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gummygowon · 3 years

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how ateez surprises you on your birthday!

genre: fluff

warnings: none

request: hi!! I don’t know if you still want fluff requests, but if you are, do you think you could write how ateez would surprise you on your birthday? My birthday is soon 💕 hehe

a/n: i am like this close to turning all these reactions into oneshots or drabbles lsjdflsdf but anyways i’m so sorry this took so long! i hope you enjoy!! :)

seonghwa:

i think seonghwa is your classy, romantic, gentlemen boyfriend

which means that he would definitely surprise you after work/school by picking you up and then take you back home for some surprises (not like that weridos)

the first surprise being that your apartment was finally cleaned

countertops sparkling, dishes finally back in cupboards, and not even a speck of dust on your mirrors

“hwa, did you do this?”

you were a working student and lately, your homework load was piling lately which meant less free time >:(

he nodded at you, a bashful smile on his face, “i know you been super busy lately with school and everything so, i wanted to take some weight off your shoulders.”

your heart ached at the sight of him, making you run over to him and place a kiss on cheek, “i love you so much. thank you.”

“wait, there’s more.” seonghwa said as he pulled away, kissing you cheek once more before dragging you to your bedroom.

“there’s more?” you asked, slightly panicking since you were not prepared for anything else after your boyfriend deep cleaned your apartment

“yes there is. now close your eyes.” seonghwa impatiently answered as he placed his hands over your eyes. he was definitely too excited to show you other gifts

once seonghwa had carefully led you to the front of your bed, he removed his hands from your eyes, “surprise!”

you opened your eyes to a somewhat large gift bag and raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend

after taking out the bright tissue paper in the bag, you pulled out a pretty satin dress in your favorite color that looked too expensive and long box that contained an envelope charm god necklace that had a tiny matching gold plate that said “i love you” on the front and on the back, “p.sh”

seonghwa was super pleased with your reactions as he watched the biggest smile on your face form, “do you like it?”

“yes!” you answer before rushing into this arms, “but i don’t know when i’m gonna wear it.” your smile fading just a tad

but do not worry, mr. park got that covered

“well, you could wear it to our dinner reservations at the monarch.”

“no way!” you shout. “you got reservations there?”

the monarch was one of those fancy restaurants with really good food that can you leave day dreaming about it for days and you’ve been dying to try that place out after wooyoung mentioned that place a few months ago

however, it was pretty much booked for the next month so reservations were hard to come across

but seonghwa did some extensive researching and (eavesdropping) to find the perfect place to take you out and reserved literally a month and a half before

“yes, i did. now go get ready princess before we’re late.” seonghwa kissed your forehead before letting you go.

after an hour of you being in the bathroom, you came out looking like an actual model

like godamn

seonghwa thought you were hot without makeup but now-

holy fuck was he speechless

“do i look okay?” you asked nervously, fidgeting with the hem of the dress

“you look more than okay, love. you look absolutely stunning baby.”

“thank you.” you responded back, trying to fight the blush on your cheeks

then seonghwa would escort you down to his car, making sure that nothing got onto your dress

so he would open all the doors you guys passed by and hold them out for you (he does this all the time but this time felt more magical because of your outfit)

you guys eat dinner feeling super grateful for everything hwa was done for you so far plus the food was worth the wait for sure

but by far, your favorite part of your birthday date was when seonghwa took you guys on a walk in a nearby park

pretty lights decorated the trees, lighting up paths for visitors

this added to the whole magical princess vibe which had you skipping

no like, you were literally skipping with happiness as you ventured through the park, smiles painting both of your faces :)

hongjooong:

you met hongjoong while working at the 7/11 below the company when he was a trainee

he was absolutely starstruck when he saw you for the first time behind the counter

a stuttering mess as he payed for his snacks while you had flushed cheeks when his hand grazed yours when you gave his change back

after that hongjoong always made an excuse to come down to see you and start talking to you

then on one late night, he offered to walk you home since he was concerned for your well-being (he always was actually)

you, of course agreed because you wanted another excuse to talk to him more

the walk home was quite enjoyable

no awkward silences or anything

but of course, you forgot your jacket on a chilly, fall night

you were practically shivering as soon as you walked out of the connivence store and it didn’t take hongjoong more than a minute to see you freezing your ass off

“are you cold?”

“no...” you answered stubbornly as you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself

“bullshit.” honjoong laughed as he shrugged his hoodie off and handed it to you. “here.”

you were caught so off guard by his actions that you literally stopped walking, “are you sure?”

“yeah, i’m sure. i don’t want you to get sick”

you took the warm hoodie from him and slipped it on, the sleeves going past your fingertips, “thank you but, won’t you get sick?”

“eh, it’s fine. i like the cold.”

“ok weirdo.”

“give me back my jacket.”

“no!” you yelled at him as you started sprinting towards your house

ever since that night, hongjoong would walk you home after your shift and of course, you would always forgot to bring a jacket

which meant that you would have to reluctantly take his jacket

now fast forward to two years later, you guys started dating!

and this year for your birthday was pretty casual, nothing fancy since you had school and work

which meant that hongjoong would swing by the store when your shift was over and he did

however this walk was different since you guys took a little detour to the park nearby your house so you guys could look at the pretty stars.

then of course, you forgot your jacket again

“you cold?”

“yes.” you sigh in defeat which causes your boyfriend to laugh

“good because then you’ll love my gift then”

and then hongjoong pulls out a gift bag from his backpack which you open a little too quickly

hongjoong gives you a reformed sweatshirt!!!

“do you remember the first night i walked you home?”

you nod your head eagerly as you slip it on, the bright strips of color on the sleeves popping out

“i love it!” you exclaim as you wrap your arms around hongjoong tightly

“you do?” he asks unsure, that you wouldn’t like at all.”

“yes, why wouldn’t i?” you look up at him causing honjoong’s brain to stop working

“i love you.” he spit out, his cheeks flushed and a crooked smile on his face

you giggled at his actions before leaning into kiss him, “i love you too.”

yunho:

ok so being the busy queen/king you are, you hadn’t had the chance to see your boyfriend yet plus you were staying at your parents for the weekend to celebrate your birthday which made it even harder

but nonetheless, you were ecstatic to be home and surrounded by all our family members and a few childhood friends who stayed in your hometown for college or were back for the weekend

it was great since you were able to celebrate your birthday being surrounded by the people you love

but you really missed your boyfriend even though he called you in the morning to wish you a happy birthday and apologize for not being able to make it

it was almost midnight by the time everyone in your house was settled for the night or even sleeping and so you were until you heard a knock coming from your window

you nearly broke your neck because you snapped your sound head so fast to your window

your mind immediately went to “there’s a serial killer outside” mode so you grabbed your hairbrush as a weapon as if that would do any damage

when you pushed back your blinds, you had to keep yourself from screaming because there sat your boyfriend from highschool on the huge ass tree right near your window

“yunho?!@!#@”

“hi.” yunho responded a small smile on his face

it was like a mix of smirk and an embarrassed smile

anyways, yunho somehow convinces you to come outside so you guys can watch the stars

which is exactly what you do

you grab your hoodie (which is actually yunho’s) and an extra blanket as you carefully make your way down the tree

at first, you were scared that your parents were going to scold you for leaving and you were like fuck but you then you remembered you’re an adult so they couldn’t get that mad at you

this reminded you of the few times you would sneak out of the house for yunho which is the only reason why you would ever think about sneaking out

yunho walks you to the nearby park in your neighborhood before laying down his own blanket for you guys to lay on

you’re lowkey shivering so you try to move as close to yunho as you can as he wraps his arm under you

for the first few minutes you guys sit in silence, just watching the stars and tiny planets twinkle in the dark sky

until you start pointing out different constellations which yunho thought was actually so amazing because they all looked like clumps of white dots to him

plus, he found it really cute when you started to get all excited and jumpy talking about the things you were really passionate about

although yunho couldn’t tell the difference between capricorn and the little dipper, he still made a comment about the view

“the moon is beautiful isn’t it?”

you craned your head to look up at him, a smile creeping its way on your face, “yeah, it is.”

yunho smiled back before reaching down to cup your cheek for a kiss

the phrase, “the moon is beautiful isn’t it?” is a more poetic way of saying “i love you.”

yeosang:

i feel like yeosang is a perfectionist

yk the type of bf to make sure everything is done correctly for your dates and especially your birthday

and this year you wanted to do something simple and small because of covid plus you still had work and school to do

tbh if it was just you and yeosang together this year, you wouldn’t mind at all

so going by your wishes, yeosang came up with the brilliant idea to try and bake you a cake since you literally refused to tell him what you want for your birthday (although, he has secretly been taking notes about what you need even if it was just something that you could’ve bought yourself)

ok now, we all seen that video of yeosang trying to cook an egg which turned out horribly so his baking experience with this wasn’t the smoothest

yes, he bought all the correct ingredients and tools needed to bake and decorate a cake but somehow his first cake turned out burnt as hell which led to him going back to the store to buy another cake mix (and an extra just in case he fucks up again)

this time it came out pretty good, the middle wasn’t runny at all the sides weren’t a charcoal black

now all he had to do was frost the godamn cake

which was so fucking hard to do AND FOR NO REASON ISTG

the store bought frosting he bought kept catching cake crumbs in it and the spatula he was using was doing an ass job

yeosang was getting so frustrated with this hellish sugar on sugar thing because he literally watched a fifteen minute video on how to frost cakes for beginners last night

he had all the right tools for it so why wasn’t the cake creating a smooth crumb coat ?????

after he awhile, he abandoned his crash course learning in cake decorating from the night before and started doing his own thing

so after doing a base layer of frosting with your favorite color, he picked out all the crumbs from it which took hours but he didn’t care

and then he started to add the “happy birthday!” on it which went lowkey south since it was actually a lot harder to write with frosting than what yeosang thought

but he still tried his best to fix it so the words weren’t horribly slanted or anything

fortunately, the cake turned out alright for someone who doesn’t decorate cakes for a living

now the hard thing was to get to your apartment without dropping the cake or fucking it up on the way there

so yeosang sat in the back of yunho’s car clutching the sides of the cake platter with his dear life

luckily, the cake made it to your house in one shape and you were so surprised and happy that yeosang came over

you were practically jumping up and down once he put the cake down on your table and clinged onto his arm

after yeosang sang happy birthday to you, you blew out the candles with the biggest grin on your face

“what did you wish for?”

“that’s a secret.” you joked as you swooped some frosting onto your finger and onto his nose

san:

this was probably the first time that san had stayed home in months

it was annoyingly difficult to try and schedule times to see each other but you didn’t mind

he was here now and that’s all that matter

smiling to yourself, you turned over to san’s side expecting there to be your cuddly boyfriend for you to only be met with a cold side

“wtf” you thought, did he get called into practice or something last minute? if he did he would’ve texted you...

which you grabbed your phone immediately to look for any missed calls or texts but there was nothing from san, just the usual spam emails and post notifs from insta

san promised that he was going to be free for the whole weekend for your birthday

promises are meant to be broken, you childishly thought to yourself

sighing, you were about to get out of bed so you can brush your teeth and go celebrate your special day before your door flew open,

“surprise!” your boyfriend shouted into the room

“oh my fuck!” you screamed back, clutching your chest

whatever was in san’s hands tumbled a little bit before he caught his balance again

“you scared me!”

“i’m sorry baby.” san apologized before placing a tray full of your favorite breakfast dishes onto your bedside table

“did you make this?” you asked as you poked around the tray

godamn he actually got all your favorites, your favorite drink, sweets, and your preferred way of cooking eggs

he hummed in response before kissing you on the cheek, “happy birthday, y/n.”

with your heart swelling full of love and a few tears sliding down your face, you thank him

“i love you so much.” you say before you pull him into a tight hug

“i love you more.” san responds kissing your forehead before tugging you onto the bed so you could eat

you sit in san’s lap as you eat and occasionally give him a bite after you hear his stomach grumble

“do you want a bite? or...” you ask after hearing san’s stomach growl louder than the trucks outside your apartment

you turn to look at your boyfriend with a forkfull of pancakes, noticing the faint blush on his cheeks

you watch san struggle to answer your question since he didn’t want to eat your surprise breakfast but boy was he hungry

“yes.” he sighs in defeat making you giggle

mingi:

ok so mingi is a little trickster when it comes to surprises

so for your birthday you come from your day, burnt as hell from working and schoolwork and you really don’t wanna do much

you just feel like taking a shower and going to bed tbh

but however that was not the case

as soon as you came home, mingi sprang up from the couch kissing your forehead, asking how your day was

and then immediately he asked you to dress up nice

but you being grumpy and crabby slightly whined, “why? i think i’m just gonna call in some pizza, min.”

and then he would definitely catch on to the fact that you really did not want to be bothered at the moment but he still pushed you to get ready, “it’s your birthday, that’s why! take a shower and wake up and get dressed up because the place i’m taking you to is a classic.”

you were literally about to throw your bag on the floor and stomp your feet like a child

you loved your boyfriend a lot but it was your birthday so why was mingi calling all the shots???

but you sucked in a breath before mumbling an agreement to getting ready, “this place better be good mingi.”

“oh it is. don’t even worry about it.” your boyfriend would respond, shooing away your comment with a wave of his hand

while you shower and get ready, mingi goes to change in your other bathroom into a super nice tux like ball worthy tux yk

so when you step out of your bathroom with a towel wrapped around your chest about to ask mingi what you should specifically wear, your eyes nearly pop out of your head when you see what he’s wearing

and you’re like fuck i really have to wear something nice he also looks hot as fuck

which leads to you pulling out outfit after outfit to try an figure out what exactly matches your boyfriend’s tux and after some digging you finally found an outfit that screamed “cinderella’s ball”

you step out of your room with a frown on your face because the fatigue was now replaced with irritation and an empty stomach

but mingi is tripping out on the fact that you look so fucking good

like holy fuck

“you look amazing baby.”

your mood would lighten up a little bit but you were still playing the “i’m annoyed” card

so after you guys leave your apartment and are sitting his car driving towards the city and passing by many, many fancy restaurants which is making you wonder where the fuck you guys were going

“mingi, where are we going?”

“you’ll see.” is all he would say making you a little more frustrated

but eventually, mingi stops the car at an arcade that you haven’t been to in ages

“oh my god.” you gasp as you rush out of your seatbelt. “hurry up mingi!”

“now you’re excited?” he would tease you before joining you at the door with his hand in yours

when you guys walk in, everything is the exact same from what you remember as a kid

the same black with colorful confetti carpet, rows of games with the cords in a tangled mess behind the machines, and of course the prize counter looked the exact same except the prizes were much cooler this time (you could win an ipad and a nerf gun!!!)

you were definitely in much better mood now and was pulling mingi left and right to go play games

you guys were both extremely competitive but sometimes mingi would let you win because he loved seeing you get all excited and hyped when you won a game but he do it in a non-discreet way so you wouldn’t catch on

however, when it came to that car racing game (yk with the steering wheel) well he would not hold the tf back on that game and niether would you

he even made a bet with you declaring that whoever loses has to pay for dinner which you gladly accepted because you never lose (a lie has been detected !)

so here you guys were absolutely gaming it out, taking this racing game a little bit too seriously wearing full on red carpet-worthy outfits in an old arcade where little kids were staring at you guys weirdly

niether of you cared, too busy focusing on the game which was currently in a tie and ended with you winning!

fair and square if i may add (mingi had accidentally crashed into a building which ultimately led to his downfall)

so you’re all excited and pumped up because you kicked his ass in that game and you’re walking out the arcade practically skipping because of your mood and you flash mingi a L, “hah! you have to buy me pizza now!”

while mingi is literally sulking with his head down and is walking 0.01 mph, “no fair my game glitched!”

“no excuses, song!”

wooyoung:

since we all know that wooyoung loves to cook, i can safely assume that he would definitely surprise his s/o with their favorite meal for their birthday

like, wooyoung would probably sneak into your house when you left for work/school with his arms full of ingredients

he also come fully prepared with the recipe basically memorized after looking back and forth on it to make sure he bought all the correct ingredients

he knew that you haven’t had the time to see your family in person in awhile because of your upcoming finals and whatnot which meant that you missed your parent’s cooking a lot

it had been a fat minute since you were able to taste a warm cooked meal from your house and how you longed for your parent’s cooking

which is why wooyoung had secretly called your mother for their family recipe which she gladly gave as soon as wooyoung promised to not sell it (family recipes are not something to be passed around lightly)

so while you were at work, wooyoung was getting his iron chief on

preparing ingredients and measuring them to the exact cup or tablespoon

he was extremely nervous to present you his surprise because he was scared it was going to taste wonky

now the only thing left to do was wait for your surprise meal and for you to come home (he cleaned up his mess dw while waiting for you)

by the time you were home, you were slumped and just ready for bed tbh

but all the fatigue left your body once your apartment smelt like your childhood house, you snapped your head towards the kitchen to see wooyoung jump out from the counter

“surprise!”

“oh my god, i thought you were at work!” you rushed to go hug your boyfriend.

“i was but i managed to convince hongjoong to let me leave early.” wooyoung answered before kissing your cheek.

“awww, thank you.” you leaned into him even more before pointing towards the kitchen, “what did you make here, chef linguini?”

wooyoung let go of you and presented the plates that were set up on your counter all fancy like

“i made you dinner!” he exclaimed, his nerves bouncing off the wall which he masked with a bright smile

“is this my parents’ recipe?” you asked, tears forming in your eyes. it really had been a long time since you saw your parents.

“yeah, i asked your mom for it. i know it’s been awhile since you seen them so i decided to bring a little piece of them to you.” he answered sheepishly, one arm scratching his neck as he avoided making eye contact with you

the meal almost tasted exactly the one at home, triggering happy memories to flood your mind as you took another bite

“i hope you know that i plan on marrying you, jung wooyoung.” you half joked before digging into the dish even more

“you like it?” wooyoung asked, his smile lighting the room up even more

“of course i do!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him, “thank you so much for this. i love it.”

“and i love you.” he smiled back at you before kissing you. “let’s eat before it gets cold, yeah?”

“you don’t have to tell me twice.” you laughed before sliding into a seat, your heart warm and full of love

jongho:

you were absolutely bummed that jongho couldn’t see you for your birthday because he had practice all day and then you had work right after school

however, jongho called you as soon as the clock stroke midnight because he wanted to be the first one to wish you a happy birthday!!! :)

nonetheless, you went through the school day with some of your classmates and a few teachers wishing you a happy birthday and what not

you even got a free cookie from the nice cafeteria lady!

then as soon as school ended you went to work at your local diner as a waitress

there, some of your fellow coworkers wished you a happy birthday as well!

before the rush hour, your closet coworker/best friend asked you why you didn’t just take the day off

you then explained to her how your boyfriend was at work all day and then you didn’t have the time/money to go visit your family in the neighboring city too much schoolwork and train fares were a bitch to cover

your best friend felt sorry for you and promised to take you out after you guys shift was over before a flood of customers came barreling through the door

so while you were at work, jongho was busy convincing honjoong to let him sneak out during their lunch break to see you

“please hyung! i haven’t seen her in person in so long and its her birthday please!”

hongjoong gave him a look saying you gotta do better than that

“i’ll take out the recycling for you for two weeks!” jongho pleaded with his hands together

bingo

“fine i’ll cover for you, but don’t let our manager catch you.”

jongho practically kissed him on both cheeks before sprinting out the door after looking around for his manager.

on his way over to your work, he stopped by a nearby flower shop to buy you some flowers and for him to catch a breath (he was basically running to your workplace before your lunch ended)

now over back to you, the rush had finally ended in time for your lunch break which you super glad for (no more karens up your ass !!!!)

you sat in a table near the back of the diner, pulling out snacks from your bag (you didn’t have much time to pack a full lunch)

you were thoroughly enjoying your snacks while mindlessly scrolling through social media before a loud noise cracked the air causing you to look up from your phone

“jongho?” you asked in disbelief at your boyfriend who was a panting mess. wasn’t he supposed to be at practice still?

“hi.” he smiled up at you after catching his breath. “i convinced hongjoong to let me sneak out of practice so i can surprise you.”

you were so shocked that you couldn’t even form words which led to you jumping out of your seat and wrapping your arms around him

it had been too long since the last time you saw each other

too long

“i missed you.” jongho whispered, wrapping his arms around you too being extra careful to not crush the flowers in his hand.

“i missed you too.” you whispered back, tears forming in your eyes as you hugged him even tighter

