’s been wrestling with getting the fitted sheet over the little mattress for at least five minutes now, and it’s honestly ridiculous for her to be struggling this much. “You can adjust the height of the mattress as the baby gets bigger.”

She nods, finally succeeding over the damn thing and passing it towards her dad so that he can plop it into the crib.

“I do have good taste, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “About that…”

“Uh oh,” she retorts awkwardly, “am I in trouble?”

He chuckles, walking over to her once the mattress is in place to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Quite the opposite, actually. It seems like you two are in a really good place.”

She nods, smiling as she leaves the nursery and makes her way to the kitchen for some water. All she can hear in the back of her mind is, “must stay hydrated, Swan.”

“We are.”

“I must say, it took a bit for me to get over my reservations about the pirate.”

“Oh, I remember how long it took,” she says, thinking back to her birthday and how much her father distained the idea of her inviting him.

“It may have taken a bit,” he continues pointedly, “but you two are going to be fantastic parents.”

She won’t cry, honest. “Thanks. We… well, we’re really excited. Everything happened kind of out of order, but we’re happy where we are, I think.”

“I can see that. And I'm sorry I ever pushed you towards Neal.” She nods. “If I had known last year what I know now…”

Before she can argue with him that they’ve already had this conversation, the door opens and Mary Margaret steps inside, carrying grocery bags filled with dinner ingredients.

Emma’s violent aversion to meatballs has subsided, and now she can’t get enough. They have at least a dozen in the freezer, but she still requested them for dinner tonight.

“Hi honeys!” Mary Margaret calls as David takes a bag out of her hand and guides her into the kitchen area.

“Hey,” Emma responds before making her way to the table just outside of the kitchen and taking a seat. She picks up the closest ultrasound printout and smiles at the baby’s strong profile.

Killian and David are wrapping things up in the nursery, almost finished painting with the door shut so that she wasn’t exposed to the fumes, and Mary Margaret closes the oven once the tray of meatballs are formed and placed on the rack.

“Oh, Emma, I just can’t wait to meet this little one,” her mother says over her shoulder, placing a gentle hand on the top of her belly.

“Me too,” she says with a grin. Her mother takes a seat next to Emma and pours herself a glass of wine.

“I have had a heck of a week. It’s like all of the kids pooled money for an espresso machine.”

“You're still liking being back at school though?”

“Oh, I’m loving it. It’s like being back where I belong.” Emma smiles and nods, waving in front of her at a fly that decided to make an appearance. “The nursery is going to be so cute, sweetie. Killian must love the theme.”

“Yeah, he does. I was mostly his idea. He wanted,” she swats at the air again, “damn fly. He wanted to raise the kid on the Jolly Roger without actually endangering them at sea.”

“So thoughtful. He’s gonna be a great dad.” Mary Margaret brushes her hand through the air too as the fly invades her space.

“He already is.”

“I know we’ve sort of had this discussion already, but—”

“Mary Margaret—”

“Just hear me out. Please?” Emma nods, giving her consent to continue. “Neal is a great father to Henry; I can’t doubt that. Ever since he came into his life, I’ve seen nothing love and care towards his son.”

“I know.”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that what he did to you 12 years ago is unforgiveable.” Emma nods in agreement. “And your father and I, mainly me, trying to push you towards him before we knew why you were so hesitant about him being back is unforgiveable.”

“Mary Margaret…”

“I’m not saying this because I want your pity or your forgiveness. I want you to know that I’m sorry. That I see the fault in my behavior, and I want to make up for it. I’ll never stop trying to be the best person that I can for you, Emma. I hope that Neal does the same for Henry. And I know that you and Killian will do the same for your child.” She pauses for a breath and a sip of wine, swatting at the fly again before continuing. “It’s something that doesn’t always come naturally to some parents, and I was honestly worried about Killian at first, but I can see now that it is coming naturally to him, and I’m so happy that the two of you are getting the opportunity to raise a child together. I wish I had accepted these feelings months ago.”

Emma isn’t really sure what to say. They’ve talked briefly about her past with Neal over the last few months, mostly about how Emma’s working on getting past it. Emma even brought Mary Margaret to a session with Archie once. But she’s never really heard the depth of emotions that her mother was experiencing.

“Thank you… that means—”

Mary Margaret swats a bit too animatedly and bumps her hand into her glass of wine, causing it to topple over and spill onto the table. “Oh shoot!” she jumps, reaching for the soiled mail as Emma heaves herself up for some paper towel. “I’m sorry, honey, let me get this.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“Oh, this is soaking through the paper. I’m so sorry. Can I take this stuff out of their envelopes? I don’t want whatever’s inside to get ruined.”

Emma nods as she rips a few pieces of paper from the roll.

Maybe she should’ve said no, though.

“Just a few bills and ads and other junk,” she says as she quickly discards of the wine-soaked envelopes. It’s all well and good until Emma’s making her way back to the table, rounding the kitchen island, and sees Mary Margaret tearing open that small yellow envelope.

“Wait!” she shouts, holding up a hand and hurrying over to the table, but it’s too late. Or, she’s incapable of moving any faster.

Mary Margaret gasps. So does Emma.

Written on the small piece of paper that her mother pulls out is the four-letter word Emma’s been thinking about for months.

GIRL, it says, with a bold line drawn underneath, as if the technician was excited to write it down.

“Oh my.” Her mother’s eyes blow wide.

“Oh my god,” Emma whispers, placing her hands over her mouth before thinking better of it and sliding them over her bump. Over her baby girl. “Oh my god.”

“Emma…” Mary Margaret starts, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was in here!”

“Mom,” Emma laughs, tears pricking her eyes, and whispers, “it’s alright.”

“You’ve…” she walks over to Emma, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve never called me that before, not really.” Mary Margaret’s eyes are glossy, too.

She laughs out a soft sob, brushing the tears from her cheeks. “It’s a girl.”

Mary Margaret nods, pulling her daughter in for a hug as tight as the two of them can manage. “Do you have any names?”

“No!” Emma laughs out again, sniffling. “Killian didn’t want to know, and I haven’t been thinking about it much. You won’t tell him, right?”

“No! It’s—”

“All set, Swan, you're allowed in the room in a week!” Killian calls from down the hall, making his way into the kitchen. She crumples up the paper she’s holding and shoves it between her boobs. Ouch.

She sniffles once again and spins around, too quickly so that she gets a little uneasy on her feet, smiling at him. “Thank you.” Mary Margaret takes the paper towels from her grip and brushes it over her own cheeks before she starts to blot up the wine.

“No worries, Swan, you don’t need to cry over spilt wine,” he says, walking to her and kissing her forehead before taking the reddened towels from her mother.

~~~~

She hit 36 weeks of pregnancy on Tuesday, and when wakes up from her nap the following Sunday, it’s to round ligament pain, cramps in her legs, her esophagus essentially on fire, and gas… oh god, the gas. Poor Killian.

“It’s really just the most contemptable thing, my love. Peter Pan was perhaps the most treacherous foe your daddy has ever faced. Well, aside from your mother on that damn bean stock.”

“You better not be soiling my baby’s image of her mother,” she says groggily with her eyes still shut. Her breath catches as she inadvertently discloses the sex of the baby, but Killian thinks nothing of it.

“Could be a boy,” he responds, and damn him for stealing her line.

She smirks, because no she couldn’t, but looks down at him. When she opens her eyes, she sees that he’s holding the copy of Peter Pan that she gave him for Christmas, his head resting on the pregnancy pillow that replaced him weeks ago next to her thigh, and he’s reading to her again.

He’ll be the best dad.

“You should be getting up soon, love. Regina still wants to take you to lunch.”

“I can’t believe that. When has she ever shown any interest in spending time with me?”

He shrugs, his shoulder bumping into her leg, and presses a gentle kiss to the bottom of her belly, close to where the baby’s head is resting.

A thought dawns on her then, fueled by his refusal to answer her. “It’s not a shower is it? It better not be a shower.”

“You could take a shower, I guess. But I think you smell nice.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s a Sunday afternoon three weeks before my due date, Killian. If it’s a shower, I’ll kill you.”

“Please don’t threaten me with physical violence in front of my son,” he says seriously, and she laughs.

“Could be a girl.”

“Could be.”

~~~~

It was a shower.

Regina picked her up at 1:30 and drove her straight to town hall. She didn’t even try to disguise it.

“This was your mother’s idea,” she tells her apathetically as she parks in her front spot. Emma is glad to have such a short distance to walk, or should she say, waddle.

The hall is decorated similarly to how the nursery is, ornamental ropes and netting and shells scattered along the tables and blue and pink streamers cascading from the ceiling.

Everyone she’s ever known is there, and while she thought she would hate the attention, she’s actually happy to see all of the friends she’s made since arriving in Storybrooke. Even Anna and Elsa made their way over via portal from Arendelle.

Her mother also provided snacks and desserts, and Emma couldn’t be happier to have a big bowl of Cheez-Its sat in front of her for the entire party. There are also onesie decoration stations, polls for guessing the due date and gender, and plenty of games to keep everyone busy before cake and gifts. The cake was beautiful; Granny somehow created one in the shape of a ship’s wheel. Emma doesn’t cry, she doesn’t.

The guests for most of the shower are women, but at the end, David, Henry, and Killian arrive to say hello to everyone and help to pack up. She received so many things that she didn’t think she would need, but her parents also gave her the things she had planned on buying herself, like the stroller and car seat she’s been looking at.

She doesn’t cry. Really.

“Hi baby,” Killian says, bending to kiss the top of her belly, and then, “hi baby mama,” as he stands straight and kisses her chastely.

She laughs, taking his face between her two hands and kissing him back with a bit more heat, slipping her tongue against his and pulling his hair. There were a few weeks there when she didn’t really feel like sex, but for some reason that she isn’t questioning, her drive is back. Her doctor says it’s healthy, so she’s taking that knowledge and running with it.

“Easy tiger,” he says, “we’ve got company.”

She hums out a laugh, leaning her forehead against his. “Just hoping to induce labor. I don’t know how I’ll survive another three weeks and two days.”

He snorts and ignores her statement in favor of asking, “where would you like us to bring the gifts, my love?”

She grins at his addition of the word my and shrugs. “Home, I guess,” she teases.

“Your home or mine?”

Did she seriously forget that they don’t actually live together? Seriously?

“Oh, um…” she starts, taking a moment to consider her answer. There are so many things she could say. She could tell him to send the things to his house. To the baby’s house, because honestly, she knows that’s where the baby is living. But instead of being blasé about the situation, she thinks about what Archie would say. About how she could start putting herself and her needs first, without worrying about the consequences that she makes up in her own head. So, she softly says, “ours,” and looks at him timidly.

“Ours,” he repeats, breathing out a laugh and shaking his head lightly. “Really?”

She nods. “I think… well, I want to live with you. Officially. I know everything in life is uncertain, but I know for sure that I want to live with you and the baby. Full time. That is… if you—if you want that.”

There could have been a more romantic time or place to have this conversation. Her family and friends are running around trying to pack, she’s eaten more cake in the last hour than she cares to disclose, and she’s trying really hard to hold in a fart. But something about this feels right, and when she sees the grin that splits his face in two, she knows that she made the right call.

“Well, when you put it like that, I would love to live with you,” he says, leaning in towards her and kissing her so gently and passionately that she can feel it in her toes. He tries to pull her in closer, but the child between them makes it pretty difficult, so he laughs into their kiss and rubs his hand along the side of her bump. “Shall I tell Dave to move your things into your new abode, my darling?”

She laughs and swats at his chest before leaning in to kiss him once more. “That sounds perfect, baby daddy.”

~~~~

Emma’s been in labor before. She knows the difference between Braxton Hicks and actual contractions, but each time she stops where she stands and rubs her belly, breathing deeply, Killian rushes over and asks if it’s time. She knows he’s excited, and he seems pretty calm, but it for some reason, that agitates her.

“No, god dammit,” she would hiss, gritting her teeth through it, trying to shake it off. She knows that if it goes away when she moves, she’s in the clear. He doesn’t ever seem to know how to respond to her outbursts, so he just kisses her temple and goes back to what he’s doing. Usually, he’s getting her a snack.

At a few days shy of 39 weeks, she supposes she could be in a much worse mood.

She’s moved past the nesting stage and straight into obsessive planning and cleaning. She’s made Killian rearrange the nursery at least four times, moved the position of the bassinet in their bedroom twice, and has yet to decide what side she wants the car seat installed. At least he’s now had plenty of practice on how to properly install it.

The worst part is how anxious she is. She wants this baby to come out more than anything—revels in the idea of finally meeting the tiny life they’ve created. She wants to meet her daughter. But she also wants to keep her safe. How is she supposed to keep her baby safe if she isn’t inside her? She’s built a lovely home for this kid over the last 9 months, thank you very much.

So, every time she has a Braxton Hicks contraction, she panics a bit. Because as much as she wants to give birth and not be 9 months pregnant anymore, she’s absolutely terrified of the idea.

Sometimes, though, the late-term pregnancy symptoms are worse than the thought of staying pregnant forever. She could do without lightening crotch and weird discharge for the rest of her life and be perfectly content.

It’s her turn to consult the apps, searching for ways to encourage labor when the heartburn and pelvic pain become too much to bear, and while walks and exercise balls are nice ideas, her favorite suggestion is sex.

Killian was nervous when she started coming on to him, but he seems to enjoy himself based on the way he runs his hand along her body, presses his mouth against her heated skin, and tucks his throbbing erection tightly into her from behind and comes with a long, deep moan.

When they're finished and she’s panting with her knees and face pressed into the mattress and her ass in the air, she sighs. “Still nothing.”

“It’s not time yet, love,” he says soothingly to her left, running his hand along her arched back and landing it on her ass. “You can’t be comfortable like this.”

With her belly hanging down and resting against the mattress, she’s surprisingly comfortable, the pressure finally releasing from her hips, but she’s going to have lines pressed into her face if she doesn’t move soon.

“It’s almost time, though. I’m literally going insane over here. I can barely breathe from the heartburn and these huge feet shoving into my lungs. Can’t she just pop out a little early?”

“While I would love to be able to prove you wrong sooner rather than later, I think that he is enjoying his time in the safety of your womb, my love.”

She snorts at his insistence and flops over onto her side so that her back is pressed to his front, his hand sliding around her to hold her huge belly.

“I’ll be full term on Tuesday. They can come out any time they want.”

“That’s still three days away, and then you’ll only be 39 weeks.”

“I can deliver at 39 weeks. I was 37 with Henry.”

His small strokes slow when he asks, “were you?”

She nods against his chest, feeling her eyes getting heavy and her breathing finally evening out a bit. “Can you get my pillow? I think I might actually fall asleep tonight.”

“It’s only 7:30.” She shrugs. “Of course, Swan.” He chuckles lightly, kissing the back of her neck and pulling away, replacing his missing body heat with a blanket and tucking her pillow between her knees.

When she wakes to a professional dance routine just before eleven, it’s to their empty bed, the soft glow of a light down the hall illuminating her path as she gets up. As she makes her way to the bathroom, she feels a warm trickle starting down her legs and suspects that her water must be breaking, and she nearly squeals in excitement.

Then she panics, because labor and delivery is no walk in the park, but she tries to focus on the fact that her baby is on her way.

In a few hours, she’ll get to meet her daughter. Their daughter.

How is she going to raise a kid from day one? Henry was easy, all the hard work was done for her and she was left with an awesome 10-year-old. This one is all on her, though.

Well, on them. Archie would ask her why she feels the need to burden solely herself.

Shit, they should’ve discussed names more seriously.

No way is she naming her child Gertrude.

Once she’s cleaned up both herself and the floor (as best she can by rubbing a towel against it with her foot), she knows she should be heading to the hospital soon to ward off infection or illness, but she also knows that she has a long road ahead of her, so she first heads out to the living room and grabs her phone from where she left it on the couch and shoots a text first to her mother, and then to Ruby.

“Swan?” she hears from the nursery. She starts to smile, but then she feels what she assumes is the start of a contraction and she stops in her place. The pressure and pain on her back and belly are strong, starting from the top of her bump and rolling down in a wave, but it’s over pretty quickly, so she isn’t too worried. Of course, Killian is worried, though. “Swan!”

“It’s—”

“Is it time? It’s too early! The baby isn’t done cooking yet, there’s still a week to go!”

“No,” she breathes out as she sits down on the couch, bringing him with her. “It’s okay, the baby is almost full term. If they're ready, they're ready.”

“it’s too soon, Swan. I thought we would have another week.”

“What difference is a week going to make?” she snaps, calming her voice as she continues. “It’ll just be more baby for me to push out. I’m perfectly okay with delivering now.”

This was new. Usually Killian was the cool and collected one of the two of them, but it appears he’s currently losing his mind over this. “I can’t…” he starts, his eyes darting in every direction and his brows practically hidden under his thick hair. “What if I can’t do it?”

“Killian…”

“I was… I didn’t have a father. Not really. How the bloody hell am I supposed to know how to be one myself? I’m no role model for a young lad.”

“You already are a father, Killian. You’ve been the most amazing dad to this baby since the minute you found out about them,” she sooths, taking his hand in hers and drawing it to her lips to kiss his knuckles.

“What if it is a boy, and I raise him to be like me?

“That wouldn’t be so bad, but—”

“Like the worst version of me?”

“No, baby, that’s not—”

“Swan, I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. I can’t raise a child— I can’t raise a son.” He’s practically in tears, and she can feel his hand shaking in her grasp as his breath catches in his throat.

“Killian,” she says more firmly because, let’s face it, she doesn’t have much time for breakdowns here, and she grabs his cheeks between her hands. “There is not a doubt in my mind that you are, and will continue to be, the most amazing father that this baby could ever dream of having. You and me… we understand each other, remember? Neither of us know what it’s like to be raised by loving parents. But it’s a challenge that we’re going to face together. We get a chance to love this kid the way we wish we had been.”

He can’t seem to meet her eyes with his, either because he doesn’t want to, or because he worries that if he moves them the tears that are threatening to fall will begin to cascade down his cheeks. Something dawns on her then, though, and she realizes that the thought of having a son is weighing heavily on him. Before she can consider whether it’s a good idea or not, she opens her mouth. “I know you don’t think you're capable of being a father, but… well, that ship has sailed, Hook, and your daughter’s on it and waiting for you to jump on.”

He freezes, finally looking her in the eyes as the tears roll down. “My what?”

Emma smiles, running her hand gently along his cheek before leaning in to kiss his lips tenderly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to spoil the surprise, but I thought it might be helpful for you to know.”

He shakes his head and lets out a breath, saying, “it’s a girl?”

“I found out by accident a few weeks ago,” she nods, her nose rubbing along his. “Are you mad at me?”

He laughs breathily and kisses her, shaking his head. “How could I ever be mad at you?”

“I know, right?” she jokes, but this conversation has gone on for too long, and she feels the wave of another contraction starting. She forgot to check the time after the last one, so she isn’t able to tell how close together they are, but she knows more will come for her to track. “Ugh,” she says, breathing as deeply as she can. “What time is it?”

“11:16.”

“Count,” she demands. She continues to breathe deeply through circled lips as he sits by her quietly and rubs her knuckles with his thumb. “Okay,” she breathes out finally.

“That was about 26 seconds.”

“From when I told you to start counting?”

“Aye.”

She figures it’s safe to add 10 seconds and takes out her phone to mark it down. “We should go. I could still talk through that one, but my water broke, so I have to go to the hospital.”

“Your water broke? When?”

“When I woke up. Don’t worry, I cleaned it. Can you get the baby’s bag from the nursery, and mine from the closet? And don’t forget yours, too.”

~~~~

Her parents meet them at the hospital once they arrive, only after she shouted at Killian from the car about all of the things she thought she forgot. When they arrived, she realized she forgot deodorant, and it took a lot of convincing on Killian’s part to get her inside rather than turning the car around.

That doesn’t mean she didn’t send him to the gift shop to get her deodorant.

“How am I going to change a diaper with a hook for a hand?” Killian asks in another panic during one of her fiercer contractions, and she squeezed his good hand so hard she thinks she might break it.

“Fuck!” she shouts through it, then glares at him once it subsides. “I’ll magic your fucking hand back on if it’ll make you happy, okay? Fuck.”

She’s panting and sweaty, but she wanted to wait a bit before she got the epidural. She isn’t sure why the hell she would do that.

“Do you think that’s an option?” he asks as he rests the cool, damp cloth on her forehead, and she sighs.

“I don’t know, Killian, maybe. Maybe we can ask Regina.”

“Maybe Gold would know,” her father pipes in, and Emma rolls her eyes.

“You're not going anywhere near Gold, got it? He’ll probably just manipulate you until he gets what he wan—ahh, fuck.”

Another wave starts and she reaches for Killian’s hand again, drawing a grimace from him. The poor thing. He would probably have an easier time with this process if he could switch hands between contractions.

“The doctor will be in soon, my love,” he says once it passes as he kisses her temple. “She’ll check you again and then you can get your epi— your epi—epinephrin.”

She breathes out a laugh as she drops her head back to the pillow, panting and closing her eyes. “It’s an epidural. Fuck, you're so cute. I love you so much.”

He laughs now, kissing her cheek and running his crushed hand through her matted, sweaty hair. “I know you're just saying that because of all the hormones, but I love you too.”

“Sorry I keep yelling at you.”

“It’s alright, Emma, I still quite fancy you.”

“Sweetheart, do you need more ice chips?” She had honestly forgotten that her parents were in the room. She wasn’t planning on having them with her the whole time, but she thought she might want the extra moral support.

“No, I’m fine, but can you guys do something for me?” she asks, now fixated on the idea.

“Of course, anything.”

