#long sleeves feels nice. it's been three days of feeling an abundance of love and shared joy (well. shared trash. same diff).

[thedemonstherapist]

Tension Solution

Summary: “I think this tension between us needs resolving. Be that with swords against each other’s necks or in my bed. You decide”. 

Wordcount: ~4,2K

Pairing: Kaeya Alberich x GN! Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Enemies to Lovers, Sexual innuendos, Small mentions of blood

Author’s Note: Here it is! My Kaeya enemies to fuckers piece. A huge thank you to @gnocchi-ghoul​ for Beta reading this for me! I had such fun writing this, and you all know I’m a sucker for some good tensioned sworfighting, and this smug bastard has been on my mind ever since starting to play the game. I know this is not my usual content, but I write when I want, about who I want, ok? I’ve had so little inspiration over the past months that I’ve got to take chances like these and go with them.

Banner is not mine! If you know who to credit it to, let me know, I couldn’t find it!

There he came again. That stupid coin between his fingers, flung into the air at random intervals. That stupid grin softening his face, cheerful greetings echoing through the noisy hall. Oh, and above all, that tremendously stupid way his eyes find you immediately, just trying to do your work.

You lower your gaze, pressing your pen down onto paper with renewed determination. Jean and her new open doors policy be damned, you couldn’t wait to slam it in his face. Of course it’s the last few minutes of visiting hours that he decides to come back from his commission. Three blissful weeks of calm while he was stationed out near the Liyue border, no comments, no irksome remarks, no-

“Don’t tell me you’re too busy to greet me”. 

You sigh. Kaeya observes you with his arms crossed, casually lent against the doorframe. His sword is still strapped to his back, droplets of water running down the blade, and he clearly hasn’t gone to take a shower yet, covered in dirt, mud and sporadic dried blood. 

“Captain”. You can’t help your displeasured tone. “I see you’re back”. 

“Inspector”. He raises a brow in retaliation. “I sent a notice stating my return three days ago”. 

“Oh, that”. You pick the unintelligible letter from your desk with two fingers, holding it at an arm’s length. “Apparently your messenger didn't go for a swim on the way here. Could you confirm?”

His jaw tightens momentarily, as you note with satisfaction, but it doesn’t deter the grin. “You should be used to my handwriting by now”. 

You place it back on your desk with contempt. “I am not. Hopefully your report to Jean is a little more… readable”. 

He shrugs, beginning to peel off his gloves. “She’s never complained about it”. 

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm yourself down. Kaeya tends to make you irrationally angry, and no, it wasn’t just the absolute nonchalante recklessness he treated his position and commissions with. You couldn’t count the times he’d risked more than his own life in battle, somehow always managing to pull it off in the last second. And of course, that was his surefire way to getting out of trouble, no matter how much Jean grilled him for it afterwards.

“Go clean up”. You try your best to make your dismissal abundant, leaning back over your work. “You’re dripping water on my carpet”. 

“Oh, we’re touchy today, aren’t we?” Kaeya’s grin widens into a smirk, pushing himself off the frame. “Did Fawks hit on you during your patrols again?” 

“That’s none of your business”. You shoot him a glare, tapping your nails impatiently. As if you still had the opportunity to go out on patrols, you’d been holed up in your office pretty much ever since becoming Inspector. You wished you could get out again, your body had been aching for some action for weeks, but he was the last person you’d ever confess that to.

Kaeya hums lightly, and instead of exiting, takes another step into the office. His eyes wandered your shelves with staged disinterest, but you knew he was looking for something to use as ammunition.

“I’m assuming you couldn’t hear me” you state, sarcasm adding a bite to your tone. “I told you to clean up. You look like you haven’t seen soap since leaving Mondstadt”. 

“Oh, Y/N, always so worried about my appearance” he muses, drawing closer to your desk. God, you hated that stupid cat-like expression he bore, so sly and pretentious. “I’d be more worried about yourself, frankly”. 

“I’m not playing these games, Kaeya”, you reply sharply, fingers tightening around your pen. “Go take a damn shower, and stop ruining my carpet. I don’t know why your immediate goal seems to piss me off, but I’d like to maintain some level of professional dignity between us”. 

He rolls his eyes. “By Barbatos, you really are wound up today. I doubt that’s just my fault”. 

“Be delusional, then”. You shake your head. “I don’t think Jean would appreciate another formal complaint, so do her the favour, if not for me, and get out of my office”. 

“Fine”. He turns around, but not before throwing you another glance, and damn it, you know he has one last trick up his sleeve, just by the way he says it. “However, before I forget-”. 

“What?”

“You’re pre-reading my report for Jean. Her orders”. 

---

“... and that bastard didn't even take the time to brief me about the mission outcome, the entire time he was dirtying up my office!” You end your rant with an angry flourish, slamming your hand down on the table. “I don’t know what he intended with that whole interaction, he just likes making my day so much worse!” 

Your friend chuckles, stirring her drink idly, an ocean of calm in comparison to your raging fury. “Man, if we weren’t close, I would never guess Kaeya to be such a pain in the ass. Each time I’ve encountered him he’s been so chivalrous and kind”. 

“He just can’t keep it in his pants”. You cross your arms, sitting back in your chair with a huff. “If you ever end up in his bed, I will personally hunt him down”. 

She laughs. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t put you in that position”. 

“I just don’t understand it”. You run a hand through your hair, glancing around the tavern. It was unusually crowded for a Thursday night, you’d been lucky to get your usual table. “Why he has this stupid grudge against me. We used to be normal colleagues, back when we were both only trainee’s and officers, but then one day the switch flipped and it’s like we can’t stand the sight of each other ever since. The worst thing is, he has every last person in Mondstadt wrapped around his finger! So nobody understands my frustration!”

“First of all, Diluc exists. Second of all, aren’t you higher ranking than him?” she asks, and you regretfully shake your head. 

“No, Captains and Inspectors are on the same level. I personally didn't feel ready to be a leader in combat situations, so I passed on the opportunity. Now I miss active commissions so much, my poor sword is nothing more than an ancient relic at this point”. 

“Surely, you’ll still be sent out?” 

“I don’t have a command, the only times I might be are on extraordinarily dangerous or sizable sightings, or for assistance to Captains. Rue the day I get sent out with Kaeya”. You shudder at the thought. “That would end in total disaster”. 

“So you really have no idea why Kaeya began to dislike you so suddenly?” your friend inquires, tilting her head aside. You shake yours. “And there wasn’t some kind of incident that caused this?” 

“Not that I know of”.

A grin spreads over her face. “Hey, you ever considered that he likes you a little too much for his own good?” 

“That’s some misogynistic bullshit”, you snort. “Guys are rude to people because they like them, yeah right. That’s just trying to normalise shitty behaviour in the name of quote-on-quote love”. 

“I know that”. She gives you an exasperated look. “But… you have to admit that the two of you have some serious chemistry”. 

“What are you even talking about?” you question, downing the rest of your drink. 

“Every time you two interact”. She raises a brow knowingly. “Remember that time you were bickering on patrol through Mondstadt? I swear, even without a vision, I could see sparks between the two of you, and I wasn’t the only one, you got the entire town talking. You get on each other’s nerves because you have some unresolved tension you need to work out, and neither of you wants to admit it”. 

“Shut up”. Your cheeks suddenly feel suspiciously warm, and you firmly decide it’s the alcohol. “Fine, Kaeya’s attractive, but he’s so fucking annoying because he knows that. He messes with me ‘cause he knows how to get in my head, and gets some kind of sadistic pleasure from it”. 

Your friend makes an attempt to interrupt you, but you don’t let her, motioning to her to let you rant. “Let me finish. He was nice enough up until he got that damn ego boost after being promoted, I think, and even then I could still talk to him without the need to stab myself in the eye. He’s just so frustrating, never thinks twice about anything he does, and always gets away with it, plus he has this weird urge to always show off that stupidly toned chest of his and - by the Seven, I hate that idiot smirk of his, and the fact that he’s so damn perfect at his swordsmanship, I can’t even deny how good he is in battle, Jean has said he rivals her, and I despise that he knows he looks good while doing it, he-”

“So, how much longer were you going to let them just talk?” A voice offhandedly asks from behind you, and the blood in your veins turns to ice. Your friend smiles lazily, winking at you. 

“Oh, you know, however long they need. Y/N’s been ranting quite a bit this evening, you really get on their nerves”. 

You whip around, and sure enough, there he is, the cause of this mess. Kaeya has his arms folded, grinning down at you with thinly veiled satisfaction. You’re pretty sure half of the tavern is watching, and your blood turns from freezing to seething within seconds. 

“How long have you been there?” you ask stiffly, glaring at your friend. She pulls an innocent face, leaning back in her seat with performative disinterest. Traitor. 

“Just long enough to hear what I needed to”. Kaeya’s grin is threatening to split his face in half. “You really think I’m that attractive, huh? I never would have guessed”. 

You jump up from your chair, spitting out the first thing that comes to mind. “Fight me”. 

He actually laughs, a few of the tavern occupants joining in. “What? Are you sure you’re not mixing up a couple words there?”

You clench your jaw, deciding to just go with it. “Fight me. Knights of Favonius training ring, tomorrow morning. I’m sick of your attitude”. 

“Oh?” He cocks a brow at you. “I hope you’re ready after wasting away in that office of yours”. 

“I could beat you blindfolded”, you reply presumptuously, mimicking his stance, unable to ignore the fact that he smells a little too good for your tipsy state. At least he finally took your orders. You hold his stare regardless, unwilling to give in.

“Thank the Seven, you’re working this out at last”, your friend sighs, sipping at her drink. “And here I thought you’d take the sexual tension to the grave”. 

Kaeya’s lip twitches in amusement as he extends one hand. “Tomorrow morning at seven. I’ll try not to kill you then, for that sake alone”.

You give him a dirty look, reluctantly shaking his hand. “Your chance of me doing the same is decreasing with every word that leaves your mouth”. 

“I can live with that”. He suddenly leans closer, and before you can pull away, whispers in your ear, sultry tone leaving the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. “You’re going down, darling”. 

Like Hell you are.

---

The training hall is usually relatively empty at this time of day. Some dedicated trainee’s use the morning to get their routine over, but otherwise, not many knights exercise this early. And though at least a few of them must have heard of what happened last night, not many are to be seen. Even if you could live with an audience, you decide this way is perfectly fine, especially in case of the (distinctly undesirable and should-be-impossible outcome) of you losing to him. You’re a bit out of breath from warming up, fixing your shirt before making your way over to the ring.

Kaeya is waiting for you there, clad in athleisure and in the midst of testing out a beginner’s sword. His vision is nowhere to be seen, and you curse him a little for not giving you something more to berate him for. Nevertheless, you straighten up as you approach.

“Good morning”, you greet him nonchalantly, walking over to inspect the racks of weapons. 

A grin flashes across his face as he turns around, wiping the sweat off his brow. “Hello, darling”.

“Sweating already?” You raise a brow at him, deciding to ignore the nickname. “And here I thought I’d have a challenge”. 

Kaeya laughs, rolling out his wrist. “You are cute when you’re acting tough”. Tilting his head aside, he watches you take your pick of one of the swords. The morning light bathes him in a soft glow, falling through the high windows, hair tied up in a messy bun at the back of his head, and- wait. Your cheeks grow hot as you realise what absurd directions your thoughts are heading to. Your friend must have gotten under your skin more than you realised last night. 

Shaking your head a little, you roll your shoulders back and face him head-on. “Whatever makes you feel better. For the rules, as by training code, drawing blood is an immediate end”. 

“No visions, no hits near the head or vital organs, dull blades and stop means stop”, Kaeya counts up calmly, making his way to the center of the ring. His blue eye gleams playfully in the light, and he swings the sword near aimlessly while walking. You grit your teeth at his relaxed manner. He wasn’t taking this seriously at all, huh?

“Don’t worry, Inspector”. He winks as he comes to a halt before you, maintaining the mandated arm’s distance. “I know the rules”. 

“I’d hope so”, you reply, getting into position and watching him do the same. You decide to stir the pot a little, knowing it’s best to get into his head, and feign a smile. “I can’t wait until the rest of the knights hear about how royally I kicked your ass”. 

He laughs lowly, and is immediately on the attack. Anticipating such, after years of observing him in battle, you parry it easily, ducking aside to avoid the next one. You wait until he’s nearly backed you into the corner, ego visibly growing with every move he makes, and take a rolling dive, knocking his legs out from under him with your own. 

He manages to catch himself, and you’re relieved by the split-second of surprise in his expression. You withdraw towards the middle, blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face and, in a rush of adrenalin, smirk at him. “Not so confident now, are we, Captain?”

“You’re not as out of shape as I anticipated”, he counters, slashing his sword through the air as he repositions himself. Brows narrowing playfully, he adds: “It’ll make it more fun to thoroughly take you apart”. 

You don’t give him more time to prepare. Blades crash onto each other as he masterfully deflects your attacks, and it doesn’t take long for the two of you to get out of breath. Neither of you can land a hit, no matter how feasible it seems. He handles the comparatively bulky sword with enviable ease, and you grow frustrated quickly, unable to break through his defences. In turn, you don’t let him back you into any corner, constantly keeping the playing field level and returning every new strike with your own.

“You know what, I’ve missed this”, Kaeya pants, quick to switch hands as you sidestep him, attempting to land a hit on his blinde side. 

“Huh?” is all you can answer in return, deflecting his counter aimed at your back, and darting aside. 

“Training”. He nearly misses the parry, forced to back up if not to risk a blow to his abdomen. “With you”. He shoots you a brash smile, easily twisting out of your range.

You huff, irritated at the fact that he still has the mind to flirt. “Your silver tongue isn’t getting you out of this one”. 

“I meant it”. And of damn course, his tactic worked, the point of his blade sinking into your shoulder. “Remember when we used to practise together?” 

“Before you became a dick, you mean?” you shoot back, attempting an aggressive strike at his lower thigh. Your body is getting sore, heart pounding against your ribcage, breaths coming out short and strained, but despite it all, you’re enjoying this. In any case, you’d rather die than admit to him that you’re having fun. 

You really needed to get out of your office more.

Kaeya laughs, equally exhausted, before advancing at an alarming speed. “I’ll give you that one, darling”. 

Your blades cross, metal clashing loudly, and you can see an opportunity form as he shortly weakens his hold. Rotating your sword in the opposite direction to try and hook beneath his, you’re so distracted by the possibility of disarming him that you don’t notice the satisfaction that washes over his expression as you do. One swift swipe of his foot and you’re falling backwards, weapon nearly ripped from your hand. 

Your back hits the mat with full force, air knocked out of your lungs, causing you to give a strangled gasp. Kaeya is smirking down at you, but he’s as out of breath as you are and there’s sweat soaking his shoulders. You don’t think before you move, so infuriated by the words you know are about to leave his mouth, fingers tightening around the handle. 

The hit against his shins sends him to the ground, but not sideways as planned, instead straight onto you. You don’t have the time or the mind to roll out of the way, and he tries very hard to catch himself, hands landing on either side of you. You yelp as most of his weight hits you, momentarily forgetting what’s even happening. 

 “Fuck”, Kaeya groans, arms shaking as he tries to brace himself. “You like playing dirty, don’t you?” 

Slowly regaining the ability to breathe after nearly being crushed, your eyes dart to see him dangling over you, legs and lower body resting on your own. If anyone hears of this out of context, you’re moving to the other end of Teyvat. He’s panting, no doubt as shocked as you are, strands of his hair tickling your nose. His face is mere inches away from yours, heat seeping through his clothes onto your skin. 

Decidedly too close.

Your blade kissing his throat is a much better sight. You know you’re technically breaking the rules, but the way his eye widens, corners of his mouth twitching and brows raising to the sky is just too good of a picture. 

“Get off me”. You growl, trying to steady yourself with your other hand. 

His laugh sounds astounded, but contrary to your demand, he does not. Instead, his chin juts forward, pressing the metal into his skin for earnest. There’s no blood, of course, all these swords are dulled to near uselessness, but it does leave you speechless at the amount of reckless pride he seems to possess. 

 Kaeya hums, clearly satisfied at your reaction. “I’ll be honest, this is not how I initially pictured you under me”. 

What a smug son of a-

“Oh, fuck off”. Your knee makes contact with his stomach and he rolls off you with a grunt. You scramble to your feet, grimacing at what you're sure will be a bruised tailbone later. He’s already composed himself, twirling his sword idly as you get a proper grip on your own. Looking you up and down, his grin widens into a smirk.

“Though you do look similar to the imaginary aftermath”. 

“I am going to kill you”, you hiss, red flashing before your eyes as you charge at him. Kaeya begins to laugh once more, but it quickly dies down as your moves become more and more aggressive, driving him out of the ring and towards the wall. The thought of whoever may be around again crosses your mind, but honestly, you can’t care about who may be watching, every last bit of strength you have left is focused on Kaeya and his stupid fucking face and the way he evades your strikes with a precision that only leaves to be desired to every onlooker. It makes you want to actually scream. You finally land two hits on him, arms beginning to shake from exhaustion and overwhelming adrenalin. 

But once more, Kaeya catches you off guard. The switch flips just as his leg hits the wall and you’re just beginning to notice your own smile, sure of your victory. His expression darkens, lip caught in his teeth as his eyes narrow down at you. 

Your blades clash as they did before, and of course he uses your own move against you, managing to perfect it. Your sword goes flying to the ground, and the moment you lose your grip is the moment you’re being slammed against the wall that he was nearly backed up against mere seconds ago. The tip of his sword is digging into the soft skin of your throat, positioned perfectly above your Adam's apple. 

Suddenly, it goes very quiet, the silence only interrupted by your laboured breaths. Maybe it’s the fact that he near literally has a knife to your throat, but you can’t tear your eyes away from him. His hand is pressing on your shoulder, pinning you to the wall, keeping you in place. His leg is slotted between yours, barring you from moving an inch. 

For the first time since you’ve met him, you have nothing to do but to admire him. Sweat is making his hair stick to his skin, an exhausted flush upon his dark cheeks. His body is visibly tense, stare boring into yours with a kind of intensity you’ve only ever seen during active combat. There’s nothing unintentional about the way he’s restraining you, nothing hesitant about the placement of the blade against your skin. His chest is heaving, teeth digging into his lip in constrained effort, fingers digging into your shoulder as if expecting you to fight back.

You don’t. 

Instead, you let out a shaky breath. The adrenalin is still surging through you, but you can’t feel the constant urge to punch him in the gut anymore. Huh. Weird. 

“You won”. Your voice is calmer than it ever has been talking to him, accepting of your defeat. Plus, your body is beginning to realise that whatever just happened hurt, and quite a bit at that. You wince, knowing you’re going to need some ice to get through the rest of the day. 

Kaeya shakes his head determinedly, stare not wavering. “You had me in practically the same position less than a minute ago. You could have flipped me over with ease and won. You didn't. That’s the only reason I got you here”. His grip on your shoulder eases up. “We’re equal”. 

Withdrawing the sword from your neck, he takes a step back, relinquishing his hold on you. You feel strangely dazed, automatically reaching to check for cuts on your neck. “I guess?”

“You okay?” He sounds relatively quiet as well, nearly uneasy, which does not fit the overconfident persona he usually bears. Whatever tension there was before has yielded to something more cautious, like strangers navigating their way across broken ice. 

You nod, reaching to pick up your sword. “Fine”. You pause briefly, debating your words before meeting his eye again. “That was… good exercise. Thanks for fighting me”. 

He laughs a little, and you’re taken aback by how much you don’t feel like reacting. What was going on? At the latest after that laugh you’d usually be back at his throat. 

“Sure”. There’s the typical amusement in his face, but his smile is less egregious and smug. It’s… kind? “I’d have no problem repeating it”. 

You raise your shoulders, unsure of what to do now. “I guess… I wouldn’t either?”

“Good”. He runs a hand through his hair in an effort to fix the mess it’s become. You’re beginning to hear the confidence you’re used to re-enter his words, but it doesn’t appear to bother you. “Friday’s at seven, then. We’ll make it a regular thing”.

“Trying to kill each other?” You surprise yourself with the attempt to ease the tension, and why in the world do you have the urge to smile at the sight of his?

“If that’s how you want to see it”. He shrugs, placing his sword back on the racks. Glancing over his shoulder, he regards you for a long moment. “I think your friend is right”. 

“In what regard?” you ask, in principle fully aware of what that expression means for you. 

Kaeya’s shit-eating grin has made its way back onto his face. “I think this tension needs resolving. Whatever means it takes”. 

You can hear the words in your head before he says them. 

“Be that with swords against each other’s necks or in my bed. You decide”.

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanficion #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact kaeya #genshin kaeya #kaeya alberich #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich fanfic #kaeya fanfiction #hope you enjoyed <3

[joonkorre]

To my love,

@drarrymicrofic prompt: forbidden

read Paper Hearts by @dorthyanndrarry and have been completely obsessed w draco doing little mundane things as a hobby or bc it's therapeutic etc etc. i had to fold these paper cranes for an art project once. it's fucking addictive lmao. ao3

tw: very brief mention of blood

It’s just a thing Draco does when he’s bored. A past-time, or a hobby, even. If it’s past midnight and less tiring to be honest, he’d admit that it’s a coping method. But he never really feels like that as of late, as expected from a permanent resident in what is now the Dark Lord’s lair.

Light, clean air, silence, and Merlin knows what else, are lacking in abundance in the Malfoy Manor these days. However, with owl posts too easily intercepted and words too eagerly etched on skin rather than blank pages, paper is readily available. Draco has a lot of free time, being ‘Lucius’s worthless son’ and all. Thus, he writes.

Are you out there? How do you fare?

I haven’t eaten breakfast today. Perhaps I should’ve, but Nagini never leaves.

Will Harry Potter ever get caught?

I tried to go out today. Do you know how it feels to have blood drained from your feet?

Comments of nonsensical nature like so. They help, though. Draco doesn’t quite know the psychology behind it, but he can’t help writing them. A passing interest, then once every two weeks, then every other day, then any piece of paper he can find. Any piece large enough.

To my love,

That Luna girl cries again.

He doesn’t understand why—he’s never understood much, now that he thinks about it—but he’s taken to writing those three words before every message. It feels nice, he supposes, to pretend there’s someone who looks forward to reading his letters, regardless of how boring or awful they are. No matter, a tiny phrase never hurts anyone. He hopes. How many things (small, insignificant things) did he say that—?

To my love,

The last of Mother’s roses have faded to a dull grey. They used to be the color of lilac.

He’s used his wand as a light tonight, a whispered Lumos scarcely bright enough to write down a sentence and cut a strip of paper away, making a square. Familiar folds and creases give way easily beneath his calloused fingers in the dark. Feeling the precise pleats, he bends the wings, then pulls out the tail and the neck. He runs a finger down the neck’s tip. Its head is formed.

To my love,

Should I have killed him?

Cracking open the dirty window right beside his bed, the cool scent of fog and sleepy meadows wafts against his face. A gentle tap of his wand, and the paper crane floats away into the night with minute flaps of wings. Where is it going? He never knows. To his love?