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e-of-west-glendia · 3 years

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For the very amazing and wonderful and super super kind @sirrriusblack. I cannot believe I’ve only known you for a year and I’m so so glad I know you Kay Kay. Happy birthday and I love you so very very much.

~~~~~~

The dorm was silent at this time of night. Everyone had gone to bed hours ago and the only sound came from the soft rise and fall of people breathing and the quiet rustling of the curtains.

Marlene always insisted on leaving the window partially open. Lily could never figure out why but she just went with it.

The autumn breeze blew the curtains around causing them to look like ghosts under the pale light of the moon.

They’re mesmerizing to watch, and quite frankly Lily doesnt have anything better to do.

She’s found that she can’t sleep. Her homework had been done hours ago and everyone else had gone to bed. So curtain staring is currently her best source of entertainment.

Although it’s beginning to grow boring. It’s only so long that you can stare at strips of fabric fluttering with the wind.

She’s not sure what makes her decide, but next thing Lily knows she’s pulling on a pair of shoes and leaving the dorm. Heading down the stairs and making her way swiftly to the portrait hole.

It’s chilly in the hallway, and the silence makes her footfalls echo across the stone.

She lets her feet carry her wherever they wish, not quite paying attention to where she’s going.

However, when she reaches the quidditch pitch, it becomes apparent what her subconscious is doing.

She sighs a bit. “Of all the places.”

No use turning back now, she’s already here. Besides, she wanted to get out of the dorm and now she is.

If it was cold inside the halls of the school, it’s freezing out on the pitch. Whats even better is that Lily realizes that she forgot a jumper, or anything warmer than pajamas, really.

She sits on the ground, deciding to lay back in the grass. It’s peaceful out here, quiet. Lily can’t help but let her eyes close as she enjoys the peace being outside brings.

“Well you’re out late.”

The voice startles her despite its familiarity and she jolts upwards.

Jamec chuckles from where he hovers in the air on his broom. “Sorry,” he says, running his free hand through his hair and offering a somewhat sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Lily ignores the way her heart skips at beat at his laugh and soft smile.

“You’re one to talk,” she counters. “I’m not the only one outside.”

James snickers. “You got me there,” he says, hopping off the broom and sitting beside her. “What are you doing out here?”

Lily shrugs. “Couldn't sleep. You?”

James leans back onto his elbows, another one of his signature smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Captain of the quidditch team, Lils. Take every moment to train that I can.”

Lily raises an eyebrow. “It’s three in the morning, James.”

“Okay fine,” he sighs. “Couldn't sleep. Better?”

“Much.”

James just laughs and rolls his eyes, laying back and then folding his arms behind his head.

The two of them stay like that for a while, staring up at the stars.

“You just come out here when you can’t sleep?.” Lily asks eventually.

“Yep. So do you apparently.”

“Wasn’t intentional. Just kind of let my feet carry me, yknow.”

James turns onto his side, grinning. “Thinking about me Evans?”

Yes, she thinks.

“In your dreams, Potter,” she says, which only makes James laugh again.

Lily has to suppress a sigh. She’s started noticing things. The sort of things she’d have ignored last year and the year before.

Things like the way James’s eyes crinkle in the corners when he laughs. The dimples on his cheeks and the one on his chin. The way his eyelashes curl ever so slightly, just enough so that they don’t touch his glasses.

James stands so suddenly it almost startles her as much as when he arrived.

“Where are you going?”

James shrugs. “Flying.”

“Now?” Lily asks, slightly incredulous.

James nods at his already floating and previously abandoned broom. “Yep. Can’t see why not.”

“You’re blind enough in the daylight James, it’s not even remotely sunny out.”

He waves a nonchalant hand at her. “Quidditch Captain instincts.”

“You’re an idiot, Potter,” she mutters. Although if she’s being perfectly honest she’s thinking he’s several other things too.

“Maybe,” he says.

Lily shakes her head. “Definitely.”

She watches as James climbs back on his broom, expecting him to take off at any moment.

“You’re staring,” James points out.

“I’m not.” It probably sounds a bit too indignant to be believable and Lily is suddenly very thankful for how the darkness covers most of the blush that’s spread across her cheeks.

James only chuckles. “If you say so.”

He regards her curiously for a moment.

“Look who’s staring now.”

“Not staring, thinking.”

“About?”

James shrugs a bit. “You should come with me.”

Lily blinks in confusion. It takes a solid thirty seconds of staring at him blankly for it to click.

“Oh you mean up there,” she shakes her head quickly. “Yeah, no, I don’t fly.”

“Well you wouldn’t be,” he says and Lily rolls her eyes.

“You know what I meant.”

“Did I?”

“James.”

“Well where’s the harm in it.”

“Well theres-“ she stops short, not able to think of any suitable reasons.

“I was made quiddtich captain for a reason, Evans. Wasn't because I can’t fly.”

Lily just sighs.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

And she does, probably a lot more than she should.

Its why she finds herself standing and walking to his side.

“Yes, I do.”

The smile he gives her in return makes this idiotic sky adventure worth it.

A breeze spins through the air and Lily, who is rather forcibly reminded that she should’ve brought something warmer, shivers.

It doesn’t escape James’ notice and he frowns.

“You’re cold,” he says.

Lily snorts. “I didn’t notice.”

Then, before she can protest it, James has taken off his jumper and is extending it to her.

“Take it,” he says upon seeing the look on her face. “Really, I mean it. I’ll be warm enough when we get in the air.”

It’s never been a good idea to try and argue something with James Potter. So with no more protest than a small sigh, she slips it over her head.

The jumper is warm, about three sizes too big, and despite being the standard quidditch sweater, it’s distinctly James.

“Thanks,” she mutters.

“Anytime, Lils,” he returns. Then, “You probably want to get on now, can’t do much flying if you’re still standing there.”

“Oh, right.”

She settles herself onto the back of the broom. And after a quick check in, they take off.

Lily can’t help the way her arms tighten around James’ waist as they pitch upwards.

“Alright, Evans?” He asks, and Lily can feel the way his small laugh vibrates through his chest.

“Mhm yep.”

She’s trying mostly not to think about how far down the ground is. Or why the hell anyone would want to play quidditch.

As if sensing this, James says, “Eyes up, Lils. All the interesting things are up here.”

She hums in agreement as she looks up at the stars.

“Hold on,” James whispers and then he leans forward a bit.

How fast they’re going is soon lost to Lily as they streak across the grounds of the school. Spiraling upwards towards the top of the astronomy tower and then down to the lake, low enough for her fingers to skim the water.

She’s starting to see why he likes it up here. Nothing but the stars, the sky, and the air. The air that's fanning her hair out around her face and makes James smile as it brushes his face.

There’s a moment when when he turns back to look at her. The corners of his eyes crinkling into his telltale smile.

Of all the people she had to fall for at school it had to be James Potter.

The one boy she’d spent years being annoyed with and trying to ignore. And now, after all this time, he was the one she wanted the most. The irony of it was that since they had become friends, it seemed as though he wanted it to stay that way. Lily could deal with being friends. It was better than whatever the hell had been going on in years prior.

Or perhaps it wasn’t. At least then she didn’t feel the small pang in her chest when he smiled at her.

They touch back down onto the ground far too soon for Lily’s liking. James gets down first, offering a hand to help her jump down.

She lets her hand stay in his far longer than she should’ve and when she looks up at him to see if he’s noticed, she finds that he’s looking in the other direction.

“Well?” He asks when he finally turns back.

“Okay, I’ll admit that was fun.”

The triumphant look on his face makes her laugh.

“Don’t get too excited. Quidditch is still a ridiculous sport.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” he says.

She walks with him as he puts his broom away, and then the two of them walk back into the castle, all the way up to Gryffindor tower.

It’s not until she’s at the foot of the stairs to her dorm that she realizes she still has his sweater on.

“Oh! I forgot to give this back!” She’s staring to take it off, but he stops her by placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Keep it,” he says. “I’ve got plenty.”

She doesn’t have an answer for that and it’s not long before James says goodnight and heads up to his own room.

Later, when she’s back in her bed, Lily finds herself staring at that curtain again. She’s fiddling with a loose seam on one of the sleeves as she looks at the curtain.

The way the red and gold of it billows in the wind. It reminds her of when they were flying, and suddenly the curtain looks much less like a ghost and more and more like James.

She supposes that they’re the same things. The curtain ghost and James Potter. Like a ghost, James Potter is someone she can’t have.

But at least they’re friends she thinks. And as she falls asleep in the jumper he gave her she slowly realizes that maybe, that’s not enough for her.

#It’s kinda fluffy???#ish??#I’m an angst writer #I can’t fluff #but here have an offering of my Jily hyperfixation #hopefully I didn’t switch tenses a bajillion times #but ah well it happens #anyways #HAPPY BIRTHDAY KAYAKKK #I LOVE YOUUU #James Potter #Lily Evans #jily #jily headcanon #jily fic #Marauders era #Harry Potter

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straightlikewetspaghetti · 3 years

Text

Detective, Stripper and Executioner

Pairings:

Main: Poppy x MC (Bea Hughes)

Secondary: Veronica x Zoey, Ina x MC (mentioned)

Warnings: Mature themes, mention of death

A/N: I wrote this after I hit my head, so don't mind me 🙈

The sun was already going down to let the moon shine in the sky, when Bea Hughes threw out a still smoldering cigarette on one of the city streets.

"I thought you quit."

The brunette turned at the sound of a familiar voice and saw her best friend and partner she could only dream of, smiling in her direction. She and Zoey were practically an inseparable duo after they graduated and lived together for a short time.

At the police station, they were second to none.

Zoey, was the best at talking and getting information, even the toughest guys are no match for her charm and cunning. Bea, on the other hand, was the complete opposite of her partner: cool and composed, with a hint of madness that was her ace up her sleeve.

Everything changed after a certain event that shook Bea's world and made her resign from the service for some time and completely cutting herself off from public life. The situation was so dramatic that the woman even pushed away her best friend, whom she damn well needed at the time.

But Zoey understood.

She always knew that what brought the two of them together was stronger than titanium and that they would always find a way to get back together. She loved her like sister and couldn't imagine life without Bea's sarcastic and cold comments.

"Because I dropped it." the brunette shrugged her shoulders, a smile visibly pulling at the corners of her mouth, just as a pleasant feeling grated on her heart. "On the ground, didn't you see?"

Zoey couldn't hold it in and laughed ruefully. Bea wasn't entirely sure if it was from her idiotic joke or just the fact that they were finally seeing each other. It had been a long time since she had felt such inner peace and happiness as she did now, listening to the black-haired girl laugh.

"Zoey, it's really good to see you." she walked up to the woman and gave her a friendly hug, letting the contact last minimally longer than usual.

"I wish the situation was different." the black-haired woman sighed deeply and her cheerful expression changed to one of clearly painted fatigue, which didn't escape Bea's attention as she nodded thoughtfully.

It wasn't until she got closer that she could see how big the bags under her eyes were and how much her eyes had lost their natural youthful glow. Bea felt guilty that because of her, Zoey was sure to have a lot more work to do, which even aged her mildly in appearance.

Bea is not the emotional type, but she was really worried about her friend.

"Detective Hughes, Wade." a feminine authoritarian voice interrupted their conversation and both women visibly tensed. Zoey straightened immediately as Bea slid her hands into the pockets of her coat. This is going to be good.

A woman with light brown hair and skin as white as milk, whose beauty rivaled that of many goddesses, walked toward them. The way she walked exuded power and dominance, making the heads of onlookers automatically turns in her direction. Everything from her feet to the top of her head had to be perfect.

“Chief Kingsley! How nice to see you." despite the cheerful tone with which Zoey spoke those words, the note of sarcasm was impossible to miss. The black-haired woman shifted from foot to foot, visibly troubled by the presence of the third woman.

Bea only watched Ina with cool, calculating eyes, who did not even take her eyes off her from the beginning. The woman hadn't changed since the last time they'd seen each other, and that was when the brunette had the opportunity to get to know her up close. Very close.

To this day, the scent of Ina's perfume could be smelled on her bed sheets.

She cringed as inappropriate memories began to flood her consciousness, stimulating something in her that she didn't want. There was no time for weakness in the workplace and women and romance were the worst of them.

"Who's the victim?" she asked once she was sure her voice wouldn't break under the strain of the very upsetting emotion that like a virus, had seeped into her system and was slowly wearing it out.

"Ford Tuantie, 28, single with a definite overactive sex life. He was strangled."

Another female voice interjected before Ina had time to say anything and the startled women flinched at the sound of it.

"Jesus!" Zoey was horrified, jumping away from the woman kneeling on the ground. "You should walk with a bell around your neck!" How long have you been here?" she asked surprised to see Veronica carefully scanning every last detail of the victim's body, furrowing her brows every now and then in wonder.

Veronica Lombardi was one of the best pathologists in the entire country. Her work ethic was as impeccable as the room she worked in. Her only flaw was her sharp temper, which she considered her greatest asset and source of pride.

The only person who was able to bend her was Bea. Though lately, Zoey's been doing it. On many levels.

"All the time, that's the job." she shrugged her shoulders without taking her eyes off the victim. "You'd know if you were doing yours properly." She added teasingly, winking at the woman. A red blush of embarrassment spread across Zoey's face.

Ina grunted loudly, visibly annoyed by the spectacle.

She stepped between the two women and focused her attention on Veronica, who made no secret of the fact, that she would be most happy to ignore her. "You mentioned about a sex life?"

Bea moved away a piece further, dragging an even redder Zoey with her to question potential witnesses to the incident, leaving the two women alone with each other. The tension between them was highly visible. Anyone who worked with them knew, that Ina and Veronica together, were only good at jumping down each other's throats.

"The man lying here is a perfect example of why I prefer women." she said proudly, tilting her head slightly to the side and tucking the genetic sample into a container.

"To the point, Lombardi." Ina snorted visibly disturbed by her subordinate's unnecessary comments.

"Of course." Veronica rolled her eyes discreetly. "I found several sachets of condoms in his pockets. In addition to the strangulation marks on his neck, there are visible scars on his body from fingernails, rather feminine if I may add." seeing the chastising gaze of her superior again, Veronica only sighed.

Ina nodded and walked around the man's body looking for any particular clues, but was unable to see anything special.

"He still had this in his pocket." Veronica carefully handed the woman a crumpled paper, which when unfolded turned out to be a flyer for an exclusive adult club in a nearby area.

After a brief examination, Ina nodded in acknowledgement and approached Zoey, who was talking animatedly with the witness, almost giving the impression that she was flirting with him.

"Wade, you and Hughes go to the strip club where our victim was last seen alive." just as Veronica had earlier, the woman held out her hand with the flyer and showed it to the black-haired woman, who scanned it with a sharp eye in a flash.

Zoey's eyes lit up and she had to concentrate hard not to show her superior how happy she was to be going to such a club. There's rarely time to relax in a job like this, so every opportunity like this is worth its weight in gold.

Plus, sexy women.

"Oh god, stop drooling already Wade." Ina crossed her arms over her chest, chastisingly looking at the woman standing in front of her. She never would have expected to be assigned a bunch of kids like that. "Pathetic." she chuckled as she walked away, leaving Zoey alone with herself.

***

"You'll like this." Zoey said excitedly, parking the work car in front of the large building from which the hushed rumble of music could be heard.

"A strip..." Bea said grimly as she turned her attention to the large led sign with the outlines of a cocktail and a naked woman. "Club." she finished looking towards her partner, who was looking impatiently at the large door leading to the supposed paradise.

"Well don't tell me it won't be interesting!" Zoey darted out leaving the dazed brunette behind and without looking back, disappeared into the fog and the glow of dim red lights.

Bea didn't like places like this; loud, overcrowded and dripping with visible sexual tension. The music rumbling in the distance made her slightly dizzy, and the thick fake fog floating around, limited her vision.

It was distracting, and the last thing she needed was trouble focusing on her work.

Having trouble finding her partner, Bea leaned against the nearest pillar and scanned her, surroundings once more, this time more calmly. Her gaze stopped on a single dancer who, for some reason, particularly caught her attention.

The woman's cascade of blonde hair glinted in the muted red light, imitating as if sparks were dancing between the strands. She wore a carnival mask over her face, but Bea was sure she was the most recognizable figure here. Her shapely body bent to the rhythm of the music, intimidating everyone who looked at her with its divinity.

In front of the stage was quite a large crowd of fans, who surprisingly were able to stand on their own feet.

As if sensing the brunette's gaze on her, the woman raised her head, crossing their gazes: hers mysterious and inviting, Bea's cool but excited.

The blonde winked flirtatiously, definitely sensing how Bea was responding to her hypnotic hip movements, which, accompanied by slow, sexual music, were impossible to look away from.

A slightly out of breath Zoey interrupted their moment, as she shielded her view of the stage and made Bea snap out of her strange trance.

"We're looking for a dancer nicknamed Queen B. Blonde hair, mostly performs in pink lingerie and a tiara on her head. She's supposedly very popular here, so I think we'll have no problem finding her."

"Not even a little bit." whispered Bea, who, without saying anything else, began to head towards the stage where the woman they were looking for had just danced. A strange feeling of indefinable excitement grew in Bea with every step, that brought her closer to meeting this mysterious Queen B.

As she walked backstage, a sweet rose scent hit her nostrils, enveloping her senses and making her slightly dull. How long had it been since she had smelled such a sexy feminine perfume? And how long had it been since the last time anyone had affected her in any way other than repulsive?

"I knew you'd come here." an especially lowered female voice echoed through the room, causing the women's heads to immediately turn in its direction.

From a distance Queen B was phenomenal, but up close she was arousing feelings of such intense lust in Bea, that she had not yet felt with any other woman. She almost felt guilty. Almost.

Zoey looked questioningly at her partner, but when she looked away, she smiled in understanding. This would be fun to watch.

"I'm detective Hughes, and this is detective Wade." she nodded in Zoey's direction, trying to ignore with how much curiosity the blonde's eyes were skimming over her body. "We're here to ask about your yesterday's client, a certain Ford Tuantie."

The blonde mused for a moment tilting her head to the side and revealing a piece of her slender neck. If Bea could read women's language, she would have thought she was doing it on purpose to distract her.

"Ah yes, Ford." she began, completely changing her tone of voice to a more formal one.

She stretched out in one of the comfortable looking pink couches and indicated to the others to sit too. Without a word of objection Zoey and Bea complied with the woman's silent request and followed suit, occupying the sofa next to her. The blonde seemed very pleased with herself for some reason, but her face became formal again.

This woman's ability to change her emotions was remarkable.

"Ford and a couple of his colleagues were popular VIPs here. From what I recall, they even formed a club for themselves." the woman shifted her leg over and clenched her thighs together, absolutely certain that Bea would take notice.

She wasn't wrong.

"When was the last time you saw him?" asked Zoey, noticing how Bea was focused on everything else but the blonde's words, which was totally unlike her.

But that was the truth. Bea watched diligently as the woman's full and seductive lips spoke words, whose meaning didn't even reach her in the slightest. It was like a charm had taken hold of her, and she didn't want to look for an anti-spell.

How many lonely nights had it been?

"Today he was here for a while. As I think about it now, he was clearly arguing with one of the members of this club of theirs. It almost would have come to hand-to-hand, but the security here is very good. Nothing goes unnoticed here." again that cursed wink, as if the last part of her statement, was specifically directed at Bea.

"The bartender can tell you more, he heard the whole incident and I don't like to gossip. I'm a fan of discretion." a flirtatious smile, flutter of eyelashes. Women who know how their charm works on others, are damn dangerous.

Zoey nodded and rose first from the couch. "We'll contact you if we have any other questions, thank you." without looking back the woman left the room. Her behavior worried Bea, who saw the strange look Zoey gave the two of them, before she disappeared back into the depths of the club.

Bea moved to follow her, but something stopped her. Obviously.

"Detective?"

She closed her eyes taking a deep breath. How could one stupid word she said, have more of an impact on her, than her entire previous relationship? She clenched her hands into fists feeling the blonde's gaze burn a hole in her back, but said nothing, waiting for the other to continue.

A strange silence descended on the room, not even drowned out by the rumbling music from the main room and the whistling of the men. At this point, the two of them were in a completely different reality, which was even more dangerous than coming face to face with a murderer. Or rather, that's how Bea felt when she began to hear the clatter of heels heading her way.

She turned on her heel and immediately her neck was encircled by the blonde's arms, which clung to the brunette's stiff body. Fortunately, Bea had her poker face trained, so when she looked down at the satisfied blonde, her expression betrayed no emotion, not even the slightest.

"I'm here almost every day." she muttered and her hot breath brushed against the brunette's neck, a pleasant lightning bolt coursing through her body.

Bea had to use all her rationality to disentangle herself from her embrace and move away, instead of pressing into her inviting lips. She momentarily felt the absence of this woman at her side. She cursed in her mind at her weakness. She was acting like a horny teenager.

Queen B rolled her eyes playfully and bit her lower lip. Now she looked like a child, who was trying with all its might to solve a mathematical equation on its own, but no matter how much it wanted to, it couldn't. After a few moments, her face clouded over, which completely knocked her out of her character.

"Be careful, Detective Hughes. There's more going on here, than you think." was it possible that worry was painted on her face?

"What do you mean?" she asked, but the woman's face returned to its previous flirty expression and Bea knew she wouldn't get her answer, and she didn't have time to force it.

Turning around, she walked out of the room this time, squinting to find Zoey. She didn't spot her anywhere so she figured the black-haired girl would be waiting for her outside.

When she emerged from the club the moon was already towering in the sky and the air was cool and refreshing.

Zoey leaned against the hood of the car, moving her leg every now and then as if in nerves. She looked mightily pissed off and Bea was sure it was her behavior, that had caused the black-haired girl to be in this state now. If she had heart, it would have broken in half at the thought of the conversation, that was probably about to take place.

"Damn it Bea!" irritation in her voice was definitely noticeable. "Get a grip on yourself, you're a detective, not a frisky teenager! People's safety is in our hands!"

Jealousy?

"I know I acted unreasonably, which could have affected our investigation, I really do." Bea said cautiously, but the trigger had already set off much earlier and steam was almost coming out of Zoey's nostrils. There were moments when the black-haired woman scared her to the core and right now, the brunette would most like to hide inside her four walls.

"You don't know shit Bea..." in the blink of an eye her voice went to the verge of crying, as if all the negative emotions that had been accumulating during their separation had just exploded and pierced the fake facade of her composure. "That day, you weren't the only one who lost someone. I lost someone too." tears began to drip from Zoey's eyes, which Bea felt like wiping away, but she didn't move. "My best friend."

Those words hit her right in the feels.

"Zoey..." Bea said her name in a pleading tone, which worked the other way and upset the black-haired woman again.

"I don't feel like talking to you anymore tonight." those were the last words Bea expected to hear. She had an incredible urge to run up to her, hug her and apologize for all those moments of separation, but she respected her too much to invade her space

As the black-haired woman approached the car the deafening silence was pierced by a terrible bang, followed by Zoey's body falling to the ground, motionless, with a loud thud.

"Zoey!"

#playchoices #choices #poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #veronica lombardi #ina kingsley #zoey wade #queen b

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frostahesmegabite · 3 years

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DWC Day 1 - Reunion - Daily Writing Challenge Entry - Mega Goes Home

[ This scene takes place after a two year storyline between the FBC Guild that I’m the GM of and a personal storyline between Megahes and his Fiance, Naturasu. During this time, Megahes was cursed by a Cultist to slowly die from an agonizingly painful hex that was slowly killing him and all hope of its curing/removal was stripped away when this Cultist was killed during the conflicts. Ammaelin came to save Megahes (and acquired some ‘favors’ along the way) by using fractured shards of a Naa'ru to force Megahes into becoming Light Forged in a sense. This process took several years thanks to the manipulation of time via magic and while Mega felt the strain of three-four years of work, for everyone else it was roughly eight to ten weeks before his return. ] The Zeppelin ride to Orgrimmar was agonizingly slow, probably more than any other ride Mega had ever had on one before in his entire life. It was enough to drive him mad and the longer it took in combination with the closer it got to taking him home to Naturasu the worse it became. The goblin fidgeted, tugging at his clothes and making sure all the buttons on his shirt were done properly. His sleeves still crisp and the ironed lined still present. Hell, he even fought with the rolled up sleeves and their buttons that kept them pulled up to his biceps. The wait on returning home was killing him. What was Nat going to say when he walked in the door? This reunion between her and him played in his head a thousand times just today alone, he couldn’t even count the amount of times that he played out similar scenarios while he was away. “Nervousness does not become you Mister Frostbite.” The voice was formal and flat, its source coming from a blinding armor clad Blood Elf that stood several feet higher than himself. Crimson red hair blowing in the breeze thanks to their mode of transportation. Ammaelin, the Blood Knight who was responsible for the absence that proved to be a miraculous, and most likely a very heretical, healing process. If one could butter their bread with his smugness, one’d choke on it just from looking at him. “I’m aware, but that doesn’t make it any less. I been gone for three years now.” He quickly brings up a hand to stop the Elf, they’ve had this conversation several times before already. “And I know, I know. Months for her, for everyone else. Years only for You, Me and the others. But still years for me…” “We did what needed to be done, especially in regards to our agreement. You would have surely died otherwise.” Ammaelin’s head turns if but barely, just enough to cast a glance down upon the golden metal that was imprisoned into Mega’s flesh near his wrists. “You are lucky that you had those shards hidden away. Had any other Paladin known you held those, my brother's curse would have been the least of your concerns. I have no doubt the Church or the Draenei would have come marching on your doorstep…” Megahes’ face contorts as draws upon sarcasm to mock the Elf. “I have no doubt…” Mega blows a massive raspberry in the Paladins direction, which causes him to turn and look back upon the horizon, not giving in to Mega’s provocations. “Look. I know how risky tha thing was and I appreciate what you did and I get that I owe ya. But… all’a that aside. I’m just nervous man. What if…” He just stops and breathes, voice quivering a bit as his eyes begin to moisten, forcing him to stop and look back over the side of the Zeppelin once again. “If she doesn’t approve or she’s moved on due to thinking you dead or not coming back?” “I mean, I could have put that in better words, but yeah.” “I think perhaps you worry too much.” Megahes grumbles and sighs, running his hands up and down his face several times before they slide into his hair, where he just grabs hold of himself and pulls out of frustration only to realize he’d fucked it all up. His head shakes and he sets out to fix his hair as best he can, a nervous tick, to be sure. Mega was about to open his mouth to retort, but the Paladin stopped him by pointing to the horizon. Pandaria’s Jade

Forest. Pillars of tall stone began to rise and fall down into gorgeous forests, rolling hillsides and lily and reed filled rivers. The air was crisp and something about it just filled one's body with a rejuvenating sense of purpose and peace. “We’ll be at your domancile shortly, Mister Frostbite. I suggest you gather your things and we’ll drop you off directly.” If Mega wasn’t nervous before this, he sure as hell is now! His nearly trips… Well, he does actually, right over his own two feet and in a fluster, he looks about for something that wasn’t there before he speedily heads towards the cabins to gather his bag. He’d had this ready hours ago. It wasn’t much, he had no time to prepare for this little ‘retreat’ of his, which he was thankful for now as he threw it over his shoulder. He pauses and looks over at Ammaelin. “For as big of a pain in tha ass ya have been these past couple of years, thank ya. Truly. If it wasn’t for you and them Priests, I wouldn’t be makin’ this trip back.” Ammaelins’ face during this brief statement was a rollercoaster! Disdain and irritation appearing quickly was soon replaced with an oddly peaceful smile by the end of it. “Our time has taught us much, Mister Frostbite, about a great many topics. It has been… enlightening.” His choice of words being an intended pun and irony placed upon Mega. There were no hugs, no great exchanges of physical emotion. The two just look at one another before Mega turns and descends into the bowels of the Zeppelin so he can board the loading platform and get lowered down to his home. Their home. Gold, this was excruciating. The platform lowers slowly, painfully so, at least to him. Each inch makes Mega’s ears pound so hard that he can hear them in his ears and if it got any higher in his throat, he’d choke. “I’m gettin all nervous for nothin’, she probably ain’t even home. Probably in Orgrimmar havin’ some drinks or workin’ at the Knot.” He blows through his lips with enough strength to cause a slight whistle. Stress and worry, all self-induced of course, at how this was going to go. He was happy, no doubt, but worry came natural. The lift jerks as the ground makes contact, nearly sending him sprawling down to the floor of it just for him to look up in utter irritation, sending up a solid middle finger at the crew whether they could see it or not. “Ain’t no wonder these things fall out of tha fuckin sky so much…” He grumbles, straightening himself and clambering off before they end up actually managing to kill him somehow. Once off, the Zeppelin began to hoist the platform once more as it turned to head off towards its next stop. Mega’s red eyes watch it drift off for a moment, offering an overhead wave in case Ammaelin was on deck and looking down upon him. Given time, Mega turns away from it, looking at his pandaren styled home. The smell of the Arboretum orchids wafting through the air hit his senses and caused him to smile and for a moment, peace was welcome until he began to pick up his feet, swearing they are encased in lead the closer to home he became. Much like a scene from one of those cheesy romance books he kept hearing people go on about, he freezes at the door, hand up and ready to knock but nothing comes. No, instead he pats himself down and takes the key out of his shirt pocket and uses that instead. Quietly, creeping open the door slowly as if he expected to walk in and find his place full of cobwebs and everything cold and abandoned. The sight he gets is quite the opposite. Everything was nearly just as he left it. Albeit, more golden now. Naturasu loved her gold and it was a miracle that everything they owned wasn’t gold or khorium at this point in some facet or another. The sight brings a small smile to his face, sucking him into the house where he quietly closes the door behind him, fingers tracing over chairs and couch arms before he lets his pack slide down into the floor where it was quickly abandoned. Quietly, he walks through the house, almost scared to break the silence just to realize that that’s all there’d be