“Can you go ask Regina about Hook’s hand?”

~~~~

A beautiful baby girl is born at 7:22 on the morning of June seventh. She weighs eight pounds and four ounces, and she’s 19 inches long.

She’s absolutely perfect.

She comes out screaming and crying, but relatively easily otherwise, and the second that Emma hears her cries, she breaks down into sobs herself and reaches for her daughter. She’s placed on her bare chest shortly after her birth, with Killian resting his head against Emma’s and crying softly into her hair as he looks down at their baby.

Emma has never felt such bliss and joy in her entire life.

The last time she was in this position, she was broken. She had been heartbroken by the person she loved, whom she thought loved her. She had been betrayed by the system that was supposed to protect her.

Now, she has her family, a man she loves by her side, and her chubby, beautiful, flawless daughter in her arms.

She has almost no hair, just a few light whisps at the top of her head, and Emma suspects that she may inherit her blonde locks. She hasn’t been able to see much of her eyes yet, but she suspects that she has Killian’s.

Killian takes the baby from the nurses once she’s been weighed and measured and cleaned, and Emma notices that he’s removed his hook. The way he cradles her like she’s more impeccable than the most precious piece of treasure he’s ever pilfered makes her heart skip a beat.

She’s floating on a cloud, or perhaps on a ship, and she couldn’t be calmer and happier than she is now. Although, perhaps that’s also thanks to the hormones her body is emitting.

Her parents appear after a while and coo over the new bundle of joy as Emma rests her eyes. She’s soothed by the sounds of her mother and father doting over their grandchild and praising her parents for how beautiful and perfect she is.

A few moments later, Henry arrives and immediately give Emma a hug, making her tear up. He sits on the bed with her as Killian places the baby in his arms, encouraging him to support her neck the same way that he learned to. (“This YouTube is a wonderful thing, Swan.”)

Henry brings Emma flowers, and says that his dad helped him pick them out from the gift shop. It doesn’t bother her as much as she thinks it could have, knowing that he’s here, or at least dropped off their son. She sees the effort that he’s making and appreciates that he hasn’t been around to bother her in several months. Henry is their kid, like it or not, and if Neal continues to put him first and leave everything else out of their coparenting relationship, then maybe they can bury the hatchet one day. Again, though, perhaps that’s the oxytocin talking.

She was thrilled to see her family and to discuss the new light of her life, but when Ruby and Granny walk in with a greasy paper bag, she almost jumps from the bed and launches herself towards them. She thinks better of it, of course, and once her hands are clean, she trades Granny the baby for the grilled cheese and onion rings. She even feels generous and shares a few with Henry.

Granny hugs Killian tighter than she’s seen her hug anyone. She looks down at the sleeping baby and back up at Killian and has tears in her eyes. It’s genuinely the most unexpected, beautiful relationship Emma may have seen in Storybrooke.

Regina makes a brief appearance when she comes to pick Henry up later and takes a quick look at their baby girl with a smile on her face. She wishes them congratulations and tells them that she’s beautiful, as if they didn’t know already.

In the late afternoon, when everyone has blessedly left and Emma starts to breastfeed their daughter again, Killian speaks from the chair next to her bed for what feels like the first time in hours.

“What are we going to call her, Swan?” He’s nearly whispering, the quietness of the room setting a soft and placid mood.

“I don’t know. She’s so beautiful and perfect, we need to find the perfect name.”

“So, Gertrude.”

“No!” If she was thinking clearly, she would know that he was joking.

He stands from the recliner and makes his way to sit at the side of her bed with her. He couldn’t stay away from the two of them, and she didn’t mind. “We’ll think of something, love,” he says with a kiss to her temple, then another to the tip of her nose, and then a final kiss to the top of the baby’s fuzzy head. “She looks like my mother.”

“Does she?”

He nods. “Just a bit. I think she may have my eyes.”

“I was hoping for that,” Emma says with a grin. The baby finishes eating and spits the nipple out, impatiently wiggling around until Emma can readjust her in her arms. Her behaviors in the womb seem to match those she’s displaying outside.

He kisses Emma’s head again, lingering his lips against her hair and breathing in deeply. “Did you just smell me?”

“Not intentionally, although you do smell delicious.”

“I’m sweaty!”

“Only because you just gave birth to the most beautiful being in all the realms. That makes you smell nice.”

“Shut up,” she laughs. “Don’t make me curse at you in front of my daughter.”

“Corrine,” he blurts out suddenly and with no preamble.

“Corrine?”

“Aye, Corrine.”

“It’s…” she looks down at the baby again, at her soft cheeks and sloped nose and her closed, puffy eyes, and smiles. “It’s perfect. How did you come up with it?”

He shrugs, dropping a kiss to her shoulder this time. “You just kept saying ‘we have to think about names, Killian’, so I thought about names. Didn’t you?” He’s smirking at her, the cheeky bast—so and so.

“Not really,” she laughs. “I just knew I kind of wanted the middle name to be Ruth, after my dad’s mother.”

“Corrine Ruth. It’s rather fetching.”

“Corrine Ruth Jones,” she nods with a smile, looking down at her and running a finger along her fair brow.

Killian stills, his jaw stiffening against her head. “Jones?” he asks tightly.

“What, now you’re questioning her paternity?” The baby, Corrine, opens her eyes and looks up to Emma as if to confirm that she is most definitely a Jones. Or perhaps to tell her to be quiet, she’s trying to nap.

“No,” he says softly, touching a finger to the silky skin of Corrine’s cheek and nose. “No, look at these eyes,” he laughs. “I just didn’t realize… I know that in your realm, it’s customary to give a child it’s father’s surname, but I also know that tradition is fading in popularity…”

She sighs contentedly, leaning her forehead against his and kissing his cheek. “I always wanted her to have your name. Jones is a little more dignified than the name I gave myself when I was ten, anyway.”

“I am a rather dignified fellow.” He laughs, and she nods. “Are you sure, love?” he asks with less confidence.

“Positive.”

~~~~

“Are you ready?”

“Aye.”

“Are you sure about this? You can still change your mind.”

“I’m sure, Swan.”

Corrine tuts happily in response from her rocker in the living room. At five weeks old, Emma and Killian have found that she’s happiest when she’s moving; she settles down almost immediately when being rocked or gently bounced, but as soon as the motion stops, she’s squirming and fussing just as she was in Emma’s stomach. They purchased a rather expensive rocker a few days after she was born and found it to be life changing.

“Is your daddy ready, angel? Is he?” Emma makes her way over to Corrine from the kitchen and coos at her. “Is he ready to have his hand back, baby girl? Hmm?” She responds in kind with a kick and a contented blubber, and Emma can’t resist unstrapping and picking her up to smack a succession of kisses to her chubby cheeks and still bald head. She was born with some extra fat around the edges, and after just over a month, she’s put on plenty more. She’s a very, very good eater.

“I’m ready, love. Think about how much easier your life would be if I could change a poopy diaper on my own.” Never in her life did Emma think she would hear Captain Hook utter the phrase poopy diaper, never mind want to change one himself.

“Okay, I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do this, you know? This has been a part of you for years.”

“Aye, I know, darling, but… Captain Hook is no more. He’s retired, if you will. I want to move on with my life; from that time in my life.”

She nods, understanding what he means. When they discovered from Regina that Emma should have the ability to return his lost limb, they thought long and hard about it. Killian was quiet for the last few weeks as he seemed to consider his options, but after not too long, he told her that this is what he wants. “I want to hold my daughter with both hands, love.” Emma was the one to put it off, nervous to mess it up.

Now, though, they have the disturbing jar from Gold’s shop, courtesy of Belle, sitting on their kitchen table, and she’d like to get the ominous Halloween decoration away from their baby sooner rather than later. “Ugh,” she says. “I can’t believe he kept it.”

She places Corrine back in her rocker and straps her in safely before making her way back to the kitchen, hesitant to look at the floating hand for too long. She thinks back to what Regina told her, delving into her magic as deeply as she can before it feels right. She waves her hand in Killian’s direction, feeling the magic flowing from her core in a string towards him.

Before she knows it, he’s raising his arm and wiggling the fingers of his left hand between them. “You did it, love, thank you,” he says with a smile. He walks to her and touches her cheek with his newly returned hand, grinning at her brightly as he lets it travel into her hair. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I met you.”

She leans into his touch before pressing a kiss to his palm, trying to ignore the fact that it was just in a jar of Rumpelstiltskin’s creepy magic water. “I love you,” she says, taking his hand in hers and leaning in to kiss his lips. “Now go pick up your daughter with that thing. I think it’ll change your life.”

“You're just saying that because, if my nose is correct, she needs a change,” he says, although his tone is far from annoyed.

She nods back at him, kissing him one more time before turning him around and pushing him towards her. “Maybe, but it’s your right as her father. One that you’ve been sorely missing out on over the last few weeks. I’m just looking out for you.”

“You always are, aren’t you, my love?” he asks, and once he’s undone her buckles, he wraps his hands around her middle, supporting her head with his left hand. He breathes out meaningfully once he pulls her from her seat and lifts her towards his face, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I never thought I’d be here,” he says softly, rocking her gently as he keeps his lips close to her cheek, his eyes closed.

“I know,” Emma says, making her way towards the two of them and rubbing one hand up his back and reaching the other around him to stroke a finger along her fuzzy bald head. “Me either.”

“You’ve given me so much, love. Everything I never knew I needed.” His voice is thick with emotion, and Emma can feel her own throat tightening. “There was a time centuries ago when I thought I wanted to be a father, but after everything… I just never thought it would happen. I never thought I’d be in a place where I was actually in love with the mother of my child.” She blushes at his evocative words, reaching her arms around his waist from behind him and pressing a kiss to his back between his shoulder blades. “I love you,” he says, turning in her arms. “Thank you.”

With Corrine starting to wiggle between them due to his stillness, he laughs lightly and begins to sway back and forth within Emma’s arms, and she reaches up onto her toes and kisses him softly.