To my love,

There’s a suitcase hidden inside my mattress, ready to go.

Draco closes the window and slides under the cover. Staring up at the swirling darkness of his canopy, he hopes the crane gets to, say, the nearby valley before descending.

To my love,

Let’s run away together.

The scenery is nice there, at least.

----

There’s an analogy to be made about shackles and penance and father’s sins. Draco wouldn’t know. He’s not in the right state of mind to ponder it.

A shame. It’d be nice if his last thought before the Kiss is something poetic.

“He was but a child,” he hears his mother scream. A deafening crash echoes throughout the vast space as her chains weigh more with each word spoken out of turn, forcing her to the dirty floor. “A child!”

Titters and jeers swell in the overheated courtroom. Draco shifts his neck against his collar, silent. Much herculean effort has to be made to ensure his legs are still, lest he rushes to his mother’s side and. Well. He doesn’t know if moving without permission also results in the same punishment. It’ll be improper to collapse in defeat before he’s supposed to: after the Dementor’s had its way with him.

He stands there, unable to do all but look at the particularly orange tile four paces from his position.

“Before Draco Malfoy is given the Dementor’s Kiss as punishment for his crimes, relatives and loved ones are now allowed to say their last words to him,” the Wizengamot judge whose name Draco has let slipped out of his mind in a daze says with a bored drawl.

“If Mrs. Malfoy had just waited for this announcement, she wouldn’t be in her… predicament,” he says, his ‘but what can I do?’ attitude spurring the courtroom to snickers. Draco asks himself, for a brief, horrid moment, if Fiendfyre can be called forth without a wand.

After the laughter has died down, the judge says, “Is there a relative or loved one here who has something to tell Draco Malfoy before we proceed?”

The only one in the vicinity is his mother, whose sobs are choked off by heavy chains. His father has fled. Probably died, too, bless him.

The judge doesn’t even let Draco finish taking a breath and continues, “Alright. Draco Malfoy, you—”

“Wait.”

All noises cease, leaving behind the squeaking of trainers against tiles. Draco doesn’t look up even as the sounds get closer to where he stands.

“Mr, Mr. Potter,” the judge stammers, “you are not Mr. Malfoy’s relative nor loved one.”

“We have history. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

Ratty trainers come into Draco’s field of vision. It’s already too late.

“I—yes, that should be enough, Mr. Potter.”

“Thought so.”

Potter’s presence covers up the especially orange tile, and now Draco can look nowhere else but at the many pockets of the man's olive green jacket. Lifting his head remains a horrible idea.

Nothing seems to move, then, even dust particles seem to pause mid-air. From what Draco can deduce, Potter is content to just stare at him for a bit.

“Thanks for helping me out that time,” Potter finally says. Draco doesn’t know what he wants him to say. That night was fucking hell on earth, he could barely remember it with how hard he blocks it out of his head. So what if he didn’t turn Potter in? What does it matter?

Draco stays silent, even as Potter rustles in his innumerable pockets and grumbles when he can’t seem to find what he’s searching for. Before Draco knows it, Potter hums in pleasant surprise.

“I want to give you something,” he says, holding the mystery object out in a closed fist. Draco frowns, tempted to let his face shift into something long-past and glare at the man in front of him. “Come, now, don’t be stubborn.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco reaches for the object, wrists aching from the iron bands, pulsating with heat. To his confusion, Potter covers Draco's hand with both of his. The man is a furnace, his palms possibly even warmer than the iron bands, the sensation sending volatile, feverish streaks of lightning up Draco’s arms. Potter then tucks an item into Draco’s hand, keeping his hands close by as Draco peers at what he is gifted. His eyes widen.

A paper crane.

Potter's left forearm shifts a bit, jostling the jacket sleeve and capturing Draco’s eyes. This can’t be right. Draco glances at Potter’s right arm and the visibly holstered wand that he always carries with him. Back to his left arm, where the head of another wand is but a hint in the shadow. Draco would’ve thought so as well, would’ve thought Potter is being cautious, if not for the instant familiarity striking him like an elbow to the throat.

His head whips up so quickly his neck strains within the collar. Knowing emerald eyes meet his gaze. “Potter, no.”

An eyebrow cocks up. “Did you not say you want to run away?” Potter whispers back. His fingers trail to the edge of Draco’s armbands like they’re trying to sneak under and touch bare skin.

Draco gasps. Nothing makes sense anymore, absolutely nothing at all.

But from the way the court is growing evidently agitated, from the way Potter doesn’t let them bother him one bit, from the way he waits, endlessly patient.

Potter might be the only one able to make sense of anything at all.

Draco leans a hair closer, so his voice is clear to no one but the two of them.

“My mother,” he says, watching Potter’s irises get swallowed up by pure black. “Remember what she did for you, Potter, please. She can’t stay here…”

Potter nods, promising a later date, that they will both get her. And Merlin help him, Draco trusts every word.

A chair tumbles onto the ground. Shouts explode into existence, footsteps thumping. Draco grips Potter’s left forearm as Potter’s wand effortlessly slides out of its holster into a waiting hand. The fizzling heat of hastily casted hexes slices through the air. With his mother’s shout of relief in his ears, Draco succumbs to the squeezing suffocation of Apparition.

#drarrymicrofic #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction #drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #forbidden #paper cranes #aight here we go #i got the idea that perhaps draco is more keen on having #someone who loves him than he thought #so his feelings/magic are poured into these paper cranes #and they are compelled to fly to the person they deem his 'love' #which is *drum roll* harry goddamn potter #at first harry was like erm wtf #a lot of these messages made draco look like a coldhearted douche #but the more he wrote the more it's like a diary to him #so his feelings/confusion/frustration/etc were all there for harry to read #trust he definitely felt a lil something something when draco #started writing 'to my love' before every message #draco is oblivious as hell yk how he is #joonkorre writes

[luxekook]

chapter seven.

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 3.6k

⇥ warnings: 18+, lots of cursing, general chaotic energy, poly relationship, a short confrontation, mentions of slut-shaming, switch!reader, dom!joon, switch!jin, sub!jimin, library shenanigans, an abundance of coffee, punishments, spanking, bad puns (jin is in this chapter, DUH), many nerd references uwu

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

characters | prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

Chapter Seven

Quinn Library – 3:54pm

The end of September passes in a blur of studying, partying, volunteering, and spending time with friends. The month’s conclusion also includes the increasing presence of seven boys in my everyday routine.

Since giving Taehyung the suck of his life in the bathroom of Hannigan’s, I have been basically fighting off the seven of them for a moment to breathe. But, sometimes breathing is overrated when being smothered by affection.

Going from being single to essentially dating seven people is quite the adjustment. I found myself growing attached to them – something that both excited and scared the shit out of me. We haven’t discussed labels or anything, but I figure it’s only a matter of time. The boys have apparently been planning an elaborate first date for this upcoming weekend, and I feel like they’ll probably ask to make it official then.

My stomach erupts in butterflies at the thought, and I take a calming breath. No need to overthink such things.

While it might be unconventional by some societal standards, polyamory is simply a way to love. Why should love come with confines? With binary expectations? The saying ‘love is love’ gets thrown around a lot, but I believe it bears repeating.

Jenni and Luna have been nothing but supportive to me over the past two weeks. They even came with me to volunteer this past weekend because they - and I quote - wanted to ‘check out our vibe’. But, I wholeheartedly expect that the real reason had actually been for them to feel out the boys’ intentions.

Why did I suspect this? Well, because Jungkook had come up to me within the first fifteen minutes at the worksite quivering in fear over how ‘scary my friends were’ and how ‘Jenni had cornered him to interrogate him while Luna hovered behind her, menacingly holding a nail-gun’.

I had never felt more loved and supported by my friends.

My phone dings, and I quickly hasten to put it on silent, shooting an embarrassed and apologetic look around the library. It seems like most people have headphones in, and I let out a sigh of relief. No one wants to be that one loud person in the library.

Checking my notifications, I smile when I see it’s a SnapChat from Hobi in the group chat the boys created a few weeks ago. My thumb swipes it open, and I barely contain myself from announcing to the whole library how vibrantly handsome one of my potential boyfriends is.

I quickly send a SnapChat back of me and my stack of books in the library with the caption ‘send help in the form of coffee’.

Immediately, Taehyung sends a flurry of heart eyes emojis in the chat, Jungkook sends a ‘noona is so cute’, and Yoongi sends back a picture of a black screen with the caption ‘come nap with me’.

God, I would love to nap with Yoongi right now… Alone time with the older boy is so elusively precious. One day last week at their house, I had mentioned wanting to learn piano. Yoongi had just grabbed my hand and tugged me to his room. We had spent a couple hours together in the small corner of his room playing on his keyboard.

Well, he had been playing; I had been fumbling around like a buffoon - half uncoordinated in general and half flustered by how good Yoongi looked playing. His hands had been so nimble as they flew over the keys, crafting melodies I could only assume he had composed. His focus had been so fucking hot as he nodded slightly along to the tempo in his head, his eyes shooting over to look at me every once in a while.

My hand kink? Activated.

My willpower to not kiss the shit out of Yoongi? Nonexistent.

When Yoongi had paused in between songs, I may or may not have grabbed him by his shirt collar and kissed him. His blushing attempt to dodge me had been so cute; and when I had stopped trying to kiss him, he had pouted and then kissed me instead.

What a cutie…

A giggle draws my attention from my reminiscing. At first, I pay it no mind, taking it as a directive to dive back into my studies. But then, the whispering starts.

“I heard she’s fucking her way through the whole house.”

“Isn’t there a term for that?”

“Yeah, a frat rat.”

I slam my 500-page textbook closed and stand, leveling the duo of gossiping girls with a glare that could make grown men cry. It had before when I had to properly eviscerate my uncle in defense of feminism at our last family gathering. What a time that had been.

“Is there a problem?” I force the question through gritted teeth, stalking over towards their nearby table. I relish in the way they gape at me, eyes wide and pupils quivering, “I’m sorry. I’m afraid my complaint jar is at capacity. Please don’t try again later.”

The girl on the right gulps, “No-nope, there’s no problem! We were just leaving. Right, Janika?”

“No,” The girl who had called me a ‘frat rat’ just moments before crosses her arms and stands, “I do, like, have a problem.”

“Janika,” The other girl tugs on the sleeve of the one standing, “Don’t.”

“Yeah, Janika,” I smile, “Don’t.”

I can see the moment she snaps.

“You’re, like, such a fucking bitch! I don’t know what they all see in you. Oh wait, yes I do. You’re fucking easy.”

I consider myself to be a patient person, but having to endure this type of rant against my character - and against women’s sexual freedom in general - has pushed me well past my limits.

“Now, listen here, Janika,” I take another step forward, “You can keep talking your shit. I really don’t give a flying fuck what you think about me. But I really advise you to google ‘how to stop slut-shaming for dummies’ because it seems like you need a crash course.”

Janika’s face darkens, “Whatever. They’ll get tired of you anyway.”

“Yeah,” I let out an amused laugh, “I’m sure they’ll get real tired of me choking on their dicks every night.”

Letting out a gasp, Janika whirls back around to face her silent friend, “Let’s go. I don’t want to, like, be around her any longer.”

“Buh-bye now,”I wiggle my fingers in their direction as they shuffle out of the library.

Smiling in satisfaction, I head back towards my table. Without hesitation, I gather my books and belongings and head upstairs to the quiet floor. Any more distractions or confrontations would probably make my blood pressure pop off the charts.

The quiet floor, as one of my safe havens, is home to several small private study rooms. Peering into each, I start to lose hope that any would be available. Finally, the very last room proves me wrong, and I swing open the door and almost in tears over the sweet, sweet solitude.

This particular study room is tucked away in the very far corner of the library’s second floor. Not many people are aware of its location, and it seems that paid off for me today. Plopping my things down across the table in the center of the tiny room, I follow suit and drop down into one of the two chairs adjoining the table.

What a clusterfuck of an afternoon… This sadly isn’t the first time I’ve heard some comments being made about my association with the BTS boys, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. Yet, part of me knew all along that this would be the trade-off.

After all, what are a few irrelevant opinions to seven gorgeous and loyal partners? Inconsequential - in my opinion. That is the reason why I haven’t breathed a word of the backlash to anyone.

Sighing, I flip open my textbook to where I had been before being rudely interrupted.

The amygdala plays a key role in emotion and behavior…

“Noona?”

I jump a half-mile out of my chair, slapping a hand over my pounding heart. Jimin had somehow managed to enter the room without my knowledge. Had he fucking teleported?

Holding a giant iced coffee in one hand and a cinnamon bun in the other, Jimin beams at me and ignores the fact he just scared the living shit out of me. “Hi, noona! I saw your SnapChat while I was in class, and I came here as soon as I could.”

I stare dumbfounded at the angel before me. Jimin is slightly out of breath with reddened cheeks and a sweaty brow. His black track-pants are slung low on his hips, his long-sleeve white t-shirt clings to his torso, his black duffle bag thrown carelessly over one shoulder. He must have run over straight from dance class.

Standing abruptly, I stalk over to where Jimin is still posted up by the doorway to the study room. Toe to toe with him, I blurt out while still half in a daze, “You really brought me coffee and food?”

He eyes me warily like I might suddenly jump on him at any moment. Shifting his weight back and forth, Jimin hesitantly replies, “Um, yes?"

I take the coffee and cinnamon bun from his hands, place them on the table, and then tackle him with the biggest hug. "You absolute sweetheart!" I murmur into the crook of his neck, "This made my day. Thank you, Jimin-ie."

His hands tentatively wrap around me, pulling me closer. "You're welcome, noona. I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Well, I really appreciate it, baby,” My lips brush over the crevice of his collarbone and relish in his shudder. Bringing my head up to face his, I smile widely at him, “Can I kiss you, Jimin-ie?”

“Yes,” He sighs out, eyes already closing in anticipation. I press my lips to his, still smiling softly against his mouth. His lips are plush under mine, velvety soft. My tongue swipes across his bottom lip and— Is that coffee I taste?

I pull back, “Jimin, did you sip my coffee on your way here?”

The boy looks rightfully alarmed, “I– y-yes. But only a little, noona!”

Cute.

“Hmm,” I trail my fingers down his chest, “I guess I’ll make an exception for you this time since you were the one to bring it for me.”

Jimin relaxes slightly, but his expression is strangely disappointed. I stare at him quizzically, and he blushes.

“What is it?” I lean against the table, facing him.

He clears his throat, staring intensely at the ground, “You can still punish me if you want, (y/n)-noona.”

My eyebrows shoot upwards at his offer, and then I let out a slight chuckle, “Oh, Jimin… That would be a favor to you, wouldn’t it? My baby boy wants to be punished, hm? Did dance practice make you all hot and bothered? Jungkook tells me that has been happening to you lately.”

Jimin’s face explodes in color as he mutters, “That little bitch will pay for this.”

Suddenly, the door swings open with a resounding thud, nearly clipping Jimin in the shoulder.

“Your savior has arrived!” Kim Seokjin announces loudly in spite of the studiously silent atmosphere of the quiet floor. His hands hold two steaming hot travel mugs, which I can only guess are filled with the elixir of the gods (aka coffee).

Seokjin’s eyes glance around the room as he takes in the fact that I’m not alone as he obviously had expected. “Wait, Jimin-ie? What are you doing here?” Jin’s eyes flick down to the coffee and cinnamon roll that lay on the table. “Goddamn it!”

“You were too slow, hyung,” Jimin smirks happily as he takes a seat in the chair I had previously vacated. He slouches smugly as he stares up at the fuming older boy.

“Too slow?!” Jin roars.

“Jin,” I chastise, circumventing around him to shut the door.

“Sorry, babe,” Seokjin says while still glaring daggers at the all-too-pleased Jimin. Suddenly, his expression changes into a sneaky look that makes me both want to run and jump his bones. “Well,” He waves the two coffee mugs around in the air, “I made these myself - with love. I didn’t buy that generic shit; I brewed it, baby.”

It’s Jimin’s turn again to look disgruntled, and I can’t help but laugh at their antics.

“Any and all coffee is appreciated and loved by me – the more the merrier. So, thank you both,” You say, taking one of the travel mugs from Seokjin. Kissing his cheek, you turn back to sit opposite Jimin at the table.

“She kissed me on the lips!” Jimin bursts.

“Park Jimin!” I cry as Jin splutters some sort of incoherent rant about fairness and equality.

Jimin holds eye contact with me, still leaning back in his chair like he’s the king of the fucking universe. But, he’s not; I am.

My chair hits the wall behind me with a bang as I stand, planting my hands on the table to loom over Jimin. “Do you think it’s fun to push your hyung, Jimin? Does it amuse you to be a little shit?”

I can see the moment that Jimin decides to be a brat. His eyes heat up in a challenge, and he firmly answers, “Yes, noona.”

“Get up.” The change in my tone is apparent. Jimin gulps. Getting to his feet, he stares back at me expectantly.

“Jin,” I address the older boy while still maintaining eye contact with Jimin, “What kind of punishment do you think I should give our Jimin here?”

Seokjin rounds my other side, grinning, “Well, (y/n) darling, I believe he should get spanked.”

“Interesting choice,” I murmur, turning to face Jin, “That’s what you’re going to get then.”

“What?” Jin squawks, arms waving rapidly around in the air, “But I didn’t do anything!”

“Nothing is what you should have done, Jin,” I push him against the wall, “You know better than to let Jimin rile you up like this.”

Those plump lips of his pout dramatically as he whines, “But, (y/n)…”

“But nothing,” I say and then whirl around to face the other boy. He’s still standing where I left him with his eyes glued to the pair of us. “Jimin,” I hold his gaze, “You’re going to watch. You’re not going to touch yourself, your hyung isn’t going to touch you, and I’m not going to touch you.”

His eyes widen comically, “No! That’s not fair!”

“Do you want to be gagged, too, baby boy?” I ask, cocking my head slightly. Seeing his emphatic head shakes, I grin. “That’s what I thought. Now, stay.”

Turning back to Jin, I smirk slightly as I ask, “Punishment now or later?”

Seokjin’s eyes scrunch cutely in confusion, “What?”

“You see,” I move closer to him, my body brushes his, “I think you earned a punishment, but I think you also earned helping me punish Jimin.”

A wide grin crosses Jin’s face as he glances back at the corner Jimin is stewing in. “I would be honored to help you punish him, babe.”

“That’s what I figured,” I smile briefly at him before slowly sliding my hands up his chest to rest on the nape of his neck. Holding them there, I press the lightest of kisses to the corner of his lips.

Jin’s breath hitches in his throat.

I run my tongue against the seam of his mouth, taking my time and savoring the sweet taste of him. His lips part to let me in, my tongue sliding across his. I grind against him as we kiss, moving my hips in such a way that makes him groan and lean back harder against the wall.

“What the fuck is going on in here?”

Ripping my mouth from Jin’s, I turn to face the newcomer.

Namjoon stands in the doorway holding yet another cup of coffee, his face thunderous. "What do the three of you think you're doing? This is the goddamn library, you heathens!”

Seokjin jumps out of his skin in fright, pushing me away faster than I can anticipate. Stumbling back, I crash into Jimin – who apparently had ventured out of his assigned corner. Brat.

“The shades were open!” Namjoon continues to rant as he flicks the aforementioned item down to cover the door’s window, “Did you want people to see you?”

He reads the expression on my face correctly, “Oh, but you did, didn’t you, (y/n)?” Namjoon approaches where I’m still captured in Jimin’s embrace. Glaring down at me, he taunts, “So quick to stake your claim; but, make no mistake, they were mine first.”

Shaking out of Jimin’s hold, I straighten, raising my chin to meet Namjoon’s gaze full-on, “That’s interesting. I didn’t realize you were so lenient with your partners.”

Jimin makes a choking noise behind me. Jin stands behind Namjoon, waving a hand in front of his throat to clearly tell me to stop talking. I keep going, “Perhaps I need to teach you how to discipline.”

Namjoon flips me around, shoves Jimin out of the way, and bends me facedown across the table.

“Jin,” He says, his voice growly, “Stand in the hall and let me know if you can hear us.”

The sound of the door opening and closing alerts me that Jin followed Namjoon’s instructions without a word.

“Jimin,” He continues, “Hold (y/n)’s hands out in front of her.” Jimin ascquieces, staring apologetically down at me as he tugs my hands towards him.

“This is cute,” I say, “I always love holding Jimin-ie’s hands.”

Thwack. The stinging imprint of Namjoon’s palm on my ass burns deliciously. I arch my back, looking over my shoulder at him with a half-smile. “Do it harder, daddy.”

A breath sucks in between his lips as I utter the word I know will get him feeling as hot as me. “You’re playing a dangerous game, baby girl,” Namjoon grits out, his jaw clenched tightly.

“Oh, daddy,” I say, “Don’t you remember? I’m the fucking Queen.”

“Was that a chess pun? Nice.” A muffled voice followed by a squeaky laugh sounds through the door.

“Seokjin,” Namjoon seethes, flying over to open the door and drag the older boy back inside, “I thought I told you to let me know if you could hear us.”

I tug out of Jimin’s gentle hold, straighten back up, and then situate myself into a sitting position on the table.

I watch amusedly as Jin shimmies his way out of Joon’s grasp, “Yah! It’s not my fault I get intense FOMO. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. Besides, I only heard you because I had my ear pressed to the door.”

Jimin stifles a giggle. I let out a full-on laugh. Namjoon mumbles what sounds like a plea to some higher power under his breath.

“See what I have to deal with?” Namjoon turns to me, shaking his head. “Are you sure you want to sign up for this?”

“That depends,” I swing my legs back and forth as I stay perched on the table, “Are you going to keep spanking me?”

The boy who had just unhesitatingly bent me over to punish me now blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, probably? You have quite a mouth on you, baby.”

Hopping off the table, I laugh, “Good answer. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Woo!” Jin cheers, “Nice job on the House Points, Joon-ie!”

“I am in love with idiots,” Jimin sighs.

Grabbing my phone from my backpack, I let out a slight yell as I read the time. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” I scramble to shove all of my textbooks back into my bag.

“What is it, noona?” Jimin worries, appearing next to me. “Are you late for class?”

“No,” I cry, “It’s so much worse. I’m late for my weekly Animal Crossing discord chat! Heath is gonna kill me…”

“Heath?” Jin scowls, “Who is this Heath you speak of?”

“Chill, fam,” I shrug my backpack onto my shoulders and stare contemplatively down at the three different coffees. “You can’t get jealous every time I mention a new person. What’s next? You’re gonna come for Tom Nook?”

Namjoon - who must play Animal Crossing - stifles a laugh as Jin pouts. “She has a point, Jin.”

“And so does a pencil. Big whoop,” Jin scowls with his arms folded.

“Aw, Seokjin-ie,” I coo, reaching over to pinch his cheek, “Don’t be mad. You’ll get to spend all day with me on Saturday after volunteering! What are we doing, anyways?” I level Joon with my best side-eye as I ask that question, knowing he is more likely than not the mastermind behind our planned date.

“It’s going to be great, noona!” Jimin pipes up, hugging me from the side, “You’re going to love it…You’re going to love us.” He murmurs the last part, probably not meaning for me to hear; but, I do.