but a sudden clattering coming from the kitchen broke what he hadn’t dared. “Oh gold… what is she remodelling in there now?” It was a good question to ask! Not one that he had malice towards however, as the modifications they’d made thus far were phenomenal. His feet take him into the doorway where Nat can be seen in her usual home attire of thigh-high socks and underwear along with a set of tools, some powered and some not, as she was working on some of their retractable steps that allowed the two of them to cook shoulder to shoulder despite their obvious size differences. And it was this image that made him choke in silence and just stare at her. She was still here and all of his fears, irrational or not, just vanished and all he’s left being able to do is croak out a cough and throat clear. Nat’s voice calls out in irritation as the work clearly wasn’t going as planned. “Just leave tha rollers and frames there on the floor Sugah, thanks.” She must have thought he was someone from the Contingents Engineering or Supply Staff. Had this been any other time, Mega probably would have played into this mistake and taken up the chance to pretend to be said person and elicit some lewd scene, but, no, not today… Well, at least not right -now-. “Sorry, I uhh… must have forgotten them back at tha office. I can go back and get them if ya like.” Mega’s voice quivered in a nervousness that refused to leave his bones that were joining with both excitement and happiness. Naturasu on the other hand, froze entirely just to drop the wrench that was in her hand to the floor. Slowly, she wheeled about, perhaps not sure if she heard the voice correctly or if it was just her senses fucking with her. Whatever her reasoning, the moment her copper colored eyes hit Mega’s own crimson hues, time stood still for them both. No words came, they didn’t need them. Naturasu hit her knees and before she could even get her arms outstretched entirely, Mega was across the room, pinning himself to her and locking his own behind her in an embrace so strong that Titan Steel couldn’t have broken it if it tried. The two remained conjoined and just wept. [ Thank you again for reading my entry to the @daily-writing-challenge ! This is Day One (09/19/2021) and today's words were #Reunion and #Afterlife. I had the choice of using one or both, but decided to run with only Reunion today just in case I decide to pull out some deathly stuff later in the month. ] [ Edit Addition: I apologize if there's some formatting issues. I tried to implant a couple of images to help convey things but Tumblr just wasn't having it, so I had to remove them. I've tried to correct the errors I did find, but I may not have gotten them all. ]

#dwc2021 #Megahes Frostbite #Reunion #Going Home #day12021 #dayone2021

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phykios · 3 years

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honesty and promise me, part 5 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

Annabeth is making her periodic pilgrimage to the gynecologist when she gets Leo's call. It's very fitting--two uncomfortable and invasive things for the price of one. She answers her phone, ignoring the doctor's chastising frown. Surely she can place her new IUD while Annabeth deals with whatever Leo wants.

"What are you doing on the 18th?" he asks, about the only type of hello she ever gets from Leo.

The two of them never really grew out of pretending not to like each other, after they had gotten over their initial dislike. When he and Piper first got to Miss Minerva's, more or less straight out of juvie after Piper's dad made a lot of calls and called in a lot of favors, she and Leo had really hated each other. They used to fight over everything, from Piper's attention to the position of captain of the Mathletes team. And also, over Leo hating a rich white girl on principle, which, in retrospect, is totally fair. But then, by a weird twist of fate, they wound up in Boston together.

If Annabeth had to choose between hanging out with her creepy, Norse mythology-obsessed uncle and hanging out with Leo, she'd pick Leo every time. They had gone through a lot together, things both big and small.

"Of August?" she asks.

"Please be still, Ms. Chase," says her doctor. Annabeth rolls her eyes.

"Duh."

Wracking her thoughts she can't think of any prior commitments she might have had. Maybe there's a concert that day, but if she can't remember, it probably wasn't that important anyway. "Not much."

"Good, because we have plans."

She frowns. "Piper didn't mention any--"

"No, you and I have plans. I'll see you in Philly, yeah?"

Philadelphia? Ew. "Why Philly?"

"Our Smarter House thing won an award."

"No shit?"

"Eta Industries Award. The gala is on the 18th. You're my plus one."

She sucks in air through her teeth, readjusting her hips as unobtrusively as possible. Eta Industries was… a very big deal. "Isn't that, like, an engineering specific award? Maybe you should accept it by yourself." She'd be better off staying out of the limelight for this one, she thinks, even as some part of her longs once again for recognition.

Something electric whirs in the background, tinny and buzzing. "I'll see you on the 18th, then," says Leo, not having heard a word she said. "Also, you've been summoned to the castle."

"Leo--" she jumps as the gyno touches something she really shouldn't have.

"No arguments, she's expecting you today at two. Adios!" He clicks off.

"Okay, Ms. Chase," says the doctor, a little too chipper for Annabeth's taste. "You should be all set."

Annabeth leaves the doctor's office with her brand new IUD, a handful of medical literature which immediately gets tossed in the trash, and a sinking feeling in her gut as she gets on a train to Brooklyn, headed to Piper's place for another annoying and unnecessary fashion show. It's not that she doesn't enjoy being Piper's model--it's a position she's held since their time at Miss Minerva's, and it's never really a hardship to be told how gorgeous she is--but Piper has a way of just... getting information out of her that she doesn’t always want to share.

Stopping off early, Annabeth gives herself a moment to walk down the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, to settle her nerves and indulge herself a bit. That skyline gets her every time.

Turning down Pierrepont Street, she is once again struck by just how quiet the city can be. Manhattan is loud, rude, in-your-face, almost an entirely different world from the stately, deafeningly silent Brooklyn. For Annabeth, who is incapable of falling asleep without city horns blaring, it wigs her out a little.

She barely has time to ring the doorbell on Piper's dad's place before the girl herself wrenches it open, grabbing Annabeth's hand and yanking her inside. "You're late!" she trills, suffering what Annabeth can only assume is the onset of a caffeine overdose.

"I thought I had until two."

"That was before I had the best idea."

The brownstone is a mess, as per usual, reams of fabric tossed over every available surface, enough dressforms strewn about to make it look like Piper is hosting a party exclusively populated by headless zombies, adorned with a warehouse's worth of half-finished dresses and jackets. Based on the loud fabrics and structured angles, it looks like Piper is in the middle of a Klimt-ian phase of inspiration. Annabeth eyes a bright gold gown with a huge, extended collar, embroidered with silver eyes, the raw edges trailing the floor. "Please tell me this isn't your idea."

"First of all," Piper releases her arm as they enter her kitchen-turned-photo studio, gingerly stepping over a box of assorted beads, "even though it would look amazing on you, that dress is for an actual paying client. Second of all--" she snatches up a dressform from its position behind the camera, setting it down in front of her with a flourish. "This is my idea."

Annabeth was right--Piper is definitely on a Klimt-ian kick.

Pulled straight from her art history classes, the dress looks like a two dimensional painting come to life, a stunning skirt like a column of liquid silver descending onto the black mat, pleats like fluted columns precisely draped over the dressform's hips… and not much else. Annabeth points. “Is that it?”

Piper makes a face. "I have a bodice, promise. Now go take that shit off."

Annabeth looks down at her repurposed The Police shirt, fished out of a thrift store bin some months ago, shirt collar cut and sides resewn to bring the waistline in. "I like this shirt."

"Oh, I like the shirt plenty," she agrees. "But you could stand to wear a nicer pair of jeans."

She does have a point there--her jeans are clinging to life at this point, the knees and hems all but obliterated, strings of fabric valiantly attempting to hold their original shape. "Fine. Be right back."

When she emerges from the bathroom a minute later in just her bra and panties, Piper has laid out another bolt of fabric in that same color, silver with a blue shift beneath the studio lights. Piper, bent over with a strip of measuring tape, looks up at her, then squints. "So who is he?"

Annabeth starts. "Excuse me?"

"The guy you've been seeing."

How... the fuck does Piper always know these things? "I don't know what you're talking about."

She flicks her eyes down to Annabeth's thigh, Annabeth following her gaze to the remnants of the bruise that Percy had left there with his mouth two days ago. Dammit.

Piper tsks, a smile distorting the sound. "Naughty, naughty, Annabeth."

"How do you know it wasn't from a girl?" she asks, petulant.

"Because if it had been a girl, you wouldn't be nearly so defensive."

Shit. "We've been friends way too long," Annabeth grumbles.

"That we have," says Piper. "And out of respect for our friendship, I will refrain from grilling you about him until you are more comfortable sharing."

"So, for a few hours?"

She shrugs. "More or less."

"I suppose you want me to thank you for holding back."

"Don't thank me yet," she grins, wide and toothy. "I've been cooped up here working on my collection for three days, and I am dying to talk to someone."

Annabeth sighs, but obediently raises her arms, making room as Piper crouches down to pin the skirt on her. "Okay, you got me. I'm seeing this guy."

"Seeing or seeing-seeing?"

"Just seeing," she clarifies. "It's pretty casual."

"Can't be that casual if you're telling me about it," Piper points out.

Fuck. This is why she never tells Piper about her hookups. "You're the one who asked."

"Another business bro, I assume?"

"He's--" Piper swats at her as she automatically sucks her stomach in, their long held code for "stay put." "He's a dancer."

She hums, arranging pleats over Annabeth's knees. "Like on Broadway?"

"Ballet."

Piper glances up at her, eyes sparkling. “Un danseur! Ooh la la,” she trills. “What’s his name?”

“I can just leave,” Annabeth says, distinctly not thinking about how Percy will occasionally slip into French whenever he stubs his toe.

“Okay, okay, no more boy talk.” Piper moves in front of her, adjusting the fabric about her waist. “Tell me about the thing you just won with Leo.”

“I had honestly forgotten about it,” she says, lying a little, pulling her arms forward. “You remember his master’s thesis?”

“The shmart kishen thing, right?” Piper asks around the tape measure in her mouth.

Leo, the prodigal boy that he is, had spent his last year of school dedicated to a singular problem faced by people around the world: the sudden, out of control kitchen fire. Using very complicated electronics and engineering that Annabeth does not understand, he devised a handful of mechanisms to sense, contain, and ultimately douse random fires as soon as they popped up. Annabeth came on as his design partner after he had graduated and had gotten some funding to conceptualize an entire safe house.

“Well, it just won an Eta Industries award.”

Her head snaps up, hands freezing in their tracks. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Congrats.”

“Thanks,” she shrugs as Piper gets up to grab some more fabric. “I mean, it was mostly Leo’s doing. I just made sure he didn’t leave any stray pipes around.”

Holding out her arms again, Piper slides them through the sleeves of a heavy, corset-like piece, structured and straight and very forgiving on Annabeth’s lack of curves. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” she says. “I’m sure your skills as a guinea pig were very valuable.”

“Are you ever going to let that go?” Annabeth asks, she who has literally burnt pasta while it was submerged in water.

“You’re just lucky my dad was out of town that weekend. Have you decided what you’re going to wear to the awards ceremony?”

She shoots her friend a strange look. “I thought I was wearing this?” she gestures to the unfinished silver gown currently making her feel like an absolute goddess.

Piper makes a face. “What do I look like, the fucking Flash? This isn’t going to be ready for another thirty hours, at least. I’ve got decals to add, Swarovskis to bead, not to mention all the hand-stitching on the neckline because for whatever reason my machine has decided to hate me this week.”

“Okay, well,” says Annabeth, appropriately cowed, “then I guess I’ll wear the black one you gave me.”

“2019 fall/winter?”

Annabeth nods.

“Styling?”

“Luke gave me this really nice scarf for my birthday.”

Throwing her head back, she groans.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“You’re so boring,” she moans, pulling Annabeth’s hair out of the way. “Let me guess, you’re going to pair it with the black shrug and opaque nude tights.”

“Well… yeah, I was.”

“Exactly! Boring.” Coming back around, she pushes Annabeth lightly into the light, before taking her place behind the camera. “You could do so much with that dress and you choose to make it boring. Why not some fishnets? Or a big statement necklace?”

Annabeth waits after a few shutter clicks to answer. “Because I doubt that the people at Eta Industries are going to be big fans of my tattoos.”

“That is a bald-faced lie and you know it,” Piper says. “Your tattoos and piercings are gorgeous and you would look absolutely rocking with them. Knock all the old farts right off their feet. Turn.”

Obediently, Annabeth rotates, letting Piper snap off as many pictures as she likes. “This isn’t a Vogue event, Pipes,” she says, rolling her eyes where her friend can’t see them. “Punk isn’t exactly accepted practice yet.”

“Punk was the Met Gala theme almost a decade ago, babe. It has filtered down from Vogue. It's practically cerulean now. Side.”

Annabeth turns again, keeping her eyes straight. Side-eye would ruin the shot, no matter how much she wants to give it.

“I will never understand why you both refuse to wear halfway decent jeans and then refuse to go guns out in my dresses that demand it. I can almost guarantee you that Leo will show up in those stupid suspenders with grease on his face. And you’ll have to get him to leave his tool belt in the car.”

“Then it’s probably for the best that I have a modicum of professionalism, huh?”

Piper leans out from behind the camera, glaring. “At the very least,” she hedges, “will you let me set you up with some shoes?”

“I don’t know…”

“You are not allowed to wear those horrid Manolo pumps you wear everywhere. And your nude Louboutins won’t look right with the black.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Piper’s grin is evil, and the way she scampers out of the room means she’s got something she’d been trying to force on Annabeth for a long time.

Five minutes later, Annabeth is presented with a set of black strappy sandals, its edges detailed in a gold zipper, with safety pin pull to match. She frowns. “Are you sure? They look kind of… hardcore for something like this.”

“They’re Versace,” Piper says. “I was not lying about punk’s democratization.”

Well. They are pretty cool.

“It’s either this or the McQueen boots. They have studs.”

Annabeth sighs, holding out her hand. Piper squeals, bouncing a little, wrapping her in a brief, but exuberant hug, kissing her cheek with a loud, wet, smack. “You’re the best!”

“I haven’t even done anything.”

“I am saving up favors to cash in. Now,” she releases Annabeth, retreating behind the camera. “If you’ve got some time, can I borrow your head? I’m working on a helmet and all my mannequins are busy.”

***

“Hey,” Percy begins. It is so late at night, the dawn is on the edge of breaking, and they are both exhausted from some particularly good sex. Which is saying something, because all their sex is particularly good. “You doing anything on the 18th?”

“Yeah,” She says, distractedly, snuggling down into his bed. The fact that she’s also snuggling into him is just a coincidence.

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“Nothing. Was going to invite you to a thing if you weren’t.” She nods her head against his shoulder and falls asleep in his arms, thinking absolutely nothing about it.

She continues to think nothing of it on the train to Philadelphia on the 18th, half-asleep and listening to Paramore to pass the time, blasting Misery Business on repeat as she changes in her hotel room.

The Eta Industries event is pretty much exactly what she expected: a lot of old rich white people milling about, sipping champagne and verbally circle jerking each other, the insipid strains of classical music spilling out of the ballroom as Annabeth steps up to claim her name tag. “Name?” asks the young, college-aged girl, skimming her printed guest list over the rim of her glasses.

“Annabeth Chase.”

She runs a long fingernail over the assorted collection of name tags, before settling on the correct one, handing it to Annabeth, her star tattoo on the inside of her wrist free and open to anyone who would care to look. “Here you are, Ms. Chase,” she says, smiling. “Have a wonderful night!”

Automatically, Annabeth goes to pin it on Luke’s scarf, before she remembers that something is already occupying that place--Percy’s Acropolis pin. She had taken to keeping it in her pocket these days, something of a good luck charm, and thought that it might… she doesn’t know, maybe send a subconscious signal to Percy that she’s thinking of him. Even though there is, quite literally, no way he could know, she hopes that maybe he can sense it, and that maybe he’s thinking about her, too.

Ugh. She snatches up a flute of champagne from a wandering waiter, eager to get that thought out of her head, making a beeline straight for the refreshments table. It’s there that Leo finds her, not five minutes later, munching on some chocolate covered strawberries.

“And here I thought you might ditch me entirely,” he says, even as he bumps her shoulder. True to form, he is absolutely, 100% dressed in those stupid suspenders, a smudge of grease behind his ear.

“You’ve got a…” Annabeth trails off, motioning behind her own ear.

“Huh? Oh!” He snatches up a napkin, rubbing discreetly. “Thanks.”

She squints. Something about him is distinctly different. “Are you taller?”

Kicking out a foot, he wiggles it, triumphant. “Platform shoes.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey, if they're good enough for Robert Downey Jr., then they’re good enough for me. After all, I am Ir--”

She groans, good-natured, taking another gulp of champagne. “If you quote Marvel in your speech, I’m leaving.”

“Fine by me, Your Highness, they’ll give me the award either way.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Valdez?” The same college girl from before sidles up to them, clipboard clutched in her hand. “They’re about to start.”

He claps his hands, rubbing them together. “Excellent. You coming?”

“I…” She casts her gaze to the makeshift stage they’ve constructed, eyeing the bright “Eta Industries” placard, the sharp angles shiny and alluring, the siren-song of recognition.

This is a big deal. There are photographers in the audience. In the write-ups and reviews, she would be listed as a co-winner of the award, a co-designer of the world’s safest house, a thought so happy she practically starts flying.

“I think I should stay out of the limelight for this one, Leo,” she says, politely. “This is your moment. I don’t want to ruin it.”

He frowns. “You sure?”

Were it not for the fact that people were watching, Annabeth would have leapt up onto that stage without a second thought, snatching up the trophy like she had just won the Oscar, holding it up like the goddamn Olympic torch. “What, you want a white woman stealing your glory?” she says instead, arching a brow.

“You get a pass this one time,” he quips, holding out his hand. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Whatever social grace she has left crumbles. She’s denied it enough--she wants to be up there. “Oh, fine. Since you insist,” she says, following clipboard-girl to the stage.

There’s a quick burst of feedback, then an elderly gentleman at the podium begins speaking into the mic. “Excuse me--sorry about that. Yes, yes, thank you all for coming tonight to the annual Eta Industries awards presentation ceremony. It is always such a pleasure to come together with our hard-working and generous board members and shareholders to honor the best and brightest upcoming talent in engineering.”

Internally, she rolls her eyes. Rich people.

“It is my pleasure, however, to introduce the young man who is the recipient of this year’s Millennium Prize for innovation and safety. One of MIT’s youngest and most decorated graduates, he was a recipient of the Mead Prize for Students, the Friedman Young Engineer Award, and the Collingwood Prize, among several others. His master’s thesis, ‘Towards the Design and Implementation of Autonomous Safety Measures in Commercial Kitchens,’ formed the basis of the project which we recognize tonight, the so-called ‘SmartSafe House,’ reflects the pioneering spirit and outstanding creative vision of not only Eta Industries, but also the field of engineering as a whole. Please join me in congratulating this year’s Millennium Prize recipient, Leo Valdez.”

From the sidelines, she claps enthusiastically with the rest of the crowd as her friend takes the stage, shakes hands with the Vice President of Eta Industries, and accepts the award, a blue, blocky triangle which almost seems to glow in the light of the ballroom. “Thank you, Mr. Helms. This is--this is a really big honor.”

She can see him shaking a bit, taking a quick drink from his water glass. Public speaking was never really his strong suit.

“As--as a lot of you probably know, this project is very near and dear to my heart. Growing up in Houston with my mother, a car mechanic, I was eight years old when her beloved shop went up in flames, like that.” He snaps his fingers, his other hand pressed to the podium where no one can see, joints white with pressure. Annabeth is proud of him--he hasn’t been able to speak this candidly about it in years. She knows firsthand how much his mother’s near-death haunts him still. “Thankfully, we were able to rebuild, and my mother went on to bigger and better things--including a shop with cleaner vents. But I can definitely pinpoint that moment as the day I knew I wanted to make the world a safer place, for my mom, if not for everyone else.”

She remembers, so clearly, that snowy night in the dorms at Miss Minerva’s. The power had gone out, and Leo had made them an illicit campfire out of their trash bin and Annabeth’s failed English exam. Cold and miserable and with dying phones, they passed the time instead telling scary stories and funny memories, until the conversation had gotten suddenly, intensely real.

“But I would be remiss,” he goes on, cheerful, “if I didn’t acknowledge my friend and collaborator, without whose work I wouldn’t be here today: Annabeth Chase,” he waves to his side, indicating her. The whole crowd, as one, turns their gazes on her. She straightens up, imperceptibly, hoping she doesn’t look too haughty or anything. “I’ve never been very good with people. My mama says I’m just like my dad that way. Give me a car, or a computer, or pages of multiplication tables, and I’m golden. But people?” He blows out a breath, and the crowd chuckles, naturally. “Now, if it had been left up to me, the SmartSafe House would have been a top of the line, cutting-edge metal box, efficient to a fault, but completely unlivable. Thank God I had Annabeth on my team to remind me what the project was really about: a home that families could feel safe in, so that what happened to me and my mom might never happen to anyone else.” He hoists his award above his head, leaning into the mic. “Ma, este es para ti. Thank you all.”

Stepping down from the stage, they reenter the crowd, ready to receive adoration. In another life, she might have been embarrassed by such praise. Here and now, however, she takes each handshake and word of congratulations like a starving man in a desert who just came across an oasis, hungry and greedy.

Hey, it’s her night, too.

After what feels like a whole-ass sixty minutes of shaking old people's hands and polite nodding, though, she is in desperate need of a break. Escaping the throng of mingling bodies, she darts into a dark corner of the ballroom, leaning against the back of a rounded stone column, just barely out of sight of the party.

Rubbing her hands over her face, she sighs, just short of a scream. Blowing out all her air, she lets the faint music and fake laughs melt into each other, becoming white noise, a blank canvas, empty of concrete thoughts and feelings.

Then, her ear picks up a strand of conversation.

“...announcing tomorrow that the CEO of Pallas Inc. is choosing a successor,” a woman says, the sneer in her voice almost visible. “About time.”

“I thought she already picked a successor,” says the woman’s conversation partner, a man with the kind of cookie-cutter cadence that she heard every time she took a business major to bed. “Pallas is a family business, isn’t it?”

“You haven’t heard?” Annabeth can almost picture it, the furtive glance around the room, the woman placing her hand on her partner’s arm, leaning in to share a juicy secret. “Supposedly she was grooming her daughter for the role, before she went in for rehab.”

“Rehab? Really?”

“What else could it be?” says the woman. “She’s disappeared off the face of the earth, and her mother refuses to talk about her. Let’s be honest, if she were dead, she would have raised a bigger stink about it.”

Annabeth closes her eyes, sucking air in through her teeth. That… wasn’t totally untrue.

But the woman doesn’t stop. “It’s always the same story,” she scoffs. “You throw countless hours of schooling and millions of dollars into girls like her, and what do they do? Turn around and blow it all on drugs and partying. Honestly, she should be grateful her mother is even bothering with her rehab at all. Hasn’t she wasted enough of the family’s money already?”

Blood roars in her ears, drowning out the fancy party. Sharp points dig into her palm, pinpricks of pain, before she realizes that they’re her own fingernails.

The lady has got it all wrong. Her mom couldn’t even be bothered with that.

Luke’s scarf, the shrug, it’s choking her, suffocating and constricting. Percy’s pin feels heavy on her chest.

Blinders on, she would have sprinted for the exit were it not for the Piper’s stupid Versace heels, reduced instead to a teetering, tottering wreck, like a baby colt running from a predator. The night is hot and humid, heavy with the threat of rain, and Annabeth can barely breathe, dark spots in her eyes, until she ducks into a nearby Target, the frigid blast of air a welcome distraction.

Almost in a daze, she watches herself pick up a few things--clippers, an electric razor, beef jerky, a blue Gatorade she considers for a moment before putting it back, choosing a lemonade instead--practically throwing them at the poor cashier who begins checking her out, mechanically. He doesn’t spare her a single glance for her odd assortment of items. He doesn’t even look at her at all.

The walk to her hotel room disappears in the blink of an eye. Blink--she breezes past the check-in counter, slipping into the empty elevator. Blink--she kicks off her heels in her room, nearly hitting the wall mirror, leaving a scuff mark on the white plaster. Blink--she’s down to her underwear and tights in the bathroom, shaving the right side of her curls clean off. She’d gotten them professionally done for the night, perfect spirals held together by expensive products. And now she wants them gone.

She pauses and breathes too hard, looking at herself in the mirror. Her mother didn’t like that she was blonde. Maybe because of dumb blonde stereotypes, maybe just because it reminded Athena too much of her failed romance with Annabeth’s dad. And that thought stays her hand from getting rid of the rest of them.

That, and maybe the idea of Percy, of some broke dancer, tangling his fingers in it as they lie together.

Fuck her mother, and the fucking stories she tells.

She likes it. She likes her blonde hair and her fresh undercut.

She can get Thalia to touch this up later, maybe. Now, though, she needs this.

It doesn’t look perfect. The left side of hair is too long, her gold laurel earrings too fancy for a homegrown haircut like this, her makeup too pristine. Shoving her hand under the running water, she rubs at her eyes, mascara and eyeliner smearing until they’ve reached something much more respectable for the failure that she really is.

She misses her industrial. And her eyebrow rings. And the tongue piercing. But this will have to do for now.

Breathing heavily, eyes hot, she doesn’t register her phone blinking, signaling an unread text message.

It’s from Thalia. surprised you weren’t at kelp heads bday party, it reads. was pretty boring. Kno he missed you

#backstory backstory backstoryyyyyyy #my fic #percabeth #pjo #the rivalry ends here #darkmagyk #perseannabeth #ballet au

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foxghost · 3 years

Text

Joyful Reunion, Chapter 91

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 3, Chapter 21 (Part 1)

Autumn sun is burning bright overhead as Li Yanqiu brings the horse to a halt outside the Hall of Supreme Harmony. An evening breeze has set the banners to either side of him fluttering.

“Long Live Your Majesty!” The Black Armours army salutes, falling on one knee in front of him in an earth-shattering display.

Xie You and Cai Yan have slowly made their way to the palace, but Li Yanqiu has stopped there before the steps, his mind wandering for a little while. Earlier, there was that one moment where it felt as though he … sensed something.

“Good work,” Li Yanqiu says.

The Black Armours part like the tides, leaving a path open. Li Yanqiu steps into the main palace. The Jiangzhou Imperial Palace has seen its share of trials and tribulations, but after some repair and renovation it has become even more extravagant than the one in Xichuan. A eunuch steps forward to untie Li Yanqiu’s cape for him, after which Li Yanqiu keeps walking through the corridor.

Both Zheng Yan and Lang Junxia have already arrived. As Li Yanqiu walks by the Eastern Palace, he glances inside to find Lang Junxia sitting in the corridor playing his flute. He doesn’t get up to bow even as Li Yanqiu passes by.

“It has been a wearisome journey.” Li Yanqiu pays no mind to Lang Junxia, and simply says to Cai Yan, “Go get some rest.”

Cai Yan trails him from behind. “The auspicious hour where we must offer sacrifices to the heavens is at dawn tomorrow. You should try to sleep earlier as well, uncle.”

“We may have a new home, but I’ll be taking my medicine as always. Don’t worry.”

And so along with the other servants of the Eastern Palace, Cai Yan bows as Li Yanqiu departs.

In the Palace of Eternal Autumn,2 Mu Jinzhi is painting her eyebrows in front of the mirror. Her clothes, accessories and makeup have also been delivered, and her maids are opening and checking each box over one by one.

“Who got on your nerves this time, Your Majesty?” Mu Jinzhi says with a smile, her reflection looking at Li Yanqiu in the mirror, one eyebrow raised.

“No one in particular got on my nerves,” Li Yanqiu replies, standing behind Mu Jinzhi. "No matter how sharp your eyes may be, there are times when you can be mistaken.”

Mu Jinzhi puts down her hairpin and says, “A request to recruit retainers for the crown prince’s palace has been issued. We should get a list of candidates after the civil exams and let him take as long as he likes to choose.”

Li Yanqiu replies courteously, “Thank you for keeping this in mind and taking the trouble, Empress.”

They hardly have anything to say to each other, and so as soon as Li Yanqiu finishes saying this, he leaves the room. In the mirror, Mu Jinzhi rolls her eyes at his back.

Li Yanqiu returns to his bedroom and looks out at the clear skies outside.

Zheng Yan happens to be sitting beneath the veranda, asking a servant to open up a case for him to search for his wine.

“Zheng Yan.” Li Yanqiu is wearing a slight frown. “Why are you still here?”

“The crown prince despises me, Your Majesty.” Zheng Yan says courteously, “With Wuluohou Mu around, I no longer have a need to see him roll his eyes at me. Don’t you think he and I would both be happier if we don’t see each other?”

“The sight of Wuluohou Mu makes my blood boil.” Li Yanqiu gives his reply to Zheng Yan just as amicably, “All four of you great assassins are warped — from what I can see now, it actually seems like Wu Du, the least accomplished amongst you, is more upright than you lot. I keep wondering if Wu Du’s poisoned you people, and that’s why you three have become this way.”

Now those words have essentially insulted Zheng Yan along with the rest. One brother Li used to be sharp as a blade, while the other is brocade with hidden needles. Zheng Yan sussed out Li Yanqiu’s disposition long ago, and knows he’s furious.

Zheng Yan says at once, “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I’ll head over to the Eastern Palace right away.”

Only once Zheng Yan is gone does Li Yanqiu heave a long, long sigh.

“Your Majesty, it’s time for your medicine.” A palace maid brings him his medicine. Li Yanqiu takes it without looking, drinks it, and casually tosses it into the courtyard. The coloured glaze bowl shatters into a million pieces with a quiet crash.