Before she knows it, he’s leading her, somehow, in a gentle dance through the living room, softly humming some song she’s never heard before. Her eyes meet Corrine’s— they still match Killian’s— and she leans her forehead against his chest so that her face is just above their daughter’s. Even with the unfortunate smell suspended between the two of them, everything is perfect.

~~~~

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @profdanglaisstuff @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo

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hollyhomburg · 4 years

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Community Guidelines

Recently there have been a few scary things that have happened to me on this blog- people trying to steal my identity and shit like that, so To try to combat the number of crazies on this blog- I've decided that I need to be more liberal about who I allow to have access to this blog.

I don't like doing this- this is not my preferred way of being because I know a lot of people find comfort in my fanfic’s but in order to keep this around for everyone else, I need to start being less liberal with the kind of behavior I allow. I've been struggling with what to do as far as blocking people goes, and I've set up some things that I am uncomfortable with- things that I do not like to read.

if you have any questions about any of these rules and why they are rules please feel free to ask me on anon or comment below!

----------------------------

What you should be already doing every time you read a fic:

At the very base level- if you read fanfic from beginning to end you should comment and reblog. This is the base level of courtesy you can give a fanfic writer.

Likes are nice but they do NOTHING for a writer.

in fact, seeing someone like your fic can actually be more discouraging than encouraging. To me a like without a reblog kind of says “yeah I enjoyed this- but not enough to tell you what I thought or show other people”

The comment does not need to be long in order to encourage the writer and make them feel like they didn't write their piece for nothing.

short comments like “oh my god this was amazing!” “thank you for writing this” “this was a joy to read” or even just a string of emojis are better than radio silence.

in my mind commenting is just as good as leaving an ask, so if you don't feel comfortable commenting publicly on a fic- feel free to pop over to my ask box and hit anon!

my biggest piece of advice for you is to Think of fanfic like a good meal. a stranger invites you into their house for dinner- it would be incredibly rude to finish every plate and then leave without even saying thank you! Even just slapping a heart down on the table wouldn’t seem like enough would it?

But if someone was like “oh my god this is so good, can I have the recipe? i really loved the flavor! is it okay if I take a little back to my own house so I can share it with others?” you’d feel a lot better about cooking for a virtual stranger right?

writing a fanfic is like cooking food- only cooking takes arguably less time than writing a well thought out story.

-----------------------------

Comment Etiquette

Do not comment like the following, these are based on real comments ive received in the last few years. if you comment things like this- it may get you blocked.

“please update, I've been waiting 3 weeks for this”

“I don't like fic’s like this usually BUT”

“This would have been great if not for the grammatical errors”

“you should make a tag list for this, but you know im also not going to reblog or tell you what I thought- I just want more of it. GIVE ME MORE”

“Update Please”

“omg! Someone write this!” like I just did? sorry, it wasn’t enough for you?

------------------------

Ask Box Etiquette

I get kind of iffy about answering dm’s a bit, especially after recent events, so dropping an ask in my ask box is the best way to get me to respond.

No hate mail

Do not send me asks about updates or chainmail

I do not take requests- do not ask me to write a fic for you.

I do not have a beta reader and I do not want one. Do not approach me wanting to become my beta reader or an admin on this blog.

I get a lot of messages in my ask box, I don't have time to answer all of them. Please be understanding about this fact. I answer as many as I can!

--------------------------------

My general feelings on this blog:

I write. I spend a lot of my time writing, sometimes up to 40 hours for one post. i love writing, but im under no obligation to share it with you guys. it takes me a lot more time to make sure it’s properly edited and formatted for Tumblr than it would if i just kept them for myself. I don’t get paid in ads or kofi’s often. this is essentially a free service that I am providing for all of you.

So to have someone complain or ask for more, without giving me the base amount of respect or anything in return for my countless hours of work is incredibly rude and entitled. it makes me feel terrible and sometimes makes me unable to write. but People should know better and it's not my job to teach you how to be conscientious readers- Fanfic writers will leave their fandoms and stop writing if you do not properly appreciate them.

So yeah- in order to keep this place up and running and not totally decimate my mental health and drive to write- I’m going to block first and ask questions later.

let me make this absolutely clear: these fics are apart of my own narrative, these are my ideas and basically little slices of my soul, my insecurities, my daydreams that i share for all of you to see. People love to be all like “fanfic writers who act like people are fans of them and not the group they stan are so cringy” but I am a real person behind this blog, and if you follow this blog you follow me. I’m not going to shut up about the things that I want to talk about just because I run a fanfic blog.

Fanfic writers don’t become popular just because they creat fanfiction- they become popular because they make the world they love larger for others to also enjoy. This is no different than a fantasy writer taking inspiration from Tolkien, George RR martin, or Shakespeare (all of whom professionally wrote fanfiction- seriously check this article to read more).

And if you’re not prepared and mature enough to respect me just as much as you would a professional writer, this is not the place for you.

#long post #community guidelines #fanfiction community #bts fanfiction

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pepperedappels · 4 years

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SkekMal/Rek'yr Arranged Marriage AU

So I've had this AU in my head for a couple of days now but I've already got too much going on to actually write it so I'm just gonna stick it in a tumblr post

under the read more cuz this is long

So basically SkekSo decides that to strengthen their control over the Gelfling clans even more they will make each of the clans send a member of their respective Maudra's family to receive 'the high honor' of wedding one of their Lords.

The Skeksis need some convincing at first, most of them aren't exactly keen on the idea of being stuck with a Gelfling for an extended period of time but eventually they agree (if only because they know they can't go against their Emperor when he's come up with a new scheme). The only problem is none of them want to be married to a Dousan as they are known to be death worshipers.

Cue SkekSo deciding the Dousan bride will be gifted to SkekMal, if the Dousan enjoy death so much they will certainly get their fair share of it around the Hunter.

The Skeksis all have a good laugh at that, saying that the Dousan won't last a day with SkekMal. “In fact, the Hunter will probably kill them before the wedding night is through!”

Word is sent to the seven clans and plans for the upcoming nuptials are put into place.

SkekMal is none too pleased when he is summoned to the Castle only to be told he'll be marrying a Gelfling and a simpering little desert dweller to boot. He has no choice but to agree however, knowing that if he goes against the Emperor he will meet the same fate as the Heretic.

Meanwhile at the Crystal Desert the message has arrived with the Emperor's proclamation. Since Maudra Seethi has no siblings Rek'yr offers himself up for marriage in her place (it is my headcanon that Seethi and Rek'yr are cousins). She tries to convince him to change his mind but he won't. “You are Maudra, our people need you.”

Decision made Rek'yr sets off for the Castle the next day.

When he arrives at the Castle he finds the place in utter chaos, podlings and guards rushing about to get everything ready at the last minute. He's given directions to the throne room and takes his time getting there to explore the Castle for a bit.

The first Skeksis he encounters is Chamberlain.

“Dousan is here to be wed, yes? Come, come, Chamberlain will bring you to meet future husband! Hmmm.” Rek'yr follows until eventually they manage to locate the Hunter hiding out on a remote balcony.

“Ah, finally have found Hunter. Come, meet new bride, yes?”

SkekMal looks like he'd rather jump off the balcony but rises and walks over to tower over Rek'yr.

Rek'yr bows. “My Lord. It is an honor to meet you, I am Rek'yr of the Dousan clan, Sandma-- well, that is, *former* Sandmaster of the Southern Xeric.”

SkekMal just glares at him and turns to Chamberlain. “When will this whole charade be over with?”

“Tonight, hmmm. Gelfling and Skeksis wed tonight, is great celebration with large feast, yes.”

SkekMal growls and storms off without another word.

Rek'yr watches him go suddenly feeling a lot less certain about this whole thing after realizing the one he's supposed to be spending the rest of his life with clearly wants nothing to do with him.

“Hunter not most social of Skeksis, is pity. Come, Chamberlain take you to get ready, hmmm.”

Rek'yr is brought to a large room where he is whisked off by a couple of attendants to be bathed and dolled up for the ceremony and before he knows it he's brought to the throne room to get married.

The ceremony is over in a blur. Rek'yr and SkekMal stand across from each other, say their 'I do's' as the Emperor ties their hands together and then it is done. The moment SkekSo removes the strip of fabric binding their hands SkekMal storms off to stalk around at the edge of the room, his bad mood so palpable no one tries to approach him.

They are seated beside each other at the feast but the Hunter doesn't say a word to him all evening, just tears into his food and ignores all of Rek'yr's attempts at conversation.

The moment the Emperor announces they are free to retire for the rest of the evening (wishing them a very 'pleasant' night) SkekMal is gone, Rek'yr having to hurry to keep up with him as he follows him out of the Castle.

“Where are we going, my Lord?”

“Don't call me that.” SkekMal growls.

Rek'yr hesitates, then says, “...Husband.”

SkekMal whips around to glare at him. “Not that either!”

Rek'yr's brows furrow as he starts to get annoyed. “Then what should I call you?”

“Hunter.”

“You want me to call you by your title even though we are married?”

SkekMal scoffs, “Just because the Emperor forced me to go along with that damn charade doesn't mean anything to me, don't expect me to treat you any differently than the rest of your pathetic kind. Now keep up or I'm leaving you behind.”

Rek'yr silently follows behind the Hunter until they arrive at a cave. “Get in.”

Rek'yr walks in, looking around the rather spacious cave until his eyes land on the pile of furs that passes for a bed.

Rek'yr swallows, suddenly nervous. He's no virgin but SkekMal is practically a stranger to him despite the fact that they are now married. He's not exactly looking forward to this but he knows what is expected of him, knew it when he agreed to do this.

Rek'yr starts to take off his clothes when he is interrupted by SkekMal.

“What are you doing?”

Rek'yr gave him a look that said *isn't it obvious?* “...Undressing, my Lo... Hunter.”

“I have no interest in taking you against your will.” SkekMal says, turning to stoke a fire.

Rek'yr frowns, staring at the Hunter's back in confusion. “But... I am willing. It is our wedding night and it is expected that we--”

The Hunter is up and towering over him in an instant. “It is expected that I fuck you bloody until you can't even stand much less walk so you won't be able to run away, is that what you want?”

Rek'yr swallows. “No.”

“Then get on the bed and sleep.” SkekMal huffs, moving over to the other side of the cave and sitting against the wall.

After that outburst Rek'yr puts up no protest, crawling under the furs.

“What about you?” Rek'yr asks, feeling bad that he's taken the Hunter's bed when SkekMal could just as easily have made him sleep on the floor.

“I can pass the night without sleep, now be silent.”

Rek'yr looks at the Hunter for a long time before eventually closing his eyes, breathing in the scent of the Hunter's musk that lingered on the furs (which was actually quite pleasant).

“Goodnight, Hunter.”

SkekMal huffs and says nothing.

Of course they would eventually grow closer and start to fall for each other. It probably starts off with SkekMal going hunting and Rek'yr refusing to be left behind to sit around in the cave all day so he tags along.

SkekMal complains about it at first until he learns Rek'yr is a skilled tracker and hunter in his own right. Rek'yr never complains about the harsh pace the Hunter sets and doesn't get squeamish at the sight of the corpses SkekMal drags back, in fact Rek'yr even offers to help with them. It gets to a point where after a hunt SkekMal will wordlessly drop his latest kill at Rek'yr's feet and Rek'yr will skin the creature and take the meat to be prepared, leaving the bones for the Hunter to take his trophy from.

Sometimes Rek'yr will even take the bones the Hunter doesn't want to make into charms. The first time SkekMal sees Rek'yr stringing a handful of bones together intrigues him enough to ask what the Dousan is doing. Rek'yr explains what the charms are for, how the bones offer not just protection and strength but can also be used for things like health and luck. SkekMal is pleased Rek'yr is using his kills (though at this point he's unconsciously started referring to them as *their* kills) to make his own trophies.

Rek'yr offers to fashion him some charms and SkekMal doesn't refuse, wearing them with his other trophies.

So they settle into an almost domestic day to day life but even after they've been married for almost a full thrine they still haven't slept together. They both have feelings for each other but both are reluctant to take the first step.

Until one day while they're out on a hunt one or both of them gets a little too close to a creature's claws for comfort making them realize how close they came to almost losing the other and how they can't envision their life without them in it anymore.

They retire for bed in silence, both with heavy thoughts on their minds.

They've taken to sharing a bedroll (because Rek'yr insisted SkekMal shouldn't have to sleep on the floor about a week into their marriage) and as Rek'yr turns around to face SkekMal he finds the Hunter still awake and looking at him.

Their eyes meet and hold, something charged that has been building between them for unum finally reaching its breaking point. Rek'yr puts his hand on the Hunter's chest and starts to move it down slowly, giving SkekMal every chance to stop him.

He doesn't.

They undress each other without saying a word until they're both naked with Rek'yr on his back and SkekMal above him between his spread legs.

Before they can take the final step SkekMal asks “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Rek'yr nods. “It is. What about you, do you want this, want me?”

SkekMal caresses Rek'yr's face. “I have wanted you for a long time now.”

Rek'yr leans into his palm. “Then take me.”

And then they bone 🤣

So yeah that's it

This idea wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it out but I've already got so many fics I haven't finished yet so at least this way it exists as a semi-fic in the world instead of just in my head

#skekmal #rek'yr #skekmal/rek'yr #sandhunter #The Dark Crystal #the dark crystal age of resistance #my fics #sorta

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yoonjinkooked · 5 years

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lockdown | (m) - Chapter 1

moodboard by @flajka

pairing; jungkook/female OC genre; college au, strangers to lovers, smut and tiny bit of fluff too, humor ofc rating; explicit words; 4.900

— synopsis; Eunhee is in trouble and facing a deadline - in comes curly haired jungkook to save her life, make her laugh and maybe, just maybe, fuck her brains out. When the two end up locked in a building overnight, who knows what will happen?

warnings (for this chapter): cursing, OC really wants to murder Tae, banter, cute Kook, slightly cocky Kook, hints of sexual tension. Just an introduction chapter, really.

A/N: I hope you enjoy the first part guys. I am now starting to work on Chapter 2 and will let you know when I plan on posting it. Let me know what you think - I’m still a tumblr newbie and basically, I’m crappin my pants.

With that being said, let’s start chapter 1 :)

In the life of a journalism major, there are a few life-changing, stress-inducing moments that essentially serve as a preview of what’s to come if you do decide stay on your chosen career path.

For me, a handful of these moments made me question anything and everything I have ever known about the career I’ve chosen to pursue back when I was 18 and frankly, a little bit stupid. One of these moments was back when I was doing an obligatory internship at a small, local newspaper, only to realize that the editors and big shots there expected me to do nothing more than to make them coffee and copy papers in their stead.

Another moment was when I attended my first murder trial, which probably would end up being a part of my future job, only to spend the entire afternoon wondering if this really is something I want to do for the rest of my life.

And the final moment, at least the final one that I can think of right now, is currently occurring, with me losing my shit as we are trying to get the final edition of this year’s university magazine ready for printing. And I, as one of two co-editors, will be the one to blame if anything goes wrong.

Half of my grade depends on this. My future job prospects depend on this. Whether or not the professor is happy can influence the direction of my masters’ next year. This is ride or die for me and I am losing it.

“Namjoon, where the hell is he?” I ask my co-editor, best friend and partner in crime. Who also happens to be the only person on this planet who is well equipped to deal with me losing my shit.

“I know as much as you do,” he reminds me, moving the phone away from his ear. “I am trying to reach him now. You panicking will not do us any good and it definitely won’t make Taehyung answer me sooner. So don’t panic and focus on the things we already have here and work with that. The photos aren’t the only thing we need to look over before it’s ready for print.”

I nod my head franticly, knowing deep down that he has a point but also knowing that won’t help me at all. It never does because whenever I am chasing a deadline, I follow the same line of action. Work, panic, panic some more, work, panic like the world is ending, forcefully calm down and then, finally, get shit done. I am not sure if I am on the ‘panic some more’ or ‘panic like the world is ending’ phase yet but as I run fingers through my hair, letting my nerves get the best of me, I am positive said hair is gray.

I hear Namjoon cursing under his breath but for the sake of getting things done, I ignore him for now and simply focus on the task at hand – proofreading. As long as I preoccupy myself with tasks that need to be done, I cannot focus on the fact that Taehyung is late, like he always is, despite it being the one time he truly needed to be on time.

So for the next few minutes, I go over several articles in the speed of light, once, twice, three times. No matter how much they’re using spell-check, our reporters still make mistakes and honestly, when I see my name below one title, I know I am not allowed to judge because I obviously do it too.

Campus activity, student achievements, published works and former alumni ‘look, they’re famous now’ column – all covered and grammatically perfect. And Namjoon is still trying to reach the one man we need the most right now. Slowly but surely, the other students are becoming less frantic and more calm and casual, because their tasks are all but finished. Namjoon, Hoseok and I? Not so much.

“Okay, what the hell?” Hoseok throws his pen rather violently on his desk. “He does this every time. Every damn time. I’m the designer – I need to go over everything and make sure the photos are put where they belong. How can I do that if I don’t have said photos?”

“Hoseok, I know I’m not the textbook definition of calm but we need to try to be,” I tell him, turning my chair to face him over our connected desks. “Try to design it somehow, leaving the space for the photos. Vertical or horizontal, I will find good photos to fit. And if I have to change something, I will.”

“Are you sure you can do that?” he looks doubtful, which is extremely insulting, since we have known each other for three years and have been working together for more than two.

“Basic editing? Yeah, I can do that,” I roll my eyes. “If you doubt my editing skills, you can stick around till midnight to check on me.”

“No way,” he shakes his head. “It’s Jimin’s birthday party tonight and you know I need to be there.”

“Are you serious?” I ask, not even sure why, since it’s absolutely obvious that he is dead serious. “This is the most important edition we’re going to release. We’ve been doing this for years and this is our grand exit, which we need to execute perfectly, and you’re telling me you want to go to a party?”

“I’ll be going too,” Namjoon covers the speaker of his phone to tell me. “Sure, this edition is a big deal and we want it done well but most is already done and this isn’t our entire life.”

“Oh please,” I reach for something, anything, and end up hitting him on the chest with a block of post-its. “You’re just going because you hope to hook up with Hyejin, even though we all know you will just end up drunk, alone and watching her from a distance.”

“How dare you?” Namjoon is flabbergasted.

“She isn’t wrong,” Hoseok chuckles, ignoring the glare Namjoon throws his way. “But he’s right about this not being our entire life. You will burn out, Eunhee. It’s been two weeks and you haven’t stopped thinking about this once,” he tells me, as if I needed to be reminded. “This is the final edition with you being the editor. You should celebrate, not stay here after hours and pulling the hair of your head.”

“With the two of you playing beer pong and complaining about girls ignoring you, someone has to be the responsible one,” I point out. “All of this is riding on the three of us and you’re just… gonna dump me?” the betrayal is evident in my voice and yet, neither one of them is bothered enough to look guilty. Before they’re co-editor and designer, they’re just stupid, horny students.

“It’s already done Eunhee,” Namjoon rolls his eyes. “The one doing the dumping here is Taehyung and you just told Hoseok you can handle the editing. If you’re not sure, you can send him your final version and he can fix it if it needs to be fixed.”

“I am not leaving that party to fix Taehyung’s mess,” Hoseok cuts in.

“Our mess,” I remind him. “We have until 4AM to send it. So long as you’re not wasted out of your mind, it’s doable. If you even need to fix anything. Taehyung is always late but he also always brings more than enough material for us to work with. He’s a jackass but a talented jackass.”

“And a jackass who can’t answer his phone,” Namjoon adds, throwing his phone on the desk, before sighing as he slumps down onto his chair. “I’m going to regret that,” he glares at his phone.

“I can’t force you to stay here and help me,” I mumble, watching as the student reporters casually leave our office space, not even bothering to say goodbye because it’s the final week – who cares, life goes on, we’re going to see each other eventually and our portion of work is done. “I can, however, remind you of this in the years to come, guilt tripping you into doing favors. Many, many favors.”

“You make it sound like you’re not already doing that half the time,” Hoseok points out.

“Not my problem you somehow always end up owing me one. Or two. Or five,” I shrug as I turn towards my laptop, planning on searching for some stock photos we might be able to use, if Taehyung doesn’t show up. I know that he always does, last minute or not, but I can’t leave anything to chance. While stock photos would be a cop-out of sorts, we need to have a plan B.

The next two hours pass in almost complete silence. An occasionally sigh would leave Hoseok and every now and then, Namjoon would curse under his breath as he tries to reach Taehyung for what has to be the hundredth time – so far, to no avail. The panic I felt earlier had already left my system so I was able to focus on other things, all the while ignoring what seems to be our pending doom.

The sun had set and the lights are now on and that son of a bitch is still not answering his phone.

“You know, at this point I’m starting to wonder if we have better chances of finding him at Jimin’s party,” Hoseok breaks the silence. “I’m done with all the pages, I left enough space for all kinds of photos and there’s literally nothing more that we need to do.”

“Speak for yourself,” I mumble as I open the email he just sent me, showing the draft for the final version of the magazine. It looks as amazing as possible, seeing as 98% of photos are missing – instead, white blocks serve as breaks between long rows of text. “You know what? You two go. Go and have fun and if you find him, kick his ass. There’s no way he’d ever miss Jimin’s party. I’ll stay here and finish this up and when you send him to me, I’ll kick his ass too,” I tell them.

“Eunhee, are you sure?” Namjoon walks over to my desks and leans on it, giving me what I can only describe as a look of pure and utter pity. “I don’t want to leave you hanging; you’re not the only one with the responsibility here.”

Seeing as I am the only one that will sit Jimin’s birthday party out, I kind of am, but I do not say it. “It’s okay Joon,” I reassure him. “Go. Have fun. Try to get some with Hyejin. I’ll take care of this, it’s not like it’ll be the first time I pull an all-nighter. Just find that bastard and get those photos to me.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Hoseok stands up and throws a bag over his shoulder. “We will find him and I will do my best to stay sufficiently sober if you need my help. Which, if you do, don’t hesitate to call me, okay?” I nod, knowing I would rather fix it myself than have drunk Hoseok ruin it. He’s majestic with the editing software but when drunk, he can’t even walk straight, much less edit.

“Just make sure to get his USB to me, even if you have to kill him to make it happen,” I remind them. Namjoon is still worried but I roll my eyes at him, which apparently is the sign he needed to get his things and leave. I wave them out, surprisingly relieved to have the office for myself.

I am a decent team player but the last couple of years have shown me that I do my best work when I do it alone. Not to say that I take all the credit – hell no. Joon is the editor as much as I am and half the work is done by him but at times like these, I just want him out and away, busy with Hyejin. This way, if it’s a mess – it’s my mess. If it’s a work of art – it’s my work of art.

With a coffee in one hand and glasses of my head, I go over last year’s photo folder – that’s a better plan B than some basic stock photos. Some of the photos look like a decent backup – our campus hasn’t changed much over the last couple of months, after all. As long as I avoid last year’s seniors, I might be able to pull off plan B without anyone except a handful of us knowing the truth.

Even the swimming team – they have won gold last year, they have won gold this year too. The members are all the same, no new freshmen, no seniors last year. If my memory serves me well, all of them kept their natural hair colors and I can totally use said photo in this month’s edition. Sure, Jimin and the rest of the team will probably know what’s up but that’s nothing a round of beer can’t fix.

Look at me – such a professional. Bribing my way to get the work done. Yay.

In the midst of scrolling, I pause to glance at the clock – it’s almost ten and still no sign of Taehyung. Stifling down the pending panic, I take a deep breath and decide to play some music, hoping to distract myself more. While 80s rock has its charms, I still fidget as I scroll through folders upon folders, grabbing hold of my favorite koala mug again and downing the rest of the coffee in one go. Needing something to distract me further, I open the top drawer of my desk, grabbing the emergency M&Ms I’ve kept there for a few weeks now, knowing I was bound to pull an all-nighter sooner or later.

Just as I down a handful of candy, someone knocks on the office door and I nearly choke. I cough, make sure a lone M&M is not going to kill me, take a deep breath and shout a ‘come in’.

The little hope I have deflates as I realize it’s not Taehyung, the bastard himself – instead, it’s a guy I know, but not really. Tall, wavy brown hair, wide brown eyes and a slightly dumbfounded look, hidden under the hood of his black sweatshirt as he barely steps inside the office, still with one foot out as if he is ready to run.

I am positive I know him. I’m sure we have class together, or had the year before. Or perhaps we just have classes in the same building – I know I’ve seen him before, in the background, on the side, but for the life of me, I can’t put a face to the name.

“Can I help you?” I ask, once he doesn’t speak up for a few moments.

“Yeah,” he snaps out of his daze, tilting his head before reaching for his pocket – I keep my eye on his hands, half expecting him to draw a gun and shoot me in place. “Taehyung sent me to give you this,” he says as he pulls out a USB stick out of his pocket.

Finally, I can breathe. Finally, I know I will manage to get this done tonight. “Thank fuck,” I sigh, closing my eyes for a second before opening them up again and realizing I have just confused the shit out of him. “I was positive the jackass would leave me hanging. I would have murdered him in cold blood.”