God, I do.

“We’ll pick you up before volunteering,” Joon says, “Just bring yourself and a change of clothes.”

“What?” I decide - fuck it - and attempt to grab all three coffees, “No overnight bag?”

Jin, who had just taken a sip of his own coffee, spews it everywhere. “Pack one,” He gasps out in between coughs.

Laughing, I walk to the door, which Jimin kindly opens for me. “Okay, I’ll think about it. Ah, I’m so late. Jimin and Jin, I’ll punish you at a later time. Joon, you can try to punish me at a later time.” Living for their astonished expressions, I wave as best I can with three coffees in hand, “Bye, babes! Text me-e-e.”

As I make my way out of the library, it hits me that I only have one more day to prepare for this date. Fucking hell…

a/n: this is such a filler of a chap with a tinge of drama mixed in, hehe. the next one is gonna be that date tho uwu stay tuuuuuuned and thanks 4 reading

taglist: @catsandstrawberries @h5naaa @meowmeowyoongles @leftflowerprunedonut @rjsmochii @athletes-of-god @karissassirak @cage7241​ @weallhavesecretsinthebestway @cvbachacbitch @honeyspillings @valiantcollectorofsandwiches @fivesecondsofsarang @oii-f-eli-x2 @joonsroses @theevilyouknow @jooniescupcakes @expensive-grl @i-dont-even-know-fck @doingmybestalltheftime @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh @laced-brds @breeeeh17 @lpayne612 @peachyharmoney @rilakoya @chulchuchi @tabula-rasa0 @guccishookv @nomimits7 @i-like-puppy-mg @s-noir @anna-sorel @im-a-space-child @yeontanismypresident @drowning-in-oxygen @team-wang-puppy @lvvegood @anongirl007 @may114 @r-e-d-i-s-h @unatempesta-dipensieri @dragon-rider-with-a-book​ @blueberrygeniejam @wondrsblog @vi-hoshi @kirbykook​ @katemwatson​ @kawaiikpoplover268​ @amsteramyy​ @sami4life @a-feeling-of-euphoria​ @the-jackals​ @bubbletae7​ @platinum-grenade​ @bunnyboyenthusiast @brightly-byun @oofmeintheheadpls​ @sadboibts @lidda​ @goldenwidow3​ @t-mel19​ @lmkjimin​ @psiphidragon​ @jeon-joker​ @sathom013​ @lustremyg @ggsmashgg​ @justyouraveragerando​ @shadowstark​ @our-little-meow-meow @baby-hobii @toddsgirl27​ @mythicalmeep​ @asifetch7​ @kassandravictoria​ @eltrain80 @briannasthings​ @bumblekey93​ @ohmwreckr @beach-bitch-bitch-beach​ @softchimmee​ @kookoo-kachoo​ @lenuminous​ @ass-hole-in-one​ @peaches-422​ @spacejooon​ @sleepyje0n​ @uxwi​ @tellmeyoulovemepls​ @yady24​ @lovesick-heart0​ @redirect-min​ @hopetookourvibe​ @noonaduck​ @mini-coop25​ @multifandomgirl29​ @rhd31​ @yoongixvevo​ @sweetnspicy93​ @kuppyjiminie​ @love-and-other-possibilities​ @fuckyouandtheboatyoucamein @rvnchr4nd4​ @geminidrawsstuff​ @livorna​ @naajix​ @minjoonhome​

another a/n: if u asked to be added to the taglist and u did not get tagged, u might be one of the couple ppl that i couldn’t tag [check ur settings, fam!]

#bangtanhq #ficswithluv #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #hyunglinenetwork #180knet #kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #bts #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts series #kings of campus

[tattersofthequeen]

Buried Treasure: A Love Story

Inspired by the true, hilarious, story of Pharaoh Tutankhamen. I kind of ran out of steam near the end but WHATEVER I’M TIRED OF LOOKING AT IT.

-----

Alisdair Massom wanted to go home.

The wind whined through the trees bordering the oasis. It smelled of baked stone and desiccated plant matter. The desert wasn't all one kind of landscape, instead ranging from stony hills to pure sand. The ground wasn't as pleasant to sit in as one might suppose: since this wasn't dune country, it was hard as rock beneath a layer of sand, dust, and pebbles.

He scrubbed at his nose with his sleeve, trying to stifle another racking sneeze, and only succeeded in smearing more grime across his face. Everything out here was dusty, from the tents to the people, unless it was flooded. His neck itched abominably where it met the collar of his khakis; he suspected he was starting to get a rash.

On paper, the idea had been thrilling: a month-long trip with Cat, excavating the tomb of a long-dead Egyptian king, had set his imagination on fire. He still remembered sneaking into the Cineplex with her as children and huddling in the dark, her warm hand in his, staring wide-eyed up at the midnight showings of The Mummy's Curse, or Antony and Cleopatra. The glow of the screen had made her face look like an illuminated sky.

He wondered if she knew how many of those trips had just been an excuse to spend time with her, braving his worries that somehow they'd be found out. He wondered if they meant as much to her as they had to him.

The fact that their flight left at an unholy hour of the night, and their assigned seats were three rows apart, ought to have tipped him off that the excursion wouldn't measure up quite as well as he hoped. The fact that he had barely been outside of the same area code, much less the country, should have been another. Still, even after the abundance of forms, the interminable waiting for passport clearance, and the mad scramble for the gate (huffing and puffing under the weight of Cat's luggage), his enthusiasm remained undampened. He'd rested his head against the window of the plane for most of the ten-hour flight, picturing golden idols glittering in the dark, his name in the papers over an unprecedented find, Ca'tra flinging herself into his arms in celebration.

The reality -as he discovered almost from the moment their plane hit the tarmac- was less glamorous.

"Having fun yet, bro?" Archi called, his back set nonchalantly against the trunk of a dead tree. He had to shout a little, to be heard over the clinking of chisels and the calls of the archaeologists gathered in the dig site. Unlike Alisdair, he seemed entirely unbothered by the dirt and the relentless heat, idly juggling a handful of dried dates. Not waiting for the answer, he softballed one at Alisdair's face with a jovial cry of 'catch'.

"Oh, yeah." Alisdair rolled his eyes expansively, and tried to fumble the date into his mouth and not the sand. "Between the bugs and the dirt and the saliva, I don't think I'm ever going to want to go back. How are you not dying of heatstroke?"

Archi rolled his head back with a long belly laugh, slapping his hands against his midsection loudly enough to make the camels shift and grumble in complaint. His grin was a half-moon glow of chemical white against dark, tanned skin. "Oh my god, you should have seen your face, man! I don't think I've ever seen that much spit come out of anything!"

Alisdair folded his arms huffily across his midsection, his face warming as he hunched his shoulders. "It's funny when you're not the one who spent all night cleaning mucus out of your hair," he muttered, and cast a baleful eye at the offending camel. It chewed placidly on the missing lower third of his sleeve, and stared unblinkingly back, daring him to provoke a rematch. The blond's frown deepened, and he shuffled another cautious step toward the dig. Just to be safe.

"Have you seen Cat at all?" he asked. Other than shifting the topic away from his recent humiliation, he'd barely seen her at all since they arrived. It seemed like they'd only just gotten through customs before Tenax- before Professor Almaizan had smarmed his way in ahead of him, and chivvied off his 'field assistant' to discuss the itinerary for their trip.

No matter where he turned, it seemed, their chaperone was always there, watching him intently with sharp amber-gold eyes and full lips quirked in what the younger man was sure was contempt. He could barely get a bloody word in edgewise with her, much less an invitation to sit with her at dinner, or maybe to hold her hand- to help her across the street, of course; God knew what these people spent their money on but it clearly wasn't city upkeep. Any time he'd tried to steal his way up to the second floor of the hotel, where the girls were rooming, Tenax had blocked the way with an unctuous smile and a long, elegant, firmly barring leg. "Terms of the contract," Alisdair's ass.

Worse, all she ever seemed to talk about anymore was how excited she was to be working with the creepy old foreign professor, and how much help he'd been with her thesis. She barely even glanced at the blond youth when he'd squawked in pain at the temperature of the Turkish coffee- much less listened to his concerns.

Alisdair kicked at the sand, his lips pursing at the memory. It simply wasn't fair.

Archi shrugged, pulling his attention back to the present as he nodded across the base camp to the foot of the tomb. "Hasn't come out since they started, I guess." He cast a long, sly glance at Alisdair's dissatisfied fidgeting, freeing a tattooed hand to smooth his beard back into shape. "I mean, she's probably having the time of her life, right? Did you know she licks the rocks she digs up?"

"She does not!" Alisdair gasped, scandalized, his eyes wide. He gave the sand pile another kick, for good measure, sending an industrious dung beetle scuttling for cover.

"Oh yeah, bro, she totally does. Rocks. Bones. AND all those little brushes. She just sticks 'em in her mouth." Hand raised, fingers together, Archi moved his chin up and down behind his hand in a slow, wicked nod. "I've seen her do it. Go check if you don't believe me. Bet she's already licked your old man's shaving whisk."

Alisdair thought about the possibility for a moment, toeing at the sand. There was something under there, he thought, shifting under his boot. He hoped it wasn't a scorpion. "Man," he said at last, "it doesn't even matter if she did. It's not like he ever uses it." Despite the gentle nudges he and his mother had given, the senior Kallus' facial topiary continued to grow, and the expensive father's day gift gathered dust in the bathroom cabinet.

"God." Archi's face scrunched like one of the dates he was juggling. "Do you think he's got.... you know, a second sideburn growing on his chest or something? Just.... taking everything over?"

"Oh," Alisdair shuddered, wishing -not for the first time- that his parents had elected to install a second bathroom. "He does, actually. It's a whole thatch. Thanks so much for reminding me."

A date rebounded off his shoulder as Archi missed his toss with a look of horrified glee.  "Bro, are you fucking serious? Are there pictures?!" His grin widened until it threatened to eclipse his face, visions of blackmail dancing in his head.

Alisdair rolled his eyes, stooping to retrieve the fruit. It wasn't a conscious decision: years of hearing his mother's vendetta against litter had him moving almost mechanically. He wasn't even sure where to throw it once he had it; it wasn't as if an Egyptian desert had compostables bins lying around. His fingers closed around the date, and brushed against the object he'd felt before, just under the sand.

On a whim, he worked his fingers deeper into the debris. It was hard, flat, and rigid: definitely not a scorpion. It didn't feel like much of anything he recognized.

For a moment -just for a moment- the embers of his fantasy caught light again. He saw himself pulling a jewel-studded length of belt free from the sand, or an ancient scroll containing a map to forgotten treasure. He imagined Cat's eyes widening at the sight of it, her mouth falling open in astonished wonder at his luck and talent, apologizing profusely for not having seen how valuable an addition he was to the team. Yes, that would do nicely.

Rocking back on his heels, he opened his hand, dusting away the last of the grit to discover-

"Izzat a piece of beef jerky?"

Archi leaned over Alisdair's shoulder, squinting down at the object. It was not a Pharaoh's belt. It was not a scroll case, either. Instead, he was holding a coal black, withered stick the length of his hand. His nose crinkled in disappointment and revulsion, hand dropping dejectedly to his side. He nearly dropped the thing into the sand before Archi plucked it away from him, bringing it up to his nose like he might an expensive Cuban cigar.

"Blech! It smells like my Uncle Rau's attic!" His friend jerked his head back, expression curdling, and leaned close to shove the object near Alisdair's face. "I mean, I'd still eat it, though. Bet me twenty bucks?"

"Archi, I don't want your-" Alisdair had only just managed to get his feet underneath him before his nostrils were assaulted by something both acrid and faintly herbal. He retched, slapping his hands over his nose, then retched again as he realized the smell was clinging to his palms. "Oh, god, that's VILE!"

"I know, right?! About that bet...."

Alisdair swiped the jerky from his hand, dropping it into a pocket of his khakis, not so much because he actually wanted the disgusting thing anywhere near him as wanting to keep his friend from following through on the threat. "I'm going to go find Cat before you find anything else to shove into your mouth."

Turning sharply on his heel, ignoring Archi's braying laughter, he lengthened his stride across the hard-packed earth toward the dig. He tried to think of Cat's bright blue eyes, her dark curls flecked with glittering dust, and not early memories of his father or the possibility that Archi's little sister had graduated from licking rocks to sampling the shaving cream.

At one point -back when it was first built, Alisdair supposed- the tomb must have been truly magnificent. Sandstone pillars lined the front entrance, still standing firm despite their age, each section painstakingly hand-shaped and still sporting the chisel marks of the artisans who'd sculpted them.

Cat had tried explaining, over the groaning of the camels, the particular types of pigments that would have once decorated them- but he'd been too focused on keeping the constant sway of the animal beneath him from upsetting the contents of his stomach to listen. Now they were the color of dust, the same as everything else in this wasteland.

Most of the structure was still intact, but the section Professor Almaizan had them working in had been dug out in the past year. The pillars near the opening listed slightly, either displaced during the previous excavations or by age.  It made them resemble the bones of some ancient, long dead beast, or the nave of a ruined church, open to the moon. Here and there, colored thread was strung out in careful grids, marking off grids for the researchers to work. Near the northern corner, he could just about glimpse the lean figure of Professor Tenax Almaizan as he inspected their work, his dark shalwar kameez billowing in the hot, dry wind.

Steps had been carved into the excavated stone, or cobbled together from what wood they'd managed to cut, leading down into the guts of the structure perhaps some twenty (steep, gritty) feet. If there was any consolation, he supposed, it was that at least there was shade below the first level. Sweat cooled on his forehead as he passed out of the scorching midmorning sun. The shade smelled of hot bricks and chalk dust.

Steadying himself against the wall with a hand, he tried to picture what it would be like to be the first person to set foot in the burial chamber: torchlight glittering off ancient golden idols, gems the size of his hand, his archaeologist companion pressed close for protection as the withered old pharaoh began to stir-

A hand clamped down on his ankle.

Alisdair's undignified squawk echoed from the walls as gravel crunched under his feet, boots skidding on sand. The attempt to correct his balance, far from serving its intended purpose, nearly sent him over the edge and into the excavation pit. Hands flailing, he grabbed for the scaffolding and dug his heels in, a flush of embarrassment and adrenaline flooding his already heat-blotched face. "Ca'tra," he gasped, voice several octaves higher than he'd intended. "Don't grab me like that!"

Ca'tra Akaata (graduate student, aspiring archaeologist, current leading cause of premature heart attacks) was exactly where Archi had said she'd be: sat in the dirt, having the time of her life. One leg braced beneath her, she stretched the other out as far as it would go, marking her place with her toes as she arched up to grin at him. "Hi, Alisdair! Don't come down, I'm still finishing this section." Her voice was oddly muffled.

Lips twisted into a pout at her clear and total lack of remorse, Alisdair ignored her admonition, edging down the last set of steps- though, as a concession, he was careful to avoid the dig points marked out around her.

As she came into clearer focus, he realized her brother had been correct on another point: The horsehair shaving brush WAS in her mouth. Lengthwise, to be specific, teeth clamped firmly on the mahogany handle. He suppressed a wince at a fleeting image of his father, mouth downturned in a perplexed grimace as he loudly asked where the indentations had come from. Turning her head, she casually spat it into her hand, wiped it clean on a corner of her brightly patterned head scarf, and set it back down in the toolkit. "If you step on anything," she warned, "I won't be held responsible for what the Professor does to you."

Tossing his hair, Alisdair let out what he hoped was a sufficiently dismissive snort. "Oh, what do I care what that musty old pedant says? I was just making sure you didn't need to be rescued from traps or flesh-eating scarabs." Cat blinked at him for a second in mute astonishment, then threw back her head and laughed, dimples forming at the corners of her mouth. The movement revealed a stray, coal-black curl escaping the confines of her hijab. His hand twitched, resisting the urge to tuck it back into place.

"Scarabs don't eat people, Alisdair," she said, once her ebullience had faded enough to talk. "That's just the movies." Her teeth flashed, lower lip pinned in concentration as she picked dirt from a tiny clay figurine. "Then again, they might make an exception for you. Skittering around in the dark, hankering for your succulent flesh." She wiggled her fingers at him. "Skitter skitter."

Alisdair swallowed, hard, and stood up on his toes, shuffling a little further away from the nearby hole in the wall. Not that he believed her teasing, of course, just that he had heard that. Snakes. Liked to hide in holes in the wall. That was it. Just to be safe.

"You are so mean," he huffed. "At least tell me you found old Pharaoh What's His Nuts so we can go back to the hotel and celebrate."

The young archaeologist hummed, gently blowing the last of the dirt free of her figurine, and glanced up at Alisdair with arched brows. "I hate to disappoint you, but old Pharaoh What's His Nuts was excavated years ago, as I told you repeatedly on the way over.” She paused, and hummed thoughtfully, in the back of her throat. “Most of him, anyway."

"What?!" Alisdair gaped down at her. His knees sagged, back dragging over the rough stone as he dropped into an undignified squat at the edge of her workspace. "But I- but you said-" The champagne and press conferences he'd envisioned evaporated like a heat mirage, leaving him suddenly very aware of how hot and dusty and tired he was. "I thought you said this was exclusive!"

Cat rocked back on her heels, resting her forearms on her knees, and gave him a look that might have been pity. "It is exclusive, Alisdair. This is one of the most important digs of the decade. It's a miracle it hasn't been stripped completely bare by looters, or other archaeological teams. It's an amazing opportunity to get hands on experience in the field. I don't know how the Professor pulled it off."

"I think I've had quite enough experience in the field for one lifetime, thank you. I honestly don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't scorpions, or heat rashes, or all this sand. I don't like sand, Ca'tra."

Cat put the toothbrush back down with rather more force than was strictly necessary. "It's a desert, Alisdair. It's going to have sand. If you weren't prepared for some rough conditions, you could have just stayed at the hotel."

"I wanted to come with you!" Alisdair's voice rose, threatening to become a whine. "I know Professor Musty thinks I'm just a glorified pack mule, but I didn't think you agreed with him."

She sighed, expansively, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "I know you don't like him, but he's really taking a chance with me on this expedition. It's not my fault someone got here before us."

Alisdair knew he couldn't really argue with her reasoning, but it didn't quell the bitter disappointment pooling in his gut.  It threatened to rise into his throat and choke him. He stared down at the toes of his boots, hands fisting at his sides, and tried to convince himself the stinging in his eyes was just from heat.

"Oh, your professor's so great all right," he snapped. "He's so great that you've been ignoring me this entire trip and dragged me out here where there are scorpions and snakes and heatstroke and spit, and you and your professor'll go on to become rich and famous, and I'll probably die from the curse and all I found out here was a piece of ancient beef jerky!" Without thinking, he plunged his hand into his pocket, flinging the leather down in the midst of her carefully plotted workspace.

Cat's face flushed with anger, her eyes seeming even more intensely blue against the darkening of her cheeks. Snatching the object from among her grid stakes, she pulled her arm back, clearly intending to hurl it right back at him.

Then, abruptly, she stopped dead. Her arm was still poised, fist wrapped around the leather in preparation to send it back in his face. Slowly, she lowered her hand, staring down at the stick in utter bewilderment. "Beef jerky?" she repeated. Before he could stop her, she raised her hand to her face. He had a nightmarish vision then, of her tongue flicking out, flicking out to taste-

"CAT, NO!" He lunged at her, nearly ploughing into her dig, feet skidding as she shot him a murderous look. He teetered at the edge of the colored twine as she brought her hand up to her face again, sniffing once, and then again, more deeply. The flush faded from her cheeks as her eyes went wide.

"Alisdair," Cat said, her tone slow and deliberate. "Where did you find this?"

His brow furrowed in confusion as she held it out to him. "Lying in the sand, who cares, Cat, it's just a piece of jerky. I was going to throw it away."

"Alisdair." Her expression sharp, she leaned forward across her workspace to lock eyes with him. Her hair had slipped even further from the hijab, shading her eyebrow; he took the jerky from her in bewilderment. "Where EXACTLY. Did you find this."

"The entrance to the tomb, I guess?" Alisdair glanced down at the sad piece of leather and wrinkled his nose in renewed disappointment. "It’s hardly the royal jewels, isn’t it?"

But Ca'tra was looking at him now with an expression of astonishment that didn't look like it was born out of mockery, eyes flicking back and forth at some internal dialogue. "No," she breathed, the hints of a smile beginning to grow on her face. "It's so easy. Oh, my god, that's so stupid, I don't believe it."

"Cat?" Alisdair eyed her, warily, his hand still poised in front of herself. He nearly jumped as she lurched to her feet, crossing the dig in one long bound and reached out to grab his shoulders. Silently, she shook him, her face breaking into a grin to rival Archi's. It scared him more than her anger had. "What are you talking about?"

Cat shook Alisdair again, and grabbed his wrist in excitement, her expression very nearly gleeful. "It's been a mystery for years, Alisdair, ever since the Pharaoh was moved from the burial chamber. All those theories! And it was right here the entire time, I could kiss you!"

Alisdair felt his face heat, his anger and frustration leaving him in a rush. His palms prickled as she threw her arms around his shoulders, almost knocking the jerky from his hand. "Oh, well. Um. You're welcome," he mumbled. "What... um. What is it, then?"

"I said they found most of Pharaoh Khem-Adas. Most of him." Cat pulled back, holding him at arm's length, her eyes twinkling. "You said it yourself, Alisdair. The royal jewels! The royal jewels of Old Pharaoh What's His Nuts!" An hysterical laugh bubbled in the back of her throat. "The embalming, the composition, its size- stay right here, I'm going to go find the professor!"

For an instant, still suffused in rosy warmth as he was, the words failed to sink in. Repeating them back to himself, however, Alisdair felt a trickle of dread coil up his spine. He stared down at the mummified leather in his hand, small and roundish and not altogether unlike the treats he sometimes gave Mrs. Almaizan's pomeranian.

Treats that were made of.... of....

"Cat!" His voice cracked slightly, as his flush was replaced with a sickly greenish pallor. He could feel bile rising in his throat. "Are you saying this is.... that I'm holding a-"

“Don’t worry, Alisdair!” She grinned at him, wide and wild, pausing with her hand on the scaffolding. “I’ll make sure you get your picture in the papers! PROFESSOR ALMAIZAN, GET THE CAMERA!"

For such a small woman, Cat's voice echoed across the tomb- across the entire base camp as her feet pounded up the rest of the steps to the upper levels. As his vision began to tunnel, Alisdair thought they could probably hear her all the way back in Cairo.

"ALISDAIR FOUND PHARAOH KHEM-ADAS' MISSING PENIS!”

#metro writes #not nano 2020 #character: Alisdair Massom #character: Ca'tra #character: Archi Akaata #their banter is so much fun to write

[connordavidscamera]

Love Notes | Connor Brashier

A/n: I would like to thank the person in the dorm next to me for inspiring this meet cute situation. *there might be a part 2 or a blurb to follow this because there is a specific part that isn’t in here that I promised Rina.