“Wow —!” Duan Ling has finally arrived in his new home.

The chancellor’s estate has given Wu Du and Duan Ling a courtyard house only an alley away from the main house. Compared to their old house on the outskirts of the estate in Xichuan, their new home is a lot bigger, with four buildings, two gates, a spirit screen, and a back courtyard where they can keep horses. They’ve even been assigned a steward and two servants to have at their beck and call.

The courtyard has a rockery and a pond; the land behind the pond is a bamboo grove. Peach trees are planted at the edges, while a gentle stream is led into the pond, flowing back out through a zigzagging water duct. The bamboo pipes are set on top of the wall, and the water itself is drawn from the chancellor’s main estate.

“The Lord Chancellor said you should rest for now,” says the steward. “Have a bath and wash off the dust of the road. There will be a banquet in honour of your return tonight.”

“You may go. We don’t need anyone to wait on us,” Wu Du tells the steward in the front courtyard. Duan Ling is inside looking this way and that; their new home is outfitted with silk brocade blankets and screens; carved windows cast ornate shadows on the walls, reminding him of the Viburnum. Even the decorative items are made of celadon. There’s also a study provided for him to study in.

The steward carefully helps Wu Du into the room.

“Certainly.” The steward seems to have predicted as much from Wu Du, so he merely stands out in the courtyard — but he isn’t leaving.

Duan Ling stops to think, then he tells the steward, “Master Wu’s house contains secret information of the martial arts societies, and too many poisonous things are kept here. He’s worried that it may unintentionally injure you and the other servants, so you don’t need to stay here in the courtyard house. If we should need anything I’ll go ask for help at the Chancellor’s estate. You may go.”

The steward nods then, and after giving both Duan Ling and Wu Du a bow, takes his leave.

The only way Wu Du and Duan Ling can have a conversation is to not have any outsiders around — otherwise they may drop dead before finding out how or why.

“There’s money here too!” Duan Ling says in the next room over, “Two hundred taels of gold!”

Duan Ling had already written a report of the treasure from Tongguan. Now that Mu Kuangda has a mountain of gold, Duan Ling doesn’t even know what the chancellor is going to do with it. If it’s for spending though, it’s enough to buy an entire city. This bit of reward isn’t really all that much money.

But Duan Ling is still pretty glad to have it. At least they won’t have to eat flatbread at every meal anymore.

Sitting in the room, Wu Du says, “If there’s anything you want to eat I’ll go out and buy it for you.”

“You stay put. Stop moving.”

Duan Ling comes in with bedding in his arms, and after telling Wu Du to scoot over, he puts another pillow on his bed.

Wu Du stares at Duan Ling and says, “If you sleep in this room, I’ll sleep on the floor. Right there, just off the bed. That way I can keep you safe.”

“You’re not worried I’ll stomp you to death when I get up to get water at night?” Duan Ling says smilingly.

Wu Du recalls that this was precisely what he said himself several months ago, and suddenly finds it really funny. Both of them laugh.

Wu Du says, “Let me do this.”

“Can’t you just listen to me?” Duan Ling says seriously.

“Alright alright.” Wu Du replies, “But you’ve got to give me something to do. I’m injured, but I’m not a cripple.”

Wu Du really doesn’t feel right having Duan Ling wait on him this way, but it’s not due to Duan Ling’s identity — it’s because for all his years he’s never had anyone take care of him like this before.

“Then take a bath,” Duan Ling says to Wu Du.

Wu Du raises a hand and sniffs his sleeve, upon which his face goes bright red. Duan Ling leaves the room to summon a servant to bring them water.

The young servants carry in a huge tub and set it down in the corner room. Then they add bucket after bucket of hot water, then some cold water to cool it down.

“I can wash myself,” Wu Du says hurriedly.

“Strip already,” Duan Ling says to him, then he carries Wu Du’s dirty clothes off to the back courtyard where he tosses them into a basin. He draws some water and soaks the clothes in them before he heads back to the house to search for clean clothes. Mu Kuangda has found the right person this time; the steward they met earlier is extremely considerate, and Duan Ling has somehow forgotten to give him a little bonus.

Soon, Duan Ling comes in with a bundle of fresh clothes, and he rolls up his sleeves to scrub down Wu Du. Wu Du still has bandages wrapped around his hand that mustn’t get wet, and he’s trying to scrub himself with one hand. When he sees Duan Ling come in, the blush on his handsome face spreads all the way down to his collarbones.

Duan Ling holds Wu Du down and scrubs him clean all over. Ever since the night he sustained those injuries, Wu Du hasn’t had a bath. And now with his left hand resting at the edge of the tub, his wide and strong shoulders and back are above the water, letting Duan Ling scrub him as he wishes.

“Don’t fall in now. Hey don’t—don’t—don’t—don’t reach any lower!”

The bathtub is huge, and Duan Ling has leaned halfway into the tub. Wu Du can feel that Duan Ling really is seriously trying to scrub him down, but alas Duan Ling’s hands keep moving all around his body touching him and Wu Du can’t take much more of this.

Duan Ling says, “Raise your leg a little.”

Wu Du finds Duan Ling quite amusing all of a sudden, and in a bout of playfulness he wraps one arm over him and pulls him in. With a splash, the ground all around the bathtub is covered in water.

Duan Ling says angrily, “Why you!”

Duan Ling is soaked through, while Wu Du’s cheeks are suffused with a blush. He laughs. “You go ahead and bathe. I’m done.”

Duan Ling says, “You’re too dirty. Stop moving.”

Duan Ling unties his robe, removes his wet clothes and pants, and climbs onto Wu Du to straddle his thigh naked. When he does, an unbidden and indescribable sensation rises to the surface of his heart. He’s never felt this way before, not in any instance where he’s touched Wu Du skin on skin.

Duan Ling’s face also starts to take on a blush; it’s almost like he’s returned to that night when he was still a child, that night when he saw Lang Junxia’s body through the window panes. Yet when he faces Wu Du now his heart is beating even faster, as though there’s an exceedingly novel and exciting sensation just hiding behind a layer of gauzy silk, waiting for him to reach out for it.

“Why’ve you stopped talking?” On the contrary, Wu Du has come back to himself. With one arm languidly resting on the edge of the tub, he uses the other hand to give Duan Ling’s pale back a pat, staring at him with a questioning look in his eyes.

“No—no reason,” Duan Ling says nervously.

In that instant Wu Du seems to have realised something as well; his eyes are smiling.

Duan Ling hums something quiet, and without looking up to meet his eyes, he keeps scrubbing at Wu Du’s chest with a cloth.

Outside the room, footsteps approach, and both Wu Du and Duan Ling stop moving.

“Hey buddy, don’t you still owe me a cup of wine?” Zheng Yan’s voice says indolently.

Duan Ling is quite startled — he’s never met Zheng Yan before, so he’s assuming it’s someone from the chancellor’s estate barging into their house. But Wu Du is wrapping one arm around Duan Ling’s waist and pulling him closer.

Without a pause, Zheng Yan keeps walking towards them and opens the door to the corner room. Right as the door opens, Wu Du is holding the fully naked Duan Ling in his arms, making him drape himself on his chest, burying Duan Ling’s head against his shoulder.

When Zheng Yan comes in it’s to a view of Wu Du holding a young man, the two of them taking a bath together.

“Zheng Yan! Can you take a hint or what?!” Wu Du says impatiently, “Get outta here!”

Zheng Yan bursts out laughing uncontrollably. He hurriedly closes the door and says, “Continue, don’t get mad at me please. I truly never expected that.”

Wu Du replies, “Wait outside. That’s enough out of you.”

Duan Ling only looks up again once Zheng Yan’s footsteps have grown distant, and before that he was pressed up against Wu Du, both of them naked. He had felt their hearts both beating out of their chests, as well as that thing between their legs swelling up so much they’ve gone stiff.

They face each other, a little out of breath. Wu Du puts a finger in front of his lips to pantomime shh, and that they should continue washing up. Duan Ling swallows, and scrubs Wu Du’s hair for him.

“All done now,” Duan Ling says quietly, and steps out so quickly that he nearly slips on the floor.

“Careful.” Wu Du reaches out to wrap an arm around Duan Ling’s waist, making him stand upright.

Duan Ling quickly wipes himself down and puts on a pair of pants. The blush has faded from his cheeks. He helps Wu Du out of the bath to dry him with a cloth, but when he gets between Wu Du’s legs, the dry cloth bumps into the erect, powerful thing standing there, and they’re both blushing crimson again.

Wu Du throws a robe around himself. His injuries are almost all healed, and he can already walk with a little bit of a limp. He puts on a pair of wooden sandals and limps his way across the veranda, dragging his feet, passing by Zheng Yan as he heads to the main house to look for things.

“So fast?” Zheng Yan says, “I didn’t scare it out of there, did I?”

Wu Du spits profanity at Zheng Yan, startling Duan Ling who’s still in the corner room, as it’s the first time he’s ever heard Wu Du say something so foul. Soon enough, the sound of wooden sandals are approaching him again as Wu Du slowly clacks all the way back to hand Duan Ling clean clothes for him to change into.

Once they’ve dressed properly, the servants come back to get the bathtub. Wu Du’s hair is still dripping wet as he leans against the daybed, barefoot and dressed in nothing but a bathrobe. He raises his left hand so that Duan Ling can change his bandages for him, before he starts engaging in an intermittent conversation with Zheng Yan.

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

The Palace of Eternal Autumn is the imperial empress’s palace, and sometimes the phrase stands for the empress, just as “Eastern Palace” stands for the crown prince. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things

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rudysrings · 4 years

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Twin Pogues of the OBX - 6

A/N: Shortest part yet, but I promise more is coming tomorrow and I just couldn’t bring myself to figure out a good stopping place other than here :)

Warnings: underage drinking, cursing...I think that’s it for this one?

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist

The next morning, you guys took out the HMS Pogue, before realizing the only way you could figure out the location of the wreck and with it, the gold, was to get access to the internet and plug in the coordinates.

Of course, with the power out on the Cut, there was no way you could get online from home. JJ worked as a busboy at one of the fancy hotels on the kook side, and offered to let you guys in.

As always, the familiar warmth of the sun felt nice on your skin. Somehow, after the events of yesterday, it felt like forever since you guys had just hung out on the boat—tanning, swimming, drinking.

You felt uncomfortable today, uninterested in your usual bikinis and shorts. Instead, you borrowed one of your brother’s long-sleeved shirts, usually saved for the winter, and pulled on some faded, worn skinny jeans over your bikini bottoms.

Of course, Kiara noticed, giving your ass a friendly slap as she asked, “What’s with the fit today?”

You threw an arm over her shoulder, hers circling your waist as you walked towards the van. “I just wasn’t feelin’ it today.”

“You’re gonna get real hot, real fast. It’s breaking 100 today.”

“I’ve got my suit under. If worse comes to worse, I’ll just strip down to that.”

“Suit yourself.”

It was rare that you felt insecure. You weren’t ashamed of your physical appearance, no. It might’ve been the realization that your dad had intentionally abandoned you that had shaken you so much. You were feeling vulnerable already and being exposed all day would be a physical manifestation of your fear.

You were quieter than normal, but the pogues didn’t question it, noticing the opposite in John B. It was as if last night had given your brother purpose, something concrete he could actually put his mind to, rather than wonder for days on end.

Once inside, you guys had found out it was about 900ft down, almost off the deep end, but reachable. Though not totally legal, the pogues hatched a plan to ‘borrow’ the drone from the salvage yard that JJ’s dad used to work for.

You asked if you could sit this one out, and, taking one look at your defeated figure, no one disagreed. “I’m going to go and try and write for a bit today, alright?”

You had been a part of a band with a few kids from school, scoring gigs here and there to scrape in whatever money you could. It allowed you a living while doing something you loved at the same time. You were thankful for it, and for Kiara’s dad, who made sure you knew that the band was always welcome to play at the Wreck and earn something for the time they performed. Part of it had to do with the fact that the band always improved business, people staying longer for dessert just to hear you play one more set, but part of it was that he just liked you. Though you were just as crazy, if not crazier than the other pogues, it was easy to see that you had an idea for your future and that’s all that Mr. Carrera ever wanted for his daughter. Though the band had broken up before the summer, with both the drummer and the lead guitarist having graduated high school and moved out of the outer banks for college, you still wrote from time to time. It was your own sort of therapy, the cathartic ritual of trying to reach somewhere within your mind to actually create something.

Kiara grinned. “Yeah! You should definitely come down to the wreck later tonight; it’s karaoke night!”

You assured her you wouldn’t miss it for the world.

John B gave you a pat on the back as you exited the van. They dropped you off at the Chateau and drove off, JJ shooting finger guns at you and making you smile.

You spent the day at the Chateau, working through your songs and nursing a rare bottle of old wine you had managed to hide from the others underneath your bathroom cabinet.

You contemplated the last few days, not just about how unloved you felt by your parents, but also the growing thing between you and a certain blonde haired boy.

You smiled as you strummed the guitar that your brother had given you for your thirteenth birthday as you remembered when you and JJ had first met.

The third grade was hard enough without a twin brother that radiated energy, leaving you looking like the evil twin who lived in the shadows and collected the limbs of barbies in different containers. Which you did, but you didn’t expect to be so ostracized for it.

You were alone that day at recess, walking across the black top with your arms hugging yourself. Your dad had done a poor job of helping you with your hair, leaving it a stringy mess across your back.

Suddenly, your face met the ground and you groaned, turning your head to see a halo of gold behind you. You blinked quickly, pushing yourself up to see a blonde boy with crooked teeth apologizing profusely.

“Dude! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, this guy—”

You noticed something in his hand. A Gameboy?

Behind him, a pudgy boy with a sweater vest and khaki shorts was quickly approaching and you soon understood what was going on. So this blonde little boy was a thief?

On instinct, you grabbed the gameboy from the blonde boy and shoved it in your backpack as his attacker came running up.

He shoved the blonde boy to the ground and shouted. “Where is it? You took it, you thief!”

Furious at the violent treatment of the blonde, even though he had stolen, you threw yourself at the bully, your nails scratching him.

In the end, all of you got in trouble, but when you walked to the bus that day, you gave the blonde boy the game boy and invited him to your place, where you had your own. He gave you a wicked smile, before giving you a big hug and a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, pretty. I’m JJ.”

You didn’t know why, but you had always been protective of the boy, without a single good reason. He had always hidden his best qualities, but maybe some part of you recognized a part of yourself in him instantly. A kindred spirit of sorts. A hotheaded mess that was awful at suppressing his emotions but didn’t know how to deal with them any other way. A boy that would do anything for his friends. You didn’t know it at the time, but you found a mirrored version of yourself in that nine year old boy, and you brought him home with you.

At sunset, you gave up on your songwriting. You had made little progress anyways, instead heading to the Wreck as you promised Kiara.

When you walked in, the pogues were already shoving their faces happily after a long day. Kiara gave you a huge smile and beckoned you in to hear what had gone down.

You gave JJ a kiss on the cheek for no reason at all, and he blushed, quipping, “Hey, wifey!”

You pulled your brother and Pope in for a big hug, feeling nostalgic after your lingering thoughts of childhood memories today.

Before the pogues could comment on your drastically improved mood and sudden need for affection, you suggested that you all get started on karaoke before downing a beer, getting all of them excited.

You danced with Pope John B’s awful, fast-paced rapping of fifty-cent, but that was the point of karaoke, you guessed.

Pope twirled you, before grabbing your hands and pulling you towards him, shaking his head in a silly fashion. You threw your head back and laughed, catching JJ smiling at the sight from his seat.

You continued dancing with Pope as Kiara kept vibing on her own a few feet away. She finally had enough of John B’s voice and stole the microphone from him, replacing his screeching with her gorgeous velvet tones as she began singing her go to — Come and Get Your Love. You watched as JJ finally stood up, striding over shyly, with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, raising his eyebrows at you in question. You let John B whisk Pope away as you pulled JJ to you by his forearms.

You turned around, letting him cage you from behind as you swayed within the comfort of his arms. John B and Pope were waltzing beside you, making you chuckle.

JJ sang softly to some of the lyrics, so low that you barely heard, only catching some when he bent close to your ears. “What’s the matter with your mind...And you’re mine, and you look so divine...If you want some, take some.” You tried to keep down the goosebumps, but of course, you failed, the fluttering of emotions you always tried to bury making its way up your throat. Or was that the alcohol?

He dropped his head to your shoulder, smiling as his hair brushed your collarbone. “You smell nice.”

You furrowed your eyebrows and turned in his arms. “I haven’t even showered today!”

JJ shrugged. “You always smell nice.”

The beer made you giggle, “Do I? Are you getting soft on me, Maybank? You dance and sniff girls’ hair now?”

JJ scoffed, before saying. “Soft? Me? Get outta here, Trouble.” He added smoothly, “And it’s only your hair I sniff.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That’s a little stalkerish, don’t you think? Should I be concerned? C’mon Bear, you’ve gotta live up to your rep.”

JJ shook his head, pulling you back towards him so that you were chest to chest, forced to wrap your arms around him to keep your balance. “Fuck that, just dance with me for fuck’s sake.”

You felt Kiara’s eyes on you, smiling as she moved on to another song.

Eventually, you got tired and let Kiara pull you away from the guys for a breath of fresh air.

You walked across the beach, arms crossed over your abdomen. Kiara kept looking at you with that teasing smile and you finally had enough. “What?”

Kiara shook her head. “Nothing, just, you know it’s kind of obvious? You’re so thick headed sometimes, but you clearly –”

“Have feelings for JJ?” You finished for her. She looked at you in surprise as you turned back to the waves. “I’m not so thick-headed. I know what I feel. I’m not stupid.”

She nudged your side, giggling. “Well, he’s really feeling you, too. Like all the butterflies and shit, I swear.” Kiara gave you jazz hands, emphasizing the jittery feeling of a crush.

You smiled. “Yeah, I know.” You knew JJ liked you. You knew it in the way he was always looking out for you, no matter what was going on or what he was doing, his focus was involuntarily always on you. Even your own twin brother didn’t pay that much attention to you. There had always been a tension in the air between you two, a sort of understanding of mutual attraction. It weighed heavy, not just in the air, but on your shoulders, on your heart. Because you knew that you couldn’t let anything come of it.

Kiara stopped, holding your elbow to keep you from walking any further. She looked confused. “Then why don’t you do anything about it? The rule’s bullshit, anyways.”

You took a deep breath, looking at your friend with heavy guilt as you tried to put into words why you knew that it was a bad idea. “Because we’re so similar. Neither of us have our heads screwed on right. We’d eventually destroy each other. And the worst part is...After the chaos, I wouldn’t have my best friend to help me pick up the pieces.” You shrugged. “I figure if there’s one time in my life I’m going to think before I act, it’s with this. Because this is one of the most important things in my life and I know there wouldn’t be any coming back from that.”

Kiara opened and closed her mouth multiple times, before finally asking, “But what if it works out? What if you create something beautiful?”

You laughed in denial, your throat tight. “It wouldn’t, Kie. It kills me to say it, but I know myself. I can’t be what he needs. I can’t bank on what ifs, anyways.”

Kiara pulled you towards her, wrapping you in a warm embrace. She looked behind you at the guys, who, from the looks of things, were beginning to get suspicious of you guys.

You and Kiara began walking back. Right before the two of you were within earshot of the rest of the pogues, Kiara took your hand and said to you, with complete surety, “For the record, Y/N, I think you guys are being idiots. You were lucky enough to find something real and you’re throwing it away. Because what? Because you’re scared? I just—I just don’t get it.” She scoffed, shaking her head as walking back inside, leaving you back at square one, wondering if you were being foolish and cowardly.

Masterlist

Tag List (If there is a strike through your user it’s bc I couldn’t tag you bc tumblr is wack sometimes...)

@hurricane-abigail @omigodyall @timotaychalabae @kaelyn-lobrutto24@caswinchester2000 @meghanisdeadinside @harrysbbby @official-maddibrown @xdelicates@maybebanks@yourwonderbelle @treestarrrrrrrr @loco-latte@sspidermanss@theradvibes @eviction-notice-no666@screamingnewsies @the-fandom-life-forever @dolanfivsosxox@vibin-n-thrivin @em-aesthe @the-real-jort @riverdaleserpent04@free-pool-trash @mileven-reddie @drewswannabegirl@queen1054 @eternalharry@alwayshopelesss @superqalifragilistik@smileyxdolans@fangirling-all-day @dianaillusion@catonthesideoftheroad @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @thelovelydreamer17 @http-cherries @pit-zuh @kisssmefree @starryblueeyesandstarryblueskies @outerbankstings @oliviadrake1

I’m also kind of new to tagging and rlly bad at it so if something is wrong, I’m sorry and pls let me know and I’ll try my best to fix it!

I also lost my updated tag list i’m so dumb so let me know if I told you i would tag you and i didn’t oop

Stay safe and stay healthy!

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florenceandthemachine · 3 years

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(my @911giftexchange contribution for @brcttshvghes!!) Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Henrietta "Hen" Wilson, Howie "Chimney" Han, Bobby Nash, Athena Grant Additional Tags: First Kiss, Christmas, Secret Santa, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining

Last Christmas, Eddie had—as Hen would put it—his ‘oh’ moment.

No, it wasn’t when Buck had thrown himself into action to help some random dad see his daughter sing for Christmas.

No, it wasn’t when Eddie caught Buck trying to sneak extra presents (for he and Christopher both) under the Diaz tree.

No, it wasn’t even when some random elf had complimented Buck on his “beautiful family”.

Eddie’s ‘oh’ moment came when Athena announced that she was saving them all from themselves, when he walked into the firehouse loft and saw his kid standing there, beaming like a megawatt spotlight, smiling not only up at his dad but at Buck; and suddenly things clicked into place. Buck had set all of this up, and sure, it was for the whole house... but it was also for him. Buck had done this all, for him. He had Chris in his arms, he had Buck by his side, and Eddie realized—not for the first time, but for the first time with this level of severity—that this was exactly what he wanted, for the rest of his life.

Forever.

Hence the ‘oh’ moment.

(Hen had suggested calling it his ‘no fucking shit, you clueless moron’ moment instead. Eddie had politely declined.)

The ‘oh’ moment was one thing. The ‘oh’ moment was great.

Afterward, though, afterward everything was kind of sucky.

Valentine’s Day was rough. Watching Athena lock up a newlywed couple together, that was fun, sure, but seeing Buck with Ali? That was... literal torture.

The tsunami sucked. The bomb sucked.

The lawsuit, that really fucking sucked.

But pulling Buck into his arms underneath some shitty Halloween decorations, being back together again, that... that was almost worth it.

Even if he had to watch Buck bat his eyes at Taylor Kelly a few days later.

“Why don’t you just tell him?” Hen had asked the next month, sprawled out over the couch in the loft, idly kicking Eddie’s thigh as he groaned, full of Bobby’s turkey and homemade cranberry sauce.

“And risk it all?” Eddie had asked, long since beyond the point where he wanted to even pretend that he didn’t know what Hen was talking about.

And when Abby reappeared in Buck’s life with a fiancée and two stepchildren, Eddie knew staying quiet was the right idea. He wouldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk it.

“Hey, Eds, hand me another nail?”

So now here he was, almost a year later (“A full year of pining, Eddie, seriously, if you don’t say something by New Year’s—“ “I hate you, Hen.”), staring at Buck’s ass as he struggled to hang another loop of garland haphazardly throughout the station.

After a moment of hesitation, he did as he was asked, sighing as he held up another couple of tacks that Buck could push into the wall. “Why are you even doing all of this, Buck? I don’t know if you noticed, but the station was already decorated.” Eddie said with a hum, leaning back against the wall as he looked up to Buck, not-so-subtly admiring the way Buck’s entire body reacted as he laughed.

“Please, it looked like Pottery Barn threw up in here. We needed something other than stark white garland and red ornaments, Eds.” Buck descended down the step ladder and stepped back to admire his handiwork as Eddie looked around the station—as much as he hated to admit it, Buck was absolutely right. The station had been decorated by what looked like the night crew after one too many cups of coffee; too clean, too pristine, all glittering white garland neatly tacked up to every corner with a giant red bauble tacked at every intersection.

Needless to say, once Buck had gotten through with things, it was... definitely far from a professional looking decor job. Buck had rigged up huge wreaths made of fake garland and bows made out of giant, floppy, silver and gold ribbon, and hung them all over the station.

He had all but stapled his hand to the wall hanging up Christmas lights—the old, slowly blinking type, on the thick green cord, the type where if one light went out they all went out. There were twinkling, colorful lights all over the walls, mounds of fake snow around the staircase, big, fake poinsettias all over the kitchen.

At some point in time, while Hen and Chim were passing time upstairs in the loft and Bobby was stuck in his office doing paperwork, Buck had even rigged up his iPhone to play Christmas carols over the entirety of the station PA system (“Don’t worry, Eddie, calls will still come through and cut out over the alarm,” Buck had assured him, and Eddie was struck, not for the first time, with pride as he realized how much planning Buck really put into things like this).

The station was a mess, honestly. It was a jumbled, disorganized, chaotic explosion of Christmas. The station had gone from Pottery Barn to looking like a Yuletide grenade had gone off.

Eddie loved it.

“There! All finished. Back up, Eddie, I’m coming down.” Eddie blinked as he was jerked back into the present, standing back to admire the latest (and apparently the last) wreath that Buck had woven on the wall, acutely aware of the closeness that he and Buck shared as Buck beamed up at his handiwork.

He managed to look away from Buck’s smile—glowing didn’t even begin to cover it—right as Buck turned to look at him, clearing his throat. “Alright, Buck, what gives? Not that I’m mad about the extra decor you’ve doused the place with, but this is even bigger than what we did last year. There another surprise party that I’m supposed to be aware of?” Eddie asked, smiling as Buck threw his head back and laughed.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Buck started, looking over his shoulder as he folded up the ladder, heading back through the gym to the utility closet. “We’re still on for Christmas dinner at the station with everyone’s family, and unless Hen or Bobby has something else planned—because let’s face it, Chim would forget it was Christmas all in all if Maddie didn’t remind him—that’s all that we’re doing as a station. I just figured we needed as much holly-jolly as we could this year.”

His words were innocent enough, but Eddie had known Buck for years now, and the last year had been spent watching Buck a little more… closely than usual. So he knew that Buck’s innocent smile was just a shade on the wrong side of sneaky, how his words were carefully chosen so he wouldn’t be technically lying. Buck was smart—seriously, Eddie didn’t understand how people always forgot that—and they were the kind of things that Eddie would have missed if he wasn’t so… invested.

Sure. Invested. That was the right way to think about it.

“Hey, Eds,” and damn, a nickname shouldn’t bring him that much joy, “can you open the closet up for me?” Buck asked, the smile on his face seemingly innocent as Eddie rose a brow, stepping around him and just taking the ladder from his hands, pushing the door open behind him, not missing the look of surprise on Buck’s face.

“Wait, Eddie—no, I can—“

“Buck, it’s a step ladder, it’s no big deal. Did you take anything else out of the closet, or was it just this?”

“Well no, but it’s just that—“

Before Buck could continue his protest, the Christmas carols died out throughout the station, the siren blaring in its place, and for a split second, Buck looked absolutely crushed, which was weirder than anything else Eddie had witnessed that morning, because Buck loved going out on calls.

The moment was gone in a heartbeat, but it still made Eddie’s mind reel as they darted off to their lockers to suit up, mind racing with questions as Buck was all laughs with Hen as Chim got behind the wheel.

Something was up, and Eddie was going to find out what… even if the day had other plans.

There were two ways that shifts around the holidays were destined to go. Either the 118 would be dead quiet, or the crew would be completely dead on their feet.

Unfortunately, today seemed like it would be the latter.

No sooner than they had been cleared from their first call of the day did another roll in, and then another, and then another, to the point where the only time that Eddie had to text his kid was between calls, and the 118 was probably trapped in their turnout gear for a good five hours without a single break.

Buck, to the surprise of absolutely no one, only grew more and more alive with every save—he had an absolute knack for riding the rush that came with the job, and by the time they finally pulled back into the 118, Buck and Eddie couldn’t have been in a more different place in their lives.

“Alright, six calls in five hours. I think I’ve earned a fucking nap.” Eddie grumbled as he slid out of his designated spot next to Buck in the ladder truck, barely even waiting to get to the rack on the wall before he started pulling his turnout gear off, impatiently tugging at his sleeves and kicking his boots off before he bothered to even loosen anything.

While the sound of Buck’s laugh behind him certainly raised his spirit, he still pouted as Buck sauntered up beside him, easily removing his own jacket and boots and hanging them up with a certain sense of maturity that Eddie couldn’t muster at the moment. “Come on Eddie, a nap? Did you turn fifty while I wasn’t looking?” Buck asked, the teasing tone of his voice bringing a smile to Eddie’s face as he shoved Buck’s shoulder playfully.

“Just because you can keep up with Chris’ special blend of all night holiday nonsense doesn’t mean we all can, Buck.” Eddie started, rolling his shoulder as he hung his turnout coat back up. “Right now, he’s probably running Carla through literally every last strip mall in the state, trying to find a perfect present for our Buck, and… uh.” Eddie cut himself off, far too late, cheeks pinking up as he clamped his jaw shut.

He feared the worst for a moment when Buck looked at him with stars in his eyes, thinking that his slip hadn’t gone unnoticed, and he had to work to hide his sigh of relief when Buck grinned. “He’s getting me a gift? I mean, I know he doesn’t have to, and you know he doesn’t have to, but… fuck, Eds, I’m all excited now. Okay. Forget it. Anyway, come on. I want to completely obliterate you in Mario Kart.”

Eddie sighed softly, his smile big and dopey on his face as Buck got himself all excited, shaking his head as he kicked off his boots, finally leaving his gear behind. “Buck, if you think I’m going to add insult to injury and let you completely wipe the floor with me, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Fine, then you don’t have to play. You can just hang around and bask in my awesome.” Buck said, his effort at being nonchalant almost going over Eddie’s head, just barely catching the sidelong glance that Buck shot him while he was re-lacing his work boots.