“He’d never do that,” the guy smiles at me, a smile that evaporates as quickly as it appeared; making me wonder if I even imagined it. “If he had told me sooner, you wouldn’t have to wait. He texted me like 10 minutes ago, telling me that I need to bring this to the office.”

“He left the stick with you and didn’t tell you what it’s for?”

“No, he asked me to edit the photos,” he tells me. “Oh. You don’t… I’m the G.C.F guy. I’m the other photographer,” he explains and suddenly, the little boxes in my head fall into their designated place.

Taehyung had a photography partner. I’d say a solid half of the photos we’d print were Taehyung’s, and the others belong to the guy always signed as JJK, G.C. F; I have never met him, never asked for his name and before tonight, he had never showed up in the office.

And now I can remember the guy more clearly – he always had a camera, either hanging around his neck or covering his face as he would relentlessly take photos.

“Ah, now I get it,” I smile. “I’m Eunhee, the editor.”

“I know,” he tells me. “Jeongguk.”

Yep, I know the name. It’s all clicking now.

“Well don’t just stand there Jeongguk,” I tell him as I stand up; I walk around my desk and start Hoseok’s PC, knowing that he has a better editing software ready to go. “I’m going to need your help for this. Everyone else is getting shitfaced at Jimin’s so if you’re up for it, you’re going to be the one to help me get this edition ready by 4AM. You up for it?”

Honestly, I’m not particularly surprised when he doesn’t answer me straight away – it’s not like I’m offering him free food, drinks and a night he’ll remember – quite the opposite, I’m offering him a night full of work. Simply put, I’m begging him to help me, without actually openly begging.

“Sure,” I hear him shuffle around as he puts his backpack down on the ground. “Where do you need me?”

"Just get yourself a chair," I wave my hand around the room, staring at nothing as I try to figure out where should we start from. I suppose that from the beginning is the only real answer to that one. "Hobi had set it all up for me to finish but I think I need to see what you've brought me, see what i have to work with," I decide, turning to Jeongguk, just in time to see him drag Namjoon's desk chair from the corner of the office.

"All of them are edited and ready for use," he reassures me with a tight smile as he joins me behind the desk, a good foot between our chairs. Noticing that he still has his hood up and covering half of his face, I bite my tongue and decide not to wonder why - he has his reasons, I suppose.

"Then we just need to decide what goes where and that is where you come to my rescue."

"What makes you think that should be my call?" he asks, not bothering to hide his surprise.

"Well, you're a photographer," I announce, as if the guy is not aware of his profession. "Doesn't that officially make you a better judge when it comes to esthetic mumbo jumbo?" I ask, because I truly don’t know. I am not familiar with the job requirements a photographer needs to fulfill, other than to have a camera, of course. I simply imagine they have some sense of beautiful. Wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong about something and that is why I ask – there’s no shame in not knowing.

After a beat of silence Jeongguk looks at me, keeping direct eye contact for one whole second, which is time enough for me to conclude that he is cute, ridiculously so. Cute in a way that no man in his early 20s is allowed to be. Yet not cute enough to make me focus on him instead of the task before us.

"I guess so," he tilts his head as i force my jaw shut - now is not an appropriate moment for ogling. "Aren't you the boss lady though?"

"Boss lady," I test the nickname and roll my eyes. "Difficult to work with, perhaps. Bossy? Don’t think so. But I’m taking it because I obviously need your help tonight - I am good with words, not at making them look good on paper."

“What you need to do here is not that hard,” he waves at the monitor and I turn to look at him. “Deciding on which photo should go where depends on… the overall page. The colors, the neighboring photos and countless other things. There are no rules – just feeling. Photography is feeling,” he waves his hands about as he talks, completely immersed in his explanation and making me wonder if he’s talking about this particular problem or just photography and its misconceptions in general.

“No rules?” I ask through a chuckle. “That’s not what people told me when I took a selfie from a downward angle.”

To my shock and frankly, shame, he stares at me in silence, blinking once, twice, three times. I gulp. “That was supposed to be a joke,” I elaborate in a low voice, as I hope that the ground will split in two and just swallow me into a never-ending dark hole. Or that Hobi’s PC will finally be usable.

“Oh. Okay.”

Well, this settles it then – absolutely no possibility of mild, harmless flirtation. That flat-lined reaction will end up being a source of trauma for me in the years to come – I just know I will end up awake at 3AM in like five years, thinking of how awkward this particular moment was.

“Finally,” I feel relieved now that I can actually work with Hobi’s PC – I slide the flash in, on the first go. I nearly celebrate the seemingly impossible victory but I decide to hold myself back. If Jeongguk can’t take a joke, he will probably think I am insane if I behave like I normally would. “Now let’s see what we have here,” I mumble, opening the pop up. One folder named 1 – I open it. I click on the first photo, of a group of students sitting on grass and talking (looks absolutely staged but based on what I know about Taehyung and his G.C.F partner, they don’t roll that way). I smile when I see a photo of our swimming team huddled up together, gold medals hanging around their necks – I won’t have to use last year’s photos after all. “These are really good. Perfectly edited too. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, it’s my job,” Jeongguk mumbles as he eyes the photos I scroll through. I can no longer tell if he’s serious or joking and I simply give it up altogether – who cares?

“This will fit perfectly,” I mumble as I finish going through the bunch of photos and end up on the first one – the one with a bunch of people that looks absolutely staged. I exit and go back to the folder, then back to the original one. It’s as if I could feel, actually physically feel, my heart slowly sliding down inside of my body. I go back and open the folder again, looking as the fear slowly grows in me. “Jeongguk, where are the other photos?” I somehow manage to utter.

“They’re all there,” he tells me, his eyes going wide when he notices the look of pure and utter horror on my face. “Taehyung told me you need 20 photos, no more, no less. There are 24, I added 4 more just in case, if you didn’t like some of them… Eunhee, what is going on?”

My chest goes up and down frantically as I try to calm the whole tornado of emotions that starts within me. Panic, worry, sadness and more than anything else, anger. Pure anger. “I will murder him.”

“What? Who will you… Taehyung?”

“I said,” I slowly speak, pausing for deep breaths. “200 photos. 200 photos, no more, no less. 200 from which we would end up using more than 100. I said 200, not 20.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah, oh shit.”

“What… where are you going?” Jeongguk asks as I jump off my chair and nearly fly over the desk to grab my handbag. I throw my phone inside of it and turn to look at him, only to find him flinching away from me. Apparently, I look as angry as I feel.

“I am going to Jimin’s birthday party,” I announce. “Where I will grab Kim Taehyung by the neck, drag him outside, throw him onto the ground and murder him in front of the entire student body. I’m thinking strangulation is the way to go. You should come too, take a few photos of it for the delayed magazine edition.”

“No!” Jeongguk snaps but I am already heading towards the door. His hand wraps around my wrist and he drags me back towards the desk.

“What?”

I don’t know what else to say because why the hell did he pull me like that?! I wasn’t actually going to murder Taehyung, no matter how much I might want to do so.

Jeongguk rolls his eyes at me and I feel even more stupid than he made me feel minutes ago. The nerve. “If you go there and yell at Taehyung, or even kill him in cold blood, you’re just going to end up wasting valuable time,” he tells me. Okay, true, I can’t argue with him on that one. “Not to mention that you won’t get the photos. He doesn’t have them on him at all times and even if he did, they aren’t edited.”

“So what you’re trying to tell me is that I am fucked? Like, missionary, sideways, in the ass fucked?”

“I wouldn’t choose that particular wording, but yes,” he sighs. “If you stay here, you’re not fucked. Just… follow me. It’ll make sense soon,” he seems impatient as he grabs hold of my wrist again and this time, he drags me out the door. I actually stumble to keep up with him, too confused to even ask him what the flying fuck he is doing and where the hell we’re going. He walks fast and with him dragging me behind him, I have no choice but to break into a light jog to keep my arm attached to my body.

Down the hallway and to the left, Jeongguk drags me towards the last door, in front of which he finally stops. He starts fidgeting and feeling himself up and down. It takes me a moment to realize that he is looking for the keys. “What are we doing here, what is this place?”

“This,” he unlocks the door and smiles at me mischievously. “Is my office.”

As soon as he turns on the light, it all makes perfect sense – it’s a darkroom. A darkroom which I had no idea existed, even though I have spent a bigger part of my college education just down the hallway. “Don’t just stand there, come on in,” Jeongguk urges me but I do not move. The hood that still covers half of his face, paired with the room’s red light, is making him look pretty ominous.

“No thanks, these places are as creepy as they seem in movies.”

Jeongguk laughs and shakes his head. “They’re not creepy. Suit yourself.”

“What the hell are we doing here?” I ask, feeling my earlier agitation return. Fix the mess then kill Taehyung. Stopping by a darkroom was not on my to-do list. “How the hell can this help?”

“As I said, this is my office,” he tells me and I see him rummaging through the top drawer in one of the desks that are lined up against a wall. “I keep my work here. Some, not all. Useless work mostly. Random campus photos I take just because I think the moment is worth capturing.”

“While that is very poetic and deep, how the heck can that help us now?”

“Haven’t I just said I take random campus photos?” he asks in annoyance. “I have at least one flash drive with random photos like the ones you might need. I’m a good photographer and,” he waves his hand and I notice something black in it – he walks over to me, takes my hand and puts the flash into it. “I’m the one who will make your words look good on paper.”

It’s not what he said – it’s the way he said it. For the first time tonight, his hood did not block my view of his entire face. The way his eyebrows lifted, followed by a smug smile and head tilt, my heart went into overdrive. His expression and the fact that he is a solid foot taller than I am makes it so easy for me to feel tiny, irrelevant, overpowered.

Despite being the talkative one of the duo, I am speechless for a moment because good lord, does he look hot right now. Like… please slam me against the wall and leave hickeys down my neck hot.

“Come on boss lady,” he laughs down at me. “Work awaits.”

What the fuck happened to the shy guy who couldn’t keep eye contact for longer than a second?! He is giving me whiplash! I again have to run to catch up with him but I do it without complaining, realizing that for tonight, he is my lifeline. This random dude who’s good at photography is my only hope.

Tonight’s going to be a very long night.

#jungkook smut #jungkook series #jungkook fanfiction #bts smut #bts jungkook #bts #bangtan #bangtan smut #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfics #jjk #jeongguk #jeongguk smut #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook

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rorykillmore · 4 years

Text

okay this is. well. a LATE birthday fic for my friend jemi, who does not have a personal tumblr atm, but i’m sticking it here because this is where i file all my fics at this point, and because it’s also a tiny bit of a partial co-present for @xivuuarath too!

jemi, one of the things i’ve loved most about this past year is getting the chance to write with you again and develop these new and wonderful and crazy cross-fandom dynamics just the way we used to. it’ll always mean a lot to me to be able to write with you, and i really hope i’ve done everyone in this fic justice because i cannot tell you what a DELIGHT forming this disaster of a group dynamic/eventual found family with you and storm has been!!! i can’t wait to develop them more together, but for now, this particular fic is set a little ways in the hypothetical future once they’ve all gotten to know each other a little more, and after villanelle has had... SOME kind of similar encounter with her family to the one she just had in canon. tldr: her mom sucks, she’s dead now, and villanelle ran off after burning her house down.

anyway, yeah, ENJOY!

They all look like idiots, and normally, Villanelle would delete any photo that made her look like an idiot without a second thought. But there is something kind of nice about it this time.

Villanelle supposes that maybe it’s a little unfair to blame Konstantin for the fact that her birth family turned out to be shit.

(Okay, not all of them were shit, but it is easier to pretend that they were and not that the few days she spent with them were the happiest she’s ever been in her whole life.)

Anyway, while it’s not technically his fault, he is the one who told her they were alive, and the last thing she wants right now is to go back and tell him exactly how catastrophically things did not work out. He is no longer her handler anyway. She has to report back to Knock Out.

(Actually, she has not been on a mission recently, she has nothing to report, and Knock Out would probably not even notice if she didn’t contact him for several more days, but... Villanelle will just make up a reason to talk to him, then. He doesn’t have to know she’s wasting his time just because he makes her feel a little better.)

So she’s surprised when she texts him (or his comm frequency, however it works with Cybertronians) and gets a message back that he’s already waiting for her at Mistoffelees’.

That’s how Villanelle thinks of the house, absurdly, as belonging to Mistoffelees and Victoria -- namely because by know she knows them much better than she knows their people. Somehow, amidst the chaos of the past several days, Villanelle had entirely forgotten she’d agreed to cat-sit again (less for any pragmatic reason this time and more because she hadn’t had anything better to do, before the issue of her family had cropped up) starting this evening. She’d also forgotten that they’d all planned another marathon session of Kitchen Nightmares, and for some reason... all of this rattles her.

For some reason, when she arrives and walks up the driveway and finds Knock Out parked waiting for her, and Misto and Tugger settled side by side on the fence, she gets a strange little lump in her throat that she can’t explain.

“Finally,” Tugger complains the minute he sees her. “If any of us actually had thumbs, we may well have considered starting without you.”

“Excuse me,” Knock Out is quick to protest. “Just because it’s not exactly strategic for me to transform in the middle of a human neighborhood doesn’t mean you get to lump me in with you furballs.”

Mistoffelees rolls his eyes in an unnervingly human gesture that Villanelle is only just starting to get used to. “I’m sure he meant ‘if any of us actually had thumbs that we could conveniently use without causing hysteria in this precise moment.’ Didn’t you, Tug?”

“Sure, darling,” Tugger says, not sounding very sincere at all.

Villanelle comes to a slow halt beside Knock Out’s alt mode, trying to bask in their familiar banter, trying to make it feel just the same as her family’s home-y sense of chaos did. It doesn’t quite work. But it does make her want... something.

“We should take a road trip!” Villanelle announces suddenly, entirely out of nowhere and without thinking about it. Mistoffelees and Tugger turn nonplussed looks on her, and she can practically feel Knock Out figuratively side-eyeing her, and for a second she worries that they’ve noticed something’s wrong.

But the silence only lasts for a beat before Knock Out scoffs, “What, now? And where, exactly, were you thinking of going?”

Villanelle shrugs, undeterred by their skepticism. “Anywhere. We could just... drive.”

“In that?” Tugger stares wide-eyed into Knock Out’s windows, and then very quickly clears his throat. “Sorry. In him?”

“We could bring Victoria too,” Villanelle says, appealing to Misto. “Is she home?”

Mistoffelees flicks an ear uncertainly. “She’s out at the junkyard this evening. And anyway, Villanelle, we can’t exactly up and disappear without giving the others cause for alarm --”

“So go tell them! We can wait here. It would only be for, like, a couple of days, and your humans will not even notice since they’re not due back ‘til next week.”

“Not to agree with Tugger, but I’m still stuck at the part where I have to lug them around and get cat fur all over my interior,” Knock Out quips, rather casually considering the chaos unfolding around him. “...Not to mention, we don’t exactly have clearance for this.”

“We don’t have an assignment either,” Villanelle points out. “Do they really care what we do in our own time?”

Knock Out seems too surprised to answer, maybe because this is the first time outside their missions and their little casual reality television get-togethers that Villanelle has ever expressed such an interest in spending time together.

The cats are almost as baffled. Tugger and Misto exchange a look that Villanelle can’t quite read, before Mistoffelees settles his attention back on her. “This is all a bit... sudden,” he starts, and it’s the fact that he sounds almost gentle that makes something in Villanelle prickle up again. Is her behavior so erratic and concerning that she’s making them feel sorry for her?

“Fine,” she cuts in, changing tracks suddenly. “Fine! Never mind. I will take one on my own. See you all in a couple of days --”

“Er, hold on.” Knock Out recovers enough to stop her. “If you’re going to do this anyway, I might as well tag along and see that you don’t do anything careless. Otherwise I’ll have nothing to do but drive around London while you go off and have all the fun.”

Villanelle stops in her tracks. “Do you want me to be careful, or do you want me to have fun?”

“...Is that supposed to be a trick question?”

She shrugs, still recovering her pride and wondering if she should brush him off just on principle because of it. Deep down, though, Villanelle doesn’t want to, and so instead she looks back at the cats where they’re still settled together on the fence.

On the fence. Heh. Like a metaphor.

“I think you two could use the vacation,” she tells them casually. “Have you ever actually been on a honeymoon?”

“A what?” Mistoffelees asks as Tugger sweeps his feathery tail around him. Villanelle has started to get used to the easy affection they share between them, but it hasn’t yet ceased to give her a pang of something indecipherable each time.

“A honeymoon,” she says. “It is something two people do when they get m -- when they love each other and want to be together forever. They go off and take a trip and kind of... celebrate their relationship.”

Tugger tilts his head ever so slightly to one side. “And is it customary for them to bring their friends along?”

Villanelle glances at Knock Out, but if he knows anything about this particular Earth custom, he stays silent for once. So she shrugs. “Sure. That way it is like a party, you know?”

“I daresay neither of us do.” Mistoffelees turns so he can meet his mate’s gaze. Villanelle expect Tugger to have a very decisive opinion on all of this, and to state it very loudly, because that’s just how Tugger is. So it surprises her when instead, he returns Mistoffelee’s look quietly - almost gently - and waits for his verdict.

“Is it really only going to be for a couple of days?” Mistoffelees asks cautiously at length. Villanelle grins despite herself.

It is roughly a five hour drive between London and Paris, which is a bit of a pain in the ass when the taking the train shaves about half of that off, but for once Villanelle is trying to be objective about how she is probably the least inconvenienced person in this situation. The only reason Misto and Tugger aren’t stuffed in the trunk right now is because she offered to buy them cat carriers to travel in instead, and when the cats vetoed that option, she’d reluctantly promised Knock Out that she’d be the one vacuuming his back seat instead.

Even with that compromise made, though, five hours is a long time to spend in a car with someone. Especially a sentient car. They’ve already gone through the motions of arguing about the radio - a pointless endeavor, given that Knock Out is the one who controls it - and then Villanelle had tried to teach them how to play a couple of road trip games ( “Fuck, Marry, Kill” had gone the most disastrously).

Finally, Mistoffelees asks, “Was it really necessary to come so far for this... other city you described? I don’t see how it can be all that much different from London.”

He sounds almost uncomfortable, and for the first time Villanelle wonders whether he or Tugger have ever been this far from home before -- they are cats, even if they are special ones.

“Paris is nothing like London,” Villanelle insists, though she knows that alone might not mean much to him. “-- It is the most beautiful city in the world. And if you’re in love, you have to go at least once.”

“I never figured you for the sentimental type,” Knock Out quips dryly.

"Maybe she means if you’re in love with yourself,” Misto offers. “I suppose that describes at least three out of four of us, so --”

He breaks off at Tugger’s feigned indignant gasp and even-more-feigned swat, laughing, and Villanelle gives both of them a pointed look through the rearview mirror.

They are just made for Paris, these two. Later, they’re going to have to admit that she was right.

Knock Out sighs audibly, distracting her from her thoughts. “You know. You really do owe me for this.”

Even Knock Out can’t find too much to complain about once they reach the city proper, though. Villanelle beams smugly when he admits that there’s a certain classiness about it all “as far as cities on this mudball go”, and he rolls his windows down a little so that Misto and Tugger can better appreciate the scents and sounds.

“It’s not home,” Tugger drawls, enjoying the way the wind buffets the mane of fur around his neck. “But it’s not half bad.”

It’s home to Villanelle, though, or -- the closest thing she’s ever had to one, besides the one she just burnt to ashes. She takes them past the street where her old apartment used to be, just for nostalgia’s sake.

“The only thing about Paris is, it’s really more of a walking city,” Villanelle tells them at length. “Hey Knock Out -- you don’t have some kind of boat mode, do you?”

“A boat?” Knock Out echoes scathingly. “What exactly do you take me for?”

“Okay, so, the river tour is out. But I can show you around even better from here. Just follow my lead.”

Mistoffelees leans languidly against Tugger as they share the open window, and sighs. “What could possibly go wrong.”

To Villanelle’s credit, she does give a hell of a tour, taking them past the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre and the Arc de Triomphe. Then they make a stop at the Pont Neuf bridge, where Villanelle positions the very bemused cats on the railing so that she can take their picture against the backdrop of the Seine.

“I can’t say I really understand the purpose of this,” Misto says for about the third time, then flattens his ears when Villanelle shushes him.

“I told you! It is easier to show you than tell you -- here, look.” She approaches to show them the image on her phone, ignoring the peculiar looks she gets from one or two passersby. Tugger is the first to lean forward with skeptical curiosity, and then --

“-- It’s us.” His eyes go wide, and Villanelle watches his reaction with a smug sort of delight. “Oh, that actually is marvelous.”

“I knew you would enjoy any excuse to look at yourself,” Villanelle quips in return, though in truth, it is a very nice picture if she does say so herself. Misto and Tugger look especially handsome in the photo -- you know, for cats. The sun brings streaks of vivid color out in Tugger’s fur, while Misto’s black and white pelt looks particularly glossy. They sit side by side, their sides touching, and Villanelle had captured just the right moment to preserve the glance they’d exchanged as she took the picture: Misto looking up at Tugger in "can-you-believe-what’s-happening” exasperation, and Tugger returning his gaze with something that read between amusement and the inevitable fondness he always seemed to regard the other cat with.

It’s very... them, Villanelle decides.

“It’s...” Mistoffelees seems almost uncharacteristically at a loss for words. “...It’s like you froze a moment in time.”

Villanelle shrugs agreeably. “Humans kind of collect them. I can get this printed, and then you can have your own physical copy, if... that is something you want?” She isn’t sure whether cats have any particular use for photos, but Tugger and Mistoffelees seem to like the idea.

“Seems a shame to waste such a handsome keepsake,” Tugger says, his eyes glinting. Misto smiles - in that very un-catlike way the Jellicles have - and looks up at Villanelle directly.

“Thank you.”

She tilts her head and almost responds, but then can’t think of anything good or clever to say. So instead, she turns to where Knock Out is still parked, the impatience practically simmering off him.

“Knock Out! Let me get one of you.”

“I don’t do autographs, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“Don’t be so boring, God. Actually, we can all get in it! I will get someone to take it for us.”

It is probably only Villanelle’s perfect French that saves her from looking like a completely batshit tourist as she herds the cats over to him and needles one very confused local into taking a picture of the four of them together. Instead, she just looks like... well, a batshit French person obsessed with taking photos of herself, her two cats, and her sports car. Which is fine with her, really.

The photo turns out nice, too. Not quite as romantic as the first -- actually, it looks pretty silly. Tugger, taking advantage of Knock Out’s inability to protest while in public company, had leaped up onto his hood and sprawled out like some kind of feline model, which had made Villanelle throw her head back and cackle while in the midst of trying to scoop a begrudging Mistoffelees up into her arms.

They all look like idiots, and normally, Villanelle would delete any photo that made her look like an idiot without a second thought. But there is something kind of nice about it this time.

She takes them to the Luxembourg Gardens, too, where an artist asks if she can paint Mistoffelees (leaving Villanelle, Tugger, and Knock Out all quite individually offended evidently not to be considered the prettiest of the group), and then to the fish market where she figures the cats will be in heaven (shockingly, Tugger decides that Parisian food isn’t beneath him, though Misto is partial to the vanilla ice cream Villanelle buys him later).

By then, it’s getting close to nightfall, and Villanelle checks the time and then the listing on her phone. “Okay. Just one more stop. You will all like this one, I promise.”

“I think we’ve all learned by now not to trust your promises,” Mistoffelees retorts, but it’s goodnatured, a mild protest by his standards. Tugger even joins in making fun of his grumbling this time, and Knock Out has spent the last twenty minutes idly looking into things near the city he might want to do “for reconnaissance purposes” the next day, so Villanelle suspects that - not so secretly - they are all enjoying themselves.

The last stop is at a little park just beyond the city, where an overlook affords them a view of the Parisian lights in all their glory. Misto and Tugger stop to enjoy it together for a little while, while Villanelle urges Knock Out to continue on up the road a little ways to find parking at...

“A drive-in theater.” Knock Out realizes, surprise lacing his tone.

Villanelle slips out the passengers side door to stretch her legs, but also to inform him: “Drive-in is a loose term. I rented out the entire space for us tonight. I figured if we had a bit of privacy, you wouldn’t have to be stuck as a car all night.”

“I --” Knock Out starts, then seems to register what she actually said. Villanelle waits through the pause patiently. “...I happen to be gorgeous in vehicle mode. As anyone with optics could tell you.”

“Yes,” Villanelle agrees, because she’s already learned how to butter him up, “But you make an even prettier robot.”

Knock Out tilts his mirror at her. His version of a side-eye, and code for I know exactly what you’re doing but I’m still flattered. “Well. I suppose this was... shockingly thoughtful of you.” He transforms once Villanelle takes another step back, and then crouches down to eye her suspiciously. “Uncharacteristically, one might even say.”

But Villanelle has no real ulterior motives, this time. She is just happy they all came with her to her favorite city in the world for no other reason than because she asked. Instead of saying that aloud, though, she redirects her attention to the overlook, where Tugger and Misto’s silhouettes are visible. “Do you think they are enjoying their honeymoon?”

“How would I know?” Knock Out flippantly tilts his head to consider the pair. Misto tucks himself against Tugger’s side, and Tugger wraps his tail around the tom’s smaller frame as if they’ve done this thousands of times before. They look so... still. So content, in a way Villanelle isn’t used to imagining them. “I’m not an expert on the mushy stuff.”

“Really? You don’t have anyone?”

“I...” That actually gets Knock Out to hesitate, his expression unreadable. “...Think it’s inappropriate to divulge that kind of information between agent and handler.”

Villanelle nods ruefully. Konstantin had always been smart enough to avoid talking about his personal life with her, too. “I have someone,” she announces quietly, the status of the actual having be damned. “I might tell you about her someday. But --” And before Knock Out can react to that, she shifts her attention back to the cats again. “I think they really love each other.”