Summary: someone on your floor has been playing piano and you can’t not love it. (college!AU)

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.5k

***

It’s been one of those days. You know the one where you’re awake, you’re alive, but you can’t seem to focus on anything. You’re going through the motions, but you can’t sit still, can’t pay attention in your lecture, can’t get yourself to work on a homework assignment for more than five whole minutes. Yeah, it’s one of those. I’ve been alternating between scrolling through my phone and working on this five page essay that’s due Friday that I currently only have an introduction for. Well… if you consider two sentences an introduction. My professor definitely would not. 

I sigh and toss my phone on my bed, where it bounces and lands on the floor with a loud thud. I groan and run my hands over my face, maybe I just need caffeine. However, getting said caffeine would mean walking all the way across campus for a $5 cup from Starbucks that definitely would not keep me awake without a few extra espresso shots. It’s not worth it. But then again, maybe the walk outside would do me good. (Not that it did this morning when I was walking to class.) 

I’m grabbing my shoes from my closet when the first note fills the room. And then the second and the third. At first, I think I’m imagining it, maybe it’s coming from my computer, but then I remember that I didn’t have music on. The notes get faster, louder, almost more aggressive, like the person playing them is pushing harder on the keys. But it still sounds so pretty - I might be a little biased though because I’ve always been a sucker for piano. I’ve always wanted to learn how to play too, but I never had the chance to take classes.I stand there for a while, just listening. It’s so pretty, soothing. 

It takes me a minute too long to figure out what the song is, because every time I think I have it, I’m wrong. But it’s a popular song. Not new though. At least a few years old. One that was played on every radio station for months and months. Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran, I finally decide. And that’s when the melody comes to me and I find myself humming along to it. And that’s when I realize that I’ve finally focused on something for more than a second. 

The notes continue to fill the room as I look over at my abandoned paper. Their fingers on the keys though, are slowing down just as I sit in my chair, convinced that if they just keep playing a little bit longer, I can get through maybe half of this essay. And much to my delight, they do keep playing once they finish the other song. It stops for just a moment though, probably to think of another one to play. This one I don’t recognize at all, but it’s soothing and while they continue to heat each beautiful, melodic note, I type away at my computer. 

My two sentences quickly become ten, then fifteen, then twenty, then thirty and I’m on a roll. Before I know it, I’m working my way down my third page and the playing still hasn’t stopped. To anyone else this is probably the most annoying thing to hear, because who in their right mind would be playing the piano for, I glance at my clock, an hour and fifteen minutes straight? And I definitely don’t have an answer. At least not right now. But I’m gonna find one. I close my laptop and shove my feet in the shoes I had taken out of my closet earlier. I don’t close my door completely when I step out of my room, knowing that I’ll go back in just as soon as I find the source of the notes. They get louder as I make my way down the hallway. I stop in front of the door where I’m 99.9% sure the music is coming from. Room 1327. 

Cautiously, I press my ear against the door and am once again met with the aggressive taps on the keyboard. I take in a deep breath and nod before heading quickly back to my room. I grab a stack of sticky notes from my desk and a sharpie. I scribble out a few words and then rush back out to the room. Half of me says not to do this. To leave it alone. But the other half of me says that whoever lives behind that door needs to be told that they play beautifully. Which is exactly what the note you stick on their door says. Just three simple words and a smiley face.

‘You play beautifully. :)’

And with that I go back to your room to grab my bag and keys, now in desperate need of that caffeine I was craving only an hour ago. I lock the door behind me and head to the main exit, opposite of what is going to easily become my favorite room, if they continue to play like they are now. I open the door to the closing notes of “The Scientist.”

When I come back, much later than I anticipated (but I guess that’s what happens when you go to the only open Starbucks on campus at eight at night, with an abundance of due dates fast approaching.) my eyes are threatening to close on me - despite the two extra espresso shots I added to my order. I don’t notice it until I’m at my door, key in the lock, that the music hasn’t stopped. And being the oh-so nosy person I am, I make my way down to the magical room 1327 and notice my note is missing. I smile softly and I hope - selfishly - that they play just long enough for me to fall asleep. 

I trudge back into my room and the first thing I notice is all the lights are on, which means my roommate, Tara, is back. She’s not a huge fan of the dark when alone, always keeping at least two of the lights on when I’m not in the room. She’s laying on her side, with her phone in her hand and her earphones in. I move farther into the room, turning off the bathroom light on my way to my desk. I set my bag on my chair and toss my keys on the smooth, although kinda crowded, desktop. She sits up, pulling her earphones out. “Hey.”

“Hey, sorry I’m back so late. Starbucks was packed. And then I ran into one of my friends and we got a bite to eat.”

“It’s okay. Do you hear that?” She asks quickly.

“Hear what?”

“The piano. Do you hear it?”

“Oh that? Yeah, they were playing before I left.”

“Yeah, well they’ve been playing for almost two hours now. Nonstop. It’s driving me crazy.”

I shrug and reach for a fresh pair of pajamas, “I don’t know. I think it sounds nice. I’m gonna go shower.” 

I don’t hear the music in the bathroom, but that’s definitely because I’m playing my own, needing something that could wake me up just enough for me to get through my shower without passing out from complete exhaustion. I’m disappointed to find that the notes are no longer filling the room when I get out of the bathroom. It’s strange, but I already kinda miss them.

---

Mystery piano person continues to play for the next week, sometimes repeating songs from the day before, but mostly playing new ones. I wonder if they knew these all previously or if they’re just learning as they go. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, but that could just depend on the difficulty of the song, I guess. I tug on the sleeves of my jacket, pulling it off my shoulders before going to my desk to write another note for the piano person. 

‘Still beautiful. But aren’t you scared your fingers will fall off with all that tapping? Lol :)’

I leave the room to put the note on their door when I notice one already there. I scrunch up my face. The one I left yesterday was already gone by the time I got back to the dorm last night, and it was written on an obnoxiously bright pink sticky note. This one, however, is blue. I don’t want to be nosy, but I can’t help but read it when I go to place mine. 

‘Thanks for the notes. Glad you like it. Have a favorite so far?’

I stare at the writing for a while, it’s scribbly, and small (half of the sticky note is left untouched), but legible enough. It’s  Part of me thinks I shouldn’t reply. Because if it’s not for me then that would be totally awkward. But if it is, it would be rude not to answer, right? I scurry back to my room to get a pen. I’ll answer, I decide. There’s no reason not to. 

‘Yellow - Coldplay’

The music stops on the other side and I quickly run back to my room, not wanting to get caught. Because sure this isn’t wrong or anything, but some part of it feels… intrusive. I hear the door opening just as I’m shutting mine and I so desperately want to peek out and see who mystery piano person is, but that would give me away as well. And even though we live on the same floor, I’ve hardly met anyone that wasn’t Tara and a few girls that lived down the hall, and I’m not quite ready for that yet. 

---

It goes on like this for another two weeks, passing notes back and forth. Him asking for feedback - I usually have none. He thinks I’m lying, says there’s always room for improvement. I tell him that since I don’t have a background in music, I have no room to judge. He asks if he can teach me. I tell him maybe someday. 

‘Okay Yellow, we’ve been at this for weeks. You gonna tell me your name yet?’

I smile at the nickname. 

‘Not today, piano man. Soon.’

‘Fine. But you know my room number. Can I have that at least?’

I think it over. It seems only fair that he knows that.

‘1320.’

The note is not on his door the next day. It’s on mine. But I don’t respond to this one. I don’t have time. 

And when I get back to my room later in the evening, the note was still there, untouched, unanswered. And even though I wanted to, I didn’t have the energy to respond. I was spent. It was one of the rougher days. One thing just piling on top of the other until it’s like that one chair that has all your clothes on it that’s not necessarily dirty, but you wore it for a few hours so it’s not clean enough to hang back up. You know the chair that becomes the biggest fucking inconvenience when you need to work at your desk so you have to throw all the clothes on your bed only to throw it back on the chair when you want to lay down. 

Yeah, my day was pretty much that chair. I woke up late thanks to my alarm that just didn’t go off? So I was running really late, and I had to sprint to my first class, and I was still late. Then when I went to get coffee, the line was long, and when I finally got my drink I had a total of two sips before someone bumped into me and I dropped the cup on the ground outside the building of my next class. Then there was a pop quiz in said class that I’m quite sure I failed because I don’t think our professor had even covered half of what was on that test. Then my phone died and in my rush to get to class, I left my charger in the dorm. And the cherry on top of this already melting sundae, I locked myself out of my room. I swore I had it when I was leaving, but as I retrace my steps, I remember leaving it right there on the bathroom counter. And it’s just my luck that Tara won’t be back until after midnight tonight because she’s closing at work. I let out a loud groan and take a seat across from my door, legs crossed in front of me. 

I know I should work on my homework that’s due at the end of the week (in literally just two days, actually) but my computer is on the verge of dying too, so there’s no point. I pull out the book I’ve had stuffed in my bag for days, in hopes of finding some time to read it. I guess with nothing to do for the next four and a half hours, I could read. 

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting there, but I notice about ninety pages in that the familiar sound of piano man is not filling my ears. 

“Locked out?” Someone says, the first one that I’ve seen come down the hallway since I’ve been here actually. I knew this floor was pretty dead, but I didn’t ever notice that it was this dead. 

I chuckle bitterly, “Yeah. Just a little bit.”

“Is your roommate on their way?” 

I shake my head, “No, she won’t be back until late.”

“Did you call the RA on duty?”

I hold up my phone which rested beside me - habit, I guess, to take it out of my back pocket in case I get notifications, “Phone’s dead.”

“You can use mine, if you’d like.”

I shake my head, “No, it’s okay. Thank you.”

“Well, it’s cold out here. Why don’t you come to my room? You can charge your phone and get off this dusty floor that I don’t think has been cleaned since we got back from break,” he says light-heartedly. 

I can’t help but laugh, “You have a point there. Okay… sure. But I have to ask you something first.”

“Shoot,” he holds his hand out to help me off the ground.

“What’s your name?”

He looks down with an embarrassed smile on his face. “I’m Connor. And you are…?”

“Y/n.”

“Well, y/n. It’s nice to meet you. Uh, my room’s this way.” He takes the lead and I sling my bag over my shoulder. I think my heart stops when we get to his room. Room 1327. Fuck. 

He frowns for a second, looking from his door to mine just once before opening the door. “After you,” he pushes the door open and I smile sheepishly before entering. Sure enough, there’s a keyboard against the far wall, where the window overlooks campus. The odd number rooms definitely got the better views. I stand awkwardly near the wall, allowing him to walk through and set his stuff down. 

“You can sit down. Let me just, move some of this stuff real quick,” he takes his towel off his desk chair and takes his shoes from under the desk, throwing them carelessly to the corner. “Sorry, it’s a little bit messy. It’s laundry day tomorrow, so there’s shit everywhere. Please, sit.” He gestures to the chair and I do, setting my bag down next to me, leaning against one of the legs of the desk. “Do you want something to drink? I have water and… no that’s about it. I need to go grocery shopping, too.” He laughs. 

“Thanks, Connor. But I’m fine.” 

“Okay,” he nods, sitting down at the stool in front of the keyboard. “Oh! Charger,” he stands up and goes over to his nightstand. “May I?” he holds his hand out and I nod, handing him my phone from my back pocket. “Sorry, I’d plug it in over there, but that outlet is fucked. Hasn’t worked since I moved in here.”

“No, it’s fine, really.”

Slowly he makes his way back to the keyboard, facing me, away from the setting sun. I spare a glance behind him and notice the bright pink sticky notes that rest on the wall beside the window. They’re my notes, every single one of them. I clear my throat. “Um, I’m assuming you’re the one who’s been playing the past few weeks.”

He cringes, “Yeah, sorry about that. It’s just how I’ve been destressing recently. It’s probably been getting on everyone’s nerves.”

“Not everyone’s… you play beautifully.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second, and then clears his throat, looking down at his feet. “Uh, thanks.”

“How long have you been playing?”

“It’s actually a pretty recent hobby. My friend started teaching me like last March, I think. And then I started watching a lot of videos on YouTube and I got pretty good at it, I guess. I mean, I won’t be selling out any arenas or anything like that.”

I laugh softly, “Well, I would definitely buy a ticket.”

I swear I see his cheeks tint pink, “Do you play?” He asks, avoiding the compliment. 

“No,” I shake my head. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I’m pretty sure I don’t have a musical bone in my body.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Oh it is. I uh, I auditioned for my school musical in like fifth grade. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone cover their ears so quickly.” I laugh and his eyes crinkle at the sides as he tries his hardest not to. “It was definitely not one of my shining moments. Yeah, I told myself that day not to even think about starting a career in music.”

“Were you singing?”

I nod. 

“Okay, well singing isn’t playing. And if you ask me, the notes, the chords, that’s what makes the music, not the words. Although those are important too.”

“Can you sing?”

“My shower head hasn’t told me to stop yet.” he jokes. And when I laugh, genuinely this time, he just watches me for a minute. “So you like yellow,” he says, turning to face the keyboard.

“I’m sorry?”

“The song. You said it was your favorite one that I’ve played.”

I sigh, “What gave me away?”

“‘You play beautifully.’”

“Well, it’s true. However, my preference did change since you last asked me. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you now play yellow at least twice every day.”

He’s really blushing now. “Gotta keep the audience happy.” His fingers press gently over the keys not settling on a melody yet. “What’s your new favorite then?”

“You played ‘happier’’ the other day. I’ve never heard it on piano like that. I really liked it.”

He nods and starts playing the opening notes to it. “Now, I told you I wasn’t a singer,” he looks back at me, “but I’ll try it just for my biggest fan.”

I roll my eyes, “Oh shut up.”

“‘When the morning comes and we see what we’ve become, in the cold light oh na na na na na na na na…’ definitely don’t know those words.” He smiles and I think my heart melts at the sight. “‘Every argument, every word we can’t take back. Cause with all that has happened, I think that we both know the way that this story ends.’”

He continues through the song, but doesn’t continue singing after the first chorus. I’m sitting here, watching his fingers dance across the keys like they were made for it. He moves his body with each note and I am absolutely mesmerized. I know I’ve always loved piano, but watching him do this makes me love it even more.

“God, you’re perfect.” I mutter when he’s done and immediately cover my mouth because holy fuck, I said that out loud. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say perfect.” He turns back to face me. “You’d have to get to know me more before you could make that assumption. And I can guarantee that you will not feel the same way after.”

I shake my head, covering my face with my hands. “I’m sorry. I really did not mean to say that out loud.”

“It’s cool,” he waves it off. “Although, I wasn’t kidding about getting to know me. Because I’d love to get to know you.”

I clear my throat, removing my hands from my face. “Well, I’m free right now,” I say, crossing one leg over the other, this newfound confidence foreign to me. 

“Can I take you to dinner? Or to get coffee, if you’ve already eaten.”

“Right now?”

“Why not? You said you’re free, right?”

I nod, “Yeah. Yeah.”

“Okay, then it’s a date.”

“A date?” I question with a raised eyebrow.

“First dates are usually meant to get to know each other, aren’t they? And hopefully this isn’t too forward. But I think I have an idea for our second one too.”

“Oh you do? Well someone’s optimistic.”

“Only when it counts. So, may I?”

“May you what?”

“May I, Connor,” he stands from his seat and holds his hand out to me, “take you, y/n, on a date? Right now?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, “Yeah,” I finally say, placing my hand in his, “Yes, you may.” He pulls me to my feet and we’re so close. He smells nice, clean, with just the slightest hint of cologne that I can’t quite place. But I know it’s easily becoming my favorite scent already. 

***

I hope you enjoyed reading!! Like, reblog and leave feedback!! Permanent tag: @soyalimoncada-blog @tinycertain @magcon7280 @daisyangei @devilmendes @babybrash @fallinallincurls @lovewithanattitude @sinceweremutual @myyohmyuohmyy @perfectly-mendess @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @baroness-alison @lostinmendess @linanilssonfurberg @luvluvxx @mariamuses @shawnieeboyy @divinginfearlessly @mendesficsxbombay @shawnsthighs @shawns-badreputation

* bold wouldn’t let me tag

** if you want to be added or removed from any list (permanent, Shawn, Connor, or We Were Us just let me know

#connor brashier #connor brashier imagines #connor brashier x y/n #connor brashier x reader #connor brashier imagine #connor brashier fanfiction #connor brashier blurb

[buckys-forgotten-plum]

I prefer Bucky, Doll ||3||

Read Part 2 Here

Prompt:  James Buchanan Barnes has been coming to your weekend market table for a while now and finally has something to ask.

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Steven Rogers being an idiot, Y/n also being and idiot, a very sad and very soft James Barnes. 

wowzers a part three. At this rate I might have to actually become a regular writer and not be a lazy pos. 

Please, Like, Follow, Reblog, Comment, Sing, Dance, whatever you wanna do! 

Have a nice day guys and enjoy reading :)

                                                                 ~

“James you look so handsome in your uniform,” you compliment happily to the man standing in front of you.

James had just arrived to take you and Steve to his send off. It was a sad day but you still made sure to wear your prettiest dress and bake a dozen of your famous snicker doodle cookies for him. 

“Thanks doll, you look lovely as usual.” Bucky blushes and looks down at the small bouquet of flowers clutched in his hands. He was a bit embarrassed about his gift choice. why would I get flowers for a girl who sells them for a living. 

“Are you giving those to Stevie?” you joke and motion towards the pretty bundle of flowers that Bucky seemed to be holding on to for dear life. You couldn’t be too mad though, your grip on that poor bag of cookies was just as tight. 

Bucky let out a quiet laugh, handing over the flowers with a sheepish grin, “Sorry doll, can’t say I ain’t nervous or anything,” 

A soft breath of air leaves your lips, “I know, James. It’s going to feel a bit... Lonely, here. Especially at work,” You finish the sentiment with a tight smile. 

James doesn’t respond, only smiles back and takes your hand in his. 

________________________________________________________________

The send off was filled with tears and mothers yelling for their sons safe return. You don’t remember if Steve cried, too busy focusing on your own tears that clouded your vision. You remember Bucky’s mother holding onto him for almost up until he boarded the giant, dark grey ship. You remembered Becca sobbing loudly next to Steve. You remember the way, after his mother letting him go, how he held you. It was tight and all consuming around your smaller frame, his right hand tangled deep into your hair as his left arm wrapped around your waist and his hand was latched to your hip. You remembered how he breathed deeply, shushed you quietly as your violent tears soaked the shoulder of his forest green jacket.

“Don’t cry sweetheart, I promise everything will be fine,” Bucky mumbles into your hair. 

“You can’t promise that James. That’s not fair,” Your voice is scratchy as you cry out a reply. 

“You’re right, honey. But please promise me something? Promise that you’ll look after Steve for me, yeah?” He pulls away just a bit to stare down at your surely makeup stained face. 

“W-What?” your brows furrow, face tilting into the warmth of the soldiers hand. 

“It’s just... Steve’s always had me there, during his father, after his mother. I need you to make sure he stays out of trouble... Keep em’ safe for me alright? He’s kinda stupid,” The smile that adorned James’ face was beautiful as he spoke to you. 

You’d miss it immensely.

“Okay, yes-yes I promise.” You nod your head in agreement, pushing your cheek into his hand even more. 

A sharp intake of breath made its way to your lungs as you see a few tears run down Bucky’s face. You quickly wipe them away, leaving your hands to rest gently on each side of his face. 

“See you soon. Right doll?” His smile spoke volumes as he stared down at you. 

“Of course, Bucky. I’ll see you soon,” You answer, voice shaky and weak. 

With a small, lingering kiss to you forehead and one to each cheek, Bucky lets you go and steps back. With one final wave, he turns to the ship and begins to make the small journey to board. You feel the other three onlookers step beside you and gaze upon the heavy sea of green flowing onto the main deck. 

“Lord, please get my boy home safely. I beg of you,” Ms. Barnes words cut into your heart with a deep pity and you grab onto the sleeve of Steve’s shirt for stability. 

Your small group stands there, watching the process of everyone board as family after family says goodbye to their sons, fathers, brothers, husbands... 

At some point in time, you couldn’t remember when, James’ family went home, while you and Steve stayed at the docks until the sun had begun to set. You had stopped crying after you had run out of tears to shed, Steve being there to comfort you the whole time. He told you empty promises of James’ safe return in a couple months but you couldn’t believe him, you weren’t blinded to the fatalities and ugliness of war, for God’s sake your mother had been a nurse in the first World War, she had returned with an abundance of scars and lack of hearing, Your father wasn’t fortunate to be able to come home...

“You wanna get out of here kid?” Steve’s voice had broken you out of your seemingly endless train of thoughts as he quietly asked the question.

“I’m not too sure yet Stevie... You can go on home if you need, I know you get sick real easy and it’s gonna start gettin’ cold soon,” your voice was hoarse and painful as it ground its way from your lips. 

“Y/n, you know I would never leave you out here alone! Come on, let’s get some food in ya,” Steve stood up and held his hand out for you to take. 

You hesitated for a moment before allowing his hand to grab yours and stand up. 

________________________________________________________________

Steve ended up taking you to the same diner that Bucky had taken you to on your first (and sadly last) date. It was warm and quiet inside, the newest big band record playing from the jukebox filled the air quietly, creating a comforting environment that soothed your aching heart just the slightest bit. 

“You want some pancakes, Doll?” Steve asked, a small teasing smile gracing his lips. 

You pull a sad smile on to your face and shake your head, “Just a malt is fine Stevie, thank you,” 

“Comin’ right up,” he assured, lightly knocking on the table you had chosen for your visit before heading up to the counter to get the waitress’s attention. 

As you waited, your fingers messed with the hem of your dress, tugging at the soft material and running your fingers over the few wrinkles that had managed to set themselves into it. It wasn’t long until Steve had returned with too delicious malts in his hands. You both drank the majority of them in a comfortable silence, enjoying the warm atmosphere and  each others company. 

“He’ll be alright, I know he will,” Steve mumbles, his eyes gazing up at you and just for a second, it seemed as though Steve was trying to convince himself more than you. 

You reached across the table and placed your hand upon Steve’s, “You’re right, he will,” You tried to put as much confidence in your voice as you could muster, hoping it would be enough to calm you friend. 

“Are you ready to go?” 

You nodded in agreement, Steve wasting no time in standing up and offering you his hand like the gentlemen he was. “Thank you Stevie,” 

“No problem doll,” he smiles gently, removing his hand from yours and placing it lighting on your back.

The walk back to your apartment, you assumed, would have been uneventful, until Steve had seen a recruitment center, making his feet stutter in their movements. 

“Y/n your apartment is just down the block right?” he asked absentmindedly. 

A sigh escaped your lips before you could even think about responding, “Steven don’t-” 

“It’s fine, I’ll only be minute if you don’t feel comfortable walking the rest of the way,” Steve mumbled and began walking towards the entrance like he was in some sort of trance.

“Steven Rogers you will not sign up again. You’ve done it so many times your bound to get caught, you’ve never passed one before-” “Y/n my best friend just left on a boat to go save countless lives, I owe him this,” 

You hurriedly followed Steven into the mess of canopy and folding chairs, refusing to back down.