He narrowed his eyes for a moment as he watched Buck’s shoulders tighten, sighing as he shook his head. “Fine, but you better fucking dazzle me, Buckley.” he said as he started walking to the tiny corner of the bay they had set up as a miniature rec area (a fancy word for three couches and a big-ass television, courtesy of Chim’s baby brother), but not before he saw the abject joy that bloomed over Buck’s face.

As much as he wanted to believe that that much joy could simply come from Buck getting to spend time on a couch with Eddie, he had a sneaking suspicion, much as he did earlier, that something else was up.

“Who knows, maybe you’ll learn something by osmosis, and actually stand a chance against your kid the next time he—“

Buck was cut off by a bang as the firehouse door hit the wall, a panicked cry pulling Buck and Eddie’s attention as they both automatically started to move.

“Help! Please, please I need help, I don’t think she’s breathing!”

Eddie and Buck were both immediately moving, Chim and Bobby close on their trail as they came down the stairs from the loft, Hen already opening the back of the ambulance and yanking out one of her bags.

Eddie slowed himself down as he reached forward to take the body of a young girl from her clearly distraught mother, Buck already a step ahead of him as he put a braceboard down on the ground, placing her too-small body down on it.

(Eddie still hated situations that involved kids.)

The little girl was conscious, but only barely, wheezing along as Eddie laid her down, taking her pulse instinctively as he gave her a simple once over. “Signs of angioedema, breathing is shallow, pupils are tight, plenty of hives across the neck and chest. Ma’am, does she have any allergies, any—”

“No! I mean, I don’t think so, we tried a new recipe for our christmas cookies this year… uh, almond, maybe? I don’t know!”

“Okay, we’re gonna give her some epinephrine, you need to look into an epi-pen, Buck?”

Buck nodded, grabbing a pen from the ambulance, pressing it against the thickest part of her thigh (she was so tiny, Jesus) and plunging the needle into her skin. “Alright, now, we’re going to take her to the hospital, so hop in the ambulance—” Bobby started, nodding to the vehicle as Hen and Chim jumped into the drivers cab, “—and you can ride with or follow along, whatever you want.”

Eddie and Buck had the gurney popped up in a heartbeat, wheeling it in the back of the rig as mother and daughter were loaded up, doors slamming behind the pair of them as Hen practically burned rubber.

Eddie felt his heart rate start to slow back down to a regular, human level as the ambulance tore out of the bay, and even he couldn’t keep the small smile on his face as he turned back to Buck, expecting the expression to be mirrored on his partner’s face.

So, you could imagine his surprise when Buck just looked… tired.

“Buck? You good? You still wanna get a round of the… uh… whatever?”

He rose a brow as Buck hitched his smile back on, giving a half shrug as he shook his head. “Nah, Eddie, it’s good. I’m gonna get started on Bobby’s chore list.”

With that, he started up the stairs to the kitchen, and Eddie was left in the metaphorical dust, staring up to Buck’s retreating backside as he was left alone on the main floor of the 118.

The fuck was going on?

buck fifty: why do i have to clean the kitchen if bobby and athena are just going to be cooking in an hour anyway

sent: Because, Buck, normal people clean the areas where they’re going to be preparing food.

buck fifty: miss me with that logic i havent had food poisoning in weeks dont @ me bro

Eddie let out a breathy bark of a laugh as he pushed up on the leg press again, his back drenched in sweat as he read over Buck’s reply. As much as he hated doing anything even remotely close to leg day, he figured that now was the time to work it out—a workout did better than a nap to help him wind down from back-to-back calls (and a near poisoning, Hen and Chim weren’t even back from the hospital yet), but it was a great way to keep his hands free so he could text Buck.

It was kind of sad, honestly, how many decisions that he made in his day to day life that were focused on Buck.

Today, though, the mission was a little more ‘what the fuck is up with Buck’ than it was anything else—Buck was a weird dude, sure, but he was acting jumpy and weird all fucking day today. Even in the moments when they were out on call, and Buck was in the zone, he still felt a little… off.

It was like there was a fucking satellite delay between them, and there had been all day. Eddie usually prided himself on being able to read a room, but today, it was like Buck was intentionally throwing walls his way.

Not that he was that attuned to Buck’s everyday emotions and mood, anyway. Nope. Definitely not.

…

fuck.

sent: Why don’t you come down here and do a few reps with me? Burn off some of that energy.

sent: Oh, wait, that isn’t an option for you yet. How sad.

buck fifty: look its not my fault that you happened to finish your chores earlier and i didnt

sent: …Buck, that is 100% your own fault. Are you good today? You’re weirding me out.

“Hello, 118! Did someone order a chef?” Eddie looked up as he heard Athena’s voice echo throughout the station, a smile on his face as he waved over to her. He loved the way that she had fit together with the station so well, and how she and Bobby got along as well as they did (even if he felt like he had to pay for it whenever Hen shot him a knowing look, less and less subtle with each passing day… okay, month), but he loved even more that she usually brought food, especially now, in what Eddie sincerely hoped would be a new tradition — Christmas dinner with his work family.

Make no mistake, Bobby’s cooking was phenomenal, but there was something about Athena’s family style everything that settled right in Eddie’s soul.

Maybe it was because she had the uncanny knack at seeing through his bullshit and calling him on anything and everything that he tried to pull when she was around, in a way that was both kind and hilariously firm.

Or maybe it was because she actually understood how to make a decent tex-mex meal.

Either way.

“Eddie, where’s our boys?”

Eddie looked up as Athena closed the distance to his machine in the gym, smiling as he did another rep. “Hey Athena. Buck’s cleaning up the kitchen, getting ready for you and Bobby.” he said easily, his legs giving a little wobble as he realized what he had said, eyes snapping to her easily. “Uh, I mean—“

“Diaz, please, we both know that was who I was talking about.” Athena said, cutting him off before he could answer, the knowing smile on her face making Eddie wish the ground would open him up and swallow him whole, but apparently LA was fresh out of earthquakes for the moment. Thankfully, Athena took some pity on him, keeping the conversation moving easily as she looked around the station. “I see he got a hold of the decorations. Good, the place looked too… clean before.” she said, and Eddie laughed even as his face flushed red, swinging his legs off the machine, the familiar burn in his thighs anchoring him in the moment. “Yeah, it really did. Buck said it looked like a Pottery Barn threw up.”

Eddie shook his head as Athena laughed, that same smile on her face again, but it was different now—easy, familiar, like she was seeing the answer to a puzzle that Eddie only had half the pieces to. “He’s a good man, Eddie. Both of you are. It’s just such a shame neither of you would know what healthy communication was if it bit you in the ass.” She said, shaking her head dramatically as she started up the stairs, leaving a completely baffled Eddie to grab his phone off of the machine as it buzzed again.

What the hell was she talking about? He and Buck communicated all the time.

buck fifty: ok now you have to help me

buck fifty: if athena and bobby are going to be in the kitchen together im going to wind up drowning in mushy

sent: How is that my problem? And don’t think you got by avoiding my other question.

buck fifty: eddie plz

sent: Use your words, Buck.

buck fifty: u gotta get up here and save me

sent: Have you cleaned out the oven yet?

buck fifty: ………

buck fifty: save me by helping me clean the oven

Okay, Eddie may have already lost the fight, but—

buck fifty: pleeeeeeeeeease

—but that didn’t mean he had to admit how wrapped around Buck’s pinky he was. He could still whine about it, he could still complain about it, he could still bring this up the next time he and Buck argued about who’s turn it was to go and answer the door when they ordered takeout. Cleaning the oven, that was absolutely something he could hold over Buck forever.

He made a quick detour to the locker room to change out of his gym clothes as he heard Athena greet the boys upstairs, his own smile begrudgingly pasted on as he remembered what Athena had said.

His boy. She had called Buck his boy.

It was… well, it was nice to dream.

He was basically floating on air as he made his way up the stairs, to the point where he almost walked straight until Bobby’s chest from where he stood at the top of the stairs. He let out a very masculine noise as he jumped back, nearly dropping his phone as Bobby clucked his tongue.

“Nope, Eddie, you know the rules. You and your black thumb need to stay far from the kitchen while we’re cooking.”

Eddie tried to sputter out a protest even as Athena laughed from her position near the fridge, unloading what looked like an actual mountain of groceries. “Come on Bobby, I’m sure he can’t be that bad—“

“He’s burned pasta, Athena.”

“That was one time!”

Eddie felt his face heat up as Buck immediately came to his defense, equal parts pleased and perturbed, as Bobby shook his head. “Not taking that chance, kid. Especially not while Athena is armed with two whole hams. Come on, go downstairs, shower up, and then we can find a way for you to help get ready for dinner that keeps you far away from the kitchen.”

“Cmon, Bobby—“

“Buck, you can clean the oven on your own. Now let’s go, we all got work to do.”

Eddie felt his mouth snap shut as Bobby dismissed him—not unkindly, nothing that Eddie hadn’t heard before, but the way that Buck was looking over at them was nothing short of tragic. He hadn’t seen Buck look that defeated since their run in at the grocery store in the midst of the lawsuit-that-they-didn’t-talk-about-seriously-Buck-we-both-apologized-it’s-fine.

Eddie’s brain continued to churn as he showered, nearly drowning himself beneath the scalding hot water as he tried to understand what the fuck was going on.

Buck had been acting weird. Which, honestly, wasn’t that unusual for Buck. Buck was a good man. He had his heart on his sleeve, like, constantly. He was happy when he was happy, he was sad when he was sad, and there was no hiding it when he was down.

And now, somehow, Eddie was bringing him down.

Or… when Eddie really thought about it, the lack of Eddie was bringing him down…

Eddie didn’t get to spend time with Buck, and Buck looked like someone had just stamped out his dreams.

And that… that was interesting.

The last piece of the puzzle finally sank into place as he toweled off his hair and stepped out of the locker room, right in time to hear Athena’s laugh ring through the station. He looked up to the loft in time to see Bobby dipping her into a kiss, but that wasn’t where his eyes focused—no, they were instead focusing on something red and green. Something red and green and small and something that was definitely not there before Buck started his redecorations this morning, hanging in front of the oven.

The oven that he was supposed to help Buck clean.

Eddie felt his eyes narrow as he looked around the station, trying to retrace his steps throughout the station from the moment he walked in that morning. The utility closet… the recreation area… and back to the kitchen again.

He felt a small smile, in spite of himself, spread across his face, something dangerously close to hope blooming in his chest. Fate seemed to smile on him as Hen and Chim pulled back into the firehouse bay, and he took the opportunity to smack Hen’s arm as she walked past him.

“Ow, Eddie, what the f—“

“I’m gonna risk it, Hen.” Eddie said, effectively cutting her off, knowing that she would pick up on what he meant immediately. “But I need some help. You got a minute?”

“Buckaroo, will you take these plates down to the table? Here, bring Eddie some silverware.”

“Yeah, no problem Chim.”

Eddie elbowed Hen away from him as Buck started down the stairs, trying his best to act like he was doing anything but listening up the stairs. He and Hen had been busy setting up the table (and a few other things) while Chim was assigned on running interference upstairs, which turned out to be the easiest job of all while Buck… well, while Buck moped.

Eddie hated Buck moping. Almost as much as he hated how cute he thought it was, now that he knew what Buck was up to.

Or, at least, he thought he knew what Buck was up to. He was still painfully aware of how wrong this could all go—maybe it was the magic of the season, maybe it was a year in the making, maybe it was Hen egging him on, but Eddie…

Eddie actually felt like he could do this.

Even if it meant that he had to play completely oblivious in the meantime.

“Alright, Buck,” Eddie started, taking the stack of plates out of Buck’s hand, somehow fighting the smile as Buck handed them over, “what’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird all day.”

Buck grumbled as he tugged at the corner of the table cloth, straightening out a few placemats as he shrugged. “Nothing, Eds, I’m fine. Just a weird day, I guess. Dinner should be good, though!” Buck said, hiking a smile up onto his face. Eddie did his best to hide a little laugh as he nodded to Hen, who had slipped into the cab of the ladder truck.

“Buck, come on. I’ve known you for years, you’re not fine. Weird, yes. Fine, no.”

Buck stuck out his tongue as he started to dole out forks and knives, the little lighthearted gesture doing something to ease the worry that Eddie felt at the base of his spine, but he could still see the tension coiled through his best friends shoulders.

“Seriously, Buck, I—“

“It’s fine, Eddie! I just…” Buck’s shoulder slumped as he started to deflate, the harsh tone of his voice giving way as his face flushed. Setting the last fork down, he started to pace in earnest, speaking with his hands as much as he was with his voice. “I just had a certain thought about how things might go this year, and fate, or destiny, or whatever, has made it very clear that’s not going to be how it goes. I dunno, I thought I could make things… different, or special or whatever?” he started, and Eddie seriously had to swallow the words that were threatening to spill over his lips.

Buck wanted to make things special. Buck wanted to make things special. For him. Like Buck didn’t do that kind of thing every day simply by existing.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter, you don’t have to worry about it.” Buck sighed as he put the last fork down and started pacing at the head of the table, and Eddie had to make sure his voice wasn’t going to waver when he spoke again.

“It still can be special, Buck—“

“Eds, it’s whatever. It was stupid anyway.”

“Buck.”

“No, Eddie, it’s okay, I shouldn’t have—“

“Buck. Stop. Breathe.”

Eddie grabbed both of Buck’s shoulders to stop him from pacing, raising his eyebrows as Buck finally made eye contact with him.

“Are you breathing? Okay. Great. Good. Now look up.”

“Eds, what are you talking about?”

“Buck, for the love of God, listen to me for once in your life and just look up.”

Eddie took a moment to savor the complete confusion written on Buck’s face as he finally comprehended what Eddie was asking (with a murmured complaint of “I always listen to you”), and Eddie let his eyes lock on to Buck’s face. Mostly because he wanted to see Buck’s reaction, but partially because he was afraid of what said reaction would be. Even if Buck was seeing the mistletoe above them for the first time, that Eddie had painstakingly tied to the top rung of the ladder that Hen had extended over the table from the truck, this was the moment of truth—and Eddie already knew what was up there.

Besides, Buck was a much better view than some green garnish.

“That’s, uhm.” Buck started, and Eddie finally gave up trying to keep the smile off his face. “That’s mistletoe.”

Eddie hummed thoughtfully as Buck looked back to him, “It is. I pulled some from the kitchen, found a sprig near the rec room, one from the utility closet…”

Buck actually had the decency to look surprised as he looked back to Eddie, literal stars in his eyes. “And you… put them together. And tied them to the ladder, and… got me to stand under it with you.” Buck continued, slowly, and Eddie gave a little chuckle as he nodded his head, taking a step closer. “I did. I mean, unless I’m misreading this entire situation, in which case I have no idea what you’re talking about, and if that’s the case, I’m going to go dig a hole out back and throw myself—mmhph.”

Eddie was more thankful than anything when Buck took the step forward to close the distance between them before he could start rambling, one hand on Eddie’s jaw to tilt it up (god he loved that Buck was taller than he was), the other warm and heavy on his hip (god, he loved Buck’s strong hands), lips slotting together with an ease that Eddie had never experienced with a first kiss before (god, he loved kissing Buck).

He also loved Hen and Chim, because no sooner did Chim hit the switch near the bay doors to dim the lights around the ladder truck did Hen manage to restart Buck’s Christmas playlist, Irving Berlin’s voice crooning about a white Christmas over the station speakers as Eddie’s arms wrapped around Buck’s neck.

When they finally pulled back to breathe, Eddie found himself tiptoeing up to chase Buck’s lips, his face flushing bright red afterward when he realized what he had done. They both started laughing as Buck’s hands dropped down to Eddie’s waist, Eddie following suit and letting his hands rest on Buck’s shoulders, fitting together in a way that Eddie had only imagined.

“So… I guess the mistletoe worked out for you in the end.” Eddie said with a smile, and Buck laughed, shaking his head, that beautiful ruddy color staining his cheeks again. “Eds, I, uh… I’ve kind of been working up the courage to do something like this for weeks.” He said sheepishly, and Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, smacking Buck’s shoulder.

“Weeks? To think, you still had months to go before you were anywhere close to my level.” Eddie said as he pulled away, sighing as he smoothed over Buck’s collar, a smile on his face as he turned and left a stunned Buck in his wake.

“Wait, Eddie, what?”

Eddie shook his head as he walked back into the locker room, Buck following suit shortly after.

“Eds, no, wait! How long did I pine without needing to?? Eddie!!”

#911giftexchange #buddie #911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #idiots in love #mutual pining #first kiss #fluff #christmas #merry crisis!#flospeaks

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flamboyant-king · 3 years

Photo

Ever since I woke up this morning, I’ve been thinking deeply about Jeorge. (Just like everyday.) This is the alt outfit and how he looked in my dream yesterday. He was a baby. This was when we was studying under his mentor. And then I made a whole timeline from childhood to his being in FEH currently. And now its 5am.

But have the beginning of what I’ve been writing, it takes place before he starts traveling (running away from home):

Since he was a child, Jeorge was always told what to do. How to act, how to talk, how to emote, how to move, just everything. His every action monitored and controlled to be “perfect.” Clean clothes, straight hair, good posture, and empty emotions.

Jeorge was often dragged around by his parents to banquets and upstanding social gatherings. It was boring. There were no other kids to play with, just adults looking down at him. Can’t even eat the hors d'oeuvres that are being walked around. However, he was not brought there to have a good time. No, he was there to be a sort of “spy.” Having been taught to read lips for secrets that could be passed through whispers under the performances and crowd’s banter. He must be observant. Watch for body language, straying eyes, stutters, and doublespeak. “Any slip up can be used against you; any slip up can be used against them.”

The Manipulating Menidies.

Jeorge would read on the lips of those they passed. He would see the glares directed at them. The fear and the hate he felt stabbing into his back. It may not be present on his trained, emotionless face, but it hurts. To see businesses, families, and relationships destroyed because of his own family’s selfish acts to gain fame, fortune, nobility, and notoriety. He didn’t want to be like them. He doesn’t want to be like them. He doesn’t want to be a Menidy.

Everything being orchestrated and being decided for him at such a young age does not leave much room to have a future. “Our son will become one of the King’s finest advisors. He is a smart and loyal young man.” You don’t believe that. “Is that correct, son?” Jeorge drew in his breath. Make sure your words are confident, your voice is steady, and your stance is strong. “Of course, father.” Nailed it.

As the night went on, Jeorge continued to stand by his father’s side in silence, as if held there by an invisible leash. He was picking apart the empty praises his father boasted on about to the other nobles.

“Our son goes to the highest prestige school in the country.” With a tuition paid by all the people you ruined.

“The highest grades in his classes.�� Because of a tutor of whom you threatened to tear her house down.

“And not to mention a keen swordsman.” That one is just a lie.

His parents hired a private mentor to train him on his swordsmanship, but no one wants to mention how bad he was at it.

“Close combat really isn’t for you, huh?” His mentor deflected Jeorge’s sloppy approach and threw him to the ground. “I admire your stride. You’re absolutely terrible at this, but you’re still trying.”

“It’s not by choice.” Jeorge pushed himself off his back and sat upright with his legs crossed.

“I know. But you don’t want to disappoint your parents.” His mentor squatted down to look him in the eye.

“If I disappoint them, father will hit me with his ring hand or something.” Jeorge thought back to the time when he got a bit too excited about a dessert one of their estate’s chefs invented: A crispy, cinnamon, apple tart. He must have eaten six of them in one go. He got crumbs all over his dress shirt. It did not even stain, but he was stripped of his clothes and locked in his room. He was not allowed to eat for a week.

Since that day, he’s been contemplating an escape plan: a plan to run away from home. Being locked in his room for a week gave him time to study his surroundings. The strength of the locks, the soundproofing of the walls, the time and route of the guards who passed by his window, and the voices of maids outside his door debating on whether or not they should slip him a little snack.

Being dragged along to these banquets in other villages gave him the opportunity to plan a route. What roads to take, how thick the forests were, and which alleys to hide in just in case a search party comes running by. He calculated just how far his little legs would take him. He can’t outrun a horse, but he’s still small enough to hide in most crevices. I’ll be getting one of those growth spurts soon. I can run farther, but my butt will be too big to hide in crates.

When Midia and her father would visit Menidy Estate, she and Jeorge would play Hide and Seek: Hard Mode. That means hiding outside is on limits. When Jeorge hid in the brush, he came across a hole in the fencing just big enough to crawl under. Being sly, he snuck out thinking to himself, “She’ll never find me.” And she didn’t. And neither did anyone else for a couple days. It caused quite a commotion across town. When the guards and his father finally found him, they locked him in his room.

They never found the hole he slipped through and that reinforced Jeorge’s plan to run away. Using that experience as reference, he analyzed extra things he must do to be harder to find. Travel through towns at night. Travel through forests during the day. I can’t sleep at an inn, so I can’t sleep until I make it out of town. Wear unsuspicious clothes. He looked through his wardrobe and all his custom outfits had a gold trim. The shine will give away my location no doubt. He placed the clothes on his bed and tugged at the cuffs on the sleeves. He walked back over to his wardrobe and grabbed his training sword that was leaning against it. Jeorge sloppily sawed off the golden cuffs, the golden collar, and the golden hems off his tunic. I gotta travel light. I only need one pair of clothes and money. He stuffed his essentials in a leather messenger bag Midia “gave” him for his birthday the previous year.

Their parents have been exchanging gifts in the name of their children. Jeorge apparently “gave” Midia a necklace for her birthday the same year. Their fathers were trying to solidify this arranged marriage business. Trying to enhance the ties between the families to reap the benefits. Midia didn’t seem to mind the marriage, she likes playing with Jeorge and if they got married, they would play forever. Jeorge hated it. Just another thing he has no say in. He likes playing with Midia, however, playing together forever is too much. Especially when they play tag. She has a powerful tackle. One time, she tackled him right to the ground and he slammed his face against the pavement. She fainted because of all the blood. It wasn’t that bad, Jeorge just lost a baby tooth.

He looked down at his luggage and then at his training sword. It had strands of golden thread clinging to the dull, silver blade. He sheathed the blade and leaned it back against the wardrobe. Ready.

“He is a fine and handsome, young man.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Jeorge said without skipping a beat.

“Ma’am?” Jeorge looked up and saw it was in fact a nobleman. Jeorge really was zoning out, maybe he was hungry.

“My apologies, sir. I have just been lost in thought.” He bowed his head.

“Do not worry, those who get lost in thought are the smart ones.” The nobleman chuckled.

Jeorge could feel the heat emanating from beside him. His father was angry. I guess I really won’t be eating tonight.

He turned his head and caught his reflection on one of the windows.

It’s almost time.

#words #jeorge #sketches #fire emblem #writing #idk do i have a writing tag? i only ever share scripts #young joji has a cowlick eheh #i didnt look at references i just went by my dream. so his arm is fucked but whaaaatever

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highsviolets · 4 years

Text

like real people do, chapter one: obi-wan x handmaiden!reader

summary: in which you and obi-wan stumble into each other’s acquaintance through accidents of honor and pleasure

word count: 3k-ish

cw: brief, brief allusion to body dysmorphia in first paragraph after part one (a).

A/N: WOW it’s finally here!!! my handmaiden x obi fic!! my first multi chapter!! anon you are so patient. thank you for bearing with me as i developed this concept and finally got words onto paper. This lil chapter takes place at the beginning of AOTC and sets the scene for all sorts of shenanigans. pls be gentle folkx i am v nervous i hope you love these idiots honorable humans as much as i do.

*if this is your gif pls lmk!*

like real people do, a fic by corellians-only

prologue

Glamor. Satin. Hapan wine and curtseys and a diplomatic accent polishing over your country roots and the knife strapped to your thigh and a propensity to linger in shadows. This is your life, as handmaiden to Senator Padmé Amidala. This is your duty.

Grime. Sweat. Clone armies and custom armour and a commission muddling the balance of peace and deep-rooted affection and unwavering devotion to the Jedi Order. This is Obi-wan’s life, as High General of the Republic. This is his duty.

You meet before the chaos erupts, though, before it spills over the senate security and the temple’s walls and starts incinerating the foundations of life itself.

You meet before the chaos erupts, but your acquaintance is tangled with its aching tendrils. You do not see each other, at first. So many things are in the way. But slowly, gently, acquaintance forms into friend forms into companion forms into lover over cups of tea and night watches and snatched moments of vulnerability in a world that is determined to wrest your soul from your body. Armor and silk and robes are stripped away; duties that once swathed you tightly become more gentle. When you are together it is just you and him, but when you are in the world you are handmaiden and he is general.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves: let us go back to the beginning, when the wholeness was yet separate. Let us go back to the beginning, and meet ourselves anew. Let us go back to the beginning, where everything divines its purpose.

part one (a)

Shimmersilk voile glistens as you turn in the mirror. The tender glow of artificial sun lamps is enraptured by the diaphanous weave, and its metallic threads gleam under such ministrations. It’s a dress that drips with regality. A sense of noblesse oblige seems to ooze from every swish of the cape flowing from your cap sleeves, and you sigh. The act is heavy, and the cape grumbles as your shoulders heave with the motion. Brilliant flickers of gold and silver mock you as you continue to shift from side to side, scrutinizing your body from each angle. Another sigh leaves escapes through your nose, but this one is softer, gentler, more like the gossamer that now encloses you — more like the woman you been trained to be. You will never be as petite or slight as the Senator, but that, you observe, wrangling to adjust one final hairpin into your headpiece, was never quite the point. Your job is to stand in for her ladyship: not to assume her person.

The offending hairpin proves obstinate. You surrender to the cause and submit yourself to an evening of faint wisps of curled hair framing your face. Wisps of hair are too spontaneous. You must be crisp, but it is not about what you want — not in these petty, mundane expressions of living.

While you have been doing battle a figure has entered the room. It’s one of the Senator’s new Jedi protectors, if the robes are any indication. Without fanfare he approaches you and plucks the pin from your fingers, like he is intimately acquainted with such things and communes with them on a daily basis. Gentle fingers — though, the bruised knuckles tell you they are not immune to struggling against life’s grip — smooth the hair at the crown of your head before he slips the pin into its rightful place, nudging into the golden circlet now held secure. The sleeve of his robe caresses your cheek, obscuring your vision, and you feel with your , rather than see, all of this occur.

“All of this” happens without sound, without breathing almost, as though the two of you have entered a vacuum that warps both space and time and sound.

The man takes a step back and paints himself with an apologetic smile, clasping his hands together in the privacy of his robe and offering you a half-bow.

“I apologize for the liberty, your ladyship.” The Jedi’s voice is precise. “I do hope I wasn’t too forward.” He announces every syllable, acknowledges every idiosyncratic whimsy, each grammatical proclamation.

You meet his gaze in the mirror, and despite the shadows casting about, you can detect the openness, the earnestness of his gaze. He holds no tension in his face, or anywhere else in his body, for that matter. It has been a long while since you have seen someone so at peace. Perhaps, hidden under the cloak, his fingers are grasping at themselves, trying to be rid of the vestiges of forbidden touches.

A half-smile graces your painted lips and you incline your head. The movement cuts but a short arc in the air’s currents, just as you have been taught. “It is no matter.” You toy with the idea of letting him continue to believe you are Padmé, the thought careening through your mind like a model airspeeder run amok. You let the thought crash. It is above you to engage in such petty games, you decide. Padmé would not do it, and it is your job to act as she does. Besides, the Jedi would know, wouldn’t he? Can’t they read minds with the Force? That’s what fisherman in your village used to say when you would let your feet dangle off the docks and graze the surface of the water and watch the boats come in with the day’s catch.

So you turn, then, the cape twisting behind you, and address him face-to-face. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Master Jedi.” You gesture to your twinkling gown. “I am not the Senator.” You catch the tail end of his frown as you avert your gaze, fixating on some unseen object just out of sight. “I am but one of her ladyship’s handmaidens.” You hear the clipped tone of your voice, the way every word is measured like cups of flour, like the yards of fabric for this dress, and you think you hate it, but you cannot tell.

“Oh, I am sorry.” The apology is sincere and bookmarked with amusement, and he rocks back on his heels. It seems he is laughing at his own mistake. “I must however, inquire after the whereabouts of her ladyship. The council has requested that my padawan and I escort her to this evening’s function.” The Jedi’s hands drop to his sides and the robes that shield them follow.

“I’m afraid the Senator has already departed,” you say, making for the exit. The Jedi matches your stride. “She left with another Jedi some twenty standard minutes ago. I presume it was your padawan, Master Jedi?”

“Blast!” he murmurs, but you hear his swearing and duck your head to hide your grin. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, throwing a glance your way. “I’m afraid my padawan has a mind of his own.”

“I think the Senator and your padawan will get along famously, then,” you remark wryly. You have reached the landing pad and are about to bid him a good evening when he climbs into the shuttle and extends a hand to guide you.

“May I be of assistance?”

Skin meets skin for the second time that evening. At this rate you will be more acquainted with his body than your own, and as you sense his muscles grow taut when you shift your weight to board, an unfamiliar sensation embeds itself among the metallic threads. It feels like when you have to receive the Chancellor when Padmé is away on business, or when you act as decoy traveling to and from Theed, but more subtle, more inviting.

“Thank you, Master Jedi.” Skin breathes on skin for one, two heartbeats and then the contact withers and he drops your hand.

A silence nestles over the two of you as the pilot races you over to the function. It persists as he helps you exit the shuttle and delicately rearranges your cape, ensuring the shimmersilk is matches the beams of fractured stars.

Obi-wan does not know why he does this; he does not understand why he feels the nudging of the Force to offer his arm like he is a chivalrous courtier, but he obeys. It is his duty to obey the will of the Force, so he does.