“That seems like a safe assumption,” Knock Out quips dryly. “Why do you even care?”

Why does she care? Envy? Her usual fascination with other people’s emotions, the ones that are always just out of reach for her? Neither of those feel right, but Villanelle doesn’t know the name for what is.

It just... feels better, knowing that Mistoffelees and Tugger have each other. It makes something in her calm strangely when she thinks of them.

She just shrugs again, in the end. And then the cats are getting up and coming back around to meet them, and Villanelle shoos away whatever she was feeling or pondering feeling and gives them an elegant smirk. “Finally decided to join us, lovebirds?”

Tugger smirks right back up at her. “Personally, I would have been quite happy to spend the rest of my night watching the city lights, but Mistoffelees here seemed to feel that would have been terribly discourteous of us both.”

“It is your honeymoon,” Villanelle points out, because despite her teasing she wouldn’t really have minded. Her and Knock Out have a movie they could have entertained themselves with, after all.

“Yes,” Misto agrees lightly. “And I don’t think it’ll be one we’ll ever forget. Especially if you’ve chosen a decent... movie for us.”

“Please, Mistoffelees,” Villanelle mimics Tugger using his full name, because she enjoys the way it rolls off her tongue and she knows her accent makes it sound a little funny. “Surely you trust my taste by now.”

“Not unconditionally.”

“It’s French,” Villanelle promises them as she goes to turn on the screen. “-Ish. And romantic. You will watch it, and be grateful that your lives are not anywhere near as terrible as this couple’s are!”

“Moulin Rouge?” Knock Out asks in confusion as the title screen pops up. “I’m not sure I understand the need for dramatics. It all ends happily enough, doesn’t it?”

Villanelle stares back at him wordlessly, one eyebrow raised.

“...It... I may have caught Starscream watching it once. And I’m positive they get back together safely at the end.”

“Do not spoil it for the cats!” Villanelle tries not to sound too gleeful at this newly collected potential blackmail on the Decepticon second-in-command. She sits down in the grass by Knock Out’s feet, and Tugger settles in beside her with Misto at his side, and Villanelle spends a moment reflecting that it would be really fun to teach them some of these songs.

She wonders if cats can technically sing?

#fic #i know we talked about them meeting eve and i was INCREDIBLY tempted but this was already getting really long #ill do it in another fic. i swear.#also: not sure what to do with the information that starscream turns off moulin rouge 10 minutes early? me neither #also feat. villanelle starting to get soft for these idiots which is Important.

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dummythiccisheretowrite · 5 years

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drunken confessions

Brian May x Reader

SHE LONG

this was requested by @kazzish (btw you’re rlly pretty and my bi heart is quaking uwu) also, I can’t remember if this is fully what you requested and tumblr isn’t letting me look at your request so I’m sorry if it’s not. Also I’m finishing this at one am so it might not be the best. Pls be gentle on me I am but a creature, I cannot help this ok goodnight uwu

BTW I have literally NEVER been drunk before, only tipsy and I don’t really remember what it was like. I was told that I apparently started literally crying when my Friends took a cooler away from me tho. So there’s that. ALSO, thoughts are like italicised or whatever you call it idk they’re like this

Okay, onward with the fic, comrades :(

College so far was a fucking mess, weekends were filled with parties; beer bottles and the strong stench of weed. Weekdays were filled with stressful cramming for tests and projects and the nursing of regretful hangovers. You were ecstatic that summer had finally arrived and your seemingly never-ending second year had finally ended. You had plans on going back home and staying with your mother for a bit and to top it off your older brother had invited you to a show he was playing at with his band. Originally, he was in a band with his friends Tim Staffell and Brian May, which lasted until Tim left the band to join another one. Luckily, soon after, him and Brian formed a new band called Queen with another one of Rogers friends, Freddie Mercury, and later on one of his newer friends, John Deacon.

The drive home was long and tiring, after having supper with your mum and Roger you all decided to head to bed with Roger going back to his flat he shared with his friends. Being back in your old bedroom felt weird, sure there was less stuff because most of it was at your flat; but there was still posters of bands you had liked on the walls and old clothes of yours hanging in the closet. It had been over a year since you were last in here but it looked untouched, and you wondered if your mum had come in here at all since you’d left. You could barely sleep that night, excited to see the band the next day and see Freddie and Brian. They’d always been very kind to you, Freddie always gifting you clothes he’d thought you’d liked and Brian helping you with your studies. You’d always had a bit of a crush on Brian, Freddie being the type to have some sort of weird sixth sense on these type of things, caught on right away and always relentlessly teased you about it.

The next day, Roger picked you up to go to the flat he shared with the others; Freddie hadn’t changed a bit and greeted you with quite a dramatic “darling, it’s been so long!” John, the newest member you hadn’t met yet gave a shy smile and a quiet, polite “hello, nice to meet you.” Brian, if possible, seemed even taller and more handsome than he had the last time you saw him. Feeling bold, you gave him a hug and a smile, pulling away you could’ve sworn you saw a blush appear on his cheeks. The day was spent getting caught up and spending time with everyone until evening came and their show was soon to start.

You watched backstage as they went on to perform, sipping a beer as you couldn’t help but stare at Brian as he played. He looked almost angelic like this, curls lightly bouncing and an intense look of concentration written on his face. You started growing nervous at the realization that maybe your teenage crush hadn’t gone away, attempting to forget about it, you started drinking more and more. By the time they came back, you were absolutely smashed. Brian gave you a worried look as he put down his guitar and walked up to you. “Now we know she’s for sure related to Roger,” Freddie joked, as Brian took the beer bottle away from you. Roger groaned in frustration as he attempted to try to get you to stand up. “Now I’ve gotta fucking take you home and mum will have a fit if she sees you like this,” he complained as you lost your balance and fell back in your seat.

“I can take her home,” Brian offered, already putting his coat on and grabbing yours. “Are you sure?” Roger asked, “you really don’t have to do that.” Brian nodded, “I don’t really feel like drinking anyways,” he said as he helped you stand up. You held onto his arms, scared that if you didn’t you’d lose your balance again. “Don’t do anything stupid,” Roger called as you two started to head out of the pub. “Basically don’t do anything Roger would do then,” Freddie quipped, which earned him a smack to the arm from his friend.

The drive back to their flat was peaceful, it was decided that it’d be better for you to crash there for the night rather than take you home and have poor Brian try to explain to your mother why you were incredibly intoxicated. The night sky was filled with stars, you were drifting in and out of sleep as Brian talked to you about all the constellations. You could barely understand what he was saying, especially in the state that you were in but his voice sounded soft and sweet and you couldn’t help smiling as your eyes closed.

The car pulled to a stop and you heard Brian open and close the door, you yawned a little when he came to your side and opened the passenger door. You couldn’t help but think of how nice he is as he helped you out of the car and into the flat; an arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady. “Thank you,” you slurred as he unzipped your coat and helped your arms out of the sleeves. “I just don’t know why you drank so much,” he chuckled, leading you to his bedroom. You shrugged, “just nervous, last time I saw you I-,” you stopped talking, a little aware that sober you wouldn’t appreciate drunk you revealing your crush. Brian raised an eyebrow, a curious expression on his face.

“You what?”

You sat on the bed, trying to look at anything else but him.

The floors are carpeted, neato. There’s a sock, it’s got stripes so it’s kinda cooler than the carpet. There’s a speck of dust, not really cool.

“Y/n, is everything okay?” Brian was sitting on the bed next to you now, you couldn’t tell if you were nauseous because of nerves or because you had chugged around three beers an hour earlier. Probably both.

“It’s really stupid,” You cringed at how shaky your voice sounded and wiped your sweaty palms on your pants. “Like really stupid, it doesn’t even matter. You’re probably tired, we should just go to sleep,” You moved to lay down, facing away from him. You felt even more stupid when you felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes. “Whatever you have to say it’s not stupid, it’s better to talk about it than keep it in,” Brian said, putting a hand on your shoulder and rubbing it softly. You exhaled shakily and wiped some tears away.

“I like you, like more than a friend.”

A painful silence filled the room, you pulled the covers over your head and Brian quickly pulled them away. “Piss off, I’m trying to suffocate myself,” you said, nudging him with your elbow, earning a soft chuckle from him. “I like you too,” he replied, you stopped trying to suffocate yourself with the covers; instead sitting up and turning to face him.

“Wait, what?”

“I like you,” Brian repeated. He was staring at you now, a mixture of sincerity and adoration in his eyes, “I really do.” You swallowed a lump that’d formed in your throat, “oh, okay,” you said, rather dumbly. Brian playfully frowned, “that’s it? Oh, okay?” he mocked. You rolled your eyes and lightly shoved him, “I’m drunk, tired and an idiot, let me be,” you whined. Brian smiled, “go to sleep, we can talk more about this later,” he promised. You frowned, wanting to argue, but found yourself too tired. “You’ll still feel the same tomorrow, right?” You asked, laying down and wrapping yourself in the covers. He nodded, moving to lay down next to you.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

#brian may #brian may fic #brian may fluff #brian harold may #brian may headcanon #queen band #queen #queen imagines #queen drabbles #brian may x reader #queen fic #borhap #borhap headcanon #borhap cast

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bonsaiiiiiii · 4 years

Text

FabFiveFeb 2020 - Virgil

Prompt 1, 2, 3, 4 - Hard, Yesterday, "I'm trying!" and Shimmer

THIS FIC IS DIVIDED IN 2 PARTS. PART 2 IS BEING POSTED JUST AFTER THIS. TUMBLR WON'T LET ME POST THE ENTIRE FIC

(I took this part from my original story, Dust, which should be published in a few weeks more or less {too busy with exams}. rereading this chapter I thought it would be a fabulous fic to display, also because it has many of the prompts inside. I know, major spoiler for when the fic will be out, but this chapter will be out so far in time that you will forget about it! [Lol I hope] I hope you like it! Prompts given by the amazing @gumnut-logic ♡)

"Where am I?" and "Who am I?" are the two questions that have been ringing most frequently in my head since I arrived here. Here, though, where? Where exactly is 'Here'?

I don’t know how I got here, and the weirdest thing is, I don’t even remember my name anymore. The man who took me always refers to me as Alice.

Alice. What a beautiful name! But I don’t remember it being mine..

Of course, the man never told me his name; he keeps telling me that I would have remembered it and that I would have recognized him if my memory had gone back, if it ever happened. For some strange reason, he was pretty sure I’d never get my memory back.

So all I did was spend eight months in this dark cell, trying to remember every detail of my life.

Yeah, I’ve been here eight months. The only thing that’s changed with my body is a concussion to my head, a scar on my forehead, and my belly was growing out of all proportion every month that went by; yeah, I’m pregnant with a baby, but I have no idea what sex it has and if it's still okay. The man who kidnapped me refuses to let me do a medical check-up.

The only thing I know for sure is that the man told me that I was already 1 month pregnant before he kidnapped me and carried me into the bowels of the earth.

If I think about it, it makes sense. It’s true that I woke up in the cell, but I don’t remember being passed out that long. I don’t know how I know this, but I’ve been unconscious, alas asleep, for a short period of time, like the time of a surgery.

The man doesn’t seem to want to hurt me, or at least that’s what I think. I’ve been stuck here for 8 months and I’ve only seen him twice. The first time was when I arrived here; I remember just waking up, remembering nothing of my past in the cell. I remember looking up and seeing him right in front of my eyes. We just looked at each other, also because I was very confused and he didn’t speak, his mouth was reduced to a very thin line. If I had the gift to go back in time, I would have cried.

The second time he came down was five months later, after me complaining all the time.

He came down to my cell, simply explaining the reason for my kidnapping: he practically locked me here because he simply wanted to take me away from the family I was with, as a sign of revenge against them.

When I asked him why he was so mad at them, he turned around and just said, "They took something of mine."

I said outraged, "So if they took something of yours, you have to do something as bad as kidnapping a pregnant woman? Can’t you get over it? I’m sure this family isn’t even looking for me!"

Only when my anger vanished I realized that I told him that I was pregnant. I shut my mouth with a hand in horror.

To my answer he smiled at me, but it seemed more like a melancholy smile rather than the evil one he wanted to let out.

"Believe me, they’re looking for you. And I won’t let them find you."

With that phrase, he went up those stone stairs that I’ve been seeing for eight months, blocking my cell again. He hasn’t been around since.

So now I just lay on the little bed in my cell, holding my belly and stroking it with my hands, with the comfort of the silence and the ticking of a clock in the distance, which marked 13 o'clock in the afternoon. Lunch time, Yee.

Ever since I told the man I was pregnant, he’s had a bed brought down, and he brings me more food than he gave me before. I’m almost treated like a queen, and it’s a little ironic considering the situation I’m in right now. Even if I’m treated like this, he insists on not letting me out, not even for trivial things like taking a bath. I mean, Ugh! I’ve been washing myself with sink water for 8 months straight, do me a favor! But for some reason, I never had the courage to ask him.

But, as I was saying before, he brings me more and more food as time goes on. He also brings a lot of water to drink. Maybe he doesn’t want me to starve to death or die from malaria? Maybe he needs me alive, or at least he needs me just until the baby’s born. Will he kill me when the baby is born? Or..

As if it had intercepted my thoughts, the little one began to kick into my belly.

"Hey, calm down, baby, I swear I won’t think about that anymore. As long as I’m here, no one will hurt you, I promise."

But the little guy wasn’t of my idea, maybe he doesn’t have the calm genes in his DNA.

It was when I heard contractions that I opened my eyes wide.

"No, hey, listen, you can’t be born now. Please, wait. Wait till Mom gets out of here, which I hope is soon."

I started breathing small and fast because of the pain, puffing like a locomotive.

Then I was filled with fear. The primitive fear that they would take my baby away from me, or that they would kill me, so that he would be left without parents. The little guy never met his father, he never had the pleasure of feeling the caress of a different hand from me and the warmth that that hand conveyed, and the words of comfort of his father. I may have known him, but I can’t remember him anymore; if I’m killed, he’ll be alone. It didn’t even occur to me that they could kill my baby. If that had happened, I don’t know what I would have done.

At that moment I heard the sound of the blinded door above opening, making a female figure appear from the darkness wrapped in a sort of purple armor. I remember her. She was one of the people I met with the man who kidnapped me and another man, maybe her brother.

I don’t know much about her, only that she calls herself Havoc, and that her brother is called Fuse; they both always turn to the kidnapping man with the term Boss, so they work for him.

Since I was kidnapped they have been charged with bringing me food and drink, more often after the 5th°month. And in fact, she had come down with a chicken sandwich in her hand and a bottle of water, but she suddenly widened her eyes when she saw the puddle of amniotic fluid that had formed on the ground.

Shit, my water just broke! No, baby, I told you to wait! Not now!

Havoc gave me a look that I could clearly not decipher, something halfway between the concerned and the softened. Strange, it was the first time I saw her so...vulnerable.

After a second she went out, coming back upstairs. A second later she came back with the man.

"So, you’re going to give birth, huh? Congratulations!"

I was shaking from the pain, the breath coming out of my lungs, leaving me breathless. "Please." I sincerely watched him whispering, ".. Please don’t take him away from me. Don’t kill him. I’ll do whatever you want."

"This is very interesting. I could get you to do a lot of things, but of all the bad things I do, I’m actually very loyal to the family, so you can go."

I widened my eyes. "What..?" then I thought about it. If he wants me to leave so easily..

Like he was reading my mind, he just looked at me.

"Now I’m sure no one’s looking for you anymore, you can leave, and they won’t even know if you died anywhere. Well, they don’t know that on principle. I’m gonna leave your cell bars wide open, and I’m gonna open the blinded door upstairs, so you can leave whenever you feel more comfortable to do so. Remember that I can always find you anytime if I want to."

And with those words he made a gesture with his hand to call out Havoc and went out with her. Like he said, he left the bars and the blinded door wide open.

I was about to get up, when he turned to the first step, stopping on the stairs.

"Ah, I forgot. Try to wear something heavy, it’s snowing outside."

I looked at my clothes. I was wearing the same skinny jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt I was wearing since the first time in this cell.

He also looked at my outfit, and then threw me a long-sleeved dress and a wool sweater. Then he disappeared upstairs again. I didn’t waste any time and tried to get dressed, barely putting on the dress. Fortunately the sweater was very wide and, even with my belly, it reached my knees. That was very easy to put on.

As I was slowly climbing the large stone stairs leading to the armored door, I did some calculations in my mind. I distinctly remember that when I was kidnapped eight months ago, the man wished me a Merry Christmas, so it was December when I was taken away from the world. If 8 months have passed now, we should be in the middle of August, if not towards the end. So why is it snowing? Has it been much longer than I’ve counted?

I finally got to the big door that I could only see from my cell until recently, wide open to a big hallway. The pain of labor made my head spin uncontrollably, but I tried to bear it as I headed into a very long hallway.

I also managed to pass the very long corridor, finding myself in front of a little door like those that are at the entrance of every house. Considering that the door was wet to the touch, and being able to feel the cold permeating from outside, I felt that was the famous exit door that I had been dreaming about for 8 months. I shrugged myself, taking courage, and opened the door to the outside world.

I managed to get out, and I have to admit it’s too comforting to breathe the air from the outside, even though it's too cold. The man was right, it had just finished snowing, the inch of snow that had formed a white curtain on the ground was still fresh.

I could look around, as much as the pain would allow me, and I realized I was in the middle of a little city. I could hear the chatter of people passing by me, the sound of the horns of the various cars passing on the street, the lights of the signs near me flashing; the wind, which made my blonde hair dance slightly, I could feel it on my face, it almost tickled me. For a moment I forgot the pain I felt in that moment, watching everything around me.

I looked at the store signs, written in a language I couldn’t quite understand, and a billboard, alone between the little stores. The poster drew my attention: it represented 5 figures, 5 guys, all in a blue suit.

"Thunderbirds...meet and greet here in Iceland on August 30th." Fortunately this poster was written in English. So I am in Iceland.

Strangely enough, even that name, those Thunderbirds, they rang a bell inside my head, causing a distant memory, a voice, inside my head. A voice that whispered 'I love you'...

Suddenly the pain that I forgot came back to bother me and take my breath away. I tried to stop a few people for help, to get them to take me to a hospital, but none of the people I stopped could understand English, not even I could understand their language.

So I walked alone to some building that could even remotely represent a hospital or a medical practice, but I involuntarily left the city, finding myself on a desolate path, lined only by a road.

The pain was too intense, so I retreated behind a bush, kneeling.

And giving birth in the snow.

#fabfivefeb2020 #fabfivefeb #virgil tracy #alice kim

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darks-ink · 5 years

Text

Disinterred CH.11

Chapter 11: It's Not What You Believe

“It’s just… This whole time, I’ve been driven by… by anger, by hatred. I told myself that all ghosts are evil, and that they didn’t deserve to exist. Not in Amity Park. And now...” She looked at him, forlorn. “And now I’ve diverted from that, huh?” He sighed too. “I can’t help you with the anger, with your motivation for hunting. But, if you want to keep it up… I can teach you more about ghosts?”

(Tumblr hates links and I want this to appear in the tags so… for author notes/full fic summary/links to the other chapters/mirror links to AO3 and FFnet, click here)

Against all expectations, Danny’s cold had worsened even further overnight. He had woken up on Thursday with his bed frozen solid. He quite honestly wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed until his alarm had woken him up.

His parents decided that with his symptoms worsening it would be safest if he remained home. Danny wasn’t sure if they were thinking about his safety, or his classmates’, but he agreed either way.

Unfortunately, the knowledge that it likely was a new power didn’t make it any easier for them to fix it. They spend all of Thursday trying to find ways for him to actually use the power. They tried everything, every iteration of ice powers they could think of. Tucker had even looked up any comic superheroes with ice powers to see if Danny could mimic them.

It was on Friday that he woke up with the tips of his hair frozen and frost crawling along his walls. It had, thankfully, mostly stuck to his room, so the others hadn’t suffered too much.

At the breakfast table, he had been loudly complaining about the fact that he didn’t know any ghosts with ice powers outside of Klemper, so he couldn’t ask for help.

And then he had remembered the Far Frozen.

After repeatedly slamming his head into the table and complaining about his own stupidity, he had told his parents about Frostbite and his yetis. They hadn’t been thrilled to hear that Danny and his friends had visited the Ghost Zone, multiple times, but they decided to focus on the problem at hand. For now.

Frostbite himself had been more than accommodating, gladly training Danny with his new power. Warned that his new power might be a little… dangerous, at first.

Danny had heeded the warning, and made sure his parents were kept away.

They hadn’t been too pleased, of course, but after Frostbite’s people had led them into a ghostly medical facility… Well, they hadn’t wanted to let the opportunity to learn more about ghosts slip by. Besides, the opportunity to learn more about ghostly medicine could be useful to help Danny, as well.

It took Danny a little while to get better control over his ice powers, but Frostbite’s guidance helped. By the end of the day, Frostbite declared him capable enough to finish training at home.

By the time Monday rolled around, Danny had more or less gotten control over his new ice powers. Well, he had enough control over them not to accidentally freeze himself anymore.

So he was thus declared fit for school. Again.

Unfortunately, his new cryokinesis seemed to have permanently lowered his body temperature. It wasn’t very noticeable, except if people touched him. Or so they said. Danny himself couldn’t tell the difference, honestly.

It wasn’t great, but not the worst, either. Danny thought that it was an improvement over earlier, at least. Now at least he wasn’t as cold as a corpse. Or a full ghost. Just… a little too cold for a living human being. That was fine. He could work with that.

His return to school… wasn’t great. As he had feared, Dash had helped spread along the rumors of his ghostly nature. And his absence of several days hadn’t helped his case either.

So the moment Danny stepped through the doors of Casper High, a heavy silence fell. The crowds just watched, a few quietly whispering to each other. Danny couldn’t tell what they were saying, but he didn’t have to. He was pretty sure he already knew.

Still, with a skill borne from many years of practice, Danny ignored the now-silent crowd. He made his way to his locker, the people around him parting to let him through. Vaguely, Danny wondered why. If they believed him to be a ghost, wouldn’t it make more sense to stand in his way? So he would have to turn intangible to go through them?

Maybe they didn’t want to anger him, then. That made some amount of sense, at least, considering the type of ghosts Amity was familiar with. Maybe Dash had even bolstered the rumors, saying that Danny had attacked him Wednesday. That sounded like something the bully would do, to hide the fact that he hurt himself with his own stupidity.

Not that that helped Danny any, but still. He would take any positives he could find, considering the circumstances.

He calmly unlocked his locker, going through business as usual. Completely ignored the crowd that had formed. Of course, his fellow students didn’t like that.

They all believed the rumors, even before Dash had told them he had seen Danny use his ghostly abilities. So now they wanted to see it with their own eyes. Wanted proof of Danny’s ghostly nature.

Proof that Danny didn’t want to give them.

He finished packing his bag as the warning bell rung. He turned to walk to the classroom.

The crowd didn’t move. A few stragglers went off to their classrooms, but apparently the majority thought that this was more important than class. Were willing to risk detention, just to see if Danny really was a ghost. Or maybe they just thought that Danny would cave before the lessons actually started.

Either way, they had formed themselves into a rather impressive obstacle. Danny internally complained about the fact that neither Sam nor Tucker had their lockers nearby. They would probably notice the crowds and come looking for him, but he wasn’t sure how long that would take.

Not very long, he silently decided as he saw people in the crowd getting shoved aside. So Sam, probably. Even after years of ghost hunting, Tucker wasn’t the most physically impressive person.

A person finally burst out of the crowd, the people along the edge stumbling away from her.

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Hey Va-”

She had grabbed his arm before he finished speaking, bodily dragging him through the gathered students.

Once they emerged from the group of teenagers, she released him again. He shot her a thankful smile. “Uh, thanks?”

“Yeah, no problem.” She shrugged, suddenly looking a lot more uncertain than Danny had ever seen Valerie. “I, uh. Figured you needed a hand, after hearing the rumor mill go wild.”

“And my absence hasn’t helped, I imagine.” Danny grimaced, shouldering his backpack properly. “We should… probably head to class.”

Valerie nodded, although Danny wasn’t sure which of a statements it was an answer to. Both, probably. “You know what also hasn’t helped your status? Dash saying that you beat him up using ghost powers.”

Danny snorted. “Beat him up? I didn’t even do anything. He just freaked out, and then tried to punch me, and I did… Well, I did the same thing as during our last conversation, when you tried to punch me.”

“Wait.” Valerie turned to face him again. “You’re saying that you accidentally fed the rumor mill because Dash tried to punch you? Despite the fact that he’s been doing so for years?”

“Oh, no, no.” Danny raised his hands placatingly. “He had already figured it out. I kind of… had trouble with a new ability, which is why I was out the rest of the week.”

“That makes more sense. But still, just a little intangibility wouldn’t have freaked him out so bad, would it?”

“Well,” Danny said, grimacing again. “I think I hurt his pride a little. He sort of… hit the lockers behind me, when he tried to punch me?”

“Yeah, that sounds like Dash alright. Defeated by a non-violent ghost and a row of lockers.” Valerie rolled her eyes but smiled at Danny. “Although I have to say that I am curious about this new power of yours.”