“You owe yourself your life Steve. This is ridiculous, there are so many other ways you can help,” Your hand reached out and gripped onto his arm, turning him towards you and staring into his eyes.

“What? Collecting scrap metal like little Timmy?” “Steve-” “ Working in a factory? Y/n men are laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them, that’s what you don’t get. It isn’t about me,”

Your brows scrunched in frustration, “right, cause you got nothing to prove? At all?” 

Steve’s jaw clenched as he glanced away from you, “You can’t stop me from doing this, Y/n. I’m sorry, you just can’t,” 

You let out another begrudged sigh and refrained from slapping the man in front of you, “Fine. I’m coming with you then,” 

“What? No you’re not, the war is no place for a girl like you,” You blanched at his words. 

“A girl like me? Steve I grew up with three brothers, I have two master's degrees, and I have more than enough knowledge on what goes on in war due to what my parents went through before I was born, so excuse me but you have your views completely backwards. Now, let’s get this done and over with so I can go home because today has been complete hogwash,” You huff, grabbing Steves wrist and dragging the frozen man over to the check-in. 

________________________________________________________________

Steve was now sitting on an exam table, shoes pushed off into the corner and sleeves rolled up. You sat in another corner, ankles neatly crossed and hands folded stiffly in your lap. A young doctor stood at the small counter set up, quietly going over the documents in hand. You had no doubt they would reject Steve, just like the other five recruitment offices. Steve had the longest list of illnesses and disabilities you had ever seen, when he had first introduced himself to you it was after he had suffered an asthma attack while walking around the market with Bucky. 

Everything seemed fine until a pretty nurse walked into the room, quietly whispering into the doctors ear and leaving with him in a hurry. You could see Steve stiffen from where you sat as he quickly looked over his shoulder, his eyes roaming to the sign above your head, stating that it was illegal to lie on your form. 

“Steve,” you bit quietly in warning, your ankles uncrossing and getting ready to dash out. 

“Yup, got it, leavin’, you were right,” he agreed immediately and jumped to put his shoes on. 

“You’re damn right I was,” you mutter under your breath, too stressed to remain ladylike. 

Another man enters the room and you both freeze from your escape, two sets of wide, cautious eyes stare at the intruder as he casually walks over to the counter.  “So... You want to go overseas, kill some Nazis,” the accent made the both of you perk up a bit as you stared in awe at the doctor in front of you. 

“Excuse me?” Steve asked, slightly taken aback. 

“Dr. Abraham Erskine, I represent the Strategic Scientific Reserve,” the man walks over to you, offering his hand for you to take, which you quickly do, shaking it firmly and quietly saying you name before the doctor moves back to Steve. 

“Steve Rogers,” the man introduces, stiffly taking the others hand. 

Doctor Erskine turns away and begins to shuffle through his stack of papers once more, “Where you from?” Steve asks suddenly. 

“Steven,” you gasp at his rude intrusion and the meaning behind it. 

“It’s alright miss, I live in Queens, but if it’s that important to you, I originate from Germany, this bothers you?” Erskine’s response is calm as he turns to Steve, giving a pointed look at the other man. 

Steve shakes his head quickly, “no,”

There’s a beat of silence before the doctor responds, “Where are you from, Mr. Rogers? Mmm? Is it New Haven? Or Paramus? Five exams in five different cities,” 

He had been figured out, a sigh escaped your lips and you clapped your hand to your forehead in a mixture of defeat and frustration. 

“That might be the wrong file-” “forget about the exams, I do not care about the exams... Five different tries, now that is something I am interested in. Do you want to kill Nazis?” the doctor asked, eyes locked onto Steve's. 

“Is this a test?”

 “Yes;” 

“I don’t want to kill anybody, I just...Don’t like bullies,” Steve answered, his voice quiet but firm. 

“There are many big men fighting this war, have been for a long time, maybe now what we need,” the doctor paused for a moment, glancing in your direction, then back to Steve, “maybe we need a little guy,” 

Your eyes shot up in shock, “You’re taking him?” 

“I can give him a chance,” the doctor answered. 

“I’ll take it,” Steve agreed quickly, hopping to his feet. 

Doctor Erskine turns to you, “Miss Y/L/N, you seem... Upset,” 

“I made a promise to someone I care deeply for that I would keep Steve from doing anything stupid,” you let out a dry laugh, standing up and looking to the man who had sealed Steve’s fate. 

“So that means it would likely be best you accompany him, yes?” 

“What?” Both yours and Steve voice ask in shock, glancing at each other then back to the seemingly crazy doctor. 

“It doesn’t take much to look up a last name in these files and see if any family has served before, Miss Y/L/N. Your parents are highly decorated service members, I can only hope you have inherited their gifts?” 

You smile proudly and look Doctor Erskine in the eyes, “Fully graduated with a Masters in molecular biochemistry and another in Bioengineering sir,” 

“Your parents must be very proud, you have a chance to build upon that pride. I have a place for you on my team,” 

“A-Are you serious? Would I be staying alongside Steve?” Your voice shook as you tried to understand your situation. 

“Assuming that he doesn’t waste his single chance, that is correct. So, are you truly willing to keep your promise to that person? Will you be joining us?” Both men stared back at you expectantly as your mind reeled to catch up with what was happening. 

It only took a moment to figure out your only option. 

“When are we leaving?” You ask, finality in your voice and a new feeling beginning to bloom in your chest. 

#bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky #steve rogers #barnes #bucky imagine #sebastian stan #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #captain america #tony stark #catfa #james barnes #b.b. #s.r. #black widow #winter solider x reader #The Winter Soldier #sam wilson #natasha romanoff #bucky fluff #marvel fluff #fluff #marvel angst #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader

[artificialqueens]

hotel california. (gigi/jackie) — chapter three, roza

summary: jackie explores more of los angeles with gigi as the two set off for hollywood blvd. they run into some familiar faces and jackie begins to feel some comfort in california.

author's note: thank you to all of jankie candle for being the best support and of course to meg for always being a wonderful beta as well as alex who is always an incredible beta and my favourite person on earth.

AO3 Link / My Tumblr: @leljaaa / (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

— *.✧

"I am ready," Jackie shouted upon hearing the loud knock at her door.

She already knew that Gigi was waiting for her so they could go and stroll the tourist areas that the blonde felt were completely a necessity when visiting California.

She hummed as she turned off the TV channel that had been blasting throughout the apartment, then she grabbed her small purse and headed out the door, knowing that Gigi was right outside.

The second full day had officially passed in California and Jackie was slowly beginning to understand routine, and was comforted seeing all the food that was still left over from their cooking lessons from the previous night.

She missed her mother, she missed her father and the rest of her family, but getting to spend hours on end with Gigi certainly was not a bad thing.

"Let's go," Gigi grinned, her helmet already in her left hand as they raced to her bike and they began to get into the swing of how it would end up working out.

Gigi would sit, Jackie would follow, she'd wrap her arms around the shorter woman's back and the blonde would make sure the Persian gave a thumbs up before Gigi would finally ignite the engine and ride off on the California streets.

"All these palm trees," she yelled with a laugh as her boots relaxed against the exterior of the bike. Gigi paid close attention only to the road, though seeing Jackie out of the corner of her eye giggle or gasp at every new tree was one of the most cute and sweet things she'd ever witness.

Gigi had decided yesterday that there was absolutely no place more crowded, more California and more popular than Hollywood Blvd.

There would certainly be enough payphones to ease Jackie's clouded mind, as well as an abundance of tourist activities and famous sites for the Persian to stroll around and see.

I'm going to make sure she gets the most out of America that she can.

— *.✧

Fifteen solid minutes of riding down the crowded streets found the two finally at the starting point of Hollywood Blvd.

"We're here," Gigi called out to the Persian as she snapped a few pictures with her Kodak Instamatic camera, trying to save some memories for Jackie considering she hadn't brought much luggage with her.

The Persian dusted down her knee length yellow dress, trying to keep it in pristine condition before she gazed at the mass scope of the street.

"This is… very big," Jackie managed to reply as she adjusted her white leather boots, trying to keep up with the blonde who knew the smartest thing to do was to just keep walking along the iconic four and a half mile long street.

"It's quintessential California!"

The Persian tried to hold on to Gigi's jacket sleeve as they navigated their way past the various and many people that overcrowded the street, especially on their side of the boulevard where Jackie began to notice all the engraved, bright pink stars below them.

"Is this a common thing in America?" Jackie asked completely clueless as Gigi flashed a bright smile. She chuckled, amused as the two moved to the side of the street without as many people so they could stroll comfortably.

"Trust me, this is purely just a Los Angeles tourist thing," she whispered to the Persian who nodded, trying to still take in all of the authentic American experience whenever possible.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a payphone booth and gasped. She instinctively pulled down on Gigi's jacket as the shorter woman was almost sent crashing to the pavement before catching her balance.

"You alright?" She asked as Jackie pointed at the phone, immediately reaching for her wallet as she counted in her head the timezone conversion, realizing it was just about to pass nine in the evening for her family in Tehran.

"Oh shit the phone!"

Gigi took off, grabbing Jackie's hand as they laughed, pushing through the slow walkers and various people who plagued the streets of Los Angeles in the early morning.

They managed to make it before anyone could steal the payphone, and Jackie inserted twenty cents into the machine as Gigi stood idly as she looked around to make sure no one would try to mess around with the Persian.

Jackie gripped the wires, breathing heavily as she prayed that somehow her siblings would at least answer the phone.

There's at least ringing.

"Hello?" The thick accent cut through the phone, and the Persian assumed that her family must've known it was an odd time for a phone call from god knows where.

The blonde felt a smile paint itself across her lips the moment she heard Jackie's beaming excitement, starting to speak in Farsi, and Gigi assumed that she managed to get through to her family.

The phone would only run for a minute and Jackie knew this as she would often pick up the tone in her voice and roll her eyes, trying to just break through that she was safe and in California and would call when she could.

Jackie hung up and sighed as she composed herself and smiled at Gigi, admitting that it had gone well and they knew she was at least safe and alive.

"They're okay?"

"For now yes," Jackie responded with a pinch of uncertainty, not wanting to mention the fact that her mother mentioned there were talks of the Prime Minister resigning and running for the hills tomorrow.

"That's all that matters, I'm happy you and your family are okay."

Her head hung low as Gigi wrapped an arm around her back, she knew there wasn't much she could do except support the Persian. Jackie glanced around before pressing a kiss to her shoulder, the two of them unable to say or even do anything except grin at each other from time to time.

"Gigi!" The blonde heard a voice scream from the other side of the road, she turned trying to find where the voice was coming from before seeing a hand being raised by a distinct woman with glowing platinum blonde hair.

Gigi gasped. "Jan," she shrieked as she held on to Jackie's hand as she quickly attempted to explain to the Persian that she was one of her best friends since middle school.

Jan laughed seeing the blonde, completely going feral and pushing aside people to run into the blonde's arms. Jackie stood awkwardly smiling and waving at the other woman who had been standing right next to Jan.

She was completely radiant.

Impeccable makeup, her hair long and resembling that of Donna Summer; Jackie didn't know much of American music but how could you not love such a global disco icon.

She wore denim bell bottoms fashioned with a white, flowing blouse. The outfit was pulled together by the white heels she had on as the two finally laughed and shook hands, introducing themselves to each other as the bubbly blonde next to her was still chatting up a storm with Gigi.

"Jaida," she introduced herself as Gigi furiously turned her head before she gasped and put two and two together as she blinked at Jan, who just laughed as she watched Gigi try and put the puzzle together.

"You two are friends? " Her face and expression reading as something extremely different to what she was attempting to ask.

Jaida eyed the woman beside her up and down before Jan snickered and rubbed her shoulders, biting down on her lip as she nodded to Gigi who gasped and gave a big smile, immediately hugging Jaida who was happy to introduce herself again.

Gigi had never been happier to see Jan out in the open and actually with a woman. Jaida seemed extremely caring and she was certainly beautiful to look at. She knew that her close friend was in good hands.

"Who is this," Jan asked with a large grin, her finger pointing at the Persian as Gigi shook her head furiously at the connotation. Jackie was confused as the blonde lowly whispered that Jan was asking if they were a couple.

"Oh! No, no, just friends! I'm Jackie."

"She's just a friend, she's staying at my dad's complex. She's from Iran."

Jaida nodded, thanking Jackie for being so strong about the entire situation back in Iran. The Persian laughed, honoured but admitting that being a refugee didn't feel like she was being strong about anything.

"I feel very weird but it's only been two days so I cannot say much," she explained as Jan gasped, immediately admitting she didn't think she had only been here for such a short amount of time.

"Your English is so great, girl I would've never even guessed it!"

Gigi hummed as she rubbed her shoulder against her own, proud that Jackie was getting the recognition she deserved for her skills in English.

"I was a Linguistics student at our University in Iran before I left, so I'm glad that it helped me with coming to California, it's nice here."

They all scoffed, the three of them unanimously agreeing that California was expensive and dreadful and only fun for holidays or a weekend.

"It's been fun for the last two days," she admitted shyly before smiling at Gigi, who could only stay quiet as Jackie admitted that the blonde had been her help through this entire situation.

"Gigi is always helpful, I'm glad you're here with us," Jan's chipper tone made the pair smile as Jaida admitted that they were just strolling about trying to get out in the sun.

"Hey you know," Jan gently hit her partner's shoulder as Jaida laughed, not realizing that the blonde could punch so hard. "You two should come with us to the roller rink tonight, you already know we asked Crystal."

"I don't know Jan—"

"I love roller skating!"

Their heads whipped to Jackie who was practically bursting at the seams at the simple idea of going roller skating with Gigi and her newly introduced friends.

"I'm impressed," Gigi admitted with a chuckle before she slipped her hands in her pocket and shrugged. "If you wanna go then we'll go, Jackie."

Jackie nodded immediately, grabbing Gigi's wrists and kissing her cheeks as was customary with any Middle Eastern greeting. Jan giggled in the background as the blonde chuckled and struggled to hide the red flush growing dark across her cheeks.

"Done deal."

— *.✧

"This was such a bad idea," Gigi screamed at the end of her sentence as she almost flipped backward attempting to figure out how these four wheeled monstrosities worked. Crystal laughed as she and Jan each held one of her arms to make sure she stayed upright.

Jackie truly meant it when she said she enjoyed roller skating, she was passing Gigi every thirty seconds and attempting to groove along to the music that blasted throughout the rink.

Her posture was perfect, pushing lightly on the front of the skates as she navigated past the teenagers and adults who were closer to Gigi and just trying not to fall right on to the floor.

She would apply pressure on each foot and gain momentum as she attempted to keep the skating in time with the music tracks that played. Gigi was truly in awe, there was nothing Jackie couldn't do at this point.

Jaida was also quite good on her own and would laugh at Jan, who was at least consistent in falling and trying to make an attempt to walk in the roller skates.

The Persian stopped in front of the blonde with a grin, holding out her hand for Gigi to take as Crystal gave her a firm push. The two of them slammed into each other, almost falling to the floor before Jackie held on to the collar of her jacket.

"Sorry," she whispered quietly under all the disco lights and music as dozens skated past them, Gigi gently pushed away as to not get in trouble with any families who would gasp and purely start a scene in a rink at the idea of the two women attempting to hold each other, it had happened before and the blonde promised never again.

"It's okay," the blonde replied as Jackie followed Gigi in pursuit, showing her all the basics of roller skating. She slowly began to pick up some steam as she would laugh at Jan, who had given up in favour of just walking around in the skates instead.

Crystal gave one final push to Gigi as she skated by before the blonde attempted to run after her in spite, though she quickly remembered how shit her skating skills were.

"Don't fall again please," Jackie giggled aloud as the music changed to a sweeping power ballad. Gigi had absolutely no sense of rhythm according to Jaida and she couldn't even begin to disagree when she tried to find a groove to a Bee Gees song.

They skated for another half hour before the blonde had given up on Jackie trying to teach her. Frustrated she left the floor and went and sat on one of the indoor benches that were placed around the roller skate rink.

She unlaced her skates just as Crystal came over, gliding perfectly on the skates as she took the small space between the bench that was left.

"She's just trying to help you," the redhead explained as Gigi groaned, throwing her head in her hands as she admitted that she was just embarrassed and didn't want Jackie to have to keep reteaching the same three movements over and over.

"Have you ever stopped and thought why she might be teaching you all of this?"

"No," she mustered out as Gigi stared up at Crystal who only cocked a brow, cackling and opening her arms in shock.

"She's completely in love with you!" The redhead shouted in a whisper to not attract any unnecessary homophobia. The blonde covered her cheeks with her fingertips, attempting not to smile at the thought of the Persian being head over heels for Gigi.

The thought escaped her head as soon as it entered it, her body turning to Jackie who was still trying to teach Jan and Jaida some tricks on the rink. "It's been two days Crystal," her lips spoke in a saddened whisper.

"Two days, but almost every hour of every day has been spent with you Gigi. If I was a refugee and didn't have anyone else to hang out besides an obnoxious biker chick, I would have to fall in love," Gigi smiled at the reply her best friend gave until hearing the last sentence and immediately hitting her in the stomach as Crystal gasped and laughed in pain.

"You knew it was coming!"

"God you're a fucking prick."

"You love me and you know it," Crystal bit down on her tongue as Gigi supposed she was right. She'd never have another best friend like Crystal again, another friend who made sure she was comfortable with kissing women and comfortable with her sexuality.

They had dated for a few months before they simply realized friendship would forever be the better option in every universe. Though Gigi was thankful that all of her first experiences and make out sessions were with the comfort of her calm, collected and caring best friend.

"I love you from a distance, as a friend and when you're not flashing your teeth at me."

The two of them hugged as Crystal sighed in happiness. "Aren't you just the sweetest?"

— *.✧

Gigi and Jackie said their goodbyes to the happy couple, and Crystal lounged around with them as they made their way out of the rink and over to the parking lot.

"I got the car tonight," the redhead waved her mother's keys with a devilish grin as Gigi shook her head.

"We're going home, I'm not ready to get high and wake up in your bathtub again Crystal," she muttered under her breath before Jackie laughed, both amused and deeply concerned at what that story entailed.

"See you guys tomorrow!"

They waved goodbye before hopping back on to the bike, Gigi helping the Persian get on the back of the bike, holding her hand tightly before she felt that safety net around her back once more.

The ride was quieter than usual, the only sounds Gigi could hear were the engine and the occasional gentle breath let out at stoplights from Jackie's lips as she leaned up against the biker's back.

"Would you like to go back to my room?"

The question was spoken just an inch too soft and loving for Gigi to possibly refuse.

"Of course."

Jackie asked if she wanted another piece of the desert still left over from last night, to which Gigi almost jumped in excitement at the idea of eating that delicious, Middle Eastern pastry.

Bringing two plates, Jackie flipped on the TV before the two of them sat in silence, occasionally glancing prolonged at one another with wide eyes and heavy breathing.

"Have you ever kissed a woman?" The question made Gigi choke, she would never expect such an out of character question for someone as well put together as Jackie.

Gigi didn't know how to answer, she prayed it wasn't the Persian girl cornering her in to some homophobic outburst.

"I've never kissed a woman before," the Persian finally answered quietly as her hand wrapped around her curly hair, twirling the strands between her fingers as Gigi stared completely entranced at Jackie who was only staring back.

"That's perfectly understandable," her sentence barely even half way out before Jackie gently took her wrists and glanced right into her eyes.

"But I want to kiss a woman Gigi," she whispered quietly with the TV still playing the nightly news channel as the blonde completely felt every wall break and crumble beneath her.  

"I'll kiss you," the reply came softly as Jackie nodded and asked for permission to kiss her. Gigi had to laugh, even if she greatly appreciated the obvious importance of consent to Jackie.

"It would be an honour Jacqueline." Gigi grinned, licking her lips as Jackie bit down on her lip with a giggle.

Their lips pressed together as Gigi's fingers slipped through the Persian's hair, trying to gain some kind of hold as they laid with Jackie's back pressed against the arm of the couch.

Kissing her was utter heaven .

Gigi finally cracked the code: God was a woman and her name was Jackie Cox.

Every desire and suggestive thought she had the last two days felt completely validated and only grew stronger, seeing as they were going to town making out with one another.

I hope this never ends.

Gigi would've never in two million years expect that the first woman she would've made out with, besides Crystal, would be a refugee who was living in one of her dad's own apartments, but she sure wasn't picky.

The Persian held Gigi by her waist as she took the chance and gently slid her lips down to Jackie's neck, completely in the moment.

"No, no, no," Jackie instantaneously pushed away the American girl who frowned, apologising almost immediately after the words left the Persian's lips.

"I'm sorry Jackie, I didn't mean to push—"

"Don't say sorry, it's okay, I'm just not ready for that yet ."

Yet.

Jackie was impressed that she could even get through kissing a woman with all the religious and cultural hymns replayed constantly on a loop in her head.

She was not even close to ready to sleep with a woman, every memory of her home country and the propaganda and innocents murdered were fresh and far too clear in her mind.

"That's perfectly okay," Gigi's eyes fluttered nervously as Jackie pushed back the stray pieces of hair that framed her face. The blonde's smile returned as the Persian cleared her throat.

"I want to kiss you again Gigi…"

Gigi's heart raced. The idea of having any woman, especially Jackie, begging to kiss her again seemed almost far too divine of a concept.

But she did ask… who am I to possibly say no?

The blonde hummed as she held Jackie's arms against the couch with a grin painted across her cherry red lipstick.

"I'm all yours baby."

#rpdr fanfiction #jackie cox #gigi goode #crystal methyd #jan sport #jaida essence hall #gigi x jackie #jaida x jan #lesbian au #song fic #seventies au #hotel california #roza #s12

[softforcal]

Floral : Tattooist!Cal

Summary: Renowned tattoo artist Calum Hood doesn’t take apprentices often, but when he does, he tackles the challenge like everything else in his life: with the utmost professionalism. Until he meets Lily, a learning artist, and Calum falls head over heels before he can help himself. 

Warnings: there’s smut. but its super slow burn.

Cal Mood Board: Lily

Word Count: 13.3k

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

     The young, heavily tattooed man sat at the receptionist desk in his parlour. His head was bowed, chiseled jaw set, eyebrows furrowed as he studied the papers scattered in front of him.

     Art littered the sheets and after a good, long look, the man would either add the paper to a pile on his left or on his right.

     The stack to his left was large and separated in two with a combined paper count of well over three hundred.

     The stack to his right was substantially smaller, containing only five or six hand picked sheets.

     Buzzing filled the space, one of his workers and friends, a man named Michael, was finishing up the last client of the day. His words didn’t even register to the focused man at the front as Michael wiped off the skin carefully, put a bandage over it and then walked the client to the reception desk. The woman paid and left, leaving the two large aussies to silence.

     Michael looked over Calum’s shoulder, hands reaching out to pull at one of the last few sheets yet to be judged, “this is nice.” Michael stated.

     Calum cocked his head, taking the paper gingerly from his friend.

     He had to admit, there was something interesting to the style.