part one (b)

The function teems with lifeforms, and each one spars for attention. They are wrapped in chiffon and decked in damask robes and fine crystals compete for light so they can shine that much brighter. It’s some gala ostensibly designed to raise credits for a struggling cause, and it is like all the rest. A pathetic excuse for most Senators to say they are dedicated to more than greed.

To you, it reeks of Coruscanti power; to him, it stinks of politics.

The Jedi Master spots the Senator and her Jedi protector before you do, and he steers you in their directly, swiftly sidestepping curious glances and intoxicated beings. You manage to snag a glass of something from a passing tray.

He bows again, deeply. His hair seems to blend in with the crowd — it is copper and gold and refined.

“My lady,” he intones, and his voice sparkles like the gem-encrusted champagne flute in Padmé’s hand.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Master Kenobi.” She looks up at the gangly teenager by her side. Rich chocolate and licorice colored robes complement the Senator’s wine-colored gown. It’s a striking image, despite the youth’s awkwardness, here in the blurry illumination of the cavernous room.

Padmé breaks into a full smile as she spots you lingering at Kenobi’s side. “I see you’ve met my handmaiden.”

“I suppose I have,” he says, examining you anew, “although I’m afraid introductions got swept away in the excitement.”

You think he sounds as unaffected by “the excitement" as one could possibly be, and the duplicity gnaws on your gentility.

You sip while Padmé sweeps together strands of lore about your service, about your loyalty, about your selflessness. The beverage is sweet and sparkling, rather like your gown, and like your dress, it feels sticky and cloying and altogether fake for something that tries so hard to be real. But you smile and nod and once more his skin melts into yours as he shakes your hand.

“The honor,” he says in that voice colored with melody, “is all mine.” You look into his cerulean eyes and wish, dimly, in that part of your brain untouched by starlight, that he had said pleasure.

Padmé’s eyes flicker between you and him, but the moment has passed. She pulls you away, citing the need for diplomatic business and brushes aside her escorts with a firmness she seems to have possessed since birth.

The pair of you wander through the crowd. You are always one step behind, always letting her be the first person they see. She is wearing her favorite designer tonight, and you wonder, taking another sip as she holds court with Bail Organa, why she has commissioned such a work of art for tonight’s event.

Like yourself, the Senator has opted for airy materials matched with splendor. And yet, her garb lacks your ethereality: the deep burgundy smacks of something firmly rooted in rich soil even as you strain heavenward. Tulle and satin are artfully draped over her lithe form, and beaded crystals cover her from head to toe. An open back reveals creamy skin. More than one being in the hall has dragged their eyes over the Senator’s body, straining to glimpse more, more, more, in the dim light.

The Senator pays them no mind. When she concludes her business with Organa, she refreshes her glass, and yours, and tucks you in her side. You begin to walk. It is an aimless thing, but not purposeful — now is when you see who is here, and who is not, who is watching, who pretends to look away, and who slips out unnoticed.

“How did you meet Master Kenobi?” you ask.

“Oh, it was years ago.” Padmé drinks. “I was still Queen at the time.”

“And?” Back in those days, she had retained at least a dozen of Naboo’s finest young women. Now, it’s just you and few others.

“And that was when we met,” she announces. “He’s very famous, you know. So is his padawan, Anakin Skywalker. They’ve protected at least half the galaxy.”

Confusion contorts your features, carving rivers in your forehead. “I’ve never heard of them.”

Padmé laughs, but the expression is faint, almost undetectable. Senators do not typically jest with their bodyguards. “That’s because you think anyone who reports on the Jedi is a gossip-mongering snob and you refuse to read anything about them.” She squeezes your arm and drops her voice to a whisper. “Don’t know know they’re the ones who write all the good stuff?”

“All…the good stuff,” you echo, voice flat and uncomprehending.

Padmé simply rolls her eyes and resume her stride. “They’re in charge of my security now, with Captain Typho. I expect that you’ll be working closing with Master Kenobi. Please help him fulfill his mandate from the Council in anyway you can.”

The mere suggestion of working with that man twists your insides. It’s the same feeling from earlier, swirling and basing into unease. Work with a Jedi? A famous one? The ache anxiety you are used to. It is familiar and it is your unwelcome companion but you have made peace with each other. This — this is something new. This is a grinding jaw and a drawbridge heart and hot and cold dueling for dominance in your stomach and something so strangely akin to anger. You drink more champagne to mask the disconcerting sensation.

part one (c)

The Senator is being pulled away, now, to a group of prominent Senators to discuss the new child labor protection regulations. She does her job and you do yours, melting into the shadows, embracing them, keeping eyes on all those who gather near to your mistress.

Master Kenobi’s sudden appearance at your side does not surprise you, though perhaps it should.

“Are you quite sure you’re able to keep watch on her ladyship from this distance?” His words are no longer melodic. They come to your ears dry and flinty, the way rocks feel without the rain to abate their constancy.

“Quite.” You fail to elaborate because there is simply nothing more to say.

“Your disguise is quite effective. You must pass along my compliments to Captain Typho and the rest of the security team.” He tries again, but you refuse to be endeared. He is stubborn, just like you — he resists being broken down by your cool acidity.

“Thank you, Master Kenobi.” You finally meet his gaze. “I was worried it would be too intricate, but the Senator assured me I had selected the perfect piece. It’s just enough like her for people to not look twice.”

“You engineered this?” Master Kenobi’s body is static, but his face swells with vivacity. A minuscule gesture to the left, an arching eyebrow, a corner of his mouth quirks upwards, ascending to meet his eyes.

“It’s my job,” you return, but the pH of your tone has neutralized somewhat. You are uncomfortable, so you try to tease him. “Maybe one day I can show you how to use all the weapons I have under this gown, and you will believe I can do my job.”

You regret the tawdry joke immediately when he shifts and looks away. “I’m sorry I’ve offended you, my lady.” Master Kenobi analyzes you, then the Senator, and sighs heavily. “I see you have everything well in hand. I shall bid you good evening, then, my lady.” He bows and exits in a boiling mass of robes, his padawan not far behind. Anakin Skywalker lingers on the threshold, gazing into the crowd, eyes frantic, but his Master beckons and he follows obediently.

part one (d)

It is not until early morning, during that brief moment between night and dawn, that you are able to think clearly about the strange feeling gurgling in your chest.

You think of Master Kenobi and his sentimental hair and the caramel of his accent. You wonder about his hands grazing yours, how your fingers curled so naturally around his, the ghost of fingertips in your hair. You consider his attempts at gallantry, at his fealty to his duty, to Padmé embrace of his presence and her lavish praise.

And you ask yourself what would it have been like, if he were just a boy, and you were just a girl, and maybe if he had danced with you he could have respected you more, and maybe if you had been less defensive he would have been more contrite, and you laugh at yourself.

Silly girl, you think as sleep nibbles at your vision. Those are not our kind of dreams.

tbc.

#obi-wan x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi wan imagine #obi-wan imagine #star wars fic #handmaidens #padme amidala #anakin skywalker #fic: like real people do #i am v tired now #honor kink #cris writes

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thephantomofthe-internet · 5 years

Text

Piercings and Polaroids

Billy Hargrove x Reader

Word Count: 4,984

Warnings: Piercings, blood, needles, swearing, sexuality (eluded to)

Tag List: @moonstruckhargrove @thechickvic @carolimedanvers @hotstuffhargrove @alex--awesome--22 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @so-not-hotmess @agentsinstorybrooke @sunflowercandie @kaliforniacoastalteens @songforhema @mickmoon @buckybarneshairpullingkink @marvelismylifffe @spidey-pal

Starcourt got boring after awhile. Once the lustre of new stores and fast food restaurants died off, people stopped shopping and starting soaking up the A/C like snakes under heat lamps. You didn’t mind, it just meant that you could spend your afternoons flipping through magazines and listening to the ad-free mall radio.

“Hey bitch!” someone slapped the counter loudly and you looked up boredly from your copy of Cosmo. Heather was standing in front of you with a devilish grin, her hair damp from the pool and her signature red Ray-Bands jammed on the top of her thick brown curls, most of which were piled high on the top of her head in a messy attempt at a ponytail, half tied and falling apart.

“Hi Heather...” you signed, laying the magazine open on the counter. Heather was your best friend, although it had begun to feel more and more strained as you both got older. Heather and you were very different people. You were a band geek, a tutor, and a slave to the mall. Heather was a cheerleader, the head of the yearbook committee, and one of the infamous ‘lifeguard hotties’ of the Hawkins Community Pool. She was a popular princess; a daddy’s girl with his platinum card wrapped around her little finger. You were from a broken home with an exhausting home life, and someone who should’ve been an ignored loser. Without Heather defending you, you would be bullied to bits by girls like Carol and Tina. But with her, you felt like a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

She leaned her elbows on the counter, smiling giddily “So, how’s your summer of piercing baby ears going?” she asked with a devious giggle, her sunglasses falling onto her nose and her mouth curling into a devilish grin.

You rolled your eyes “I’ve only seen one baby get pierced, I mostly pierce like middle schoolers. Today, I gave Mrs. Blythe her second hole. She bought three packs of neon studs and said they were for her daughter. Trying to look younger or some shit.” You replied, popping a strip of bright pink bubblegum into your sticky pink mouth, your cheap drugstore lipstick gunking in the corners of your lips. It was obvious that Heather had stopped listening after the first sentence, her mouth open in a yawn.

“Boring! You haven’t done anything cool all day? You know what me and Jeff did?” she asked, bouncing on her heels. She leaned over the counter, cupping a hand over her mouth as she leant in to your ear “We did it in the locker room showers. And Jessica Abrams totally walked in on us and freaked out! She totally got all red and teary it was totally embarrassing!” she whispered.

You pulled away, your face turned up in disgust. “That’s disgusting!” you gagged, squeezing your eyes shut as the image of Jeff’s douchey smirk came into view, turning into an ‘O’ face that made you want to hurl.

Heather cackled “He wasn’t even that good! I have no idea why Jessica’s been going on about it!” she cried, slapping the counter with her bare hand.

“Maybe because they were like two seconds away from being a couple and you got in the way.” You replied, deadpan. Sometimes Heather was a real bitch. This was one of those times. Poor Jessica had been following around that jerk since April and just when she’s about to get over him, he decides to pay her the time of day. And just when he seemed to genuinely like, Heather had to get bored and took Jeff away. Poor Jessica didn’t even know what hit her.

Heather scoffed, rolling her eyes at your comment. “That’s not the most interesting part of my shift though! I brought you a live one!” she giggled. You felt your blood run cold. Heather had no concept of what was appropriate ever. She had almost gotten you fired twice. This was not a good thing.

Heather waved someone over as you stared on wide eyed. Before you could even tell Heather to stop whatever she was trying to do, Billy Hargrove was standing in front of you, visibly put off by the children running around the shop and the bright, colourful decor. His eyes scanned yours boredly, his eyes narrowing judgementally.

“Alright, it’s piercing time!” Heather cried, clapping excitedly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes “Alright, the piercing package costs thirty bucks. You pick your piercing from the case.” You pointed down into the glass case below you, lit up and filled with silver butterflies, flowers, stars, and other girly designs. “You just want the other ear, right?”

Billy’s eyes scanned the case, his eyes narrowing further, his upper lip curling up in disgust. “Nah, my nose.” He replied, his voice monotone.

“Yeah, you can’t do that here.” You said, matching his tone. Billy looked quickly, his eyes blowing out in annoyance, looking between you and Heather.

Heather’s expression shifted and she laughed awkwardly “Of course you can!” she leaned over to you once Billy’s was sated enough to return to the difficult choice between the only ball studs in the case, one silver and one gold. “Don’t be fucking lame, Y/N…” she whispered harshly.

“I’m not being lame, it’s literally not something I can do.” You pulled the heavy, clunky piercing gun out from its drawer “This thing is literally only meant for ear lobes. It’s all I can pierce. Anything else I try will get super fucked up.” You explained, flashing the grey and white gun to the pair. It looked like a glorified hot glue gun, except splattered with a bit of dried blood.

Billy turned his attention to Heather, obviously annoyed “You said she could do it. I bought a nose ring in Carmel cause she could do it.” He grunted, obviously annoyed.

Heather looked over at you with her giant, pleading eyes, and for a brief moment you felt bad. Heather was just trying to look cool to this cooler, more popular guy and it had fallen flat so fast. You owed her something, for all the things she’d done for you over the years. With the barest of restrained sigh, you spoke up “Look, I can’t pierce your nose here, but I can do it at my place.” You said.

Billy scowled “Yeah? You got any proof?” he asked. He was getting more annoyed by the second; his expression growing harder and angrier if that was even possible.

You raised an eyebrow, tapping the small silver ring in your left nostril “Did this myself. Did all my piercings myself. How do think I got this job?” you countered. In truth, you’d done a mail in course and passed a piercing test on a rubber practise head. You were licensed in a week by Claire’s. You couldn’t even transfer the license to any other brand; they made it very clear in the paperwork you filled out.

Billy nodded, looking over your work. You guessed that it was satisfactory enough to him because a small smirk pulled at his lips. “What time you finished up here?” he asked. Heather cheered loudly, grabbing Billy’s bicep excitedly.

“I got like fifteen minutes left. Heather knows my address if you just wanna leave with her. I’ll meet you there.” You replied, looking over to your manager, who nodded for you to start your closing out.

“No way! You took the bus here, we’ll wait.” Heather said quickly “We’ll meet you in the food court.” She pulled Billy out of the shop with a wide grin, waving to you and mouthing ‘so hot!’ when he wasn’t looking. You chuckled, shaking your head. Heather thought every guy was hot, it didn’t mean much. But you wouldn’t deny that Billy was hot. Even with his cocky attitude and that ugly tattoo on his bicep that he insisted on showing off. You swore he’d cut all the sleeves off his tee shirts just to show off that stupid skull smoking a cigarette. Who the hell wanted that on their body forever?!? You weren’t too attracted to that level of ego, but Billy held a bit of interest around himself. There was some mystery, an aura of intrigue he seemed to hold around himself effortlessly, and that kept you interested enough to pay attention when you heard his name. He was just closed off enough to keep everyone guessing about him.

You took your time with your duties, making sure to snatch up the small silver ‘H’ earrings Heather had been eyeing for weeks now. They were in the case, so you were only supposed to be able to get them if you were getting a piercing in house. You’d convinced your boss to sell them to you, since you were an employee and wouldn’t tell anyone about it, and she agreed. You had intended to give them to Heather on her birthday, but there was no time like the present.

You half hoped that Heather and Billy would forget about you. You had this sickening feeling that it would be a tiresome ride. But to your chagrin they were waiting for you in the food court. Heather had gotten herself an Orange Julius and seemed to have put all her attention into the straw in her mouth, you assumed she was trying to put on a bit of a show for Billy, but he wasn’t paying much attention to her. You joined the group and endured quite possibly the longest and worst car ride of your life. Heather took over the front seat; it seemed that Billy had driven her to the mall, seeing as how her stinky work stuff was shoved in the back seat with Billy’s and, unfortunately, you. The entire back seat stunk like chlorine and mould, you guessed that one of them had forgotten a towel or swimsuit in their bag or under the seat for long enough to let it stink up the car. But that wasn’t the worst part, Billy didn’t seem to have A/C so all the windows were popped open and fresh air was blasting in your face and killing the smell, the worst part was that Heather seemed to think that this car ride was the perfect time to shamelessly flirt with Billy. She tried to pull her feet on the seat, but Billy didn’t want shoes on the leather, so she took off her flip flops but that was worse apparently. So she spent the whole time cooing about how hot he was and touching his arms and neck and hair. Touching his hair almost got her hand bit off. You wanted desperately for her to stop, you tried to tell her to cool it, but she told you to shut up. You didn’t bother after that.

But Billy seemed to notice that. He kept looking at you through the rear view, at first you thought he was just checking behind himself as he drove, but he was doing it too often for it to make sense. Then you finally let him catch your eye and he smiled. Well, it was more of a lopsided smirk, but you took it as a compliment. He hadn’t even attempted to smile the whole time he was around you, but now, with Motley Crüe blasting through the speakers and the wind whipping up everyone’s hair, he was apparently happy to have you around. You took it as a sign of gratitude for at least trying to get Heather to calm her hormones and just smiled back.

You directed Billy to your place, well at least you attempted to. Heather took over easily, drowning you out. “Y/N’s place is right over there-oh! Is your mom home? She’s gonna get pissed if you have a boy in your room; remember what happened when she caught Carl Simpson in your room? God, I can’t believe you lived through that!” she cackled loudly, her intent most definitely to make you blush. You simply rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, no she’s working late. She’s always working late.” You said, trying to hide the annoyed bite to your voice, masking it with a laugh. Heather just continued to cackle loudly, which hid your defeated sigh. Billy parked on the street without you having to ask and he climbed out angrily. You rushed to get ahead of the group, keys jingling in your hand, and unlocked the door.

“If you don’t mind, can you take your shoes off?” you asked as a wave of A/C smacked you in the face. You kicked off your sneakers as Heather and Billy stared at you, dumbfounded.

“Ugh, come on Y/N! That’s weird!” Heather moaned, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Heather. You know if I get shoe prints all over the tile, my mom will get pissed. You never have a problem with it when we’re hanging out, so don’t be a weirdo now.” You replied. Billy simply kicked off his own shoes, leaving Heather to groan loudly but to follow suit. Then and only then did you let them trek through your house and into your bedroom. You lived in a bungalow, so your room was at the back of the house, facing your backyard.

“Alright, you want your nose, yeah?” you asked, popping open your front door and heading to your bookshelf. You dug through your worn paperbacks until your fingers hit the firm spine of Catch 22. You pulled it off the shelf, popping open the cover and revealing the carved out middle. Your mother was the type to rifle through your stuff to try to catch you doing something wrong. You made the hiding spot solely to keep things that she’d take away. Inside, you had some spare cash, for emergencies, your hollow needle, and the silver barbells you’d bought to use when you pierced your nipples, which you’d been meaning to get around to. You’d promised your mother that you’d stop piercing people. She’d found the bloody needle and freaked out. Usually, it wasn’t that much of a blood bath, but you’d pierced Samantha Burke’s upper cartilage that day and underestimated both how much it would hurt her and how much of a mess it would make. You swore up and down that you’d stop, but your wannabe cool classmates paid big bucks for you to pierce their ears. There’d been an insane influx of boys wanting their ears pierced after seeing how popular Billy was. You didn’t correct them when they wanted the left ear, especially if they were dicks, and you took the cash happily. What your mother didn’t know didn’t hurt her.

“Yeah.” Billy said stiffly. He stood in the middle of your room, unsure what to do with yourself. You only lived a street down from him, too close to his father for comfort. His father already didn’t like the earring, doing his nose could get him in even deeper shit. He was willing to risk it though, purely to look cool.

“Which nostril, left or right?” you asked, bending down to reach into the lowest drawer of your desk, pulling out a lighter and, flicking open the flame, running it over the needle to sanitize it.

Billy chucked “Neither, I want the bull ring.” He said proudly, puffing out his chest. You looked up from the flame, looking him over for any signs of bluff. He looked too serious about this.

You nodded “Alright, I’ve never done a septum ring, but I’ve done the cartilage before, shouldn’t be any different.” You replied with a shrug “You got a big enough nose ring on you? Or am I cleaning and selling you one of mine?”

Billy reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a silver ring. It looked like it was actually made for a nose, which was a good sign. You’d pierced enough idiots to know that people think that any old earring would work in their nose or eyebrow or lip.

Heather was completely agog “No way, Bill! You can’t do your nose like that! I hate that!” she cried. Both you and Billy looked over at him, bouncing on your twin bed angrily. You raised an eyebrow at Billy, who seemed to understand the look immediately: ‘are you two dating?’ He shook his head.

You closed your eyes, trying not to strangle your friend. She always seemed to think that the world and people’s choices revolved around her. Instead of freaking out, you simply nodded “Heather, you want your second hole today? We can do it really fast before Billy’s nose.” You said.

“Oh duh! But I didn’t bring my earrings and I’m not paying for a set of yours, so unless you’re coughing up a pair for free, I’ll wait.” She replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

You flicked the lighter closed, placing the needle on your desk and pushing yourself onto your feet, reaching into your purse. You pulled out the earrings, tossing them to your friend. “Here, happy birthday.” You smirked. Heather caught them and squealed loudly, clutching them to her chest and kicking out her legs.

“Thank you!” she cried, reaching out to grab your neck and hug you tight. You chuckled, patting her back awkwardly.

“Okay! We’ll do yours first, go grab like a full tray of ice from downstairs, okay? And a roll of paper towel.” You instructed. Heather jumped to her feet, rushing downstairs as fast as she could. You resumed what you were doing, grabbing your lighter to disinfect the needle one more time.

“You wanna see what those things look like when they get ripped out?” you asked, turning your attention to Billy, who had taken to looking through your shelves boredly.

“What things?” he asked, his tone annoyed and deeply tired.

“The bull rings.” You replied. Billy hummed and you took that as the go ahead to grab the picture from your copy of Catch 22, pulling the Polaroid from underneath the cash. You handed it to Billy wordlessly.

The image was gruesome. It was of a guy, a few years older than Billy and you, with a bright red mohawk and dressed in a suit. He stood next to who Billy could only assume was the dude’s bride in an ugly reception hall. But that wasn’t the gruesome part; the part that made Billy’s stomach turn was the guy’s nose. It was mangled beyond belief, shrunken and crumpled. The guy only had one full nostril, the left one turned into a short of half open hole, a bunch of cartilage gone and gaping. It was quite honestly gross.

Billy cringed as he examined the guy. You took the moment to explain. “That’s cousin and her husband, Ben. Total punk rockers. Like three months before the wedding, I went with them to a Pixies concert and we all went to the mosh pit together. I guess I looked at this girl’s boyfriend or maybe I looked at her wrong because she tried to pick a fight with me. Ben stepped in, and before he could even say anything to her, she reached up and yanked out his nose ring. It tore the cartilage and he had to have his whole nose reconstructed. He couldn’t afford to have the nostril reconstructive surgery on top of the general nose reconstruction to save his one solid nostril and the bridge from collapsing.” You said.

Billy looked up, trying to bring his expression back to a neutral one “Why are you telling me this?” he asked, handing you back the picture.

You sighed “Look, everyone in the town knows that you get into fights. Having a big ole ring in the middle of your nose is just a really good place to grab for someone who wants an easy win on a fight.”

Billy scoffed “Only girls grab at shit to make a fight easier.”

You shrugged “Maybe, but I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t try to not get their ass beat by a guy twice their size.” You replied, popping the picture back into your kit.

Billy sighed “Would you do the left or right side then?” he asked.

You smirked slightly, looking him over. You bought your hands to his hands, which made Billy gasp slightly with his mouth shut. You ignore it, turning his face to the left and right, examining each side. The right side was better.

“Honestly? I wouldn’t do either. It’s not your look.” You said, letting his face go. He was very pretty up close, which gave you all the more reason to pull away before you did something stupid.

“Well I want something!” he cried and you laughed. Billy smirked as your face broke into a grin. It was the first genuine smile you’d had all day and it was quite pretty. He thought you were prettier than Heather, although he wouldn’t admit that if he still wanted the blow job Heather had been eluding to wanting to give all day.

“I can pierce your other ear, or give you a second hole on your right ear.” You said. Billy cringed and shook his head at both options. You thought for a second before a daring idea came into your head. You hesitated to give it, purely because you’d spent money on it for yourself, but you felt bad for making him give up on the idea.

“How about your nipples?” you said. Billy’s mouth fell open slightly, but he swallowed slightly, closing it. He’d never thought about piercing his nipples, but he immediately liked the idea.

“You ever pierce a nipple?” he asked, leaning closer to you. He was really hoping you’d say yes. He could feel himself warming up just at the thought of a great pair of tits with silver barbells glinting in the sunlight.

“No, but I had planned to-if you’re worried about me fucking up, I can do one of mine first.” You said, pulling the silver barbells of his dreams out of the book and flashing them to him with a smile.

“Oh no sweetheart...I trust you. But you gotta let me do yours if you want them done.” He replied.

“You do piercings?” you asked sceptically, placing the barbells on your desk.

“Doesn’t seem too hard.” He replied, inching closer to you. You back into your desk, exactly where he wanted you.

You chuckled, pressing a hand into his chest, and pushing him off you. “Yeah, the only amateur I get pierced by is myself, that way if I fuck up I have no one to blame but myself.” You explained. Heather burst in right on cue, ice melting down her hand and a damp paper towel roll in hand.

“Sorry! Took awhile to find the paper towel.” She announced, plopping the roll on your desk and tray next to it.

“It’s cool, you ready to do this?” you asked her. She furrowed her brow nervously, but you gestured to your desk chair. She sat down and gripped the arms to ease her shaking hands. You grabbed a cube from the tray and pressed it to her left lobe. “Alright, hold that there for a second sweetheart, I gotta unpack your earrings.” You reached for the package and pulled off the tape that secured the backings to the earrings. You pulled the cheap backing off the spoke and released the ‘H’ from the teal plastic hanger and placed it flat on the desktop.

“Nice and numb?” you asked. Heather bit down hard on her lip and nodded. You grabbed a black sharpie and marked her lobe. “Alright we’re going to count to three, take a deep breath with me, okay?” you took in a deep breath and Heather followed, shutting her eyes. You grabbed the needle and placed it against the marking.

“Let the breath go.” You huffed the breath out and when Heather did the same you plunged the needle into her lobe. She squealed but you counted loudly over it “One, two,” you grabbed the earring, placing it into the hole in the needle and pulling it through “Three. There, you’re halfway done.” You said, capped the earring and wiping down the needle with a bit of paper towel. Earlobes don’t generally bleed much and your needle came through practically clean, but you wiped it down anyway, if only to calm her nerves.

“Are you okay for me to do one more?” you asked. Heather nodded and you grabbed another cube from the tray, pressing it to the right lobe. The process repeated again and Billy watched on baited breath. At first, he was only interested in staring at your ass and imagining filthy things at the idea of you hovering over Heather and making her bite her lips for other reasons. But Heather wasn’t the interesting part of this image; it was you with your kind words and gentle but firm touches. Even when he got bored of the fantasy, he still watched you, utterly transfixed by you. Heather’s squeal pulled him out of his fantasy and back into the warm light of your bedroom. You capped the back of the second earring, stepping back to admire your work.

“Do they look alright?” Heather reached up to touch the new pierces, as if they weren’t real. As if she didn’t feel them stab through her head.

“They’re completely crooked.” You said, deadpan. Heather gasped loudly and you backtracked quickly “I’m kidding! I’m kidding! They look great!” Heather smacked you hard in the stomach, forcing herself out of the chair and over to your bed.

“We doing this, Hargrove?” you turned to him, looking him over confidently. He nodded, licking his lips. “Alright, lay down, Heather I’m gonna need you to move.” Billy tore off his shirt and Heather’s mouth dropped open as you ran the flame over the needle again.

“Oh my god what is going on?” Heather asked, practically drooling.

You rolled your ice “Heather, move your ass and grab me some ice. Billy, which side we doing here?” you asked, grabbing the package of silver barbells and ripping it open, pulling out one and bringing it over to the bed.

“Right.” He said confidently and you took the ice from Heather, straddling Billy and pressing the ice to his nipple. Billy shivered under you and you smirked.

“Heather, pass me the sharpie.” You said, keeping your eyes locked on his.

“This is insane...” Heather breathed, passing you the black marker. “Where’s your camera?”

“Nightstand drawer.” You replied, uncapping the marker with your teeth. Billy turned sharply to look for Heather, his face turning into a snarl. You leaned down, grabbing his chin and turning him back to you. His mouth fell open slightly as you leaned into his ear, whispering “Relax, you look hot...” you breathed hot air onto his neck as you spoke and his skin broke into goose bumps.

“You numb?” you asked. Billy nodded, even though he didn’t think his senses could be less numb if he tried, all of his nerves were alert and on edge. “Good...” you muttered, marking the spot for your needle and unscrewed one end of the barbell. You heard a click and saw the flash go off in the corner of your eye, but you ignored it, focusing on the warm skin under your hands.

You looked him over with a smirk “You need a countdown or are you gonna be a big man for me?” you asked, another flash trying to spot your vision. Billy swallowed hard and let out a small yelp, nodding confidently despite the sound coming out of his throat. “Good boy...” you whispered, shoving the needle through the hardened pink flesh. You felt every inch of him tense up as the pain shot through the bundle of nerves you’d just stabbed through. You mistook the final flash of the camera for stars as you felt him stiffen under your ass. You slid the barbell into the hollow end and slid the needle through, screwing the ball back on.

You smiled, admiring your work for climbing off him and dropping the needle on the mattress. “Alright, use rubbing alcohol to clean those at least once a day. I am not responsible for any infections you get because you can’t take care of yourself.” You explained, pulling your white tee shirt back over your hips. Billy sat up slowly, drinking you in like a cool glass of water, his mouth turning up as you turned around, packing up your kit and returning it to your hiding places.

“My mom’s gonna be home soon and I really wanna change. You good to take Heather home?” you turned your attention to Billy and he nodded slowly.

Heather got up, pulling you into a tight hug and sliding something into your back pocket. “Call me later?” she asked. You nodded, shoving your hands into your back pockets once she let go. Thick and glossy, they had to be the photos. You smirked; you’d look those over once she was gone. Heather headed out of the room as Billy examined himself in your full length mirror before tossing his shirt over his shoulder.