Danny hummed, noncommittally. They had almost reached the classroom. This private conversation had to end soon. “I can tell you all about it during lunch, if you want? About… ghostly stuff in general?” He didn’t think that she would accept, but he wanted to offer anyway. If Valerie eased up on her no-ghosts policy, or if his knowledge could help keep her and Amity safe…

“Yeah,” Valerie agreed, snapping Danny out of his thoughts again. “That sounds good.”

They had reached the door of the classroom, stepping through it as the bell rung. As they made their ways to their seats, Danny mouthed at Valerie, ‘see you at lunch’.

Danny had taken one look at his usual table before he had walked outside. Yes, it was barely spring, but Valerie could bundle up. He had noticed over the past few days that the cold didn’t really bother him anymore, which he assumed to be a side-effect from his new ice powers.

Besides, no one else was stupid enough to sit outside while it was still so cold. They were practically guaranteed privacy.

Valerie apparently hadn’t thought of it that way, based on the way her face was twisted in anger. She sat down with force, practically growling at them. “Why-”

“We kind of needed privacy, Val. And with the rumors being what they are...” Danny shrugged at her. He knew she was smart enough to know what he was trying to say.

She kept up the glare for a little longer before sighing, her shoulders sagging immediately. “Alright, fine. I guess you have a point.” She unzipped her bag, pulling out her lunch. “So… Where are Sam and Tucker?”

“Inside,” Danny said, grabbing his own lunch. “I figured you would be more comfortable if it was just the two of us.”

She stared at him, as if trying to judge his intentions. Then she sighed and nodded. “Fair enough. Anyway, to get back to the point…” She cocked an eyebrow. “You mentioned a new power?”

“Uh, yeah.” He silently wished he hadn’t mentioned it, earlier. If he showed her his ice powers, then Phantom couldn’t be seen suddenly wielding cryokinesis. Valerie would definitely connect the dots, and Danny wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. “It’s…” Think, Fenton, he pushed himself. Come up with a good idea… How do you cover for ice powers? Oh, duh.

“I can’t trigger it on purpose, but it’s a ghost sense. Like a build-in ghost scanner.” He smiled at her, hoping that she would buy it.

“Really?” she asked, leaning forward. “That’s pretty convenient.” She let the silence linger for a little longer as she sat back again. Finally she spoke again. “Do ghosts often spontaneously develop new powers?”

It wasn’t as innocent a question as Valerie was pretending, but Danny didn’t mind. If Valerie knew more about ghosts, actual proper information, it would help her. “Not usually, no. Usually they have a set list of abilities, and developing a new one is coupled with a major shift in power.” He smiled a little sheepishly at her. “We’re… not sure what made me develop a new one so suddenly.”

“Huh.” Valerie frowned, and took a bite of her lunch. Danny did the same, after checking that his lunch hadn’t been ectoplasmically tainted. Sure, the ectoplasm didn’t hurt him anymore, but that didn’t mean it was tasty. And it’s not like he needed the extra ectoplasm, either.

Valerie kept watching him, and Danny was starting to feel a little uneasy under her unwavering stare. He wasn’t sure what to say, however.

Finally, Valerie was the one to break the silence. “Do ghosts… Is it normal for ghosts to eat?” She grimaced, like she realized that the question sounded ruder than she had intended.

“Some do, some don’t.” Danny shrugged, shooting her an easy smile, showing that he didn’t mind her unintentional rudeness. “Pretty sure most ghosts don’t need to, since they can get their energy from the Ghost Zone. But a lot of ghosts that died recently still like to eat.” Then he raised his sandwich in example. “Personally, I kinda need to eat to keep up my energy levels, since I don’t really spend time in the Zone.”

“That… makes sense,” Valerie agreed, nodding. “I can’t imagine just not eating anymore, especially if I’m around other people.” She fingered the bracelet on her wrist, twisting it around a few times. “Do you… Are you uncomfortable talking about… these kind of things?”

“Depends,” Danny said, making a face. “I don’t mind, per se. But some people...” He shivered for show, but then smiled at her. “But I’m fine with, well,” he gestured around vaguely, “this. Talking about it with you.”

“Really?” Valerie raised an eyebrow at him. “Even though I’m a ghost hunter?”

“Val, you’re my friend. Besides, you’ve already told me that you don’t mind, well, me. And you wouldn’t have dragged me out of that crowd this morning if you had changed your mind.”

“True.” She sighed, shoulders sagging down even further. “It’s just… This whole time, I’ve been driven by… by anger, by hatred. I told myself that all ghosts are evil, and that they didn’t deserve to exist. Not in Amity Park. And now...” She looked at him, forlorn.

“And now I’ve diverted from that, huh?” He sighed too. “I can’t help you with the anger, with your motivation for hunting. But, if you want to keep it up… I can teach you more about ghosts?”

“Really?” Valerie leaned forwards, curiosity clear on her face. “You would… do that? For me?”

“Of course.” Danny shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, and twisted around to sit more comfortably. “I’ll tell you more about whatever you want to know, provided that I actually know it.”

“But?” Valerie asked, catching onto the silent hook. She sat back again, crossing her arms.

“But,” Danny pressed, “I want you to hear me out about Phantom. I don’t know what, exactly, you have against him, and I don’t care. I’m not gonna try to change your mind. I just want you to listen to my perspective, as a ghost. Okay?”

Valerie frowned, and they sat in silence for a bit. Then she sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I guess I can do that.” She uncrossed her arms again, laying them on the table between them. “But only because I trust you, Danny.”

He grinned at her. “Appreciate it. So, where should we start?”

Valerie didn’t answer immediately, clearly thinking her answer over. Danny let her. No need to push her, as long as she would allow him to talk about Phantom later. He only hoped that she would listen, would understand.

“How about… Why do ghosts come into Amity Park so often?” Her gaze was calculating, but not in a cold way. Danny could always appreciate how focused Valerie was, even if he was often the target of said focus.

“Well, there’s a number of reasons, really.” He made a face. “For ghosts who just want to visit the human plane, Amity is an easy way out because of the Fenton Portal, and because natural portals open up a lot around here. As for why they would want to leave the Zone...” he trailed off, thinking over his options.

“Well, it’s not exactly a cheery place. I imagine it gets boring pretty quick, if you spend your entire afterlife there. And that’s not even mentioning the ghosts with, y’know, actual plans and stuff.”

“Do you know a lot of them?” Valerie asked. “Ghosts, I mean.”

Danny shrugged. “I know a good number by name and appearance, but then, who doesn’t? If you’re asking for ghostly friends… A couple, but none of them come here. It’s kind of… dangerous.”

“Oh.” Now Valerie looked troubled. “So if they don’t come here… How did you meet them?”

Danny bit his lips, considering his options. “Well, most of them have come here before. Wulf and Dora have both… caused trouble, in the past. But they were forced to. Frostbite I met while exploring the Zone.”

“None of those sound familiar to me. Could you… tell me who they are?” She looked doubtful, but in true Valerie fashion, powered through nonetheless. “So I can… avoid hunting them?”

Danny blinked, somewhat surprised. He hadn’t expected Valerie to change her mind so easily, and about ghosts she hadn’t even met yet. “Uh, sure? Although I doubt that you’ll ever come across any besides maybe Wulf. Dora and Frostbite both run kingdoms in the Zone, so even besides the danger, they can’t really leave. Wulf, though… He just kind of goes wherever. He’s… Well, he’s a giant bipedal wolf, basically.” Danny shot her a smile at her stunned face. “Big, very furry, black with green eyes. Kinda slobbery. Oh,” Danny snapped his fingers. “And he only speaks Esperanto.”

“How did you even… How did you befriend him?” Valerie looked rather stunned.

“Tucker speaks Esperanto, so he could translate for me. As for why, well. Kind of an ‘enemy of my enemy’ kinda deal, at least at first.” He shrugged.

“You have… enemies? Wait, does that mean you can fight?” Now she really looked perplexed. Whoops.

“I have… some. Walker is a real big jerk, but luckily he doesn’t leave the Zone very often.” Danny grimaced. “He runs a prison in the Zone, but he makes up his own rules and then arrests you for breaking them. I, uh. May have gotten myself arrested.”

“Danny,” Valerie groaned, laying her head on the table. “How?”

“Well, one of his favorite made-up rules is that apparently ‘real world’ items aren’t allowed in the Zone. And while cleaning the lab I kind of… knocked my parents’ anniversary gift through the Portal, so I went to retrieve it.” Danny scowled, crossing his arms and leaning them on the table. “Walker caught me and arrested me for my troubles.”

“Wow, he is a jerk. Has he ever come into Amity?” Danny recognized the fury burning in Valerie’s eyes, and was rather glad to see it aimed at someone other than him, for once. Besides, Walker deserved it, unlike most of her targets.

“Yeah, once. Him and a bunch of his minions were responsible for the first ghost invasion, overshadowed a bunch of people around the city. Phantom tried to fight him off, but Walker was overshadowing the major, and… Well, you know what happened after that.”

“You mean… when Phantom kidnapped the major?” Valerie was frowning at him, now, thoughtful. “Did- Was he framed? By another ghost?”

“Yup,” Danny said, nodding. “From what I saw, Walker grabbed Phantom and dragged him outside. I could tell that the major was overshadowed, but, well… Not much I could do with that knowledge.”

“No,” Valerie agreed, before groaning. “And I guess that the robberies had an actual reason, too?”

Danny snorted, ignoring the icky feelings he got whenever he thought of that. The feeling of losing control over his own body, over himself, like that… He still wasn’t over it. “Correct. The ringleader of that goth circus thing, he had a staff that could control ghosts. Phantom tried to fight off a few robbing ghosts, got himself dragged into the business as thanks.”

“Oh,” Valerie muttered. “I guess… I guess that I was maybe a little too quick to judge.”

“Maybe so. But, Val, everybody makes mistakes.” He leaned forward with a smile. “That’s just what makes us human, y’know?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She cracked a smile. “Thanks, Danny.”

She opened her mouth to say more, but the bell rung and cut her off. She turned to look at the school, and then sighed. “Guess we better get back to class. But seriously, thanks.” She shouldered her backpack, then shot him another smile. “And, I’m here for you. No matter what. Okay?”

Danny smiled back. “Of course.”

#danny phantom #dp fanfic #phanfic #phanfiction #dp fanfiction #disinterred #dark writes #danny fenton #valerie gray #this is one of those chapters that i look back on and think 'this could've been better'#but i know better NOW so i can do better for future fics #live and learn y'know #next week's chapter is the longest in all of Disinterred and i'm Big Excite #it's called And You Will See Me Now #>:3

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aishahiwatari · 5 years

Text

Only Skin Deep - a tattooed!Bones Academy Era McKirk Story

With bonus Bones in a skirt!

Inspired by this tumblr post. A huge thank you to @these-broken-bones and @littlecrazyfangirl-98 for their inspiration. @captainmccoy I take cash or cheque or alternatively payment in comments!

Also on AO3

Leonard is usually very careful. But he's in hand-to-hand one day, too busy grappling with an over-zealous trainee security officer to realise that his shirt rides up at the back.

It would take more than that, though, to distract him from the unmistakable crunch of flesh striking bone and a yell of pain. Leonard shoves his sparring partner off him and turns towards the sound.

Somehow it's both the first and last person he expects to find injured. "Damnit, Jim, what did you do?"

Jim is too busy trying to staunch the flow of blood from a likely broken nose to immediately respond. He waves away the concern of their instructor but lets Leonard brusquely examine him, getting them both covered in blood in the process, and submits to Leonard's suggestion of the Academy Clinic with suspiciously little argument and an overabundance of pained groans.

There's only ten minutes of their session left, so the instructor lets them go and Jim makes a miraculous recovery the moment he's out the door.

"Bones! What is that under your shirt?"

"That's why you got punched in the face? You were too busy ogling my tattoo?"

Jim lets out a girlish shrieking sound that is hastily cut off when Leonard grabs him by the arm and robustly encourages him to keep walking where he would have stopped. It doesn't really help. Leonard can feel the anticipatory silence, Jim's restless energy, his need to know as an almost physical presence.

Still, it doesn't last long. "Please, Bones. Let me see it? I just want to see it. I'll stop pestering you, just let me see what's under your shirt."

"Your pick-up lines need work," Leonard slaps away inquisitive hands, ends up with yet more smears of blood all over his for his trouble. He wipes them on his black shirt, figures it's already past saving. "And I know you. You'll keep pestering."

"But I won't need to if you just let me see- wait. You have more than one."

It's like all of Jim's Christmases have come at once. He even lights up so vividly that Leonard has to look away. Anyway, Jim hates Christmas. He needs a better metaphor.

"Bones, I'm gonna need you to get naked for the good of the 'Fleet."

"Really."

"Yes! You wouldn't want their best Captain to be distracted, now, would you? It would be a disaster."

"Captain Pike does not give a damn what's under my shirt, Cadet."

"I'll still be distracted when I'm a Captain. And I don't know, I mean, he's not blind-"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You're a good-looking guy, Bones! And you're- weirdly buff, for a doctor."

"I am not weirdly anything, except friends with you."

"I know you meant that as an insult but all I'm taking from that is you admit we're friends."

"You sound a little delusional, Jim, are you sure you're not up for another round of vaccinations?"

Jim plants his feet right outside the damn clinic, makes Leonard realise just how little chance he stands against the force of that resolve. Still. He has a reputation to maintain. "Move. You're not seeing a damn thing until you've stopped bleeding."

"It's pretty much stopped. I don't even think it's broken."

"You're right, I should definitely believe the idiot who got punched in the head over my years of medical expertise."

Jim just grins at him. There's blood dripping off his face. His nose is definitely crooked.

"Goddamnit, fine." Leonard turns, lifts his shirt up at the back. He expected but is unprepared for the sensation of Jim's hands on his exposed skin, pushing his shirt up further, tracing the lines of ink that have been part of his skin for so long he almost forgets about them. He is in no way prepared for the awestruck stutter in Jim's breath, for the murmured curses that conspire to send shivers down his spine.

"I can't believe you complain so much about the nickname," Jim breathes next, and Leonard snorts. Yes, he has bones tattooed on his back, starting at his hips and extending up his spine to fade out before it can realistically be seen while he's wearing a shirt, a hyper-realistic reminder to stand tall and protect what's inside of him.

Jim draws the line at pushing his pants further down where they cover the further detail at his pelvis, but he traces the lines of jagged vertebrae with gentle fingers, smoothes his palms out over the curves of the ribs, just teases the edges of where he can see the scapulae at his shoulders. They're in public, but at least they're out of class early enough that not many people are around. Nobody even glances in their direction, but Leonard feels self-conscious all the same.

"You done?" he asks, and Jim starts away, pulls Leonard's shirt down and attempts a confident grin that makes him hiss in pain. Leonard drags him into medical before he can put up any further arguments.

Leonard was right. Jim does want to see his other tattoos, and he does not stop pestering.

In fact, he goes further than that.

They meet in the cafeteria one day and Jim spills brightly-coloured soda all down Leonard's pants. He's unrealistically and aggressively apologetic and practically tries to convince Leonard to take his clothes off where they stand.

Less than a week later, Leonard is stuck in a lecture because the tutor's codes no longer work on the door. Also, the heating system appears to be broken, because it is much warmer in there than it should be. Leonard spends the next hour or so glaring at the security cameras because he knows what Jim is doing, damnit, and it's bad enough that it should be irritating him without dragging other people into it too. Anyway, he grew up in Georgia. He's used to being uncomfortably hot and also surrounded by family members he despises, so it's kind of like a vacation.

They're freed eventually, and he always carries an extra bottle of water with him after that. He also doesn't talk to Jim for three days, until he's worn down by the big, apologetic eyes and the flowers their tutor mysteriously receives.

"It's still not alright, damnit! Don't go dragging other people into this! If you put half as much work into something productive…"

Jim is grinning so broadly it's clear that his chastisement is having no effect. Leonard wears long sleeves and pants even in his quarters for the week after that, just to see him quietly fume and pout.

Leonard steps out of the shower a while after that to find his clothes and towel have mysteriously disappeared. He actually finds himself grateful that Jim didn't just barge in and demand to see.

He's also a little insulted that Jim underestimates him so severely.

Uzbek is in their cultural sensitivity class, has about the same build and uses the showers about ten minutes after Leonard. Today is no exception.

"Your boyfriend still playing all those pranks on you?" Uzbek asks, handing over the mass of red fabric with a smirk and only the barest glance of interest at the exposed ink on Leonard's chest.

"Something like that."

He gets a few comments, all of them surprisingly complimentary, as he crosses campus. Most people either don't notice the difference or don't care, though, and he finds Jim outside their lecture theatre, pretending to be engrossed in his padd. Someone giggles, and Leonard shoots them a warning look, steps up in front of Jim, puts his hands on his hips and clears his throat.

Jim glances up and there is a flash of disappointment in his eyes when he sees the red uniform. Then he notices. Leonard can tell he notices, because he drops his padd. Jim stares, mouth open, and Leonard just arches a brow at him, because it feels like he's getting revenge for everything Jim's put him through the last couple of weeks.

The best part is, even with the skirt, the uniform still doesn't expose any more of his ink than it would have done anyway. The lotus flowers, inked in greyscale around his ankle are hidden by his boots, and he's still got long sleeves and the spare underwear he keeps in his locker at Medical.

Jim is still staring. Leonard doesn't allow himself to feel uncomfortable, has never had a problem with his legs or a fragile grasp on his masculinity. He strides into the lecture theatre when the door is opened and feels Jim's gaze burn on the backs of his thighs, lets his hips sway just a little. The game has gone on long enough and he intends to win.

When he chooses a seat, Jim sinks into the one beside him with a baleful glare. He doesn't make a single note, just stares some more, mostly at the hem of Leonard's skirt, the place where his thighs are pressed together. Unfortunately for him, Leonard grew up with enough women to know how to sit properly.

By the time they get up to leave, Jim is practically vibrating with tension, fingers twitching with a need to touch. Leonard's not unaffected himself, and he doesn't resist when Jim hauls him into a secluded corner, shoves him up against the wall and kisses him. It's harsh and biting and Leonard pulls Jim in closer with hands on his ass, only too happy to accept this new outlet for their combined frustration.

"I don't even care about the tattoos, I just need to see you naked right now," Jim pants, with a nip at Leonard's ear, a graze of his teeth along Leonard's jaw, his hand creeping up the outside of Leonard's thigh. It's tempting, very tempting.

"Not that sort of girl, damnit. You'll need to at least buy me dinner."

Jim huffs out a laugh. His eyes are dark, his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen and wet. "I've got half a bottle of bourbon and a bag of peanuts in my room."

"Deal."

Later, when they're sated and relaxed and sleepy -or so Leonard thinks- Jim turns the lights up to full and yanks the covers off to look his fill.

"What is wrong with you?" Leonard complains, but the gentle touch of fingers to his inked ankle is surprisingly pleasant. The flowers there tell a story for him. Lotus flowers are submerged in mud overnight, have their roots there, but they bloom anew every morning without a single smudge to mar their beauty. Lotus seeds can survive hundreds of years without water, still germinating centuries later. They are hardy, and miraculous. They're one of the first thing he sees most mornings when he gets out of bed.

He hugs his pillow and buries his face in it, shivers slightly when Jim kisses each of the flowers in turn, then trails his lips up the back of Leonard's thigh to bite lightly at his ass, finally setting his hands to the inked pelvic bones just above it. He traces them reverently, relaxing Leonard by degrees before urging him to turn over.

Leonard does it with a grumble, because he knows what's coming, knows it's inevitable.

Jim bursts out laughing, of course, when he sees it, the adorable kitten inked close to his navel.

"Lost a bet in medical school."

"Did you- choose the design?" Jim is still laughing. Leonard hits him with the pillow. Jim snatches it off him and throws it across the room, then bends to kiss the kitten. Leonard's hips twitch hopefully, Jim's lovely mouth so close to areas beginning to once more demand attention with Jim also gloriously naked and within reach. He just gets a coy look for his troubles and rolls his eyes.

Jim finds the caduceus on his inner arm next, just above the elbow. It's meant to stay Leonard's hand when he might otherwise act rashly, a reminder to do no harm. Subtly, in the detail of the staff, is the stardate of his father's death. If Jim notices, he doesn't ask.

There are twin guardians adorning Leonard's chest, Chinese lion statues representing yin and yang. Balance. They watch over Leonard's heart, because he's fallen too hard and too fast, or given too much, too many times. Jim pets them like they're adorable puppies, but he does allow himself to be dragged down into a kiss by way of Leonard's fists clenching in his hair once he's done.

"Think I should get one?" he asks, maybe an hour later.

"Don't do it on my account. I know some good artists if you wanted to talk to them about any designs you had in mind."

Jim's taste in tattoos tends towards commemorating events far more than Leonard's does. By the time they finally attend the parlour together, Jim already has a colourful nebula inked across his ribs on one side, a cluster of four wheatsheafs across the opposite pectoral. There's a guardian angel keeping watch over his back, too.

Their matching tattoos are anatomically correct hearts around which a selection of planets orbit, Leonard's in greyscale and adorning his forearm. Apparently he has a propensity to wear his heart on his sleeve.

Jim's is a vivid red, inked in the hollow of his hip, a testament to the number of times he has been accused of being governed by what's in his pants.

#mckirk #star trek #tattoos #my fic

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notarelationship · 6 years

Text

Along For The Rides, Ch 10

Blaine and Kurt get their summer romance on. Mostly fluff, awkward flirting, a side of misunderstanding and some hanky panky.

Rating: M, but nothing too intense Words: This chapter ~ 5000 Warnings this chapter: none

Read it on AO3,

Read it on Tumblr

thanks to @honeysucklepink pink for the beta of course, as usual all mistakes are my own.

This is indeed the home stretch. One more after this, for real this time.

The only possible explanation for how Blaine feels when he wakes up is that an elephant must have sat on him overnight. His back hurts, his left butt cheek hurts, it hurts when he breathes and his arms don’t want to help him get out of bed.

He knows he’s in Kurt’s bed, that part he hasn’t forgotten. They definitely fell asleep kissing. Or, Blaine fell asleep kissing Kurt. Kurt may have been up longer, he’ll have to ask him. If only he could move. Kurt’s bed is so comfortable and the sound of the rain on the windows is so soothing that Blaine would like to never leave this spot.

He and Kurt still have some things to talk about, though. Blaine was shocked last night when Kurt finally explained why he had been so upset with him, but lying here thinking about it now - well, he wants to murder Jeff - but also it’s possible Kurt may have gotten some wrong impressions. Blaine wants to fix that.

With Hulk-like effort Blaine manages to get into a half sitting position, his butt complaining loudly that it doesn’t really want to be sat on yet.

“Hey sleepyhead.” Kurt comes in and sits on the edge of the bed, setting a few thing on the side table, including a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water. “How are you feeling?”

Blaine stifles a yawn. Kurt has super adorable bed-head, bangs hanging over his forehead that almost reach his eyebrows, and he’s still in his pajamas, but he looks more awake than Blaine feels.

“Okay. Sore. Like I could sleep for a year,” Blaine answers. “But also grateful.” He reaches over to drum his fingers on the back of Kurt’s hand, and Kurt responds by tangling his fingers with Blaine’s. It’s a small gesture but Blaine’s heart swells with relief when he does it. “Thank you. I can’t imagine how terrible last night would have been in the camper. I really do appreciate what you’ve done, Kurt.”

Kurt smiles at him, but waves off the thanks. If it’s not the shy, flirty smile Blaine was getting earlier in the week, it at least seems genuine, so Blaine will take it.

“I made some breakfast, if you’re hungry. I don’t know what you want to do since it’s going to rain all day, but I’ve got a ton of movies we could watch, or if you think it would help I can get another bath going. Or you could just sleep if that’s what you’re up for.”

Every muscle in his body feels like screaming, but Blaine is not going to sleep away a chance to spend the day with Kurt, and hopefully earn Kurt’s trust, if not his affection. After last night he believes he can.

“Hungry.” When Kurt laughs he goes on. “But I might take you up on the bath again later. Everything hurts.” Blaine winces when he tries to stretch his muscles.

“Oh, here.” Kurt takes one of the bottles he’d brought with him. “Arnica. For the bruises. It might just be a placebo effect, but it helped me when I had them. And I brought you some more pain killers.” Kurt gestures to the side table. “Come on into the den whenever you’re up to it.” Blaine wants to ask about the bruises Kurt alluded to, but Kurt is up and out of the bedroom before he can.

When Blaine finally makes it out of the bedroom he’s overwhelmed in the best way by what he sees. Spread out on the coffee table is a bowl of cut fruit and a basket of muffins, with a full pot of coffee sitting next to what looks like a warming dish. Blaine can’t see what’s inside, but after five weeks of eating microwavable breakfast sandwiches from 7-Eleven, Blaine wants to throw himself at Kurt’s feet in gratitude. He doesn’t, but he wants to.

“Kurt this looks amazing,” is what he says instead, settling onto the sofa.

“Do you need a pillow or anything?” Kurt asks, after Blaine struggles to get comfortable. When Blaine nods, Kurt helps him shift around until he is both comfortable enough to sit and upright enough to eat. It’s slightly awkward, but Blaine doesn’t really mind all the touching. “I thought it would be easier for you out here than sitting at the table, is that okay?”

Blaine reaches for one of the muffins. “Are these blueberry? When did you have time to get muffins?”

“I made them this morning. You’ll have to let me know if they’re up to coffee shop standards.” Kurt blushes and lifts the lid off the warming dish. “And I made scrambled eggs - it’s important to get some protein in too.”

“You made -?” Blaine breaks a muffin in half and puts the entire half in his mouth. It’s delicious. “Kurt these are amazing. I can’t believe everything you’re doing for me. You really don’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble Blaine, I usually cook for my dad anyway, and well, he’s not here.” Kurt stops and swallows, then turns to look at Blaine. “And I’d like to start over, if we could. With less confusion.”

Blaine finished chewing the rest of the muffin, swallowing while he meets Kurt’s gaze. “No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to start over.”

Kurt looks away, and Blaine can see how disappointed he is before he says anything. “Okay, I -“

“No Kurt, wait. Let me finish. I don’t want to start over because I don’t want to waste how far we’ve come. I don’t want to forget our first date or the first time I kissed you. I want those moments to stay with us, whatever we might have - however long or short it lasts. We’ve only got until tomorrow morning, and I want to make the most of it.”

Kurt’s eyes are big, and Blaine can’t quite read what he might be feeling, but now that he’s started he just wants to get it all out.

“I sort of got the feeling last night, when we were talking in the car, that what you think I’ve been getting up to is a lot more scandalous than the truth of it.”

Kurt’s still watching him, not quite skeptical, but unsure of where the story is going.

“What I mean is that just because I made out with a few guys in the parking lot doesn’t mean I have a lot of experience either. I mean, I barely knew their names.”