     It was floral, which Calum usually shied away from, but something about this piece just captured his eye. The lines were thin and delicate, precise and deliberate, they caught his attention and drew his gaze along each light, flouncy, petal. It was realism, which was Calum’s specialty. As much as he enjoyed the more cartoony things, Calum had a reputation for making tattoos that seemed to jump out of the skin.

     And this piece definitely did that.

     He added it to the pile on his right.

     Michael helped him decide on the last few and finally he was done, having finished with six sheets of paper that Calum then carefully picked up, “now for the hard part.” he stated.

     Michael’s laugh echoed through the tattoo parlour, “those all look sick man, i don’t know how you’re going to choose, glad I don’t have your fucking job.”

     “You going home for the day?”

     “Might go to a bar, wanna drink?”

     “Hmmm.” Calum sighed, “I need to finish this up.”

     “Well I’ll tell you one thing, if you don’t choose whoever the fuck did that flower piece, I’m going to break into your application file, find them, and get them to tattoo me. Girly or not, that shit was fire.”

-------

     Calum’s dog Duke padded around his feet as Calum walked through his apartment. His fingers held the glass of whiskey loosely by his side as he approached his work desk. Letting out a long sigh, Calum collapsed into his plush, slightly worn, work chair, setting his drink down.

     The final six contenders were all in front of him.

     Two of them were animal sketches, one was more geometric, and the final three were florals. As much as he tried to give each one the same amount of time and attention, his eyes kept going back to that one floral one.

     Calum was very specific about taking on apprentices.

     He’d only ever had two, and after he was done with them, they were almost as renowned as he was.

     Thinking about the artists brought a smile to his face. His hand absentmindedly rubbed at the triangle on his forearm, just under his horse shoe tattoo.

     The idea had been Michael’s originally, and it had been a joke. No one thought Calum would actually do it. So when Calum had allowed his first apprentice to graduate to full tattooist stature by taking a gun and putting whatever he wanted onto Calum’s body, everyone had been shocked.

     But, his first apprentice had been kind, opting for a geomorphic animal hybrid tattoo. It was medium sized, a black triangle with a wolf face inside. Calum hadn’t looked the entire process, putting his complete trust in the man he’d just spent over a year training.

     Everyone had been shocked. His friends had filmed most of it and it had gone viral.

     Calum was known for his tattooing skills but he was also known for his tattoos, he could be very particular about who took a needle to his body so this was the ultimate show of confidence in his teaching abilities.

     Whenever Calum found himself retreating into himself he’d look down at the lone wolf tattoo on his forearm to remind himself to open up a little, to enjoy his pack and welcome new members.

     New apprenticeship applications had been abundant after that, with Calum getting at least three or four hundred applicants whenever he announced that he would be taking on someone new.

    The second apprentice had gotten Calum on his stomach with his shirt off and had began to wipe down a very large expanse of Calum’s practically unmarked back when it was decided that Calum’s apprentices would have to run their final tattoo idea by Calum’s senior artists first.

     Michael voted yes to having a massive dragon on Calum’s back but Calum, Ashton and Luke had vetoed that idea.

     The dragon had been substantially shrunk down to a red and black little reptilian creature on Calum’s shoulder, its tail wrapped protectively around his upper arm. Whenever Calum wore shirts that showed off the intricate, very real looking piece, Michael would always joke and pretend to talk to the dragon which he had since named “lil Sebastian.” Calum had denied this name but that never stopped Michael.

     Calum enjoyed the application process.

     He enjoyed looking at all of the art which he insisted be sent in with a coded system that he didn’t know, that way, he had no idea of the age, gender, ethnicity, or background of any of the applying artists. He wanted to make it fair. He wanted to choose the best because their art was the best, not because of any other possible side reasons.

     The floral piece made him want to know who had drawn it.

     Which was odd. Usually Calum was okay with not knowing. But there was, as Michael had pointed out, something about it.

     Calum took a deep breath, picking up the sheet one last time.

     He wasn’t the type to ever let his heart make decisions for him, but he knew that this choice was backed by his eyes and his mind as well. Whoever this artist was, they had talent, and Calum wanted to be there to take that talent, which was already spectacular, and somehow make it better.

     The decision had been made. Now all that was left was for his receptionist (who for the time being was Ashton since their receptionist was on mat leave) would call the artists.

     It was a Friday, and by Monday, if the artist accepted, his parlour would have a new apprentice, and Calum would once again embark on a year to three year teaching mission that at the end he would have a new tattoo and an artist to show for it.

-----------

     Lily waited for the coffee. The long sleeves of her oversized denim were perfect for fidgeting and she took full advantage, rolling the worn fabric between her fingers.

     A strand of blonde hair had fallen loose from the messy bun atop her head, dangling in front of her face, but Lily was too wired and distracted to even notice.

     “Black coffee and a frap for Lily?” the cute barista guy said. Announcing her name was just a formality, the barista had flirted with Lily at the till, he knew who she was and his eyes were bright as he handed her the drinks.

     She offered a small smile before rushing from the shop.

     She’d had a last minute spur of anxiety about showing up to her apprenticeship the first day without anything. She’d rather be on time with coffee than early and empty handed.

     Lily dodged around people on the street, her small frame making it easy, the large black denim flaring out behind her like a flag. She slowed down as she approached the parlour.

     Her palms were sweating and she could feel her heart practically beating out of her chest. She took a few deep breaths. When she’d applied to the apprenticeship she didn’t think she’d actually get in.

     Lily had always loved drawing and somewhere along the way she’d realized that the doodles in the margins of her textbooks could become something more. She’d been accepted to a pretty high end arts school and one of her teachers had brought up tattooing in a class.

     Lily had immersed herself, and a month later, had already given herself a stick and poke but it was nowhere near as pretty as she had wanted it to be.

     She’d become addicted to tattoos.

     By the time she’d finished at the arts school, she’d had numerous tattoos done, all floral, of course.

     Lily had found HoodTats on instagram in her second year and had been following his posts religiously since then. He only ever posted his art which was something she always appreciated, knowing that whenever that notification popped up on her phone, she’d be able to see a new piece from the artist as opposed to pictures non-art related.

     When he announced his apprenticeship reopening, Lily had worked her ass off, but had accepted the fact that she wouldn’t be chosen.

     When she’d gotten a call on Saturday morning and an aussie accent had told her she’d been chosen, Lily had dropped her phone to scream. Scrambling to grab her cell again, she and the man had exchanged a light hearted chuckle, and he’d given her info on what she needed to do. It had seemed so surreal, Lily was shocked she’d even been of sound mind enough to be able to jot down the information on her drawing pad.

     And now there she was, standing in front of the parlour.

     She stood there for a moment, just looking at the doors.

     “You going in or what?” a voice asked.

     Lily jumped, grip tightening on her coffee as she turned to look at the man who was standing next to her. She took in his strong jaw and golden skin, and she wet her lips absentmindedly, “yeah, sorry, I uh… fuck, I’m a little jittery today.”

     He hummed, eyes scanning her too, then he reached out and opened the door to the parlour for her. Lily offered a small smile and walked in, the gorgeous man following her inside.

     “Hey Cal.” the guy at the main desk said, looking up.

     The guy from behind Lily grunted in response, and Lily furrowed her eyebrows, Cal as in-

     “Hey!” the happy blonde grinned, drawing her thoughts away.

     “Hi.” Lily forced a smile, taking a deep breath, “I’m Lily-”

     “Right! The apprentice! You’re early!” the blonde said, “I’m Ashton!” he held out a hand and Lily haphazardly set the coffees down, wiping her hand on her pants to rid of the condensation that had marred her skin from the frappuccino.

     She shook Ashton’s hand, making an awkward face, “sorry, my skin is cold.”

     “No worries, you brought someone a coffee?” he asked.

     “Uh… I figured i should bring something so I bought a frappuccino-”

     “You mean the black coffee is for you?” the guy laughed.

     “Yeah-”

      “Offer Calum the black coffee, trust me.”

     Before Lily could respond a new guy came into the parlour from the back room and he walked over with a grin, “who’s this?” he asked.

     “Calum’s new apprentice.”

     “Lily.” she extended the hand to the pink haired guy.

     “No shit?!” the pink haired man grinned, “fuck, your art is amazing! I’m Michael!”

     He shook her hand aggressively but the light in his eyes told Lily that he was just excited, genuinely excited, to meet her.

     “I saw your florals? Damn, if you ever want a canvas, I have a whole leg that’s free and you can just fuck it up-”

     “Michael you’re scaring her.” Ashton tutted, nudging his friend.

     Michael looked between Ashton and Lily, “no I’m not! I’m not scaring you am I?”

     “You scare everyone.” the gorgeous guy from before had returned, and he leaned his hip against the counter. His leather jacket was gone, revealing a black v neck that was pulled tight against his strong chest. His arms were crossed, biceps bulging, arms littered in tattoos exposed and proud on his beautiful skin.

     “This is Lily, she’s your new apprentice.” Ashton stated.

     Lily’s eyes met Calum and she nearly swore in front of him… again. She’d just said fuck to him outside. To her new boss. She’d said fuck.

     Fuck.

     Calum looked her up and down again, taking in the oversized denim that nearly hid her tiny frame. Her jeans were black and ripped at the knees and her blonde hair was in a messy bun on top of her head, one haphazard strand in front of her face. She had high cheekbones and soft looking lips, eyes that were a molten chocolate brown peered up at him and freckles splattered her cute button nose.

     “So you’re the floral girl.” he said before he could help himself.

     She opened her mouth then shut it, grabbing the black coffee from the counter she held it out for him, “i got this for you.”

     Calum looked at it for a moment then accepted it, turning it over in his hands to look at what was written on the side.

     “Who’s Greg?” he asked.

     “What?”

     He showed her the cup. Written on the side was a phone number,  a heart, and the name Greg. “fuck.” Lily breathed, her eyes widened, “shit, I mean- fuck, not fuck, shit.”

     She hid her face with her hands and all three men grinned at her.

     “We don’t fucking care if you swear sweetheart, just as long as you keep it to a minimum in front of clients.” Michael assured her.

     “So who is Greg.” Ashton asked.

     “He’s the barista I guess. I don’t know, he was flirting with me but I didn’t check the cup.” Lily groaned loudly.

     “So… do you want the number?” Calum asked, offering the cup back to her.

     Lily grabbed the frappuccino, stepping back as she took a sip, shaking her head, “no fucking thank you.”

     Calum tried to stop himself from grinning.

     He liked her already.

-------

     Calum had to admit, Lily learned fast.

     He found that he only had to show her something once, and just like that, she knew what she was doing. The first week had been kind of rocky. Calum was a quiet guy by nature, and he could tell that it was making Lily anxious, although she never said anything.

     The first day in particular had been interesting.

     Every time she took a sip of her frappuccino, she’d make a face and Calum had found it amusing, until he found out from Ashton after she left that the black coffee that she’d given him had initially been for herself. The poor girl had been so worried about making a good impression that she’d forced down one of those too-sweet coffee monstrosities that Calum, an avid coffee drinker, would not have been caught dead drinking.

     Lily got flustered pretty easily which was endearing to him given the whole edgy look she was rocking like it was nobody's business.

     Wearing almost strictly black clothing that set off the gold of her hair, Calum may have described Lily as goth, but due to her lack of make up, maybe that was the wrong word. She was tiny, Calum always had to look down to meet her eyes, and she tried to hide behind oversized sweatshirts and jackets. She’d roll up the sleeves into large  bunches at her elbows while drawing, and she never seemed to be able to sit like a normal human being.

     Even on a stool, she’d find a way to tuck one leg underneath her, or use something nearby to rest a foot on.

     Calum had always been the type of guy to be quiet and watch, noticing the small things other people wouldn’t notice. Like the way Lily would focus entirely on a drawing, hands almost as steady as Calum’s, but the moment she was done, her long sleeves would be rolled down again and she’d begin to fidget.

     Lily was quiet too. Something Calum appreciated.

     She didn’t ask many questions which Calum enjoyed, but it did concern him a little. As her teacher, he wanted to make sure that he was actually teaching.

     He found himself asking “did that make sense?” or “do you understand?” more than he ever had in his life, always earning a small “yeah” or curt nod.

     He’d also noticed the small dimple, just one, on her left cheek, that would appear rarely but it always made him want to smile back whenever it did.

     Michael spent most of his free time talking to Lily, which Calum enjoyed, he was never one for small talk. Through Michael’s chats with Lily, Calum had learned that Lily had actually gone to art school. She’d been doodling all her life. She adored flowers, only partially because of her name (she wasn’t that pretentious.) But, the discussions were usually limited to art and tattoo related things, which Calum was beginning to find quite dry.

     He wanted to ask questions, but Calum wasn’t the type to pry. He was never appreciative of people asking him unwanted questions and Calum didn’t fancy himself to be a hypocrite.

    Besides, Calum was, in a way (in a lot of ways) her boss. And Calum was never the type to toe the line of professionalism. Which is why, when Michael suggested that Lily grab a drink with them after work, Calum thanked god for his best friend. 

     Lily had agreed and Calum was sure that it was for Michael’s sake, definitely not his own. After all, Calum hadn’t spoken two words together to the girl that weren’t work related.

     Besides, one of Calum’s artists had been traveling for a month and was finally coming home, so it would be a good chance for Lily to meet the guy outside of the parlour.

     Michael spent the entire day ranting about Luke and hyping him up to the point that if he wasn’t a six foot four, curly blonde, rockstar looking, douche bag, then Lily would have been very let down.

     After closing up the parlour, the three walked down the street to the bar. Calum opened the door for them and as they went inside, all of Lily’s expectations were met.

     Luke had already grabbed them a booth, and as they walked in, he leapt to his feet, coming over with open arms. He immediately engulfed Michael in a hug before turning to Lily, “you must be Cal’s new whipping girl!” he grinned, wrapping his arms around her next.

     Lily was small next to Michael and Cal but with Luke? She was absolutely miniscule. So Luke had no issue simply picking her up off the ground in a hug.

     A small squeal left Lily’s lips and everyone laughed.

     “Fuck. You’re not a hugger are you?” Luke asked, setting her back down. His hands went to her shoulders, bending down to meet her eyes as he looked at her with concern.

     “Uh… that was a hug?” she asked, laughing awkwardly.

     Michael laughed, “don’t mind Luke, he’s just a big teddy bear.”

     “Fuck off.” Luke said, shoving at Michael who grinned, throwing his arm over Luke’s shoulders as the two walked back to the table.

     “Wow, fuck Calum then.” Lily said, voice quiet.

     But Calum heard. And Calum laughed, “Luke can be a bit forgetful.”

     “I uh-” Lily flushed red and hid her face with her oversized sleeves, “I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

     “It’s alright.” Calum assured her.

     “I just… he didn’t even look at you.” Lily stammered, “god, I would be so worried if one of my friends snubbed me like that-”

     “He didn’t snub me.” Calum said a tad too sternly, and it made Lily shut her worried, anxious, stammering mouth. She looked at him with wide eyes and Calum sighed, seeing the hurt in the chocolate brown irises. “Sorry I snapped at you I-”

     “No it’s fine.” her eyes had widened and her hands were up and waving, sort of distracting Calum actually, as she ranted about how she always swore too much and needed to learn not to always say what was on her mind, even if she whispered it and didn’t expect anyone to hear, not that Calum was being nosey, he was standing there anyways so he was definitely not being nosey-

     “Do you drink?” Calum asked, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably as he looked down at Lily.

     “Are you offering to buy me a drink?” Lily asked.

     Calum stared at her for a moment and that's all it took for Lily to freak out again, getting even redder as she hid her face, “holy fuck! Shit! You see? I have a problem. That was way too flirty. You’re my boss! Wow. I am way too anxious to function, this is such a mess-”

     “I’m going to get you a drink.” Calum stated before she could continue, moving past her to the bar and leaving her standing there wanting to die.

     “What’s the deal with that?” Luke asked, tilting his chin towards where Lily and Calum had just been standing.

     “So the new girl Lily is an anxious little muffin nugget and Cal is…”

     “Cal.” Luke finished for him, making them both laugh, “she’s cute.”

     “Yeah, and just wait till you see her fucking art!” Michael grinned, “she’s talented, just Calum’s type.”

     Lily had managed to contain herself again, walking over to the table where Michael made room for her, “who’s Calum’s type?” she asked.

     “No one-” Michael began to say as Luke stated “you.”

     Lily’s breath caught in her throat as she looked between the two men sitting in the booth. Michael was gaping at Luke but Luke was grinning, attention deliberately entirely focused on Lily.

     “That is very inappropriate Luke.” Michael tutted.

     “Why?”

     “He’s her boss-”

     “Not really.” Luke said.

     “Sort of though.” Michael argued.

     “Eh, is he really though?” Luke narrowed his eyes at Michael.

     Before Michael could answer Calum came back, a Guinness in each hand. He set one down in front of Lily, “hope you like-”

     “Guinness!? My favourite!” Lily smiled.

     “Yeah, figured you like black coffee-”

     “You like black coffee?” Luke made a face at Lily, “wow, you and Cal really are meant to be.”

     “Luke!” Michael screamed.

     “What?!” Luke threw his hands on the air.

     “You left for a month and you have no filter!” Michael shouted.

     “I never had a filter!” Luke pointed out.

     Michael groaned, “fuck, it’s true, you got me there. Damn it.” he turned to look at Lily, “I’m so sorry, Luke’s not used to being around girls.”

     “Yes I am!” Luke insisted, “all the girls love me-”

     “Oh yeah? Then why the fuck are you still single?” Michael asked.

     Lily and Calum both grabbed their drinks in unison, watching Luke and Michael fight.

     “I’m single because a man like me shouldn’t be tied down!” Luke stated.

     “Pfff, sure it has nothing to do with the whole ‘oh I don’t believe in love’ thing?” Michael asked.

     “If you want to talk not believing in love, go fight Calum!” Luke said, motioning towards the silently sitting artist, “he’s the douchebag who thinks that shit doesn’t exist, not me!”

     All eyes went to Calum.

     He set down his Guinness, tattooed, ring clad fingers sliding along the condensation covered glass, a moment passed, “so is someone going to ask me something or are you all just going to stare at me?”

     “You don’t believe in love?” Lily asked.

     “Well when you put it like that-” Calum sighed.

    “How else would you put it Cal?” Luke smirked.

     He thought about it for a moment then grinned, bringing his drink to his lips, “touche.”

     “How about you flower baby, what’s your vibe on that crazy little thing called love?” Luke asked.

     “‘Flower baby’ I like it!” Michael grinned, turning his gaze to the only girl there.

     “Well that’s a loaded question.” Lily said, shrinking under their gaze.

     “You’re single right?” Michael asked.

     “Michael.” Calum warned.

     “What? I can ask her that sort of thing, I’m not her boss, plus we were all thinking it.” Michael said.

     “Michael, this is bordering sexual harassment.” Calum stated, “Lily if you’re uncomfortable-”

     “I’m always uncomfortable.” she interjected.

     “You don’t have to answer their questions.” he told her.

     Lily took a deep breath, “no, I should try to not be so shy all the time.”

     “Good for you, cheers to that.” Luke said, lifting the bottle of beer he’d had since before they’d arrived, “so tell us all your secrets.”

     “My money’s on single.” Michael stated.

     “Why?” Lily laughed.

     “Cuz if you had a boyfriend there’s no way in hell he wouldn’t have already come to the shop to check us out and make sure none of us are threats.” Michael answered.

     “And then, he’d show up and fight Calum-” Luke continued.

     “Can you both leave me out of this?” Calum interjected.

     “But Cal-”

     “Maybe just stop saying my name how about that?” Calum sighed.

     Luke groaned loudly, “you’re lame.”

     “So you two are friends right?” Lily asked.

     “Yeah, why do you ask?” Luke said, taking a sip of his beer.

     Lily grinned and Michael laughed, “they have a very complicated relationship.” he assured her.

     “Your mom and I have a complicated relationship.” Luke quipped.

     “How long have you been here buddy?” Michael asked.

     “A while.”

     “How much have you had to drink?”

     “A lot.”

     Michael groaned, “man, I haven’t even had a beer yet and I’m already going to have to take you home aren’t I?”

     “I’m fine.” Luke laughed.

     “That’s your awkward ‘I’m totally not fine’ laugh.” Michael sighed, “okay man, lets go.”

     “But we can’t leave Cal and the flower child.” Luke groaned.

     “I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Michael said, pulling Luke to his feet.

     “But I like flower girl.” Luke whined.

     “And you’ll see her at work on Monday when you’re sober.” Michael pointed out.

     “Promise?” Luke asked.

     “Promise.” Michael said, Luke finally allowing himself to be dragged closer to the door, he turned back and looked at Calum and Lily who were both watching him, “tell them to use protection Michael, we don’t need a tattoo parlour baby.”

     “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

     Luke was not satisfied with this answer, turning to look at Cal and Lily he screamed “use protection!” and half the bar turned to look at the two still sitting in the booth.

     Lily flushed immediately and Calum sighed, “we can just finish our drinks and go.” he suggested.

     Lily took a sip of her Guinness, “eager to get rid of me?” she asked.

     Calum’s grip tightened on his glass, “look, this was probably a mistake, I’m your teacher and this feels inappropriate, especially with how Michael and Luke have been acting-”

     “Have you taken your other apprentices out for drinks before?”

     “Yeah-”

     “So it’s because I’m a girl.” Lily stated.

     Calum groaned. He was not a sexist guy. He wasn’t. Which is why he even did applications blind, so that he wouldn’t treat people differently. And now here he was, treating his apprentice differently because she was a woman. A cute woman. Fuck.

     “Shit.” Calum said, “I feel like such a jackass.”

     “Is it…” Lily sighed.

     “Is it what?”

     Lily covered her face in her hands, “fuck, now I’m making this awkward.” she peeked at Calum, “I’m going to just say it and we can pretend it never happened, we should pretend this whole night didn’t happen to be honest, like, I don’t know what the fuck has come over me today but… Luke and Michael are throwing me off big time, and, shit, is it… is it because I’m your type? Is that why you’re being so weird? Like, Michael said you’re a quiet guy but this feels more personal you know?”

     “I’m just… i haven't had a female apprentice before and I guess I’m not used to it.” Calum studied her and then realized that he’d pretty much just stated that she wasn’t his type, which was a lie, and if there was one thing Calum Hood wasn’t, it was a liar, “not that you’re not my type, you are, I mean, shit, I’m your boss, sort of, and being professional is kinda my thing-”

     “You’re very professional.” Lily assured him.

     “I just bought you a beer, probably shouldn’t have done that-”

     “I won’t tell the head of the tattooist apprenticeship board or whatever if you don’t.” Lily sighed, “Look. don’t treat me differently. I don’t want this to be so awkward, i want to be friends, after all, when this is all over i will legitimately be putting a tattoo of my choosing on your body so we should be friends don’t you think?”

     “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable-” Calum winced.

     “If you do, I’ll tell you, how about that?” she asked.

     He considered it, “deal.”

     They finished their Guinnesses quickly, standing and walking to the entryway to the bar, “well, how far from here do you live?” Calum asked.

     “A little ways away, why?”

     “I mean, should I offer to walk you home?” Calum tested.