“You alright?” you asked, coming up behind him in the mirror.

“Just admiring your handiwork,” he replied, cocking his head to look at you “You think I can come back and get the other one done?” he asked.

“Sure...” you replied, looking him over slowly “Maybe you leave Heather behind next time.” Billy chuckled darkly, nodding slowly as his tongue slipped out of his mouth again.

“Alright then...I’ll see you around.” You said. You wanted to look over your pictures before you made any plans. You had to know if it looked as hot as it felt. But you had a feeling that it was more than you could ever imagine, no matter how hard you had tried in the past.

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kelyon · 3 years

Text

Golden Rings 5: A Dream

The Storybrooke Sequel to Golden Cuffs

Mrs. Gold meets her new husband.

Read on AO3

Roses are blooming around the castle and she is getting married. Her mother always wanted her to marry in spring when the roses bloom. Now, on this beautiful sunny day, the gray stone walls of the courtyard are covered in a riot of pink roses.

She walks from the castle to the outer gates where her bridegroom is waiting for her. On one side of her is a smiling blonde woman in a pink and yellow dress. On the other, a dancing blonde girl in yellow and pink. Traditionally, friends and family accompany the bride and groom on their journey to each other. With music and laughter, they take separate routes through the village to meet at the wedding place.

Her family isn’t there. They do not dance this day. But she has her true friends beside her.

Her bridegroom is a monster and she loves him. He waits for her, attended by a man in a top hat. Her heart swells when they come together, and she sees her own happiness reflected on his face.

He is dressed in a suit of pure white, which doesn’t suit his green-gray skin or his rotted teeth. Her gown is of midnight blue, so dark it might as well be black. As soon as they join hands, a swirl of magic surrounds them, head to toe. When it fades, they are wearing the same color--a soft, pale blue, the color of a summer sky.

They have taken on each other’s darkness. They have taken on each other’s light. They are the same now. They are beautiful.

The man in the top hat hands her bridegroom a dagger. He takes it and kneels before her. He offers the blade--the only weapon that can hurt him--into her hands.

She takes it and he stands. They face each other again, surrounded by roses and the people they love. She offers him the dagger and her open hand. He takes them both.

He cuts a thin line across her palm. There is no pain, but a red slash of blood bubbles up from her pale skin. Then, he presents her with the dagger and his own hand. She takes them both.

She cuts her beloved, as he has cut her. His blood is darker and thicker than hers. She keeps the dagger. He has surrendered it. All its power is hers forever.

They put their cuts together, joining at the place where they are open and bleeding. They both have the power to hurt each other. They both willingly put themselves in the other’s hands. They can both use the other to heal their wounds. They are both stronger because they have made themselves weak.

Her groom waves his uninjured hand over where they are joined. There is a golden glow, and together they say the sacred words:

Blood of my blood.

Flesh of my flesh.

Life of my life.

When they take their hands apart, their cuts have healed to nothing but scars. Scars that will never fade, and will never be permanently forgotten. No matter what happens in the future, they have marked each other forever.

The smiling woman produces a pair of golden rings and hands them to her. She gives one to her groom. He gently slides it over her fourth finger, on the hand with the new scar. She does the same to him. The rings are the same, a matched set, equal and inseparable.

They are married.

They seal their union with a kiss.

When she breaks apart from her husband, his eyes are warm and full of tears. It has been such a long road to get to this happiness. And they will have a long road ahead. Misery and darkness await them. Curses and terrors and separation.

But they have this moment. They have this happiness. They have roses, for as long as they will bloom.

The little girl holds a handful of pink rose petals. At her parents’ prompting, she shouts “Hooray!” and throws the petals up into the air.

With a quirk of his fingers, her husband sends a burst of magic into the flowers. They shoot up into the sky, over the castle gates, to the height of the tallest tower. Then the petals explode in bursts of golden light and rain down on all of them.

The little girl claps and the man and woman laugh and she kisses her husband again in the midst of the storm.

A storm of roses.

And light.

And love.

****

Mrs. Gold kept her eyes closed after she woke up. She wanted to stay in that dream for as long as she could. The quilt was wrapped around her shoulders, warm and heavy as a lover’s embrace. If she kept her eyes closed, she could still feel the sunshine of this dream wedding day. She could smell the roses and hear her friends cheering. If she kept her eyes closed, she could still see her husband.

Her husband…

Her eyes shot open, but she didn’t move. Mr. Gold wasn’t in the bed; she didn’t feel the weight of him on the mattress. The water wasn’t running in the bathroom. She didn’t hear his footsteps by his closet as he got dressed. Was he sitting in his chair in the parlor? Was he watching her, waiting to see when she woke up?

Was he still angry from last night?

Mrs. Gold scowled at that thought. It was so stupid of her to give that snotty waitress enough time to get all her rent money together. She should have known not to go to the diner until Ruby Lucas had already clocked out.

Next time this happened--because there would be a next time, Mr. Gold would make sure of that--she would have to find Ruby at the Rabbit Hole, long after her shift was over. Hell, she should use Mr. Gold’s money to buy the party girl a few drinks. It might not take much to get her drunk enough to willingly come home with them on Saturday night and they could get some rent money on Sunday.

But no. That wasn’t what Mr. Gold wanted.

He wasn’t interested in seducing little Ruby. If he wanted to sweet-talk a woman into bed, he wouldn’t have any trouble. The man had a silver tongue, as Mrs. Gold knew very well. No, Mr. Gold wanted Ruby Lucas to have to fuck them. He wanted to make the girl offer herself, to both of them. And he really wanted to make her do it in front of the puritanical Granny Lucas. Mr. Gold didn’t laugh often, but he had been very pleased with himself when he had told her about that plan.

And her stupid, cheap, trashy ass had fucked it up for him!

She sat up in bed and looked around Mr. Gold’s room. Of course he wasn’t around. After that shitshow, she didn’t deserve his attention.

It was cold when she took the blankets off. That was something they never told you about living in a Victorian mansion--how drafty the place could get. Mr. Gold always wore his suits, so he never noticed the chill. She noticed, but she never complained about it. If she ever did, Mr. Gold would probably just tell her that there were lots of newer, smaller houses in Storybrooke that didn’t have that problem. He was never hesitant about letting her know she could leave.

Shivering, Mrs. Gold slid her feet into the plush slippers that she kept under the bed. That was one thing about being Mr. Gold’s wife--there was always some luxury to make up for any minor inconveniences.

Christ, she was still wearing the red panties she’d put on last night! This pair had a hole in the lace the size of a silver dollar. Mr. Gold should have jumped at the chance to make that hole bigger. She’d been saving these panties for an occasion like this, when she would need to make him happy. Even if he didn’t wake her up by fucking her, he should have ripped the panties off her sleeping body last night. This morning she should have been naked and open for him to use as he saw fit.

God, he really was mad at her.

She started to make Mr. Gold’s bed. Keeping his bedroom in order was something he trusted her with and she didn’t take it lightly. Most of the time, the day after rent day involved quite a bit of cleanup. There were special cleaners for silicone and leather. Today she didn’t even strip the sheets. It wasn’t like they’d been used.

With a sinking feeling of dread, Mrs. Gold got ready for her day. It didn’t surprise her to see that Mr. Gold hadn’t laid out any clothes he wanted her to wear. No, she didn’t deserve that. She would have to go to the armoire in the bedroom parlor and try to put together an outfit that would meet his approval.

And Mr. Gold could be a difficult man to please.

She did her best. Her fall wardrobe had a lot of burgundy in it. That was a good apology color--serious but warm, sensual without being too flashy. She couldn’t look like she was trying to get his attention. There was nothing Mr. Gold hated more than unwanted desperation.

She settled on a smart little burgundy A-line dress with cap sleeves, nevermind the cold. She had to show him that nothing got between him and her body. The cream-colored pashmina scarf was the same shade as her skin. She arranged the scarf so it looked like the dress was lower cut than it was. He’d like that. Hair out of the way, up in a loose bun. The only thing Mr. Gold hated more than her messy hair was how ugly she looked when she had it cut short. So she kept it long and wore it up or back.

What else? Tasteful makeup. Nude heels, gold hoop earrings. The leather oxblood clutch around her wrist with a gold tube of lipstick dangling off the strap. No extra rings besides her wedding band. It was a conservative look, but that was the best choice right now.

But she couldn’t resist sliding on a pair of metallic gold panties under her skirt. It was a long shot, but there was still the possibility that Mr. Gold would accept her apology and want to make up for their uneventful rent day. If he did, she wanted to show her appreciation.

Of course, it was just as likely that Mr. Gold would sneer at her feeble attempts to get back into his good graces. Maybe he would punish her for being presumptuous.

That could be a good start to the day.

As ready as she was going to get, Mrs. Gold opened the door and went down to the kitchen.

****

Breakfast was her responsibility. Even she couldn’t fuck up black coffee and dry toast. Normally if Mr. Gold didn’t have other plans for her, he would be waiting in the dining room with a copy of the Storybrooke Daily Mirror. She would get his breakfast ready and serve it to him in silence. She knew better than to try to talk to him until he had set the paper aside.

But today Mr. Gold wasn’t in the dining room. One of the glass doors leading from the kitchen to the back patio was ajar. He stood outside in a beam of morning sun. The light caught the glints of silver in his long hair. He was looking around the landscaped garden like he had never seen it before.

Mrs. Gold stood in the doorway, her hands behind her back. Flowers and plants had absolutely no appeal to her, but watching her husband was always fascinating.

He was barely dressed, wearing nothing but a shirt and tie, pants, a belt, and shoes and socks. The top button of his shirt was undone and his tie was loose. Though she couldn’t see his face, Mrs. Gold could tell he was in a good mood. His posture was relaxed. He didn’t lean on his cane as he reached out to touch the mums and black-eyed susans the gardener had planted weeks ago.

So his foot wasn’t bothering him today. That was good. Pain always made him irritable and impatient. Mr. Gold regarded weakness with contempt. His crushed ankle--he said it was a souvenir from a gang war in Glasgow--was his only vulnerability. He hated to be reminded of it. Mrs. Gold took great pains to assure him of his strength and virility in every other aspect.

When he saw her standing in the doorway, his eyes lit up. Sunlight filled them and she caught the depths of them for just a moment. Normally Mr. Gold’s eyes were dark and solid as a closed door. But sometimes there was light in them. His eyes could shine like chocolate diamonds, faceted and sparkling with a million shades of brown and gold. If he looked at her in the right way, his eyes could become her whole world.

For a split second, her husband smiled. He looked like he was about to say something. But then a cloud passed over the sun. His jaw tightened and his eyes grew cold. The transformation was so sudden it was like he had pulled on a Halloween mask.

Unconsciously, Mrs. Gold stepped back, away from the sunshine of the garden. She withdrew into the cool, shadowy kitchen and started to make Mr. Gold his coffee. He liked fresh ground beans, dark roast, hot and black.

“Good morning,” he said as he came into the kitchen and shut the door behind him.

Some of the tension eased away from Mrs. Gold’s mind. At least he was talking to her.

“Good morning, Mr. Gold!” She spun around with a smile and a twirl of her skirt. He always liked her to smile, even if only so he could tell her to stop smiling.

Instead of making his way into the dining room, Mr. Gold took a seat at the small prep table in the kitchen. He stretched out his leg and settled into one of the simple wooden chairs. He didn’t say anything, but it didn't feel like he was giving her the silent treatment.

“I’ll have your breakfast ready in just a minute, Mr. Gold.”

“Thank you.”

Halfway between the bread box and the toaster, Mrs. Gold stopped in her tracks. Thank you? Mr. Gold never thanked her. He was only ever polite to people when he was making deals with them, when he had devastating news that he wanted to deliver in the most ironically nice way possible.

For a second, Mrs. Gold’s breath caught in her throat. Oh, Jesus, how mad was he? What was he going to do to her?

But then, as she turned the toaster on to the darkest setting, it occurred to her to listen to how Mr. Gold was speaking to her. He didn’t sound polite. He sounded grateful. He was genuinely thanking her for breakfast--a service she had done for him every day for as long as she could remember.

Weird.

“Shall I serve you here or in the dining room, Mr. Gold?”

A muscle twitched in his face, but his voice kept the warmth it had had before. “I’ll eat here, if it’s all the same to you, dear. Will you sit with me?”

Mrs. Gold looked over from the shelf where she had been pulling down one of the dishwasher-safe mugs Mr. Gold used for his morning coffee. All of the dishes she handled regularly were cheap and replaceable. Just like her.

“O-of course, Mr. Gold. I’ll do anything you like.”

It was confusing to serve him in the kitchen instead of the dining room. It was such a 1950’s atmosphere, like an old TV show. Donna Reed pouring coffee for her man straight from the pot as an act of love. Normally, Mr. Gold had more of an 1850’s style--breakfast brought in to the master of the house on a silver tray by a paid servant. That was the role he wanted her to play.

What role was she playing now? He wanted her to sit across from him at the tiny table on a rickety wooden chair that matched the one he was in. But he was better than that. He deserved better than that. Why was he lowering himself to be on the same level as her?

But this was what he wanted, so she would make it good for him. She bent at the waist with her ass in the air to put his plate and mug on the table. He hadn’t told her what to do once she sat down, so she perched on the edge of the seat and pressed her palms flat against the tabletop.

She waited for what would come next.

It didn’t take long to realize that she had fucked up his food. He looked down at the black toast and even blacker coffee with bewildered disgust. How had she ruined it this time? It looked the same as every other morning. That was how he told her he liked his breakfast--as black and bitter as his soul.

But instead of yelling at her, Mr. Gold just looked up from his plate with polite curiosity. “Will you fetch the butter?”

Mrs. Gold blinked. Butter? Since when did Mr. Gold like butter on his toast?

She didn’t let her confusion slow her down. There was a solid roll of imported Irish butter in the fridge. Mr. Gold used it for cooking sometimes.

“I’m sorry, it… might take a while to get warm enough to spread.”

Mr. Gold just sat back in his chair. “Ah,” he said. “Well, no matter then.” He left the toast untouched and took a sip of his coffee.

This time, there was no hiding the revulsion on his face. He winced, like instead of coffee she had poured him a cup of battery acid. Mrs. Gold watched in mute horror as her husband turned his face to the wall and forced himself to swallow the ghastly brew.

On the verge of tears, Mrs. Gold stood in the center of the kitchen and dug her fingernails into her palms. Fuck. There was no coming back from something this bad. Mr. Gold would have to punish her, in a bad way. She just hoped that he wouldn’t pour the rest of his mug over her head. The coffee was hot, and the stains wouldn’t come out of her scarf.

She closed her eyes and braced herself for the attack. But it didn’t come.

Instead, Mr. Gold’s voice was calm and patient. “Maybe it will be better with cream and sugar.”

With a grateful nod, Mrs. Gold took the mug over to the counter where the antique ceramic canisters were lined up in an orderly row. Sugar was kept between flour and oats.

“One spoonful or two?”

“Start with three and I’ll see if it needs more.”

Mrs. Gold winced as she carefully stirred spoon after spoon of sugar into the coffee. She couldn’t look at her husband. “You don’t--” she started, but couldn’t say it. “I mean, please don’t feel like you need to drink this if it isn’t good enough for you. I don’t know how I managed to get it wrong, but I promise you, I’ll--”

“Stop.” Mr. Gold raised a gentle hand. “It’s not your fault, Mrs. Gold. The coffee is exactly what I’ve trained you to give me. So is the toast. You didn’t do anything wrong. But it seems…” his lips quirked into what might have been a smile. “It seems my tastes have changed since yesterday.”

Her knees went weak. “So you really aren’t mad at me?”

Her husband looked at her for an endless moment. His face was blank, that intentional blankness he put on when he was thinking something, but didn’t want her to know what. Then he looked away.

“I told you last night that I wasn’t angry with you. I would appreciate it if you believe me when I tell you things, Mrs. Gold.”

“I do!” She fell to her knees on the cold kitchen tile. “Please, Mr. Gold. Of course, I believe you! I just--I know what a stupid, trashy slut I am. You have every right to be mad at me, for everything.”

He gripped his cane. “Everything?” he said the word bitterly. Getting up from the table, he took his plate and walked around her to throw his uneaten toast in the garbage. His coffee mug was still on the counter. “Is there cream in the icebox?”

Fighting tears, Mrs. Gold shook her head. “I think there might be a little bit of skim milk. I was going to go to the supermarket today.”

“A fine idea. We can make a list.”

He was beside her now. The heat of his body radiated into her bare arms and legs. Looking down, she saw that he was standing with his cane in front of him. It was a defensive posture, not an attacking one.

“Do we have a butter dish in the house?”

He held out his hand to help her up. He had a scar on his palm. Had she ever asked how he had gotten that?

Too grateful to speak, she took his hand and got up off her knees. She wiped her fingers under her eyes to get rid of the tears without messing up her makeup. If her face was going to look ruined, she would rather it be for a good reason.

“I-I don’t think I’ve ever seen a butter dish around here, Mr. Gold.”

He nodded. “I’m sure there will be something suitable at the shop. What about a tea kettle? I think instead of coffee, I’d like to try tea in the mornings for a while.”

“There’s a bone china tea set on display in the dining room, Mr. Gold.”

“But a kettle?” His voice was soft. He was being so good to her, even though she was so stupid. “We need something to go on the stove to boil water in.”

She shook her head. Mr. Gold’s house was enormous and packed full of stuff. She would never know everything in it. But she had never come across a tea kettle, not even in any of the crates and boxes in the basement.

“Very well,” he said. There was a pad of paper and a ball-point pen beside the rotary phone on the kitchen wall. He handed them to her. “Write this down, please.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

She leaned against the island in the center of the kitchen and wrote out Tea Kettle, Butter Dish. As she wrote, her heart rate began to slow down. It felt good to have Mr. Gold give her orders again--especially orders she knew she could obey.

Opening doors to the cupboards and the fridge, her husband dictated a shopping list: Cream, yeast, breakfast tea, tomatoes. Without being told, Mrs. Gold knew to get the fanciest, most expensive brands available. He gave her money every week and she was damn well going to spend it.

“Would you like ice cream?”

A delighted shiver went up her spine at the question. The only use Mr. Gold had for ice cream was to dribble a scoop of vanilla over her naked body--the cold, wet, stickiness only occasionally replaced by his hot, hungry mouth. He hadn’t sent her to Any Given Sundae since summer. Maybe he really wasn’t mad at her.

“That would be wonderful, Mr. Gold.” She tried to let her voice alone do the job of expressing her gratitude and her arousal.

“Good. I’d like to see what this ‘rocky road’ flavor is really like.”

Mrs. Gold blinked. He wanted her to buy ice cream so he could eat it? Mr. Gold hated sweets.

“And you should pick out a flavor you like.”

Now he wanted her to eat sugar and fat? What the hell? What new game was this? Was he going to make her buy something she wanted just so he could throw it out in front of her? What was his plan?

She shook her head. It wasn’t her place to question Mr. Gold. He knew what he was doing. And he was being so nice right now, even if he was being weird. Maybe he felt bad about her freaking out--it would be a first, but it wasn’t totally insane. She would just have to wait and find out.

“I need salad too,” she said as she wrote. “And cranberry juice.”

That thought lifted her spirits. The grocery store clerks always looked so funny when they saw her buying two or three jugs of unsweetened cranberry juice. Overstocking on a home remedy for a urinary tract infection was a great way to advertise just how often she was getting completely railed by Mr. Gold.

She could buy more condoms at the grocery store, just to drive home the point. And three of the longest, fattest cucumbers in the produce section. They would go into salads, but no one at the grocery store would think that. This would be a pretty good day after all.

As she got into the Cadillac and Mr. Gold drove to his pawn shop, her thoughts drifted back to the dream she’d had.

That wedding was nothing like hers had been. She’d married Mr. Gold in the middle of February, and not in a freaking castle. It had been a civil ceremony at City Hall. Their only witnesses had been Mr. Gold’s gardener and Dr. Archie Hopper, who they’d pulled away from renewing his dog licence.

But everyone in Storybrooke had come out to Dodici’s Dance Hall for the reception. When Mr. Gold invited you somewhere, you went, and you brought a gift you couldn’t afford.

On her wedding day, the only reason anyone but her had smiled was because of the open bar. They didn’t really have friends. Mr. Gold hadn’t had a best man, no one would be her bridesmaid. There was no man in a top hat, no fat woman in a pink dress. There were certainly no little kids throwing flowers. Mr. Gold hated kids, and she hated flowers.

There had been no roses when she’d married Mr. Gold. On that day she had done her best to push away every thought she’d ever had about her mother. That was the day she had vowed to be Mrs. Gold. She would never be anyone else again.

#golden rings #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #ouat #once upon a time

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writingsofmyimagination · 4 years

Text

28 Days |Epilogue|

GIF by: @suggamiin

Genre: Werewolf Au (Jimin x Reader) Part 1 Part 2

Rating:18+

Summary: It’s your birthday and well...you get treated. Sinful PWP to end this.

Word Count:3188

Warnings: Swearing,Smut - Slight exhibitionism, sex toys (cock ring) SUB Jimin... I repeat Sub Jimin.

Final Part!!!!! Loved this sooo much.

@safi4x @nerdygaloresposts @sockie-the-dumbass @jimin-75

You were gratefully stolen from your nightmare of failing your end of year exams by the soothing scent of waffles. The glucose of the maple syrup powerful but tantalising to your drowsy senses. Dragging yourself from the comfort, you made a stumble to the kitchen area. A waffle sliding off the spatula onto the plate, his neck nudging his head into your newly emerged direction. You went to retrieve your fluffy dressing gown from the arm of a chair. His gaze briefly frozen on the curves of your behind feebly covered by the black lace hot pants teasing from under his shirt. The only skin available for your eyes to feast on was the occasional trail of veins running down his arms. Ripped denim skinnies sat over black and white vans, laces gleaming white. Red tee with the cutest pocket over his chest fitted and tucked into his leather belt. Heaven forbid he ever look scruffy to go out.

“Take a picture it lasts longer” you toyed covering the view and making your way over to him

“How many times have I asked you?” he countered serving the question straight back

“No, you’ve asked me if you can film us fucking, slight difference” your return bouncing the un-returnable ball in his court.

“Hey I’ve needed something while you’ve been busy revising and FINE! I’m asking now” He pulled you closer by your behind, hands having a firm squeeze for breakfast. You dodged his incoming kiss, leaning to the side to slide your finger through the maple syrup drizzled on your plate. His eyes frozen on the way your finger disappeared in your mouth and sucked on the digit he easily wished was his cock.

“I’m more hungry for actual food right now” You pecked him on the cheek kidnapping the plate from behind him.

“You’re insufferable when you tease you know that”

“You have your finals to focus on today”

“I know I know” His leather jacket sliding on his shoulders smooth as silk.

“Good luck”

“Happy Birthday baby” The drawn-out kiss on your forehead brought a beaming smile to your lips, insides heating up to a pleasant warm fuzz. Before he had the chance to straighten out your hands captured the back of his neck dragging him into a heated kiss which he fell weakly for.

“Remember to wear something nice for me later”

“As if I’d let you take me out in anything but. Can you not even give me a hint?”

“Nope”

You had no idea how dressy you needed to be.

Are we going out out or just just out?

Opting for as mid ‘out’ as you could you dug out your button front dress. The dress was belted with a silk tie, it stopped mid-thigh scooping slightly at the sides. The chest and long sleeves were laced in a pretty delicate floral pattern. Your hair was curled swooped over one shoulder and pinned. White hi-top converse snug on your feet.

Fuck heels, I need comfort

He rocked up at your door in black skinnies which were tight around his thighs.

Jesus lord mother of Mary

That alone could make your mouth hit the floor. The cotton fresh white v neck tugged tight into his gold buckled belt. The same leather jacket, silver zips scattered across in silver strips. Face bright, the concoction of exams going well and the reaction to the approved visuals of you.

“Ready?”

“Don’t I look ready?”

“I mean you look stunning but did you really have to wear something so easily taken off?”

“Is that a complaint?”

“More of a why do you have to be such a teasing bitch?” he chuckled as you swatted his arm.

He blindfolded you as soon as you got to his car.

You were cautious to your feet guided by Jimin until he ordered you to stop.

“Don’t move”

“Like I’m going to wander off” you shot back.

A click was the only thing reaching your ears. The smell of the room was familiar but your brain was too intrigued and giddy to bother working out why.

The blindfold fell from your face leaving only scrunched up eyebrows until the glint above you drew your attention. You were in the university library, the floor normally underneath tables had been pushed to the side, table legs flaying the air. It was astronomy week and the students had secured fairy lights to the ceiling in the shape of a star constellation. The blinds were shut, the fairy lights intermittently twinkling above you; like diamonds on a royals crown. He emerged from behind the desk with a wicker picnic basket and a rolled chequered blanket tucked under his arm. His sweet smile only subtly laced with triumph. Your gaze still fixed on the false sky.

“I know how comforting you find the library and how much of grump you get when your cold so didn’t want to take you out…”

“I love it!” you beamed nearly knocking the picnic basket from his grasp as you smothered him with a hug; his free hand steadying the influx of your weight against him.

“But If you haven’t got sausage rolls in there I will seriously reconsider our relationship” you teased plonking yourself down on the cleared floor atop the blanket.

“They were the first thing I picked up” he calmed.

“Ready for your present?”

“Mmmhmm” you hummed mouth full of scotch egg. Jimin fished out a small box from his pocket.

“Well open it. I’m not proposing” he beckoned after your stared at it for a moment too long.

“Jimin it’s beautiful” you cooed looking and the tear drop pendant weaved in your fingers. The outside ripples of silver, the main body was crystal clear, shimmering as you tilted your hands.

“Look closer” he urged. You did as you were told for once.

“How did you…?”

“You’d be surprised at who Yoongi has as contacts” he explained. Carved into the gem was the unmistakeably twizzled in swirls of patterns of haemoglobin. Something heavily involved in your thesis and wanted to specialise in in regards to how some viruses attack this area.

“I knew your nerd ass would love it and all jokes aside you give me so much life and I do feel sometimes you’re my oxygen that I need flooding through me to live” he paused.

“You know like haemoglobin”

“I’m more than aware of its function Jimin” you chuckled. He was sweet; the sweetness coaxed water to fill your eyes with none of it falling.

“I love you too you big softy” You were already clipping the chain around your neck. He lent over to you lips pressing hard into you. The other gift he’d presented was far less innocent.

“Are you planning on getting the strawberries and cream out or what?” you mouthed speaking into his kiss, lightly grappling at his bottom lip. The sucrose in the air was all too suffocating.

“Are you not sweet enough?” he teased failing to hold his cringe filled laugh. You lightly shoved his chase away from you.

“Get that cheese away pllleeaase” you begged. In order to maintain your dignity your leg was slightly bent and raised before you. Your thigh was more exposed but at least your underwear was covered.

“Oops” You shook your head, the cool cream conveniently dripping onto your thigh as Jimin fed you the last but one strawberry. As straight as his face was his true intention hadn’t been masked in his eyes.

“Well are you going to clear up your mess or not?”

“Well if you insist”

You planted both hands behind you leaning back, his warm tongue collecting the cool cream escaping down your thigh.

“I think you taste sweeter” he hummed, his tongue spanning his lips before disappearing back into his mouth. Your sudden movements caught him off guard. Enough to let you have advantage and push his weight back enough to fight yours to be on top. You scrunched his shirt up to his neck. Perfect olive skin. Muscles taught and firm under his skin. His eyes diligent in following the drips of cream pooling over his stomach, his muscles twitched at the temperature. The last strawberry dragged through the milky coating on his skin before half of it disappeared in your mouth.

“I think you do”

“Why don’t you come up over here so I can taste you again?” You were by no means going to say no but you were going to tease him until he pleaded for it. You stood, shimmying out of your underwear. His brows knitting together when you sat back down still over his hips and not his face.

“Don’t pout!” the buttons on the front of your dress one by one slowly became unhooked. His hands automatically resting firm on your hips after his hands quickly laid claim to your chest.

“I just thought I’d make myself that bit sweeter for you”

“And how do you think you can do that?” he challenged. He was too busy admiring your front he’d not seen your hands dip behind and retrieve the cream pot.

“Like this?” You watched the trail make its way down through the valley of your breasts running over your stomach to pool in between your thighs and run down his sides. His eyes now shifted to your core laced in creamy glucose.

“Fuck princess” he whined, those unstoppable flecks raging in his eyes.

“Get up here now!”

Excuse me?

Your expression clearly mirrored your thoughts

“Please” his tone so whiny compared to his last demand.

His purr vibrated at your core, cream smudging around his lips. The cat who definitely got the cream. Your hand flew to his tangle in his hair, the other flying out to secure yourself against the beech desk in front of you. Nail meeting the smooth surface with nothing to grip onto.

Your head dropped; his eyes were closed held together in the total ecstasy of you. Only when the moans started trickling from your lips did his eyes burn up hard into you. The more pressure he put against your core the less you were able to hold his clouded over fuelled red eyes. This boy could have you cumming on his tongue quicker than anyone else. Whether it was because he could hear your heartbeat or the whole essence thing made it more intense but it he could have you so damn quick. You knew he was taking his time; any other day you’d already be begging him for your third release already, easy. The torturous slow stripes he made with his tongue had the deep groans boiling in your throat.

“Please make me cum already” you whined tugging his hair, grabbing his attention to your face and not the feast he was making between your legs He’d kept you dancing on the edge for too long.

“Make yourself” he coaxed in between the breathes he was catching up on. It wasn’t a sarcastic comeback. Definitely not.

“Want me to ride that pretty face of yours?” current roles subtly switching.

“Mmmhmm” he hummed swiping your arousal from his lips with his tongue, eyes blown, completely fucked out. You breathed a ‘sigh’ with a jesting eye roll. You were inebriated, addicted to how he loved it when you used him to get off. He was equally to you using him. His head stayed docile, his tongue a podium still and stiff for you to take your prize. Both your hands now steadied against the desk, hips gyrating over him.