Kurt’s expression is blank, and Blaine runs his hands through his hair. This is coming out all wrong.

“I don’t mean I just messed around with anyone.” Blaine tries to clarify. “It’s just that -”

“They didn’t mean anything,” Kurt finishes.

“Exactly,” Blaine says, and for a fraction of a second he thinks that’s an explanation, but he can see Kurt’s expression wobble. “Kurt. You aren’t like them.”

“You keep saying that. But I don’t know how to know if that’s true.” Blaine watches as Kurt silently fills a plate with eggs and fruit and a muffin and then sit back and eat quietly.

“Do you want to know why I took this job? With Sam at the carnival?” Kurt doesn’t say anything, but he does look at Blaine, so he continues. “Five weeks ago I had never kissed a guy either. Sam talked me into coming with him this summer because I didn’t want to go off to college in September a completely inexperienced dork from Ohio who didn’t know any more about sex than what he’d seen on the internet.”

“So, what have you experienced?” Kurt asks. He’s trying to be casual about it, but he’s blushing crimson to his eyebrows. “Have you just made out with these guys? Like what we’ve done?”

For a second Blaine doesn’t want to answer. He almost wants to say it’s none of Kurt’s business - partially because it isn’t, but also because he’s not entirely proud of himself.

But then he looks at Kurt and realizes Kurt’s not actually judging him - but he is curious.

“Your silence speaks volumes,” Kurt says.

“I’m not ashamed of anything Kurt, and I don’t regret anything I did. I mean, it all felt good in the moment. But honestly? Afterward it didn’t feel like much. And it only happened a few times before I had had enough.” Blaine doesn’t really want to go into too much detail unless Kurt really wants him to. But there was one thing he did want Kurt to know. “Then I met you. And I wanted to find as many excuses as I could to spend time with you.”

Kurt is still quiet, but he looks like he’s thinking about everything that Blaine said, so Blaine finally helps himself to some of the rest of the food Kurt had put out. He’s in dire need of coffee too.

“Can I confess something too, while we’re laying it all out there?” Kurt asks. Blaine nods and Kurt goes on. “At first? I thought the same thing. It was two weeks, tops, what could it hurt? You were the first guy - my own age anyway - that looked at me with any sort of interest. And Rachel said - she suggested, I mean, that maybe you were interested in me and I could just have a little fling and, well.” Kurt looks sheepish for a moment, then he shrugs. “Then I wouldn’t be an inexperienced dork from Ohio either, not that I’m going anywhere.” Kurt refills both of their coffee mugs and then sits back against the arm of the couch so he can look at Blaine, his hands cradling his mug. “But then you were so sweet to me.”

“I swear, I meant everything I said, Everything I did.” Blaine shuffles forward, taking the mug from Kurt’s hands and setting it on the table before taking both of Kurt’s hands into his own. “It feels so incredibly unfair that I finally meet someone special,” he looks at Kurt, hoping he can see just how sincere he really is, “and circumstances conspired to impose an expiration date.”

Kurt shifts so he’s closer, and he’s definitely holding Blaine’s hands, and Blaine can see him looking at his mouth. So he takes the leap, moving in to kiss him, and Kurt kisses back hungrily.

They don’t stop. Kurt runs his hands over Blaine’s body, gasping when he reaches the muscles in his arms. Blaine’s proud of those muscles — he’s worked hard all summer and he’s happy he’ll at least have a nice body to show for it. When Kurt keeps going Blaine does too, running his hands over Kurt’s chest, over his clothes, but when Kurt whines into his mouth Blaine pushes on, sliding his hands under Kurt’s shirt so he can get them on his skin.

“Blaine.” Kurt pulls away, but Blaine keeps kissing his throat. “Should we, um.”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you want to, um --”

It takes Blaine a second, but he eventually realizes that Kurt is trying to get his attention. “Is everything okay? Do you want to stop?” Blaine sits back, wincing when he lands on his bruise. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to push.”

“Blaine, no, it’s okay. I want to, I -- do you want to move to the bedroom?”

Blaine isn’t sure he heard right. “What?”

“I just thought you might be more comfortable lying down.” Kurt is flushed to his ears, and Blaine would find it adorable if he wasn’t about to get horizontal with the sweetest, hottest guy he’s ever met. “I don’t want to accidentally make things worse in the moment, you know?” Kurt is starting to look a little less sure of his question. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“Oh! No, I mean yes! Yes, I want to. I mean if you do.” Blaine glances to the food all still out on the table. “Should we put this away?”

Kurt stands and holds out his hand. “No.”

The bed is still messy, and Kurt pushes the sheets over the foot of the bed as he climbs in. He doesn’t know if he should sit up or lie down, or what he should do at all, actually. So he sits.

“Is this more comfortable?” he asks, hoping Blaine can’t tell how completely terrified he is of what’s about to happen. And he doesn’t even know what’s about to happen. “Did you want to lie down?”

Blaine shuffles over on his knees and pulls Kurt into a quick kiss before pressing him down onto the bed. “This is more comfortable,” he says as he hovers on his hands and knees over Kurt. “Is this okay?” Kurt nods.

Then Blaine's mouth is on his neck, and he’s sucking small kisses into Kurt’s skin, and he gasps with each press of Blaine’s lips. Kurt isn't sure what to do or where to put his hands or how to breathe. Blaine is straddling his thighs, knees pressed against them, his arms extended on either side of Kurt’s head and he keeps asking if this is okay, if Kurt is okay, does Kurt want him to do anything, but somehow the only part of Blaine that is touching him is his mouth over and over and over and it doesn’t seem to be enough. Blaine kisses his neck, his jaw, below his ear, across his cheek and after each careful press of mouth to skin he brushes his mouth across the corner of Kurt's and asks him again, is this okay? and tell me if it’s not okay. Kurt can't imagine how it could not be okay, and he really wants to tell Blaine that he doesn’t have to be so careful because it is so okay. Kurt's hands are grasping at the sheet, and he's hard and his hips are shifting into air, into nothing, and he thinks Blaine is hard too but he can't see, because his head is bent backwards so Blaine can get at his neck easier and he thinks he has never felt anything so good or so right in his life, but he still can't tell if Blaine is hard because it’s his mouth that’s everywhere and his body is too, too far away, and Kurt doesn't know where to put his hands. "I ca-d-don't," but that's all that comes out. Blaine's lips drag slow across Kurt's skin, as if he can't separate from it, and Blaine mumbles against him, sorry, I'm sorry, I'll stop, and Kurt can't have that so he gathers all the sense he has left and says no don't stop I just, just what? Blaine is so careful and Kurt wants to touch him so bad.

"I don't know where to put my hands." Blaine pulls back, just enough to see Kurt's face to look into his eyes with an open mouthed grin. "Where do you want to put your hands Kurt?" Kurt tugs a little on Blaine's shirt, ruching it up toward his shoulders, and places his hands gingerly on Blaine's waist, careful to avoid any obvious injury, and Kurt's whole body lights up because no one has ever wanted him to touch them like this, and Blaine is all gorgeous skin and taut muscle and he smells like everything Kurt has ever wanted (and a little like Arnica, but that’s okay too). His thumbs press into the skin just at Blaine's hip bones and Blaine makes a noise somewhere between a growl and a whine and presses his mouth to Kurt's again, lips parted, tongue insistent, until Kurt licks back and can't help but shift his hips toward Blaine because he wants so very much for Blaine to get closer, to press his whole body against Kurt but Kurt doesn't know how to ask, so he keeps pulling Blaine but Blaine is resisting and maybe, maybe he doesn't want that. But that doesn't make any sense because he literally can't stop kissing Kurt so he must want more of something, so Kurt keeps pulling, his hands moving under Blaine's shirt and over the skin on his back until finally Blaine pulls further away, leaning back as Kurt follows with his body and sits up in front of him, Blaine rests his forehead against Kurt’s "Kurt, I want, I want --” And it just sits there and Kurt doesn't know.

"You want?" Kurt asks, like he really has no idea and he doesn't.

"I want to so bad, but if I touch you I won't want to stop and I need to know if it's okay, if you want to not stop too. With me. Now." Kurt leans in and kisses him, less frantic. "I want to. Not stop, I mean, I want to touch you too." He kisses him again, pulling Blaine's shirt up and whispering, "Can you take this off?"

Blaine nods and pulls his shirt over his head a little gingerly, tugging at Kurt's right after. "Okay?"

Kurt nods and Blaine tugs and Kurt can see Blaine's eyes go wide and his lips part as he stares at Kurt's chest and his shoulders, but Kurt isn't done. He slips a finger under the elastic of Blaine's sweatpants, careful to avoid the flat waistband of his briefs. "Maybe these too?" He breathes. He wants more skin, but he's not sure how ready he is to be completely naked. "Blaine?" Blaine is almost panting now, okay, okay and Kurt can see him swallow. "I never, um, I've never been --” Kurt doesn't know what he's going to say so he waits, one hand on Blaine's shoulder. Blaine looks unsure for the first time since they started kissing on the couch. "I've never, um, done this before, with ahh, no clothes on."

He's staring over Kurt's shoulder, but ticks a quick glance back to Kurt. Kurt can only give him the truth right now. “Me either.” Blaine nods. “We don’t have to get completely naked yet, if you’re not ready,” Kurt offers. Blaine wriggles out of his shorts, and he’s left in a snug pair of Kurt’s underwear. “God that’s hot,” Kurt exhales.

The corner of Blaine’s mouth ticks up, and he kisses Kurt back down to the mattress. And he keeps going, he kisses Kurt’s throat and collarbone, down his chest until he tongues over one nipple. When Kurt gasps and bucks his hips, Blaine does it again, and again, until Kurt is writhing under him, one hand buried in Blaine’s hair, the other gripping him anywhere.

When Blaine gets to Kurt’s belly button, he licks over it slowly, hooking his fingers into Kurt’s sweatpants. Kurt pushes up onto his elbows, and Blaine looks at him. “Can I?” Kurt nods, and Blaine pulls them off quickly, his attention returning immediately to where Kurt’s cock is thick and obvious in his briefs. Blaine’s hand hovers over it, and Kurt watches as he licks his lips over and over. He wants to close his eyes and let Blaine do whatever he wants, but he doesn’t want to miss anything either. “I want to touch you,” Blaine asks, looking up at him with the question in his eyes.

Kurt nods again. “Uh huh.”

Blaine’s palm is on him quickly, rubbing unsure over his fabric covered cock, until he finally grips the shaft and jerks him a few times in his underwear. Kurt falls back to the bed, but it’s not enough. Any hesitation he had about being naked with a guy, with Blaine, goes out the window and he reaches for Blaine’s wrist, slowing him down. “Wait. Get these off.” Kurt thumbs under the elastic and stretches it over his cock as it flops back onto his hip with a soft smack. Blaine stares, then sits up just long enough to strip completely naked.

“Ready now.”

Kurt can’t stop himself from touching, and he wraps his hand around Blaine’s cock, eyes wide as a drop of fluid pearls at the head. Kurt thumbs over the drop, over the soft head as Blaine curses quietly, a hand in Kurt’s hair. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

Kurt jacks him slowly at first, wonder and intense arousal churning in his belly. He goes faster when Blaine whines harder, his hips thrusting as he fucks into Kurt’s fist. Blaine loses his balance, propping himself on outstretched arms as Kurt falls back again on the bed. “I’m gonna come,” he whines, kissing Kurt hard before throwing his head back and coming into Kurt’s fist and onto his stomach as Kurt jerks him through every spurt.

“Oh my god,” Blaine exhales, laughing and kissing Kurt again, a bit longer this time. “I was gonna do that to you.”

Kurt isn’t sure what to do, so he wipes his hand on the sheet with a nervous chuckle. “Was that okay?”

“So okay.” Blaine kisses him again, wrapping his hand around Kurt’s cock as he does. “God you feel good.”

Kurt wants to say something hot, or seductive, or any other thing you’re supposed to when you have sex, but all he can do is moan and thrust into Blaine’s hand. Blaine doesn’t seem to mind though, and he keep talking, gorgeous, and so hot, and fuck Kurt spill from his lips. Kurt can tell he’s close, and he spreads his thighs just enough to reach between them, rubbing below his balls and Blaine chokes sliding his hand next to Kurt’s.

“Oh god let me, please Kurt.” Kurt can only whine and close his eyes, as Blaine presses his thumb along Kurt’s perineum. Blaine he finally manages, spreading his legs further. Blaine slips a finger between his cheeks, pressing, pressing, as he jerks Kurt’s cock faster and Kurt doesn’t know what he wants more and he can’t help pressing against Blaine’s finger, thrusting into his fist, finally lifting off the bed, come splashing across his chest, hitting Blaine across his chin. Kurt wants to think it’s gross, but it’s not and he can’t breathe, so he just thumbs the droplets off of Blaine before he drops to the bed next to him.

“Oh my god,” Kurt gasps. “Ohmygod.”

“Kurt that was so hot,” Blaine says. He’s lying on his back next to Kurt, but his head is turned so he’s looking at him, and Kurt can see desire still in his eyes.

“It was,” Kurt answers, then he starts laughing. Blaine grins and in moments is laughing with him. They giggle together for a while, and when Kurt finally catches his breath, he mouths “Thank you” at Blaine.

Blaine shakes his head slowly. “It was amazing for me too Kurt, no thanks necessary.” Since Blaine is the slightly more functional of the two, he goes to the bathroom for a warm washcloth, cleaning up the worst of the mess before climbing back into bed next to Kurt. “Nap,” he says, pulling Kurt into his arms.

Kurt wakes about an hour later with his body half sprawled over Blaine’s, his mouth open to a trail of drool on Blaine’s chest.

“Oh gross,” he whispers out loud, wriggling away to discreetly wipe his mouth.

“Hey,” Blaine says softly, and Kurt rolls back to his side to face him.

“I think I drooled on you.”

Blaine smiles. “You did a lot of things on me.”

“Oh my god.” Kurt turns his head and buries his face in the pillow.

“I hardly minded.” Kurt can feel Blaine’s fingers tracing over his shoulder, down his arm, finally resting on his side. He opens one eye to peek at Blaine, but he’s just laying there looking at Kurt, one arm curled under his head and the other still drawing on Kurt's skin.

“What time is it?” Kurt can’t see light coming brought the window shades, but with the rain it could be any time.

“No idea,” Blaine says. He makes some squirmy motion that Kurt thinks might be an attempt at a shrug, then dips his head to place a soft kiss on the corner of Kurt's mouth. “But not that late, I don’t think.”

Kurt takes a few moments to look at Blaine. His hair is tousled, his lips pink but no longer as irresistibly plump as after they’d been kissing all over Kurt’s body. His eyes are bright, even in the dim room, and such a clear shade of hazel they looked almost yellow. Kurt runs a hand over Blaine’s chest, stopping at the purpling bruise. “How do you feel?”

“Hmmm, like someone beat me up.” He smirks, but Kurt isn’t sure it’s funny.

“Does that happen a lot?” He asks.

Blaine looks confused. “Does what happen a lot?”

“Getting beat up?’” He’s tracing the scar on Blaine’s ribs with a finger.

“No? Just that first time. And well, weirdly this summer. I did take boxing lessons after that first time, but I have to be careful with my hands.”

“Oh yeah, why?”

Blaine mimes playing the piano. “I start Juilliard in September. I need to be able to play.”

Kurt sits up and stares down at Blaine. “What.” It’s barely a question.

Blaine looks a little sheepish. “I play piano.”

“Why has this never come up before?” Kurt is overwhelmed by the idea that Blaine plays piano well enough to get into Juilliard, but he’s more startled by the realization that even though the past two weeks have been filled with Blaine, and he feels like he has a pretty good idea of who he is as a person, he really doesn’t know anything about Blaine’s life.

Blaine sits up and puts a hand on Kurt’s leg, obviously looking to re-establish a connection that Kurt can feel is a little shaky. “I don’t know? There’s no piano at the carnival?” Concern flickers over Blaine’s features. “Kurt, is there something wrong?”

Kurt considers Blaine for a long moment. He’d definitely assumed a lot of things about him over the past few weeks, starting with the day he dropped out of the camper at the garage. Kurt’s laugh is self-deprecating. “No, no nothing’s wrong Blaine. I just -- I think I need to take some of my own advice about not making assumptions about people a little closer to heart.”

Blaine still looks worried though. “Like what?”

“This is going to sound stupid.” Blaine squeezes Kurt’s fingers. “I don’t know, when I met you you were driving an RV and working for a carnival. I guess the last thing I expect from a carny is admittance to Juilliard?”

Blaine grins and chuckles. “Yes well, we’ve had to rush a few things.”

Kurt smiles, feeling bold enough to lean forward and kiss Blaine on the mouth. “I guess so,” he says quietly. Blaine kisses him back, but they stop before it can get too heated. “How would you feel about a shower and a movie marathon? We can spend the evening playing twenty questions and see how much we don’t know about each other?”

Blaine’s answering smile is bright and soft. “That actually sounds amazing.”

Blaine is sitting at the kitchen island while Kurt makes him a care package of homemade sandwiches and snacks for the next few days, then Kurt is going to drive him to the site. They have to tear down today and get on the road to the next, and last, stop. He’s dressed in his clean carnival uniform - it turns out that Kurt is a wonder with stain removal, though Blaine shouldn’t be surprised. Kurt is good at everything. It might even be the cleanest Blaine has ever seen it.

“So remember to be careful. It’s only two more weeks Blaine. Please don’t do anything that would keep you from New York, okay?”

Blaine shakes his head emphatically. “No way. I’m not touching anything the rest of the summer.” Kurt rolls his eyes. “If there’s even a chance you’ll be in New York. Kurt, I’ll be there waiting.”

Kurt sighs and puts the last sandwich in a bag. “If I get in you’ll be the first person I tell. I promise.” Kurt packs everything up in an extra bookbag he had that he wasn’t using, and hands it to Blaine with a quick kiss.

Blaine can’t resist looking through the bag when they’re riding in the car. There is definitely more in there than just a few sandwiches. He feels around and pulls a t-shirt out. It’s Kurt’s Hummel Tire and Lube t-shirt.

“Kurt, I love this,” Blaine says, his voice thick with emotion.

He can see Kurt’s worrying his lips with his teeth, and his answer is teasing, but Blaine can hear how vulnerable Kurt is feeling. “It’s really for all the guys you meet the rest of the summer. Warn them off.”

“There won’t be any other guys Kurt,” Blaine says. And he knows it’s true.

“You can’t know that.”

“I can. I do.”

“Well, just don’t forget about me, okay?”

“It would not be possible for me to forget about you.”

They pull into the parking lot, and Kurt gets out with Blaine, walking him to the trailer. The other guys have already gotten started with the teardown, so Blaine needs to join them.

“Okay?” Blaine asks.

Kurt nods, but doesn’t say anything, so Blaine pulls him close, kissing him solidly on the mouth.

“I will text you,” he says when they break apart. “And I will call you when I can.”

“Just be safe, okay?” Is all Kurt says. Blaine says he will, and Kurt gets in his car and drives away.

Later that night Kurt is getting ready for bed -- his nighttime moisturizing routine has not been getting the attention it needs, and Kurt fears his skin is starting to show it -- when he gets a text. His dad is home from his trip and asleep already, so it can’t be him. He knows who he wants it to be, but he makes himself finish his routine before he checks.

When he thumbs open his phone he sees it’s a photo, and he clicks on it to find a picture of Blaine, messy hair and huge smile, wearing the t-shirt Kurt gave him. Seconds later another text comes through.

B: I’m all yours

#along for the rides #along for the rides ch 10 #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction

47 notes · View notes

satisfractions · 7 years

Text

different // yoongi

word count // 7.4k

genre // fluff

summary // in which tattooartist!yoongi meets floral!reader because he needs to practice drawing flowers for his job

a/n // so this was only supposed to be like 3k words??? but i got carried away. anyways i hope you guys enjoy and the beginning starts out a little slow but i wanted to provide a little background (also theres a prompt for this somewhere on tumblr but i cant find it anymore)

Everything was familiar to you. After spending your entire life stuck in the same city you born in, everything became routine. From where you shopped to the people who passed you on the street, nothing in your life changed. You smiled and greeted the same neighbours you had since you were little when they passed you on your way home from work. You chatted your way through the same cashiers that were now much older who could remember you from when you couldn’t see above the cash register. The same people always made your coffee, the same people always delivered the mail, and the same people always walked their dogs next to you while you rushed to get to work.

You had grown accustomed to the familiarity. How could you not? It was comforting and allowed you to find peace in your life. Nothing necessarily interesting popped out and surprised you at less than desirable moments. Which is what you found happened when you were forced into family vacations to other cities, and sometimes even other countries. The entire time you would spend moping around, uncomfortable and uneasy even when you were supposed to be having a fun time.

So, you stayed like this; in your familiar, although somewhat boring, lifestyle. It wasn’t boring to you, though, it provided stability which helped your mind not go numb after years of dealing with the same customers. Sure, working in the only flower store in town allowed for you to know anyone that bought flowers (which you were sure was the entire town). But sometimes it was a pain because you knew everyone. People tried to swindle you and, at first, you bought in. But after multiple threats to take your job away from the owner, you had to toughen up a bit. Now, whenever the familiar swindling customer came in you immediately changed your attitude in order to bring you the least amount of grief from the situation. Then it was back to the same familiarity that you basked in.

And that’s how it’s been for the past year or so. Most of your day was spent with you standing behind the counter, mindlessly flipping through the floral magazines that your store offered. Unfortunately, that’s all you really had to do unless a customer came in. Bouquets that were pre-maid for customers in hurry didn’t take long to put together. And bouquets that were ordered didn’t take much longer, either, because of the countless hours you had spent practicing when you first started the job. You didn’t complain that there wasn’t nothing to do, though, because the job provided you somewhere quiet to spend most of your time and well, your paycheck covered everything you wanted plus some.

Today was no different than any of the other days you worked. You opened the shop, a little earlier than usual because you couldn’t sleep. But other than that, you quickly did your morning duties and took to standing at the front, turning the pages. It was a weekday so you knew it would be a ghost town until about 4 or so, when kids were released from school and when adults started to come back from their jobs. It was surprising, though, when half past one came the familiar ding of the front door.

You looked up, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion when you saw a very unfamiliar man walking through the door. He was young, around your age maybe, and he didn’t entirely look like someone who went to a flower shop. Everything about him seemed cold but collected whereas the shop was radiant, warm, but most of all: disorganized. At first you, you thought he was lost until you were shocked to see him stuff his hands in his pockets and start to move towards the individual flowers section.

Although you had seen your fair share of different people coming in with different attitudes and appearances, it almost didn’t feel natural to see someone like that come into a place like this. That odd feeling paired with the fact that you had never seen him before left you wary as he looked around the shop. Trying not to look and judge, you pretended to continue reading after greeting him but really you were watching him out of the corner of your eyes.

There was something about the way he dressed that you would have named him a teenager if you hadn’t seen his face. The shirt and jeans he wore were long and skinny, almost all of his pale body was covered except for his hands and face. Even his grey hair was capped by a snapback that left a sense of completion to the outfit. Despite his rather dark clothing his face, once you took a proper look at it, was bright. Everything you had judged about him quickly vanished once you saw his face. Sure, his clothing, walk, and initial presence was detached and almost scary but you felt that if anyone took one second to look at his face they would melt and think nothing but kind things of him.

From the way he looked around hesitantly, and almost awkwardly, you could tell he had no idea what he was looking for. You thought about what brought him here. The rare newcomers that you had seen over the years came in mainly to buy anniversary gifts in a rush or funeral condolences. You wondered if it was one of those options.

It was no surprise that when you regained your attention on him he was still in the same spot. Now, stopped and looking over a selection of hydrangeas in the corner. His hand touched the flowers, feeling the shape, and began to pull apart the various stems to gather some into a small bundle. He seemed to had found the right pick because too quickly his hands moved to collect a bundle. Multiple surrounding flowers became slightly bent or had petals torn off from his ecstatic movement. You coughed loudly and glared at him to which he returned a sheepish smile. After the warning, you saw his hands move more slowly this time, carefully arranging the flowers in a small bundle before bagging them and bringing them to me.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized with a smile. He set the flowers down on my counter and you saw that any of the flowers he had damaged were sitting along with the flowers he had decided on. You started wrapping them up so they wouldn’t be ruined anymore.

“It’s fine, at least you’re paying for the ones you damaged,” you replied. Then you added, with a laugh: “Most people will try to shuffle the flowers around so they hide the ones they ruined.

“Really?”

“Why do you seem so surprised?” you asked, finishing the packaging. Because you didn’t have to do much at all working here, you liked to entertain myself with packaging everything with extreme care. The customers didn’t seem to mind as they always came back within the next week or two to compliment as their flowers hadn’t wilted at all.

“I don’t know… everyone seems so nice here. Nobody really seems like they would do that.” He scratched his head and shifted a little.

“Please, I can guarantee that everyone in this town has come in at least once to do something that pissed me off,” you scoffed. By now he had payed and you both were standing there talking as if you had been friends for a while.

He seemed taken aback by your response. “That’s surprising.”

“There are nice people here, as with every other place but along with every other there are also pretty rude customers.” You shook your head, thinking about the multiple rude encounters you had received over the last month. You suddenly straightened up when you remembered something you had been wanting to ask since he walked in: “You’re new here, right?”

“I wonder how you guessed,” He commented sarcastically. But the tone in his voice and his playful smile assured you that he was only joking.

“I hadn’t seen you before, so I assumed that you were either coming through or just arriving.”

“Yeah, I just moved in a month or two ago but I haven’t gone out much since I’ve been busy finding a job and settling in.”

“Makes sense.” You drifted off at that, leaving the both of you in a small silence. Only after a minute or so he broke it.

“Ah also, I’m sorry if I managed to make that list,” He said with a shy smile, referring to the subject you were previously talking about. You giggled and shook your head.

“No, no. I can tell that you’ve never really been in a flower shop before.” He feigned offense, gasping dramatically and placing a hand over his heart. “What? You looked like Bambi on ice.”

It was true. The change in his posture, namely, had changed dramatically when he had moved from the door to the flowers. When he first entered he was cool and seemed to exert confidence but as soon as he moved through the floral sections he changed to someone who thought that if he so much as stepped on the wrong tile the whole building would collapse in flames. It was a little cute, to be honest, you thought. You always admired when people took extra care around your flowers and you especially admired that a total stranger had done the same.

“I’d say that wasn’t true but it probably was. I never really know how to act in places like this so I just kind of…” He gestured his body to resemble him moving around cautiously and awkwardly. You smiled at his movement and agreed. You again moved into silence for a moment before he straightened up and took his flowers.