     “Would you offer that to your other apprentices?”

     “Probably not.”

     “Then no.”

     “Okay well uh… get home safe then yeah?”

     “Will do. I’m a big girl.” Lily grimaced immediately, “wow that sounded so weird. I’ll uh… I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

     “Yeah.”

     Calum almost went in for a hug. His brain was so frazzled. Whenever he took a girl out to a bar they were usually on a date and normally, if he wasn’t interested in taking them home, he’d give them a hug just to say ‘goodbye, never gonna call you again.’

     Lily also awkwardly looked like she was about to go in for a hug and they both kind of stumbled awkwardly until Lily thrust out her hand and Calum laughed, shaking it, “uh, have a good night.”

     “You too.”

     As they both turned and went opposite ways down the street they were both cringing. It was very obvious to them that she was his apprentice and they were two weeks into an apprenticeship that could take more than two years.

     They were fucked.

-------

     On Monday, Lily and Calum showed up to work fully intending to stay true to their agreement to forget the awkwardness of Friday ever happened, and have Calum treat her like every other apprentice he’d had.

     After a bit of small talk with Luke, Michael and Ashton, Calum’s first client arrived and he called Lily over to watch. Calum was very focused when he tattooed, staying completely silent as he worked, which left it up to Lily to make conversation with the clients.

     Calum enjoyed listening to Lily chat with clients. She was always so anxious around him, but she relaxed a little bit more around other people. She almost seemed easy going, and if Cal didn’t know her, he would have even gone as far to describe her as an extrovert.

     She’d make a great tattoo artist. Always calming down and distracting clients.

     Calum almost began getting critical of himself because damn, did he not talk enough with clients? No one had ever complained before so Calum pushed the thought aside. 

     Calum realized that if he simply didn’t look at Lily, he could teach her better, not get distracted by her pretty freckles or her gorgeous brown eyes-

     It worked for a week.

     But because it worked, Lily got more comfortable.

     It had been a full month when Lily finally got so comfortable that she took off her oversized, black denim jacket for the first time.

     It was getting hotter outside, summer quickly approaching, and Lily was wearing a black tank top that exposed her arms and shoulders. As she slipped the the denim off and put it on a chair, Calum’s breath caught in his throat. Delicate tattoos littered the skin from elbow to shoulder, two beautiful half sleeves that he had no idea she’d had.

     In classic Lily fashion, the tattoos were all black.

     As Calum studied them he realized, “wait, did you… did you tattoo some of these onto yourself?” the art was undeniably Lily.

     Lily’s skin flushed, “yeah, iI uh… I bought a tattoo gun a while ago and figured I’d test it on myself.”

     “So that’s why your lines are so good already, you’ve literally been practicing on yourself.” Calum would have laughed if it wasn’t so hard core.

     “Yeah.” Lily laughed, “I mean, I think they turned out alright.” she looked down at the flowers on her left arm, “the ones on this side are better because I’m right handed, I practiced with my left for ages with paper but it just wasn’t the same so only this peony is mine,” she motioned to a small, delicate flower on her right arm, “everything else was done by other artists I’ve been into for a while.”

     Calum recognized the artwork on her right arm, “that was done by Cole.” Cole had been his second apprentice.

     “Yeah, he managed to convince me to get a full half sleeve from him so this is all his.”

     “Sounds like Cole.” Calum grinned, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt to the shoulder to show her the dragon, “he gave me this one, originally he wanted to take up my whole back but I had to draw the line with that one.”

     “Yeah, he wanted my whole arm but I told him just above the elbow.”

     “Would you ever get your forearms done?”

     “Hmm, probably not, but I have an idea for my thigh-” before she could go into more details, Calum’s client arrived and the conversation was cut short.

     That day was particularly difficult. Calum just wanted to gawk at her tattoos. She had been a ten before but now? Wow. Calum had a thing for tattoos and the whole thing about Lily tattooing herself was… well, Calum’s pants were getting a bit tight just thinking about it.

     It was around one o'clock when Ashton got a cancelation call from one of Calum’s clients. Calum didn’t mind, there was a deposit for half the cost anyways and it meant he had an hour of free time. Calum sent Ashton for lunch which meant he and Lily were manning the reception desk.

     Lily was drawing flowers while Calum watched. He didn’t have any floral tattoos and he had been curious from day one what they would look like on his skin. “Do you want to try drawing that on me?” he suggested.

     “Uh… are you sure?” Lily asked.

     “Yeah, you need practice drawing on people, last time you did, the woman said your hands were cold after.” Calum pointed out.

     “Shit.” Lily immediately put down her pencil and began rubbing her palms together to warm them up.

     “Here.” Calum handed her a black sharpie.

     “Do you want a floral tattoo?”

     “I’ve never wanted one before but... I dunno, your flowers are really nice.”

     “Thanks.” Lily flushed, “so your forearm?”

     Calum arms were pretty tatted as it was but his left was more covered than his right so he offered up the arm, gesturing to medium sized unmarked patch, “yeah, probably here.”

     “Any flowers in specific?” she asked.

     “What’s your specialty?”

     Lily chuckled, looking up at him for a moment as she twirled the sharpie between her fingers, “a lily. But I do a great chrysanthemum or peony.”

     “I only know what lilies look like so surprise me with one of the other ones.” Calum said. He liked surprises.

     “Well I showed you my peony so-”

     “So the other one.”

     “A chrysanthemum.”

     “Yeah. That.”

     Lily took Calum’s offered arm, putting it on the table as she took the top off of the sharpie. “Free handing is okay?” she clarified.

     “Go for it.” Calum said, watching as she too the first swipe of black ink over his arm.

     “So you mentioned earlier you had an idea for your thigh?”

     “Yeah, I was thinking of getting a few big chrysanthemums actually, but I haven’t found anyone who can draw them right.” Lily explained.

     “Why don’t you just do it yourself.” Calum teased.

     “Cuz it would hurt like a bitch.” Lily answered, “oh, you were joking.”

     “A little.”

     He watched her drawing the petals, “you know, not to rain on your parade or anything but I feel like I could probably draw a… whatever flower that is.”

     “Chrysanthemum.”

    “You know maybe if you wrote that down I’d be able to pronounce it.”

     Lily grinned. She made it look so easy and Calum studied how she drew each delicate petal. Calum Hood didn’t do flowers, but there was something endearing about how delicate and deliberate each petal was.

     After a few minutes she finished, “there. What do you think?”

     It did look really good. And again, Calum Hood did not do floral. “yeah.”

     He pulled out his art pad and began to try to copy her work and Lily watched, “more curve here and here.” she said, correcting his lines.

     Calum grinned, “so the student becomes the teacher.”

      Lily flushed, “well, I mean, it’s always been a dream to have you tattoo me, which sounds way awkward saying that out loud but you don’t do floral.”

     “I’m doing floral now.” Calum pointed out.

     “Still not curved enough.” Lily corrected another petal.

     Calum groaned, pulling out another piece of paper to draw a new flower. As he drew, Lily only corrected it twice, and on the third drawing, not at all. Calum held up the paper smugly.

     “It looks great.” Lily said.

     “So you’ll let me tattoo it on you.”

     “Uh…” Lily laughed awkwardly, “I mean, you drew one but I’m going for something a little bigger-”

      No one had ever turned down a tattoo from Calum Hood, it was a challenge and Calum liked challenges, “how about this, by the end of the week if I can free hand a bunch of these flowers-”

     “Chrysanthemums.”

     “If I can freehand a bunch of these cruh-san-the-memes-”

     “Nice try.”

     Calum groaned loudly, “if I can draw them and you like them you’ll let me tat you.”

     “Aren’t I supposed to be the one tatting you when this is all over?” Lily asked.

     “Are you seriously going to turn down a tattoo from me?” Calum laughed.

     Lily considered it, “fine, but I’m not going to say yes just because you’re you.”

     “Fine.”

--------

     In secret, Calum spent an embarrassingly copious amount of time looking at pictures of chrysanthemums online. He’d even trained on how to say ‘chrysanthemum.’ He’d drawn so many god damned flowers over the week that it almost annoyed him that he actually enjoyed drawing them.

     On Friday morning, Calum showed up to work with with his top three ideas. He was anxious his entire first client, wanting time to show Lily his work and see if she liked them. As soon as the man had paid and left, Calum took out the art to show Lily.

     “Okay, what do you think?” he asked.

     He was never worried about what people thought of his work.

     People always adored his designs. Hell, people flew in from all over the world to let him free hand an original design on their body to be permanently inked forever.

     Lily scanned the flowers, “wow, these look super real, did you look them up?”

     “No.” Calum said immediately.

     Lily smiled and Calum knew that she knew he was lying.

     She looked at one of the sketches, “this one is so pretty.”

     It was one of the bigger ones but Calum supposed that's what she’d asked for, “so… you’ll let me tattoo you?”

     Having Calum tattoo her had been a dream for years so of course Lily knew she was about to say yes. Especially since she had wanted something outside of his comfort zone and it was obvious that he’d put a lot of effort into making something she’d like. It was making Lily’s heart beat faster and she nodded, “you can tattoo me.”

     Calum’s eyes lit up, “great, after work?”

     “After work?”

     “Yeah.”

     “That’s kind of sudden isn’t it?”

     “Well, I mean, if you want another time-”

     “No, after work… works.” Lily said, giggling awkwardly, “I don’t have cash on me-”

     Calum’s eyebrows furrowed, “I’m not charging you.”

     “You have to charge me.”

     “No I don’t.” Calum insisted.

     “Cal, I know how much people pay for your tattoos.” Lily sighed.

     “It’s on the house.”

     Before Lily could argue further, Calum’s next client showed up.

     The next six hours were busy, with Lily and Cal speaking barely two words to each other. Lily’s adrenaline was pumping. She always got excited before a tattoo and this was exciting. More exciting than she wanted to admit.

     As the clock ticked down to closing, Lily got more and more fidgety.

     It was just her and Cal left in the shop, not that she spent much time with the other artists since she stayed glued to Calum’s side, watching him work, all day every day.

     After collecting payment from the last client, Cal turned off the open sign, walking back to Lily, “you still want the tat?”

     “Yeah.”

     “Okay, you get ready and I’ll grab the shit.” Calum walked to his work space in the back corner of the shop.

     Lily followed, taking a deep breath before she began to unbutton her pants.

     “You still sure on the-” Calum turned and his voice trailed off, “placement?” his eyes went to where Lily was unzipping her jeans and pushing them down. Lily felt awkward but when did she not? Plus, Calum had tattooed many people in his life so this wouldn’t be much different.

     Calum’s breath was caught in his throat as his eyes traced over the black lacy panties she was wearing.

     “So I’m thinking here.” Lily said, motioning to her upper thigh, “I want it to curve in just a little inner.”

     “Right.” Cal coughed, “let me draw it on and if you don’t like it we can move it-”

     “Calum, I know the drill.”

     “Right.” Calum grabbed his sharpie as Lily kicked off her shoes and pants, taking off her jacket and rolling up her shirt a little. Calum returned and got onto his knees, looking up at Lily one last time, “ready?”

     “You’re just drawing it, this isn’t even the hard part.”

     Calum nodded, “so under the underwear line or-”

     Lily flushed, pulling up her panties a little, “just under the hip bone.”

     The sharpie pressed against her skin and Lily tried to look anywhere but at the gorgeous tattooed man on his knees between her bare legs.

     Calum was right handed and working on her left leg, so to steady her, he had to place his other hand on the inside of her leg, delicately moving the skin a little when necessary. His fingers on her bare flesh was making Lily dizzy.

     Calum traced the lines across her thigh, trying to focus all his attention on working and not on how pretty her skin was. And how close he was to-

     “So you must see women half naked all the time right?” Lily asked.

     “Yeah.” Calum said.

     “What’s the nudest you’ve ever done?”

     “This one girl wanted something on her pubic bone which I told her was a bad idea but she really wanted it, we were in a back room for privacy and when I came in she was completely naked-”

     “Then what happened?”

     “Well, I gave her something to cover herself up and she was super awkward the whole time.”

     “I can imagine.” Lily laughed.

     She could feel his breath on her inner thigh and Lily’s skin involuntarily broke out in goosebumps, “you cold?” Calum asked.

     “Yeah but it’s fine.” Lily lied.

     Calum hummed and continued working until the drawing was done, “okay, go look in the mirror.” he said, standing up and following Lily to see if she liked it.

     Her eyes scanned over it and Calum waited patiently, arms crossed over his chest.

     “It’s beautiful.” Lily breathed.

     “Chrysanthemums are beautiful.”

     “How long did it take for you to figure out how to say chrysanthemums?”

     “Too long.” Calum admitted.

     “Okay, lets do it. You’ll get the basic lines done today and then shading after work on Monday or something?”

     “Do you want to split it up into two parts?” Calum asked.

     “Don’t you think this will take a while if you try to do it all today?”

     “Yeah.”

     “I figured you might have plans tonight-”

      “Why?”

     “Well, its a Friday night.” Lily pointed out.

     “So?”

     “So maybe you have a date? I don’t know-”

     “Do you have a date?”

     “No-”

     “Great, so let’s do this all tonight.” Calum stated, “we can order take out half way through or some shit, or after, it's up to you.”

     “Take out after sounds good, there’s this place down the street with amazing-”

     “Shawarma, fuck, love that place.”

      “Me too.” Lily grinned, “okay, I’ll sit down then.”

     She got onto the chair and set herself up so Calum could access her inner thigh while Calum pulled on some gloves, sat on his stool, and picked up the tattoo gun.

     Lily looked at the ceiling as the sound of buzzing began.

     The first feeling of the needle piercing her skin made her sigh and Calum smirked, “you good?”

     “I uh… kind of like the pain, that sounds wild, shit, I didn’t mean it in like a sexual way or anything-” Lily began to stammer.

     “No, I like it too.” Calum said, cutting her off.

     Lily wanted to distract herself from the flush that she knew was creeping over her skin, and It was going to take a while so she pulled out her phone, “can we listen to music?”

     “Go for it.” Calum said, focusing on his lines. He didn’t talk during tats anyways so music always helped.

     Some old rock music began to play from Lily’s phone and Calum smirked, “nirvana.”

     “You like Nirvana?” Lily asked.

     “All the old stuff is great.” Calum said.

     “Nine inch nails is pretty good, Nirvana, Guns and roses-”

     “Where have you been all my life.” Calum teased.

     Lily smiled, a tingly feeling in her stomach almost distracting from the needle.

     A particularly sensitive spot made Lily grab at the side of the chair and Calum noticed. His jaw clenched. Pain was part of tattooing and he never felt bad about it but there was something about Lily being in pain and him being the direct cause, even though it was his job, that was hurting him.

     “Deep breaths sweetheart.” Calum said before he could help himself, the term of endearment slipping out before he could stop it.

     Lily sighed, “can you distract me?”

     “The music isn’t distracting enough?” he asked.

     “Not really.” Lily winced, “shit, why did I think the inner thigh was a good idea? I knew it would hurt like a bitch-”

     “It will look great.” Calum assured her.

     “It will.” Lily agreed.

     She could feel his breath again and she tried to focus on that but as she felt the butterflies in her stomach, she realized maybe that was not the best idea. Having him so close to her, just inches away from where she was positive he could just bury his mouth and send her over the edge in seconds-

     “What the fuck?!”

     Calum pulled the tattoo gun away, looking at Michael who had just entered the shop, “Michael! Jesus fuck man you can’t just be surprising people who are in the middle of giving tattoos!”

     “Shit, sorry,” Michael apologize, “it just… it looked like you two were… well, Calum it looked like you were-”

     “Michael. Don’t say it.” Calum warned.

     They all knew what he was implying.

     “I’m going to continue alright?” Calum asked, drawing Lily’s eyes to his. She nodded.

     He started up the gun again and pressed it to her skin, again Lily winced and Michael walked over. “That looks sick already.” he stated.

     “Hold her hand.” Calum instructed.

     “What?”

     “Hold her fucking hand.” Calum said again.

     Michael reached out and took Lily’s hand which she immediately squeezed. “So Cal, flowers, since when did you start doing flowers?”

     “It’s what she wanted.” Calum answered.

     “I just didn’t know you were a fan of flowers.”

     “Chrysanthemums are dope Mike.” Calum said.

     “You’re wild.” Michael laughed.

     Michael pulled up a chair and sat with the two of them for the next three hours, successfully distracting Lily while Calum worked quietly. It was nice to listen to Michael talk because Calum could feel himself straining against his pants and he needed a turn off, like Michael’s voice.

     Calum was finishing up when Michael had to go, once again leaving Lily and Calum alone.

     “So do you have a skirt or something?” Calum asked.

     “No?”

     “Oh.”

     “Girls don’t just carry around skirts.”

     “Right.”

     “I mean, you’re going to be really sensitive and your jeans might hurt-”

     “Fuck. How come I didn’t think of that? I’m such a shit tattooist.” Lily groaned.

     Calum wiped her skin to get the remaining ink away, cleaning the area, “let me put the bandage on then I might have a shirt in the back you can wear as a dress because you’re small.”

     Lily stayed quiet as Calum smoothed the see through bandage over her skin. He stood up and went to the back, returning a minute later with a shirt that he handed to Lily, “here.”

     She looked at it, “Zeppelin, you have good taste.”

     Lily stood up on wonky legs, grabbing the hem of her shirt as she lifted it over her head. Calum looked away but the brief glimpse of a matching black lace bra made his breath catch again.

     “Okay, I’m decent.” Lily said in a quiet voice.

     Calum looked at the way the shirt hung like a dress down to her mid thigh. She looked adorable slipping on her adidas. She could make any outfit work.

     “Still hungry?” she asked.

     “Yeah.”

     “You’re sure I can’t force you to take money for this?” Lily sighed.

     “No way. How do you feel?”

     “It hurts a little but you were right about not having the added pressure of jeans.” Lily said, “so… let me grab my stuff then we can get food.”

     Calum cleaned up the station while Lily put all her clothes into her bag, taking one look at the tattoo in the mirror and admiring his handy work. She couldn’t wait till she could take off the bandage and see it clearly but she knew it was beautiful.

     Calum met her at the front of the shop and locked up. The night was warm, the first breath of summer having swept over the city that day, lingering in the air.

     They walked in silence down the street to the shawarma place.

     They both ordered the same thing, once again proving how much they had in common. When Calum pulled out his wallet, Lily thrust a twenty at the man at the till, “I’m paying for all of it.” she stated.

     “Don’t take her money-” Calum warned the guy.

     But Lily glared him down, “sorry man.” the vender said, taking the twenty.

     Calum sighed and the two of them waited for their wraps to be made. When handed the warm food, Lily stated: “there’s a park close by and we could sit on a bench and eat or something.”

     “Good idea.” Calum said.

     They began to eat their wraps as they walked, staying mostly quiet but Lily was oddly okay with that. She usually got fidgety with silence and at first, that had applied to Calum, but sometime in the past little while, the awkwardness that usually came with lack of conversation had disappeared.

     They sat on the park bench and ate, chatting a little. Easy conversation about apprenticeships. Calum was confident that Lily wouldn’t need as long as the others had which made Lily’s heart race. “You’re really talented.” he assured her, “wouldn’t surprise me if you’d be good to go in under a year actually.”

     “I didn’t realize you could just choose how long the apprenticeship is.”

      “Well, I mean, usually there are rules, but I think at the end of the day it’s based on my decision. And I could offer you a job at the parlour so that way, its sort of still like an apprenticeship.”

     “You’d hire me? Just like that?” Lily asked.

     “You’re really good Lily.” he stated, “I knew it the second I saw your application. And so did Michael.”

     They chatted about how he got into tattooing.

     They chatted until it began to get cold and Lily began to shiver. She pulled out her large denim jacket and seeing her in two things that were way too large was almost too much for Calum in some odd way.

     He tried not to look at her but it was very difficult.

     Especially her legs. God, he adored her legs already.

     “So I should get going.” Lily said when it got to be around ten.

     “Yeah me too.” Calum said as they both stood.

     Again, there was an awkward moment of whether or not they should hug.

     Calum’s self control disappeared as he wrapped his arms around the smaller artist, pulling her against his chest. She hugged back, cheek pressed against his front for a moment before they both pulled away, “get home safe.” he said, voice low and crackly as he cleared his throat.

     “I will.”

     They turned and went their separate ways with smiles on their faces.

----

     On Monday, Lily walked into the shop with a short little leather skirt that, once again, had Calum’s pants getting insanely tight. She breezed in with a smile and a wave to Ashton and Michael who were gawking at her from the reception desk, walking straight to Calum. “So I took the bandage off!” she grinned.

     “Let’s see.” Calum said, scooting forward on his stool with a smile. And then, Lily simply lifted up her skirt, completely flashing him a new, adorable, red and black lace thong that took Calum’s attention a moment too long before he had to force his eyes to the tattoo.

     “How’s your aftercare?” he asked.

     Lily rolled her eyes, “my aftercare is on point Hood.”

     He chuckled, “stop flashing me.”

     “Fuck, right.” Lily pulled down her skirt, red spreading over her delicate collar bones.

     The first few hours were insanely difficult for Calum. It was like every spare moment, his brain would think about those god damned lacy panties.

     Instead of taking a lunch break, Lily went up front with Ashton. Calum’s gaze was on her, watching them chat.  He didn’t even notice Luke pull his chair over to be next to Calum as Calum waited for his next client.

     “So you shouldn’t be looking because in a way, you’re her boss but I can look for you.” Luke stated.

     Calum rolled his eyes but tore his gaze away, knowing Luke was right about some things and unfortunately this was one of them.

     He had to be professional.

     He had to be.

     Another week passed and Calum managed to keep his eyes away from the gorgeous blonde and her little skirts. He was almost too good at keeping it professional and his friends noticed.

     Luke, Ashton and Michael were at a bar after work when Michael brought it up, “so we need to do something about Lily and Cal.”

     “What do you mean?” Luke asked.

     “They need to fuck.” Michael stated, “like, I can’t focus with all the sexual tension.”

     “Cal won’t act on it.” Ashton said, and they all knew he was right.

     Michael groaned, “fuck, I know, we need to make him act on it.”

     “How?” Luke laughed.

     And that's how Michael's mission began.

     His plans were never good.

     He took Lily and Cal to a bar then excused himself to go to the bathroom ten minutes in.

     He never came back.

     Calum had sighed when it became obvious Michael had dipped out, coming up with the only thing he could think of to talk about, “so… netflix.”

     Turned out they were both horror movie fans and they’d sat and chatted and agreed about everything for two hours before Calum finally suggested they head out, it was obvious that the yawning girl in front of him was tired from her long day at work.

     Calum caught onto Michael’s plan pretty fast and Michael spent many hours coming up with new ways to get Lily and Cal together outside of work.

     It was another month before Michael suggested that he needed a workout buddy.

     Calum had cocked an eyebrow at him, “you want to work out?”

     “Yeah.” Michael tried to sound excited about it but it lacked conviction, “hey, Lily, do you work out?”

     “I go for a run every now and again.” she answered, focusing on her drawing.