No longer would he dance you along the jagged edge of your release. You threw yourself off, all the weight of previous refusals crashing on top of you. You fell hard. Your head hung; exhausted for a moment before giving Jimin room to breathe.

“Does this hurt?” You teased palming his cock straining against the tight denim of his jeans. The hiss and chokes echoing in the room answering your questions with perfect clarity.

“Well we can’t have that”

“Go behind the desk” He did as he was told.

“Why have I never thought about fucking you over the library desk” He cursed himself.

“I never said you were going to fuck me” Swirling the new cock ring he’d bought for you round your finger.

“Guarantee you’ll need me to fuck you when you’ve finished toying with me”

He always fucking knows.

His top discarded, slung over the top of the desk that shielded you from the rest of the library. Your hands guiding themselves across the perfect sculpture of his back, nails purposely leaving red trails. The cool leather of his belt resting against your skin. The front of his jeans pulled down his cock strained with the ring. Gargled moans and pants disrupting the calm of the library each time you hand gripped and moved.

“Going to beg yet?”

“No..o” Your hand snaked up his back, hair taught in your wrists.

“How about now? You breathed dangerously close to his ear, back arching in a crescent obediently to you. Vibration now throbbing through his already painful member. Neck strained, unrestrained grunts bobbing his adams apple. He blissfully regretted the present he got for you already; not too much though.

“Fuck” he whined, restraint and control leaking from his voice.

“Okay okay” Tolerance snapping as you your hands stroked him in a torturous slow movement

You stopped, pushed the power switch on the ring. Straightening yourself. Hands staying where the stilled; a potential threat if his words were not satisfactory.

He took whatever breath he could into his lungs, knuckles white gripped on the table.

“Pleeease let me fuck you, please let me cum mmm…. hand, mouth I don’t care” His arms struggled not to buckle, desperation thick through his strength.

“Are you that desperate that you don’t even care anymore?” Your thumb glazing over the end of his cock.

“Jesus…yes” his voice breaking in sync with his cracked resolve. With him facing the front you could only see his jaw tensing up, the side of his eyes straining to stay open.

“Are you that desperate that you don’t even want to make me cum before you?”

“mmm…No!”

Correct answer!

“Good boy” you praised

“Now I’m going to turn this back on and you’re going to wait until I allow you to cum. You’ve got to fuck me now. I’m dying to have you inside me”

Unanimous profanities bubbled into the room; bodies finally entwined. You both stilled, him fully inside you. Everything just felt too good. Senses overwhelmed with sweet sensations. Your arms crossed at the back of his neck fingertips tight to his skin. The perspiration glazing his forehead mingling with yours. Both looking down to where you connected.

“Ready?” asking and clenching around him at the time had him pinning his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Mmm” he breathed breathing through your torturous tensing.

“Words” you lightly scolded clenching again. His throat bobbed tense.

“Yes” he finally managed.

The throbbing vibrations resumed through him. The patch on top of the ring now vibrated through your clit each time he jolted his hips into you. His laboured breathing indicative of him holding back, funnelling control in his movements. Hot air swirling between you. Your head incapable of moving against the firm hand keeping your head with his. The muscles in your legs tensing, verging on cramping with how tight they gripped at his waist keeping the vibrations on you as much as possible. His bucks sudden and precise, enough apart that he can just about hold onto himself.

“Fuck, please give… it up to…” He was desperate, he needed you to cum so badly so you would show mercy on him.

“Hold it” you ordered. He whimpered, uncertain of his ability to do as he was told. His head drooped to the nook of your neck teeth latching on in a weak attempt to transfer some of the frustration and distraction somewhere else. He choked when your legs locked and pulled him as close as humanly possible. His restricted movement gave you the control to circle your hips around him directing the vibrations in the rhythm you needed. His hot breathes became jagged, fanning across the front of your shoulder.

“Count to 3 then cum for me baby” You panted.

“1” his hips snapped once.

“2” you clenched around him, controlling your muscles not to give. His moans stuttered.

“3” the count was almost breathless; almost devoid of sound. You arched into him shoving the vibrating pack back harsh against your clit, tightening around him again.

Swear words groaned out of his mouth, your core pulsing around him in waves washing you with serotonin. The rush of exaggerated senses never stopped overwhelming you too see white spots shadowing your visions. Sex with your essence was ridiculously other worldly; normal sex now completely transcended. You viced onto his body until his hips finished jerking.

Ugh! No condom, going to be an uncomfortable trip home. But..

“Jesus you’re going to kill me” he panted as you tapped at his hips

Move back

Powering down the ring, slipping it off with a grunt from him.

“Well you got me this remember so really you’ve done yourself in” Your index fingertip beckoning a hot soft kiss to your lips.

“I want one more thing from you baby”

“Anything” he confessed popping the buttons of his jeans back into looking decent.

“I’m not making my way home with your mess dripping out of me. Clean it up” You couldn’t decide who donned the filthier smirk Jimin or you. Within a beat he was on his knees, tugging a leg over his shoulder. Hurrying your hands behind you stabilising yourself from cracking your head on the top level of the desk. A gargled groan eliciting from the flicks of his tongue, the sensitive nub quietly welcoming the soft warm strokes. When his motions became less focused on collecting and began to circle more at your clit you gripped and yanked his hair.

Fuck, he looks sweet

“Look at you with your own cum glistening on your chin…so sexy” The visual pulled at the recovering coils in your core; but the light smile on your face slowly erupted into a small laugh. In retaliation he bounced up forcing an unbalancing harsh kiss. Transferring the chimera of your climaxes to your lips. You fingers teasing your buttons at the front of your dress closed, away from the already wandering eyes of Jimin.

“You taste so good mixed with me” He purred burying into your neck inhaling the after sex intoxicating scent he swooned for.

“Stop talking like that or I’ll wanna fuck you again” you warned. He burrowed further hands tightening at your hips

“And?” he countered

“I’d much rather you take me back home so I can do it with YOUR new favourite toy”

“Is it my birthday or yours?” His body remembering how hard he came with the new purple strap on you loved torturing him with.

“Having you in tears begging for me to go harder is all the present I need”

#bts #ksmutclub #smutcentralnet #sub-bts-network #kwritersworldnet #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #btsguild #jimin x reader #bts smut #BTS jimin #park jimin #28 days

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kingquest · 3 years

Text

There's a slow, burning tension in his leg. It pulses, aches, like a knot strung too tightly around some distant extremity, the pain reverberates through his bones and marrow and finally congeals somewhere in his head. Dizziness threatens to suffocate and lethargy pools with his blood; he's too distracted to notice the newfound scrapes and tears trailing up his torso.

His helmet weighs heavy against his chest. He stirs, struggling to pull his head up. He stares blearily at his boots, only half-noticing the binds that tie them. He glances at his leg, which by all accounts should be splattered against moonrock, only to find freshly applied bandages instead. A fibery gauze has been wrapped underneath his clothing, snug and bloody.

He tries to pull himself upward, but his muscles reject him. His back falls onto a rocky surface behind him, followed by his hands and elbows, both also bound.

"Morning."

He freezes. White noise gnaws at the following silence. Adrenaline shoots through him, his fingertips lighting up with stars, but no matter the strain, no matter the exertion, he still can't fucking move. It takes all of his willpower to jut out his chin just enough to get a better angle, to peer out from behind his mask to find the voice, and in the end the tendons in his neck scream nearly as loud as the bullet wound. His effort is finally rewarded with the sight of a terran sitting atop a storage device in front of him, a thermos in one hand and his own gun in the other. She smirks at him.

Recognition comes slow. The memory of how he got here is trudging behind. Still, when the other shoe drops, so does his gut. He tenses, fighting against the ropes, only for a headache to strike back with a vengeance.

Skullcap droops.

His target sneers.

She says, "I was worried you might not wake up. Some people don't."

She leans forward, the gun not leaving her hip. She squints.

"Seems like the paralyzer's still in you some. I'll have to let my tox man know."

Skullcap says nothing.

"It'll probably fade," she says. She sips at her drink, shrugging. "If it doesn't, well, I can at least say I tried to opt for mercy."

She sits, waiting. Her eyes roll over him, like she's sizing him up. She adjusts the gun ever so slightly, taking a glance at it. Skullcap keeps his mouth shut.

"I knew you were coming. I mean, obviously. What'd he say, 'alive, not dead?' Bet he wants a crack at me himself." She laughs, tilting her thermos back.

As she swallows, she goes silent, almost expectantly so. She tilts her head, pursing her lips. The back of her heel bounces off of her seat.

"You're making this so boring. The silent, intimidating thing doesn't work on me, babe. I've already got you cornered." She sighs. "Come on, don't you have any questions for your predecessor? Or were you just going to shoot me down?"

Skullcap doesn't have an answer for that. He watches her, his head hung low. His hands clasp and unclasp behind him.

She scoffs.

"If you're not going be any fun about this--"

"How do you figure this is mercy?"

Vaira's brows raise. Then she huffs a laugh.

"For one thing, I didn't take your silly little helmet off."

He sighs. It teeters on relief.

"That, and you're still breathing. Moron." She swings her legs. "Is it not enough that I wanted to meet you? I hear he's put quite a bit of stock in you."

Skullcap bristles.

"Though," she says, "he did send you on a bit of a suicide mission."

He clears his throat. "How's that?"

"Either he overestimates you or he underestimates me. And I'm fairly certain it's not the latter." She examines her nails. "The way I see it, it's more than likely there's a bug on your ship. Aside from the literal vermin you keep, of course. They're tracking you, so if you end up keeling over somewhere, they've got a better idea of where I am."

This flood of information is too much at once. He hesitates, processing. His kneejerk response is defensiveness. "It's... not vermin."

She laughs. "Do you even have a license for that thing? If it's your partner, you know you'd need a contract with the guild, yeah?"

Her words buzz around in Skullcap's head. They refuse to stick. He just stares at her, adjusting his arms.

She waves dismissively. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. Besides, we've gotten so off track anyhow." In a quick gesture, she leans behind her, his gun unmoving. She plucks a tablet out from somewhere, scanning through it.

"Shocked we couldn't get a proper name on you. I would've dug further, but," she gestures to her surroundings. "Let's see. God, Typhor? Of all places? I suppose that was a given, but... still." She grimaces.

She glances up at him, scrutinizing. She adds, as if speaking to herself, "I wonder if he pulled you by your scruff from the dunes or if you actually wax pious. I've seen those scars of yours; my initial assumption feels apt, but I could be wrong. Either way, he's got you hooked somehow."

Skullcap pushes himself forward, heat gathering in his throat and jaw. "Now, look--"

"--You've had some decent jobs," she says, as if he'd said nothing at all. "But you've also had some real shit ones. I heard you shot someone in court." She clicks her tongue.

He stifles a groan. "None of this is any concern to you. It isn't your business."

"Honey," she says. "I've already strip-searched you. And dressed your wound--"

"From your bullet."

"--Which was an act of kindness on my part that none will see the likes of again. May I remind you, you were sent to disable me, or perhaps even kill me, so therefore I consider myself privy to all your dirty little secrets. Unless you'd like to do something about it?"

Skullcap stares at her. She leers.

"I thought not. Now, where were we?"

"Can you just cut to the goddamn chase? Please? If you're gonna kill me, get on with it, but if not--"

"Do they not have rapport in Typhor? Or do they just shoot people down like bloody dogs when they disagree?"

Skullcap's head tilts, indignant. She sighs.

"I suppose you're right. Even still, there's nothing wrong with a little conversation. I'd prefer that over a bullet in my head. And it's not like you introduced yourself. You just stormed into what you assumed was my hideout, gun drawn. Where are you manners, Skully?"

They watch each other wordlessly. Her nails tap rhythmically against the aluminum of her thermos. Her brow is quirked. His helmet hangs low, his eyes cast over in shadow. If no one knew any better, it'd be easy to assume there was nothing behind the gaping holes of his headwear at all.

It dawns on him that she, however, isn't so easily fooled. It's like she stares right through him, past the metal and chrome. Like her pupils are little scalpels, probing and dissecting. He believes that she's true enough to her word, that she didn't remove it, only because he's not sure if it would even matter if she had. She's playing like she's already seen everyone else's hand, and yet the only other player at the table that's losing is him.

He grunts. She huffs a laugh.

"Perhaps they don't teach you any of those on Typhor either." She shifts her legs, refolding them. "Would you prefer that I go first?"

Silence. He is trying to stop himself from sinking lower onto the floor.

"Very well." She straightens herself, extending her hand as if she wasn't several meters away and his hands weren't already bound. "Allow me to make your acquaintance. My name is Vaira Talwar and I'll be your mark this evening. Welcome to my home away from home."

Vaira gestures to the cave surrounding them. The humidity compresses into him; he's able to make out a distant dripping of water. The caves probably lead to a reservoir, or something of that nature. Must be how she's survived.

"I'm sure you've met my partner on the way in. She was very excited to meet you."

He stutters then, as if buffering. His helmet raises to see her better; her expression is stone, smug. He was warned of no accomplice. Her eyes brighten considerably, as if the helmet's somehow conveyed his alarm. Her mouth twists into a smirk.

She sets her drink down, raising her fingers to her lips. She whistles a sharp, airy sound unlike anything he's ever heard, and in an instant, the dim light behind him is blotted out by a massive silhouette. The shadow cuts through the cave's stilled air as dust swarms behind it, loose particles filtering in from underneath his helmet. He coughs through it, unable to wave away space to breathe, and once the debris settles and his breath is steady enough to see, he is filled with a deep understanding, one that piles onto to the preexisting load of dread hanging in his chest.

Vaira's arm is outstretched, covered with a metallic sleeve he doesn't remember seeing her put on. It's armored fabric, perfectly able to support the massive talons of her apparent partner. The thing's feathered head tilts at him, brassy and angular. Its beak comes to a wicked point and, at a passing glance, seems to have been gilded with gold. Vaira clicks her tongue at it and it shrieks, its golden eyes not leaving him. She places the gun down long enough to run her fingers through its feathery chin.

"Aquila, Skullcap. Skullcap, Aquila." She leans forward, cupping her hand over her mouth as if relaying a secret. "And of course, she's a guild member. Licensed and everything. I'd hate to get fined, or worse!" She barks a laugh. The eagle ruffles its feathers.

Skullcap simmers. Of course, she takes notice.

"Come on. Don't be so chuffed. It's not my fault they didn't warn you, is it?" She adjusts her arm and Aquila shimmies to her shoulder. Vaira points to her claws. "If you're wondering what exactly you've got running through you, take a look."

At second glance, the points of the bird's central nails shift into an almost transparent finish; a middle-ground between grey and pink. They're hooked inward and almost... hollow looking. Like fangs, he realizes. The weight from his chest spreads through him like nausea.

Vaira, unphased, coos at the monster upon her shoulder. It preens in return, chittering from somewhere within its throat.

"I've always been the type to work from above," she says, "but Aquila can see what even I can't. It's why we work together so well." Vaira pauses, not once casting a wayward eye back to Skullcap. "I've got a mate who distills her toxins. The bullet breaks down with its own velocity and melts like butter on impact. Penetrates, but not enough to shred through entirely. Just enough to dig through to an artery."

She turns back to him now, her grin slow and easy. "It's a bounty hunter's best friend."

Skullcap opts to stare. He would rather not give her the satisfaction.

Her expression gradually flattens. Her eyes roll. She shakes out her shoulder and Aquila jumps, swoops over him, and perches behind his rock; her shadow looms before him.

"I weep for our mutual friend's taste. Seems like it's worsened since I knew him. Maybe he thinks boring would keep him safer. Or at least, less likely to lose his new favorite toy."

"I'm mostly wondering what this is all leading up to."

She pauses. "Oh?"

"At this point," he says, "You've had ample chances to kill me. Between your gun, my gun, and whatever the hell she is, the way I see it, you're either stalling or you're lonely."

Vaira's brows raise. Her lips purse. Skullcap can't quite read her expression. He talks past it regardless.

"So," he says, "which is it? You keep talking about him, but as far as I'm concerned, you're the one who ran out on him. Just now figuring out crime doesn't pay?"

Her cheeks twitch. The corners of her lips draw deeper into her face, panning out into a barely restrained simper, before the first peal of laughter escapes her lungs entirely. She's overwhelmed just as quick, nearly doubling over and off her seat. He watches her wipe a false tear from her cheek with her shooting hand's pinkie and even as she composes herself, she's racked with occasional chuckles.

"You think--" she pauses to laugh, "--You think I'm lonely? You think I'm lonely because I quit my job?"

"Now I didn't say that."

Vaira throws her head back. She leans forward again with an amused sigh, shaking her head.

"Listen babe. You've got me all wrong. Let me tell you something." She leans forward, almost conspiratorial. Her voice drops to a whisper. "I've never felt more free in my goddamn life."

She drops her legs from the container, sliding off into a stand. She takes a step closer, his gun dangling at her thigh.

"And maybe," she says, "maybe if you'd open your eyes for once, you'd see I'm trying to pay you a fucking kindness. Mercy, remember?"

He squints. "I don't follow."

Vaira takes a deep, dramatic breath. Her thumb digs into her brow. "Fuck, mate. Are you really this dense? I'm trying to give you an out."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Do you even hear yourself?" She scoffs. "Of course I've had ample time to kill you. I could've done it a dozen times now." She lifts the gun, shuts an eye and takes aim. "Bang. You're dead. Or, bang," she points somewhere lower, "Dead again. It's so easy I could do it in my fucking sleep. But I haven't. Because here's the part you're missing, you stupid arsehole; we can be of mutual aid to each other."

He feels like she's struck him across the helmet with the gun. He works through the false tinnitus.

"What about any of this is mutual?"

"Must I spell it out for you?" She rolls her eyes, taking a step forward. "I'm letting you live. I'm letting you live so that you can let me live. And if we're lucky, we can both get out of this rotten deal we've found ourselves in."

"You mean... this?"

"No," she says, "his deal."

He hesitates, considering this for a moment. "There's no deal. I'm a freelancer."

"I thought that too. Like I said; I'm your predecessor, mate. In every sense." Her expression shifts. Humor leaves her in waves. "I was independent until, one day, I woke up and I wasn't."

They hadn't told him that, either.

"So, what?" He shifts his weight, the joints of his hands afflicted by pins. "You just up and left?"

She turns to stare at him for a moment. "How long have you been under his employment?"

"You're avoiding the question."

"I'm gauging how I'll answer. You go first."

His breath gets caught between a groan and a sigh. Every exchange is a new defeat.

"Two jobs," he says.

For an instance, a fragment of a second, something close to sympathy--or empathy?--softens her features. As soon as it comes, her natural sharpness returns.

"Then you don't know what he is. You can't see how deep in it you are yet."

"So," his brow furrows behind the helmet, "you're saying that if I help you now, you'll be doing me some favor by... what, saving me from the very same man that hired me to catch you?"

"Something along those lines."

"Right," he says. "Alright. Question."

"Shoot."

"Is your head screwed on right?" He lifts his neck, measuring his own strength. "How dumb do you think I am?"

A laugh rumbles in her chest in spite of his tone. "I don't think you want me to answer that."

"Har har." He huffs. "Can we be serious? I mean, why in the name of anything would I believe you, Kingfisher? After all of this?"

She brushes her hair back. She inhales slow. "Look. I know this seems like a classic case of the devil you know versus the devil you don't, but I'm trying to play in good faith. I'm turning a new leaf, yeah? I don't know how much of my reputation you've caught wind of, but--"

"--You killed eight people. Nine, if we're counting the decoy from the cave. 'Far as I know, that's all I need to know."

"Eight still," she replies, "But even then, they were eight bad people. Eight people who have been around him much longer than I have and still want nothing more than to exist in his shadow, hoping he'll even pass a glance towards them." She purses her lips with a sigh through her nose. "I'm not naive nor insane enough to suggest that what I did set them free, that it was justified somehow, but if I was so deluded as to fall completely victim to his bullshit like that, I'd rather die."

He hums. "Is this supposed to get me to believe you?"

She rubs the bridge of her nose. "Alright. Sure. Think of me as awful or evil or whatever the hell you want. Go on. I don't need to explain myself to you and, quite frankly, I don't care to." She shifts, jutting a finger out at him. "But I need you to know--to realize--that whatever you think I am or however you see me, he's ten times as bad. He's the worst kind of person there is, hell, even calling him a person would be an undeserved compliment."

He watches her jaw clench, the strain of the tendons in her cheeks. Her gaze drifts, following a thought unseen, before she trains herself upon Skullcap again.

"He's a monster," she says. "The kind that makes running with an inevitable bounty seem like a far better alternative."

A chorus of thoughts speak over each other, everything suddenly hurtling toward him too quickly. It muddles together, registering more like the echo of blood against the shell of his ear. His focus becomes overwhelmed by parsing through each voice before it dissolves into nothing, his judgement clouds over. He feels himself approaching a threshold of a decision, whether to believe her or not, and while his senses scream at him to deny her, to resolve himself against her, there's something else there, something that's pleading with him to hear her out. It comes anytime he looks at her now, anytime she stares back, and despite her hard expression, despite the tension in her frame, her eyes refuse to settle. They wander, searching, almost uncertain. Or desperate, he thinks. He's seen desperate before in marks, but not quite like this. Not quite so... reliant.

Frustration burns like acid in his gut, rising through his chest and drying his tongue and he's not sure if it comes from her or his own mental strife. His boot wiggles in its binds.

"If you were anything like me," she says, like she's read his mind, "you'd have your eye on this gun. You'd be waiting for me to slip up, for my grip to falter. Waiting for your chance. You wouldn't even be listening to me, you'd just watch and wait."

"Look--"

"--But you're not like me. I've read your files. I studied your cases, waiting for you to show up. I had a hard time figuring out what drives you at first, but I'd neglected to consider Occam's razor. A good shooting hand can pay for most meals, can't it?"

He doesn't respond.

"But you don't go for the messy jobs. You'd rather take shit pay for something that'll let you sleep at night. Sure, you're a killer, but you've got a conscience. More than most of us can say for ourselves."

"What's your point," he says.

"You want to know what I'm saving you from?" She lowers herself to her haunches in front of him, her forearms resting over her knees. "I'm saving you from becoming like me. So you don't have to look at yourself in the mirror and ask yourself how your decent heart ever turned so black."

He mulls on that. The flood of thoughts have softened to an erratic buzz.

He clings to his instincts, clearing his throat. "But you don't care about that. You're not even doing this for me. You're doing it to get an extension on your clock. And at the same time, you want to drag me down with you." He pauses. "I'll end up like you all the same. Running for the rest of my life."

Her brow twitches. "Isn't that better than losing your integrity? Or, hell, your sense of self?"

He isn't sure. The acid builds.

He shakes his head, pushing his doubt away. "The way you talk about him like that, it--it's ridiculous. I've got no reason to suspect him the way you say."

A memory unclogs itself and bubbles upward, but his trust is an ever-moving metronome. He hesitates, uneasy. He swallows harshly before opting to share. "You were right. He wants you back breathing. But he didn't seem angry so much as he seemed... disappointed. Or something between the two."

Her eyes narrow. "Betrayed?"

"Kinda," he says. "The impression I got was he wanted to, well, negotiate your terms."

Vaira's brow creases. No words follow. She instead focuses intently on his helmet, almost studious, her mouth pressed into a firm line.

"All I'm saying is--"

"--You're wrong," she says. "Your impression was wrong. You were lied to."

"How do I know that? Better yet, how do I know you aren't lying?"

"I don't have any reason to lie. I could've just killed you."

"You have every reason to lie," he says. "But I reckon that's a fair point."

"If you're so concerned with thinking I'm bullshitting you, then I'd like to make myself tremendously clear, for a moment. If we're being honest and all that."

Her voice lowers. She leans forward. "If you decide to take him at his word and bring me back to him, if it even crosses your mind, I swear to everything in my life I hold dear that I will not stop fighting you until one of the two of us is dead. And if you get the upperhand somehow, if you get your chance, I want you to promise me you won't miss."

He flinches. The air gets caught in his chest.

She adds, "They'll punish you less for that, if it helps. Better to lose one plaything than two."

The thoughts in his head have gone quiet all together. The metronome's gears grind.

He speaks again after a spell. "Say I believe you," he measures his words carefully. "Say I'm in. What then?"

Her expression clears ever so slightly. "Then we find the bug on your ship."

"My ship," he repeats.

"The three of us won't fit in mine," she says, simply. "We find it, tear it out, and leave it here. They'll send someone else in your place and by that time, we'll be long gone. I know a few good hiding spots, I'm sure you do too. You can drop me off somewhere, if it so bloody pleases you. It's easier for you; no one knows your face, your name. I could change mine I suppose, maybe swap species entirely."

"You might have the cash for something like this. But I sure as hell don't."

Vaira snickers. "Well, that's easy. I'm greedy, not stingy."

"We're still fucked, Kingfisher, no way around it."

"You've been fucked," she says. "You've been fucked since he found you as my replacement. I'm trying to unfuck you, 'Cap. This is our only chance."

His helmet lulls. Anxiety leeches the warmth from his hands.

"You offered a pretty good deal earlier, you know. If I shoot you, everybody gets off square, justice gets dealt. This shit fades, we'll be in my ship, I get a gun and it's over. What's to stop me from doing that?"

"You won't," she says.

"I won't," he repeats.

"No." She's smirking now, white glinting past her lips. "Because you're not like me."

His head jerks back. "What's that got anything to do with it?"

"For starters, you didn't notice that I lowered the gun ages ago."

His eye follows her arm. His gun sits between her knees, rocking back and forth, its grip held loosely between her thumb and index finger.

Skullcap exhales slow.

"That ain't any fair."

She snaps the gun back into her palm before he decides to prove her wrong. It's twirled into the holster on her leg and she stands with it, her hands finding her hips. She towers over him, shifting her weight to one leg.

"What is, in this business?"

From the ground, he isn't in a position to argue with that. He redirects instead.

"You sure keep acting like my opinion matters any, like I got some say."

"You're not a hostage," she says. "We'd be working together."

"Sure doesn't feel like it from here."

Vaira hums. "Do you trust me?"

"What do you think?"

"Then the feeling's mutual," she says. "And until you trust me, I can't trust you. But."

"But?"

"I'd like to. And I understand that earning your trust is not an easy feat, but we can work on it."

He laughs dryly through his nose. "You could start by untying me."

"You're so cute." She sighs. "Fine. Little by little. I'm not such a hard arse that I'll drag you there again this time. I'll free your legs once I'm ready."

"On the flip side of things, then." He readjusts, finally able to bend his knees through the binding. "What if I say no?"

She shrugs. "Would you prefer being left to die?"

He gestures loosely with his shoulders. "But wouldn't that be easier? What exactly do you gain from taking me?"

Her head tilts. She narrows her eyes, as if in thought. Her cheek twitches.

After a moment she says, "I'm not entirely sure." She sucks air through her teeth. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I am lonely. It's nice having someone to talk to after so long. Or, well, someone who talks back." She glances at the shadow behind him. "Sorry, my love."

The bird snaps its beak.

Skullcap dwells on her words. It was an intuition he'd pulled out from somewhere, but with hindsight, perhaps it'd been projection. For the first time he considers if this is some universal hunter experience, why so often those of his creed join together as a group. He reflects on his many hours spent within silence, between his own breath and the groan of his ship's hull. Sometimes he didn't mind it. Sometimes he did.

He wonders how Vaira spends her time alone. He wonders how she copes.

These ideas come at a surprise to him and he wills them away. They recede, but not far.

"Right." She bursts through his bubble and he jerks back into focus. "Well, I'm going to collect my things. Let me know what you decide. Or if you, ah, need anything."

She turns on her heel, stepping beyond the storage device, deeper into the cave. He hears the pull of metal across dirt and rock, the opening and closing of clasps unseen. Her head bobs distantly, wandering deeper into the stretch of cavern than he realized initially existed.

Aquila's nails drag across the rock above him, as if to remind him of her presence. He doesn't concern himself with it. Instead, he deflates with a breath he hadn't realized had accumulated, shrinking into the stone at his back. Neither his judgement nor his morals have any answers left to give him now. He visualizes his thoughts as a mass of white, intangible and empty. He opts to go limp, then, letting his head fall back with a clunk as he stares at the clusters of moonrock above.

He can't help but ask himself what she would do in his position. Then he realizes, of course, she'd already given him her answer. A gun provides an easy solution to any ethical dilemma.

Her earlier threat suddenly returns to him and settles anew, like something raw in his stomach. He suppresses a shudder. Skullcap has to remind himself that easy does not always mean just. Too many unanswered questions. Too much doubt.

His thoughts then, naturally, turn to the emperor. Skullcap cannot reconcile his own predicament with even the smallest proximity to Zusk; it's like his parts can't fit right in the picture, like if he willed it, the matter would simply dissolve before him. But as he considers it, he can't quite visualize how Zusk would address any transgression against him. The various middle men he's sent to deal with Skullcap can only convey so much about him, let alone his motives. Vaira's bias threatens to sway him; was that his intent all along? Or just an inadvertent flaw illuminated by hindsight?

Skullcap didn't know. He doesn't know. The uncertainty churns away at his insides and his knuckles dig into his forearms. He isn't sure what's worse: stuck, forced idle, waiting at an unknown precipice or not knowing which way he'd run even if he could.

So he opts to breathe. To focus on each breath as if it were his last, to savor them like a last meal. Every inhale welcomes a new exhale, another tick of the clock that he can claim as his own, something definitively his.

Until he's forced to move, to act, at least he will have this. At least this solution was still his own.

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