“I think I should get going, my lunch break is almost over,” He said while glancing down at his watch. “Thank you for the flowers Miss… sorry I never actually got your name.”

“(y/l/n),” You replied, smiling a little at his politeness. You saw a look cross his face that almost seem like disappointment when he realized he hadn’t gotten your first name. But he didn’t press the matter and instead nodded. As if to bring about extra confirmation he repeated the name before starting to move towards to exit.

“Thank you again, Miss (y/l/n).” With that he turned towards the door and was halfway out before you realized you hadn’t gotten any indication to who he was.

“Wait! What do I call you?” You called after him. He didn’t even turn around to give you his reply and it seemed that as soon as his name echoed in your ears it was as gone as he was.

“Min Yoongi. But my friends call me Yoongi!”

And that was Yoongi. Although he had spent almost 30 minutes in your shop that day scanning over any and all individual flowers you sold before talking to you. You felt like you had mere seconds with him before he, well for lack of better terms, vanished. He wasn’t seen anywhere around the town and he hadn’t returned to your shop. Even though he hadn’t said anything to indicate that he was coming back you found yourself rather hopeful that he’d return again. Every time the bell on the door signaled someone new was coming in you would snap your head up only to slowly lower it when once again, it wasn’t Yoongi.

And although you went out more in hopes of “accidentally” running into him your luck was about as good as at the flower shop. You didn’t even know where to go to find him. You haven’t had the slightest clue in what he did for work, where he lived, who his friends were, or if he even had friends here. All you knew was that he just moved in.

So, you waited and waited. Every day you grew a little bit sadder when you hadn’t seen his face but you were still hopeful. Just like now, when you were sitting at the same desk at the front of the same flower shop. But instead of waiting for the same customers to shuffle in, you were waiting for something different. It was a little humorous, after all this time stuck in a cycle of familiarity you had broken out. You weren’t uncomfortable like you had been in previous failed attempts to get you out of your comfort zone. You liked this different.

It was a solid two and a half weeks, that moved far too slowly for your liking, before you saw him again. It was a weekday, around one, and you had grown bored at work today. Which was something rather unusual for you, so you busied yourself in whatever work you could find to do. Were the shelves dusted? Probably, but why not go over them once more just to be sure. Had the flowers been misted? Of course, you always did that first thing in the morning. But today seemed a little hotter than usual so maybe you should water them just to be sure. Were the arranged flowers waiting in the back ready for whoever ordered them to pick them up? Yes, but you thought you might as well go over them once more before they were taken from your care.

It wasn’t until you heard the familiar ding that made you look up from your work in the back. You had been so engrossed in moving the flowers millimeters from where they had been previously. But the concentration was quickly replaced with shock and then wonder once the bell went off. You put down your tools and dusted off your hands on your apron before calling out that you’d be there in a moment.

When you walked out, though, what you weren’t expecting was the same boy from a couple of weeks ago. No matter how much you had been waiting. You were beginning to think that maybe you weren’t ever going to see him again when he suddenly reappeared again.

“Yoongi?” You asked in disbelief.

“What’s wrong, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” He said adding a small laugh. He was leaning against your counter, twirling one of the pens in between his fingers. You reached behind yourself and fumbled with the straps of the apron before finally untying it.

“I don’t know… you look pale enough to be one,” You joked. He scoffed slightly in disbelief before glancing down at his pale arms self-consciously. “Kidding, kidding. You did kind of disappear like a ghost for a while.”

He seemed relieved by your response before furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. “How did I disappear?”

“You were here one second and the next you were gone. What are you? The wind?” You asked, poking his jacket slightly. Instead of his previous outfit that was fitted and simple, today he wore a heavy jacket and baggy jeans. You hadn’t understood how he wasn’t dying in the heat before but now you were even more flabbergasted. You were sure it had to be at least 80 degrees outside and that jacket looked like it would only be worn when it was dead winter.

“Maybe I am,” He replied with a grin while leaning over the counter towards you. “Actually, the flowers have lasted for a while. I didn’t think I needed to come back in until they were fully dead. But my boss wants me to have different types of flowers not just the ones I got.”

“How come?”

“Ah, for reference. I’m a tattoo artist at the parlour down the road,” He replied. You nodded at his answer but it did surprise you a little. When you thought of tattoo artists and what they looked like, your mind immediately went to the stereotypes. Someone who was covered in tattoos, had piercings, and wore loud crazy clothing. But Yoongi was the opposite of all of that. He wasn’t covered in tattoos, in fact you weren’t sure he had any. There were no piercings. And his clothing, for the most part, was pretty mellow.

“You look surprised.”

The sound of his voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you snapped your head up to meet his eyes. Your cheeks immediately warmed as you realized you had probably been staring when thinking about how he looked.

“No, no I’m not… well a little I guess-” You said with a laugh. “-You just don’t look like somebody who would stereotypically work at a tattoo parlour.”

Instead of getting mad or offended he nodded his head and agreed. “Yeah, I get that a lot, don’t worry.”

“Anyways, I was wondering if you could show me around a little and give me a tour of your prettiest flowers,” He smiled and stood up slightly. You immediately smiled and nodded before moving out from behind the counter and walking over to the bouquets at the front of the store. Yoongi followed you quickly. While he stood beside you, you brought forward several bouquets that you had liked arranging.

“I thought you’d like some of these,” You said, looking over your shoulder, still pulling forward different assortments. He nodded and stepped up to have a better look at them. You saw his fingers delicately move the flowers around, examining each bundle carefully unlike last time. He learned quickly. You wondered if he was any good at his job, as a tattoo artist. The last time he came in his fingers fidgeted and fumbled over anything that he touched, but now they moved with grace. How were they when he was working?

You looked up at his face and studied it while he sorted through the flowers. He was at your side so all you could see was his profile and you realized he had a soft face. When you first saw him, he looked sharp but at a second glance you saw the complete opposite. His skin was pale, paler than anyone you had seen in this town which was surprising as you swore that you had seen the palest people alive when living here. But it wasn’t a harsh contrast, it didn’t stand out at all. Because he looked so soft he blended into anything that had been there before he came.

He still had grey hair but it was much paler now, almost like a platinum colour. It fell naturally, all around his head, in clumps. It covered his eyes slightly but you could still see his dark eyes looking at the different petals and leaves. They shone a little when he moved towards the light, and somehow darkened even more when he moved away. You could tell they weren’t completely black as although they were so dark, they were warm like honey. When he bit his lip in concentration or furrowed his eyebrows slightly, they closed slightly and created small crinkles in the skin. They moved slowly, never darting back and forth to look at different elements. Instead they went leisurely from one side to the other.

Your eyes traveled down to look at the other features. His skin was smooth, it almost looked unreal as there were no blemishes or wrinkles. His cheeks and nose were slightly pink but that was the only noticeable colour difference on his skin. His lips, though, were a pale pink that reminded you of peonies. They were parted, almost as if he were in awe at the bunches of flowers in his hands.

He was ethereal. You thought he was attractive from the last visit but you made it up in your mind and affirmed it yourself that he was stunning. Probably the most gorgeous person you had ever seen. Especially from this town.

You were still staring at him when his lips formed a small smile and he looked back at you holding up two bouquets of flowers. You blinked and diverted your eyes so it wouldn’t seem like you were just caught but you didn’t know if he saw you or not. He didn’t act like he did so your nerves calmed a bit.

“I’ll have these two please,” He beamed. You laughed a little at his reaction as he looked like a little kid who was just told they could buy candy from the store. You nodded and waved him over to the register. The both of you were silent during the transaction and afterwards you expected him to say goodbye and leave. But he stayed standing, looking at you and then to the flowers and back at you, before handing you one of the bunches.

“Do you want me to re wrap it?” You asked, confused. He quickly shook his head, a small smile forming on his face as he nervously shifted from one foot to the other.

“No-no, I want you to keep it,” He said, finally meeting your eyes. “They’re um… pretty flowers for a pretty girl.”

He said the last part with a shy smile and you froze, your hands loosely holding onto the flowers. You felt your eyes grow wide as your cheeks heated up. He quickly stopped smiling at your reaction and his expression was now one of concern.

“Ah sorry that was really dumb of me to say. I just thought you were pretty I promise I’m not trying to be weird or creepy by that,” He stammered, reaching for the flowers to take them back. Once you saw what he was doing you drew your hand back and the shock left your face. You held the flowers in both hands tightly and smiled at him.

“No, no it’s fine. I was just shocked,” You said with a laugh. He still looked worried and you reassured him again. “I’m serious, that threw me off guard a little. Thank you for the flowers and for saying that.”

The worry melted from his face and returned to the shy smile you saw before. “No problem, I really hope you don’t think I’m creepy.”

“Not at all, if I did I think I’d be a bit of a hypocrite.”

“How?”

“Well, you’re kind of pretty too.” This time it was you with the small, shy smile. The words didn’t hit him at first but once they did his reaction was nothing but pure happiness. He raised his hands up to his face to cover his large smile and blushing cheeks. You laughed a little at his reaction.

“I’m sorry I don’t- I’m just- thank you, you’re so sweet,” He said, his voice muffled from the jacket fabric. After a second he rubbed his face and removed his hands and looked at you before picking up the flowers that he was taking home.

“I’m going to go before I embarrass myself anymore, thank you for the flowers.” He turned away from you and walked towards the door, opening it with his one free hand. He turned back towards you to give you a goodbye smile and wave before exiting.

After that day, Yoongi came in a lot more often. He would always show up around the same time, half past one, and the two of you would spend your time looking at flowers and talking. He usually came in every other day as he joked that the other days he actually needed his lunch break for eating. When he did come in, he would bring you small gifts like cookies or trinkets that he brought over from Korea.

You found out that he had left Korea a couple of years ago, after his music career fizzled out. He didn’t know what he was going to be doing so he left Korea; he left his friends, family, career, everything. Just to start fresh and get in touch with things that were different for him. He had spent half of his life producing music and when the group he was in slowly lost popularity he didn’t know what to do. Making music was the only thing he knew how to do. He hadn’t experienced anything truly different.

So, he came here. Well not to your town, exactly, but he came to your country and spent the last little bit of time training to become a tattoo artist. He said that the job kept him on his toes and provided something different because he never knew who was coming in and what tattoo he was going to have to draw. Eventually he found a job in your town and he figured he’d settle down here for a while before maybe moving on to another place, or even back home.

You were still curious about his job. Although you knew that he worked as a tattoo artist you had no clue about the shop that he worked at or the tattoos he did. You hadn’t even seen any of his tattoos. There was no denial that you wanted to see what he actually he did as the reason why he and you had met in the first place was because he needed practice drawing flowers.

Which is why, after a long week of working. And after a month of saving up. You were outside the only tattoo shop in town, which was a bit far from where you worked. Although you had never noticed it being there as none of your daily routines had led you to this part of the city. Everything you did was more on the outskirts whereas the tattoo shop was almost in the heart of the city.

You stood outside for a while, with more people brushing past you than usual. On the outskirts of town, which is where both your home and flower shop resided, there were few people. Those who came out that far from the heart of the city were only there for a specific reason. Rather than here where you saw people just walking around, window shopping and chatting with their friends. It was a lot busier here, you liked the difference.

There was a girl who had been staring at you look through the glass ever since you started standing outside. You had first looked at the building, it was quite new and looked worked on. A stark contrast from your flower shop. Inside you could see a few people waiting, presumably for an appointment or waiting for whoever was getting ink done. They had a wall of pictures, all of them of elaborate and beautiful designs that made you wonder if Yoongi had any up there. On another wall were basic designs that somebody could come in and choose if they had no idea what they wanted. In front of that wall was the girl, a receptionist, who blatantly stared at you. She wasn’t glaring or anything but out of the corner of your eye no matter what she was always looking at you.

You weren’t surprised, she was probably wondering what you were doing here. Even if you looked like someone that wanted to get a tattoo, you had been standing outside the parlour for almost 10 minutes now. After taking a deep breath, you decided to walk. You had waited this long to do this and there was no reason to psych yourself out now. Your decision on getting a tattoo, especially from Yoongi, was set in your mind.

You couldn’t tell what the receptionist was more surprised about. The fact that you had actually come in or when you requested a tattoo from Yoongi.

“Are you sure?” She asked, leaning forward slightly. “He’s new. Only has a year or so of experience on him.”

“I trust him,” You said. She nodded and went to her computer, probably to see what Yoongi’s schedule for the day was. You tapped your fingers against the counter, looking back up at the small designs wondering what you should get. Sure, you had decided you wanted a tattoo, but up until you came to the shop you hadn’t realized you had to actually pick a design.

“I’ll check with him after this client to see if he’s up for working overtime but you’re welcome to a seat while you wait,” She said, looking up from the computer with a smile. You nodded and sat down, facing the window you had just been looking through. As soon as you sat down you realized what you had gotten yourself into. But, no matter any doubt that crossed your mind, you told yourself you wouldn’t back out.

Time seemed to stand still in the little waiting room. The receptionist, and the two others who were waiting hardly moved. On top of that the only noise in the room was faint music coming out of the headphones of one of the girls waiting. The only thing that reminded you that time was still passing were the people who went by the window. Usually when you’re looking out of a window, it’s your shop’s. And there certainly weren’t this many people going by at any point of the day.

The change of scenery was drastically different from what you were used to but you found yourself liking it a bit. Before Yoongi came into your shop you would hide yourself from anything out of the ordinary in your life but now, you longed for it. Maybe that was why you were here. To feed yourself different things you had missed out on after depriving yourself all this time. Whatever it was you were happy. Although you used to take comfort in things running smoothly and the way that you were used to, you realized it got boring. Now although most of your day runs the same as before there were little moments that allowed a little bit of difference to keep you moving.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw a familiar figure and you turned to see Yoongi’s back towards you. He was hunched over the receptionist’s desk, speaking to her, with an older man next to him. The older man was rubbing his heavily bandaged arm and you assumed that underneath all of the gauze was a tattoo. Your attention went back to Yoongi and you smiled a little bit when you saw his hair, it had been dyed a pastel green now. He hadn’t come in for lunch today so you thought that he must’ve done it yesterday.

You moved a little bit forward on your chair, waiting for Yoongi to be finished with the receptionist but he turned around at the noise. He froze when he saw you, and you copied his actions. After a second, though, he gave you a gummy smile before signaling for you to wait a moment. You relaxed a little bit when he turned back around, attempting to rub the slight warmth of your cheeks with your hands. It wasn’t a minute before you looked up and say him standing in front of you.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, taking your hand and helping you stand up. He waved to the receptionist as he pulled you pass her, into a narrow hallway.

“I figured I’d drop by, say hello to my customer of the month,” You replied, figuring the receptionist hadn’t said anything to him. He stopped in front of a room towards the back of the building and motioned for you to come in. As you entered your eyes wandered around the somewhat small room, looking at the tools and equipment as well as the various artwork hung on the walls.

“I didn’t realize I was the customer of the month,” He laughed, Yoongi sat down in a swivel chair at a desk and motioned for you to sit down on the tattoo bed.

“Well when you buy a hundred dollars’ worth of flowers in only 30 days… you’ll have a pretty good shot at being it.” You added a laugh with your slight sarcasm so he would know that you were joking.

“Well I’m honoured-” He leaned his back on the desk behind him “-What brings you here though? I know this far into the city isn’t in your daily routine.”

“I told you, I wanted to stop by,” You said. You leaned forward a bit and kicked your legs lightly on the floor before saying the rest. “I also want a tattoo.”

There was a moment of silence as you looked at Yoongi with a large smile. His joyous expression that he had had since you came in slipped a little. “No.”

“What?” Your head shot up, your eyes wide and your mouth parted slightly. You narrowed your eyes, trying not to get emotional over his objection but you couldn’t help yourself. “Why not?”

The question seemed to stun him a little as Yoongi hesitated to answer. His crossed arms now when behind his head and he looked up at the ceiling. You couldn’t tell if he was going to ignore the request or was thinking about an answer to give to you.

“I ran out of ink.”

You blinked and relaxed a little bit, realizing he didn’t have an actual excuse. “I don’t believe you, and there are other tattoo artists in the building so I’m sure they can give you some.”

“It’s going to hurt… a lot.”

“I can take it.”

“I don’t have hands.”

“You wha- Yoongi, you’re being ridiculous I can see your hands.” At that he moved so his hands were behind his back and he smiled at you. “They’re behind your back.”

“What? No. Never.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm and you rolled your eyes at his childish behavior. “Besides I’m not even a tattoo artist.”

“Yoongi.”

“Yes?”

“You do realize there are pictures of you tattooing other people on your walls right,” You said, gesturing to the wall behind him. He turned around slightly to see what you were talking about and nodded.

“Oh yeah those are all photoshopped-”

“Yoongi.”

“I’m actually a great photo shopper, that’s why I work here. I create all of the designs-”

“Yoongi.”

“-For the website, yeah it’s pretty cool-”

“Min Yoongi!” You shouted and he stopped rambling and looked at you. “Why don’t you want to give me a tattoo.”

“I mean the weather isn’t that nice ou-”

“Yoongi, a real answer please.”

He looked at you for a second, weighing his options. Either he could continue giving you meaningless excuses and you’d leave, angry, or he could give you an actual reason and you might leave but at least you wouldn’t leave pissed. He seemed to go with the latter as his posture visibly changed and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the ground.

“I want it to be good.”

“What?”

His head rose and he looked you in the eyes. “If you’re going to get a tattoo, I don’t want you to get a crappy one. And I feel like I’ll mess up or something.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little as the last part was a little more than a mumble and his face had turned into a pouting expression.

“You could give me a misshapen penis on my forehead and I would still like it,” You said, smiling at him. He squinted his eyes at you, in confusion and in concern before you continued. “I’m not leaving today without a tattoo.”

He sighed and leaned back again. “Do you even know what you want?”

“Well… no,” You bit your lip, mentally hitting yourself in the head for not thinking about that when you were in the front of the parlour earlier.

He nodded and stared at the ceiling again, thinking, before he grinned. “Alright, I’ll give you a tattoo.”

“Really?” You beamed.

“Absolutely, but on one condition.”

“What is it?”

“You give me full control of the tattoo and you can’t see it until you’re done,” He said, beaming at you. You tensed a little bit before nodding slightly, knowing you could trust him and whatever he was about to put on your body.

You were lying down on the, rather comfortable, tattoo bed when he came back in. After he agreed to tattoo you, he told you that he was going into another room to sketch out the design so you wouldn’t be able to see it. You both decided on your upper back, as you wanted something you could easily cover up and he wanted someplace you wouldn’t be able to see while he was tattooing you. So, for the past 10 minutes, you had been laying on bed, shirtless. It was a little cold in the room but you figured it wouldn’t feel so cold during the actual process.

You were looking at the art on the walls when you heard the door open. You moved so you could see the door and smiled when you saw it was just him. He held some papers and moved so he was sitting next to you, on the same swivel chair as before.

“Are you ready?” He looked nervous as he said that.

“Are you?”

Yoongi nodded at your words and laughed a little. “Yeah, don’t worry. Ah… I do need you to take this off though… or ah at least undo the clasp.”

He was talking about your bra and you nodded before reaching around and undoing the clasp. You let the bra fall most of the way off, resting only between your skin and the bed.

You gasped slightly as you felt a paper with cold ink being applied to your back. You were about to turn around slightly to ask what it was before he poked your head, making you turn back around.

“No peeking.” You heard from behind you and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes but you complied. You felt the paper being lifted from your back but the cold ink was still there. Your body tensed at the sound of the machine, once again reminded of the pain you were most likely about to experience, but you relaxed when you felt Yoongi’s hand comforting you.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a big design so it’s not going to last long.”

“Do I get to know what it is?”

“Nope.” Yoongi annunciated the pop of the p and you groaned a little bit.

“You realize I was joking about the penis design right,” You said, looking back at him a little bit.

“I will tell you it’s not that, just trust me,” He smiled before poking your head so you would face away from him again. Your breath hitched when the gun finally came in contact with your skin and you hissed, gripping the bed tighter. You heard Yoongi mumble a sorry before continuing. You squeezed your eyes and tried not to tense up so you wouldn’t ruin his work. Although the pain was much of what you expected you still managed to hold it together.

He took a couple of breaks, some for himself so he wouldn’t get overworked, and some for you so you wouldn’t break down from the pain. While he was working you both were silent, the only sound was the fan and his slight breathing from concentration. When you were on breaks you would talk a little, sometimes trying to get an answer of what exactly he was tattooing on you. You were glad you were getting your first tattoo with him because even when you were at your most uncomfortable state just his presence made you feel like you were at home.

You were allowed to sit up on breaks and stretch but Yoongi covered up the mirror in the corner so you wouldn’t be able to see if you tried. So, you spent most of the breaks looking at Yoongi instead. You made note of the changes that you saw in him throughout the hours. At first, he was tired from the hours he had already worked. But as time went on, you noticed more sweat on his face and the more disheveled his hair looked.

The messier he looked, the cuter he got, you thought. You wondered if that was what he looked like when he got up in the morning. Messy but it didn’t matter because he looked good anyways. A few times he caught you staring at him but Yoongi didn’t do anything but smile which made the heat rush to your cheeks.

After hours of the now dull pain, you were finally done. He cleaned your back off and helped you sit up. Yoongi led you to the mirror and stood in front of it, with his hands on the cover. He looked back at you with a worried expression.

“You won’t hate me if you hate it right?” He asked. You shook your head and he nodded, hesitating a little before pulling the cover off. He stepped aside so you could come forward and have a better look. You turned around and gasped when you saw it. It was a bundle of flowers, the hydrangeas that you first sold to him, done perfectly. You stared in awe at how beautiful it looked, your eyes wandering over the smooth colouring that was so vibrant.

When it had been several minutes and you still hadn’t said anything Yoongi moved towards you a little. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” You beamed, replying instantly. Yoongi’s face lit up at that and you laughed slightly. “I was actually worried you were going to do some stupid tattoo or something.”

“No, no of course not,” He reassured you. “Part of me was actually considering writing ‘do you want to go on a date’.”

He mumbled the second part and you didn’t register his words until after a second. Your eyes went wide at what he just said and you turned to him.

“Did you just ask me out?” You asked, looking up at him. His eyes went wide and you could see his cheeks turning redder as he tried to deny it. He turned away from you slightly and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“No-no of course not? Why would you say that?”

“Yoongi, I heard you.”

Yoongi ignored you and instead went towards his desk, going through the folders he had trying to find something. He turned back to you and handed you a packet which was labeled “Aftercare”.

“So anyways here’s the aftercare stuff-”

“Yoongi, I know what you said.” You attempted again to get his attention back onto the previous subject

“All of the stuff is in there for your tattoo and the tattoo stuff and yeah-”

“Yoongi.”

“I need to bandage you, yeah that’s what I’m gonna do-”

“Min Yoongi!” You flicked his head, which was looking at the packet instead of you. He looked up and stopped talking. You asked him the same question from earlier. “Did you just ask me out?”

“I mean… no. Well, sort of… yes. Yeah, I asked you out,” He said with a small smile. “But you don’t have to accept or anything… I totally meant that as a joke.” It was obvious he was trying to let himself down easy with the last part but you decided to poke fun at the situation a little.

“Oh, that’s a shame because I really like you too and I was hoping you were actually asking me out.” You tried your best to look sad and his eyes immediately went wide at what you said. He shook his head frantically and you bit your lip so you wouldn’t smile at his reaction.

“No-no I was joking, of course I want to go out with you,” He said. You smiled at his answer and nodded.

“I knew,” You laughed a little and he relaxed. There was a small silence between the two of you, neither of you knew what to say next. After a minute or so he cleared his throat and you looked up at him.

“So, um… about that aftercare-” He began but you cut him off.

“Yoongi.”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you talk to me about aftercare on our first date,” You smiled, bumping his hand with your own. He instantly nodded and you grinned at that. You grabbed your shirt from the bed and were about to put it back on before he stopped you. You lowered your arms and looked at him, confused.

He laughed a little and grinned before poking fun at you. “I know you’re excited for our date, and I am too, but I still need to properly bandage you before you put that back on.”

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