     “A run! That sounds…” for a moment he looked like he was going to try to be enthusiastic but then he broke, “I mean it sounds like torture but I need one I think.”

     “Thats something I’d like to see.” Calum chuckled.

     “We should all go for a run.”

     “I’m in.” Lily said absentmindedly.

     Calum’s gaze flickered to her then to Michael who was waiting expectantly. He knew it was another ploy but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see Michael in workout gear. “Fine, I’ll come too.”

     “Great! Sunday morning?”

----

     Michael did not show up on Sunday morning. He sent a text saying he’d meet the pair half way through their run at the park and that they should go without him.

     It was a beautiful morning. The day promised to be hot but the morning was cool, sun shining against the morning dew on the grass.

     The two began to jog and stayed quiet as they ran.

     It wasn’t a surprise when Michael didn’t show up at the halfway mark.

     In fact, neither of them even noticed.

     As the morning began to get warmer, they were both sweating and Calum finally suggested they stop. LIly collapsed onto a park bench pulling out her water bottle as Calum took off his shirt that was practically soaked.

     He groaned at the feel of the air on his newly revealed skin and Lily nearly choked on her water at his gorgeous chest which was covered in tattoos, and perfectly muscular.

     “Your tattoos-” she began.

     Calum looked down at her, “you like them?”

     “They’re beautiful, can… can I-” she began to ask awkwardly.

     “Yeah, look as much as you want.” he stepped forward so he could be closer, giving her a better view as she began with the tattoos just under his collar bones.

     He explained each one as she went down, watching her focus completely on the black marks that littered his skin.

     By the time she got to his abdomen, Lily was surprised she wasn’t drooling. Completely bewitched by each tattoo and the story that came with it.

     There was one particular tattoo, just above the waistband of his shorts, and it was so delicately intricate and beautiful, she couldn’t even help herself as she reached out and brushed her fingers against his skin.

     His abs immediately flexed, Calum having not expected her prying digits, Lily pulled away immediately, “oh my god I’m so sorry-”

     “It’s fine.” Calum assured her, knowing another anxiety ridden stammering rant was coming on, “I just wasn’t expecting that.”

     She was already blushing like crazy and Calum was sure it wasn’t from being hot from the run, “hey, would you look at the time!” Lily said, pulling out her phone, “I have places to be.”

     “Yeah me too.” Calum lied.

     “Well! Nice run!” Lily stood abruptly. There was no awkward move for a hug, they both simply turned opposite ways and ran.

     Lily’s heart was racing in her chest. She hadn’t meant to touch him, she just hadn’t been able to help herself. God. He was so fucking hot. She couldn’t even deal with it anymore.

     She’d had recurring dreams for over a week of having Calum between her legs like when he was giving her the tattoo, but in her dreams he always had a very different reason for being there.

     Likewise, Calum had been so god damned close to letting her explore him with her hands. Her fingers had felt so good. It was insane that her touch had brought electricity coursing through his body like nothing, even the sting of a tattoo gun, had ever done before.

     As soon as Calum got home he ran a cold shower, letting the water run over his body but even the shock of the temperature couldn’t distract him. He was in deep already, and he knew it.

----

     The others all watched as Lily and Calum interacted the next day.

     “The sexual tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife.” Ashton pointed out.

     “Do you think anything happened?” Luke asked, taking a bite out of his cucumber.

     “I am one hundred percent confident my plan worked.” Michael stated.

     “You wanna put money on it?” Luke grinned.

     “Fuck yeah, twenty bucks says they fucked.” Michael scoffed.

     “Deal.” Luke pushed off of the reception table and walked towards Cal and Lily who were going over the client list for the day. “Cal, I need to ask you something.” he said.

     “Go for it.” Calum said, not even looking up.

     “Privately.”

     Calum sighed, standing and following Luke to the reception desk, “what do you want?”

     “We want to know if you finally made a move yesterday.” Luke whispered.

     “Fuck are you guys serious?!” Calum groaned, “I am not talking about this.”

     He turned and walked back to Lily.

     “You owe me twenty.” Luke stated.

     “What? No I don’t!” Michael screamed.

     “Nothing happened. He’s all wound up still. Nothing happened.”

     “He’s got you there.” Ashton pointed out.

     “Whose side are you even on you traitor?” Michael glared at Ashton while pulling out his wallet. He handed Luke a twenty.

      It had to be, by far, the hardest day for Calum (in more ways than one.)

     All he could think about was getting her fingers on his skin again.

     He managed to get through most of the day but as the others cleared out until it was just him and Lily, once again, he was in a tough situation.

     His last client listened to music with earphones the whole tattoo, leaving Calum and Lily to silence.

     He was hyper aware of her as she watched him do the more difficult shading.

     He let her wipe away the excess ink and put on the bandage, “you deal with this, I’ll be in the back, there’s a room that needs to be cleaned-”

     “The private room? Michael cleaned it after he did that girls tit tattoo.”

     “Like I said, it needs to be cleaned a little more.” Calum said.

     She watched him go into the back and took the client to the front, taking his payment. The guy left and she locked the front door, turning off the open sign before going to find Calum in the back.

     She found him in the private room, standing tall as he wiped down a table. She could only see his back but damn was it a pretty back.

     Her heart was thundering in her chest.

     She knew what she wanted.

     And the logical part of Lily told her that he wanted it too, but the anxious little nugget side wondered ‘what if he doesn’t and you’re about to straight up try to get  in your boss’s pants?’

     It was a risk.

     And Lily did not take risks.

     But shit, she couldn’t help herself anymore.

     Calum set down the cloth and turned to look at Lily, “you’re done for the day, you can go home.” he said, arms crossing over his broad chest, the tattoos covering his forearms looking absolutely delicious.

     “Can I show you my tattoo? Its healed so nicely-”

     Calum cocked an eyebrow at her, “go for it.”

     He could see the anxiety written all over her face. And she hadn’t tried to show him the tat in a while which he was almost grateful for. Almost. He wondered where this was going to take them.

     Lily hesitantly lifted up her skirt and Calum stepped closer to get a better look. Before he could help himself he was on his knees and Lily’s breath caught in her throat.

     His fingers brushed over the skin, so lightly that if it wasn’t for the shocks running through her body, she wouldn’t have even been sure if he was making contact.

     “Calum, I need to say something.” she said, shocked at her own voice.

     He hummed, waiting for her to speak.

     “This is going to be the most inappropriate thing I’ve ever said and I’ve said a lot of inappropriate things, fuck, I swear like a trucker half the time, and this is going to fuck me over so bad but I can’t just not say it anymore.” she ranted as Calum stood. At his full height, he towered over her and it distracted her momentarily, loving how he completely dwarfed her. She let out a shaky breath, eyes lingering on his lips momentarily, “fuck.” she cussed.

     Calum smirked, “say what you have to say sweetheart.”

     The pet name made her heart leap in her chest and she wet her lips subconsciously, “this is so unprofessional.” she groaned.

     “Sounds like you have to get it off your chest. And you’re off the clock.” he reminded her.

     “Fuck. I really like you.”

     That was all he needed.

     Calum cupped her face in his hands, pressing his lips to hers. She melted against him, her hands going to the front of his jeans to pull him flush against her. Calum bit down on her lip and Lily moaned loudly into his mouth. Calum was hard in an instant.

     His grip went down to her waist as he pushed her back until she hit the tattooing chair, the impact of her bum against the chair made her groan and Calum’s hands moved farther down, grabbing at the fabric of her leather skirt that he dragged up to her hips, exposing the black panties that had been haunting his dreams since he’d first seen them.

     His mouth was hot and needy against hers, teeth and tongues clashing in a fiery passion as her fingers went to his hair, grabbing at the thick, dark curls. Calum moaned into her mouth from the small twinge of pain, his grip tightening on her thighs as he lifted her and set her onto the chair.

     It was flat, making it easy for him to set her anywhere he liked as he pulled his lips from hers and tore her panties down her legs, shoving them into his back pocket. “Calum.” Lily whimpered, voice needy. His breath wafted over her as he got on his knees on the ground, putting her legs over his shoulders.

     Her fingers tangled in his hair as he studied the tattoo for a moment, pressing a soft kiss to the skin that he had marred forever. It was so hot, for both of them, but Lily was anxiously awaiting his mouth as if her life depended on it.

     “Please.” she said in the neediest voice Calum had ever heard. He nearly groaned at the sound, turning his attention to where she needed him most.

     Calum closed his eyes as he took his first testing lick, wanting to enjoy every moment, every sound, every motion. Calum loved eating girls out, he never got tired of the control, the power, that being between a woman's legs brought him.

     Lily shuddered at the first contact of his tongue against her and all of Calum’s self control that he had been so desperately trying to hold onto went out the window. He put his mouth on her fully, hands gripping her thighs as he sucked her clit into his mouth. A loud moan was music to his ears as he focused on the small bundle of nerves, sucking as hard as he thought she could handle.

     “Jesus fuck.” Lily moaned, tugging at his hair.

     He loved it when she swore.

     He loved being the cause of her swearing.

     He flicked his tongue against her clit and she cried out louder, both of their grips tightening on each other.

     “Fuck Cal I’m gonna-” but she didn’t get to finish her sentence. Calum sucked harder and Lily fell over the edge, moans and whimpers ringing through the small private room as he body convulsed and Calum helped her through it. She was still shuddering when he pulled away, licking his lips as he stood.

     She looked so beautiful, skin flushed, just as he liked it.

     He gingerly pushed the denim jacket from her shoulders and it slipped to the ground, then his fingers went to the hem of her shirt, pulling that off too. Lily’s eyes were still closed, still in a post orgasm haze as he slowly undressed her, taking his time as his fingers brushed over the tattoos on her arms.

     Lily’s eyes fluttered open and Calum enjoyed the beautiful chocolate coloured eyes that looked up at him with lust. Her hands were shaky as she reached out and began to unbuckle his pants.

     Calum pressed his lips to hers, reaching around to unclasp her bra. The second the fabric felt away, the slowness was gone, once more replaced by complete passion and lust as Lily pushed Calum’s pants down fully.

     She grabbed his hard on and Calum moaned loudly into her mouth as she pumped him a few times, “condoms-” he groaned.

     “Birth control.” she stated.

     Calum moaned again, “holy fuck.”

     He took off his shirt while she continued to work his cock with her hands but as soon as the fabric was gone, he grabbed her fingers, tearing them away and instead putting them on his abdomen, on the skin she’d touched the day before.

     He pulled her closer, teasing her entrance with the head of his cock.

     “Please.” she whimpered, one of her hands going up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his lips to hers.

     Lily bit down into Calum’s lip and he smirked at the small spasm of pain coursing through his body. He plunged inside of her and Lily moaned, immediately releasing his lip from between her teeth as she gasped into his mouth.

     His hands found her waist, anchoring them both as he began to thrust in and out. His hips were buckling of their own accord, Calum completely enraptured by the small, tattooed, blond sitting on his private tattooing chair.

     He moved his lips to her neck, biting down against the skin as her fingers tightened in his hair, her lips near his ear as she whimpered loudly, biting down on his ear lobe.

     He sucked at her neck, teeth grazing the skin teasingly.

     One of her hands moved to his strong shoulders, nails digging against the skin so hard Calum was sure she would leave marks.

     But, as they both knew, they both enjoyed pain.

     He was getting too close to the edge and he knew it, pulling out of Lily, she whimpered in protest, only to be harshly dragged from the chair and turned around, hips slamming into the soft leather as his hand went to her back, pushing her front so she was flush against the fabric.

     He entered her from behind and they both moaned, the new angle hitting a new spot inside of her that was driving them both insane. His hands on her waist easily moved her body to meet every thrust.

    Calum was completely using her, and she was enjoying every moment.

    A hand wrapped in her blonde hair, tugging so she was standing, back against his chest. His hand moved from her hair to wrap around her front, briefly grabbing her boob and teasing the nipple. Her back arched and she moaned loudly as his hand moved higher still, tattooed fingers wrapping around Lily’s throat.

     Her heart was racing in her chest and with the added pressure on her neck, she was seeing stars. Whiney, high pitched whimpers were leaving her pretty lips and Calum was basking in the noise but fuck, he wanted to engulf them. He wanted to breath her.

     But the chair wouldn’t do. It was hot, but it wouldn’t work.

     This time when Calum pulled out, he dragged the two of them onto the ground, Lily landing on top. She straddled his waist, wasting no time before she sank down on top of him, her hands finding his tattoos chest to anchor herself as she began to move up and down on him.

     His hands went to her waist and he looked up at her in wonder as she found a steady rhythm. Little moans left her mouth as she collapsed forward, lips pressing against Calum’s as one of his hands found her hair.

     The hand on her hip tried tried to assist her, urging for her to move faster. It was amazing, but Calum was getting impatient again, wanting all the power. All the control.

     He flipped them easily and Lily hissed at the cold of the ground on her back but the feeling was immediately forgotten as Calum picked up the fasted rhythm yet.

     Her nails tore into his back and their mouths were close but their lips barely touched as they panted against each other. “Fuck.” Lily said, voice shaky, “I’m gonna cum.”

     “Me too.” Calum moaned, pistoning into her like a wild man. They were both on the edge and one more thrust engulfed Lily, her body fluttering and convulsing around him which made Calum reach his high too.

     He spasmed a little, giving a few more thrusts as their hands tore at each other, mouths hot and pressed together, tongues clashing.

     He slowed down and buried his face in her neck, holding himself over her with his forearms.

     Lily’s fingers traced Calum’s strong shoulders, “wow.” she breathed.

     Calum chuckled, placing one last kiss to her neck before he pulled out and rolled onto the ground next to her.

     They both stared at the ceiling, trying to catch their breaths.

     Calum sat up and Lily got a good look at his back. She’d broken the skin in three places but it looked beautiful.

     Calum groaned, pulling his jeans on. He stood up and buttoned them. Lily appreciated the beautiful man, clad in jeans, looking gorgeous.

     He walked to the sink, grabbing some paper towels. He got on his knees between Lily’s legs and cleaned her up, making sure the tattoo was completely wiped. “Birth control.” he smirked, “fucking love it.”

     Lily laughed, hiding her face with her hands.

     He tossed out the paper towels and came to lie next to her again, pulling her to his side so he could wrap his arm around her.

     “We are so fucked.” Lily groaned.

     Calum laughed.

     They were.

     “So… shawarma?” Lily asked.

     Calum laughed again, “that’s what I was thinking.”

     “Really?” Lily rolled over, hand going to Calum’s chest as she looked up at him.

     “We’re the same person. It’s kind of weird actually.”

     “If we’re the same person, then what am I thinking right now?” Lily asked.

     “You’re thinking that after the schwarma, you should come back to my place and we can trace each others tattoos, go a little slower, and I can make you cum more than just twice.”

     Lily laughed, “We must really be connected.”

----

     When Calum and Lily walked into the tattoo parlour the next morning, each with a black, iced coffee, it was obvious what had happened.

     She was even wearing one of his shirts, paired with the same skirt she’d worn the day before.

     There was a mark on her neck.

     “It’s like they’re not even trying to hide it.” Michael mused.

     “He’s so whipped.” Ashton giggled.

     He was.

     The guys waited until they could get Calum alone when Lily went on a lunch break to finally ask Calum what happened.

     “So are you two finally dating or what?” Luke asked blatantly.

     Calum turned to look at them and a flash of pain marred his face momentarily, “uh-”

     “You okay?” Ashton asked with concern.

     Calum’s eyes widened a little and Michael laughed, “did she tear up your back mate?!”

     “She did!” Luke laughed, “she totally did.”

     Calum blushed and everyone's eyes widened.

     Calum Hood never blushed.

     Ashton smirked, “So when’s the wedding?”

----

     They spend almost every waking hour together that whole week.

     Then the next.

     Then the next.

     The third week, cuddled in his bed, Duke tucked against Lily’s side, Calum finally asked the question: “want to be my girlfriend?”

     He didn’t do love. But he’d never met a girl like Lily before. The past weeks had made him rethink everything he’d ever known to be true. About love, life, happiness.

     Everything had changed.

     Lily looked up at Calum, finger tracing one of the tattoos on his chest, “yeah.” she said, a smile spreading across her face.

     Calum met her gaze, cupping her face to bring her lips to his.

     He smiled against her lips, “Thank god for your fucking florals.”

-----

     It was no shock that one month became two and two became three.

     Attached at the hip like twins, always together, they were the perfect fit. It got to a point where it was almost like they knew what the other was thinking.

     Lily was a year into her apprenticeship when Calum announced that it would be her last week. They’d gone out to celebrate, Calum and Lily had even disappeared to the bathroom to celebrate a little in private, much to the dismay of Ashton and Luke, and the glee of Michael.

     Calum didn’t even bother to ask Lily what tattoo she had planned for him. He trusted her completely.

     The day finally came and once the shop closed, everyone sat around with booze while they watched Lily and Calum. “Pick the place baby.” he smiled.

    Lily took his right arm and chose the spot she’d drawn the first chrysanthemum on all those months ago. Calum didn’t look as she drew the pattern, not wanting to ruin the surprise.

     He chatted easily, unflinching, with the guys as the buzz of the gun softly filled the room.

     “How’s it looking Mike?” Calum asked.

     Michael leaned over, looking at Lily’s marks, “looks sick.” Michael grinned.

     A little while longer and Lily was cleaning the skin, “okay, you’re all done.” she stated.

     Calum brought her lips to his for a kiss before looking down at the tattoo.

     He had accepted it would be floral, in fact, he’d been excited about finally having floral.

     And he wasn’t disappointed. In fact, his heart swelled in his chest.

     Two beautiful Chrysanthemums and a Lily. A little, perfect bouquet, just for him.

     “The chrysanthemums so we match-” she began to explain.

      “And the Lily because you’re you.” Calum finished for her. Lily flushed and Calum grinned, “Can’t get rid of you now can I?” he teased, “I love it.”

     And he did.

     But not as much as he loved the woman who had marked his body forever.

     Not as much as he loved his Lily.

#softforcal #5sos #5 seconds of summer #calum hood #calum hood smut #tattoo artist au #tattoo artist 5sos #tattoo artist calum hood #tattoo artist cal #tattooist!calum hood #tattoo artist! Calum Hood #au #smut #5sos smut #5 seconds of summer smut #tattoo artist calum hood smut #oneshot

[adrenaline-roulette]

Crazy little thing called love

Roger Taylor x Reader

Warnings: None! 

Preview: “Turn around! Get your arse back in that fitting room right this second!” She yells, waving her arms above her head wildly.

“Mary? What on Earth are you doing?” “Roger! The boys! They’re outside, they saw me and are coming in!” “Get rid of them! I don’t care what you have to do, but they cannot be in here!” You plead.

“Look Y/N, there’s another one!” Mary squeals excitedly as you walk along the busy street, you come to sudden halt as she stops moving, your linked arms preventing you from going any further without her. “Come on, lets take a look!” She urges, as she gently tugs you into the bridal store. As you enter, you feel like royalty, and know that you definitely do not belong in here. Pristine white dresses are displayed across the shop floor on mannequins in uncomfortable poses. Marble tiles line your way as you walk further inside, your jaw going slack as you look around. There’s a crystal chandelier hanging above you, its lights twinkling away merrily, unaware that no one in the history of the world would ever be able to afford a dress in this store.

“Mary, we shouldn’t be in here. We don’t belong!” You mutter, as you gaze down at yourself, your dusty combat boots nearly leaving scuff marks on the tiles.

“Oh come on, Roger just popped the question, you have to at least start looking for a dress!” Mary admonishes sharply, with a final tug at your arm to move you further into the store. She was stopped in front of the clothing racks, each garment in a bag to protect it from dust, and other foreign bodies. Ivory and cream fabrics were overloading your senses as she moves each dress to look at it.

“He asked me last week, we haven’t even spoken about it since, he’s been so busy with the record, I don’t think we’ll start planning it until the end of the month.” You shrug, following Mary’s lead and looking through the numerous dresses.

Mary rolls her eyes, huffing at you. “That isn’t the point Y/N. The point is, is that you are going to be Missus Roger Taylor at some point in the near future! And I’ll be damned if you don’t look a million dollars on your wedding day!” She declares, stamping her foot down to make her point as final. An older woman looks up from a few racks away, lifting an eyebrow at the noise Mary had been making.

“May I help you ladies?” She asks, her lips pursed as she saunters her way over to you both. You gulp, looking to the bottle blonde woman, wanting to simultaneously run from the store and also give her a swift kick to the knees. You knew you didn’t belong in here, but she didn’t have to make it so obvious with that look!

“Yes actually, I’m in the market for a wedding and maid of honour dress.” You smile sweetly, your perfect customer service voice coming in to play. Moving your hand to brush away a stray lock of hair, you make sure your engagement ring is clearly visible to the shop assistant, noticing her frown lift from her face somewhat. She still has a hard look about her, though it seems to be crumbling away slowly. Mary stifles a giggle from beside you, hiding it behind a sneeze.

“Of course, congratulations on your engagement! Was there any style of dress you were looking for in particular?” She asks, moving her hands in grand gestures towards the racks you and Mary had just been browsing through.

You frown for a moment, you hadn’t really thought about your dress very much. You know that Roger would find you stunning no matter what style you picked, though you also know that he would probably prefer you to wear jeans and one of his leather jackets. “Nothing too over the top, classic and simple, maybe with lace? I like off the shoulder sleeves…” You finally decide, an image of what your dress should be forming in your minds eye.

 “And nothing too frilly, or too puffy.” Mary chimes in, and you find yourself nodding in agreement. The two of you had been to a wedding earlier this year, for a friend you had both went to school with. Although it was her big day, both of you decided that the dress was utterly hideous, not that you would ever say that to her face of course. The dress had wide, puffy sleeves that were at least twice the size of her head, the bodice had a corset style ribbon running across it, with lace surrounding the edges. Then, there were the ruffles. The skirt had layers, upon layers of tulle, with ribbon edging each one. All in all, she looked like a yeti, but it seemed to make her happy at least.

You nod your agreement, and the sales woman busies herself with finding suitable dresses for you to model for Mary.

Twenty minutes later, you find yourself in a circular fitting room, with mirrors covering the entire wall around you. The sales woman was with you, helping you into each dress you tried on. The first three had been, nice enough, just not quite what you had been hoping for, and you were beginning to think that maybe the dress you had imagined didn’t exist. “There we are, all buttoned up.” She smiles, patting you on your shoulder with a soft smile. “Now, off you go and show your friend this one!”

You step out of the dressing room, noticing that you didn’t have to lift the skirt while walking unlike with the other dresses you had tried on, a smile forming on your lips at that. You wanted to be able to move easily in your dress, and the idea of lifting the hem each time you took a step just sounded like torture!

**********************************************************************************

The four men walked through the bustling streets, smiling and waving at fans as they made their way to the nearest pub. They had been in meetings all morning, discussing what their latest album should be, and were tired of trying to explain what they had all come up with.

“I just don’t get it.” Roger huffed, kicking a stone away from his feet as he walked. “What about Radio GaGa don’t they understand?” He groaned, as John placed a hand on his shoulder in an effort to comfort him.

“It’s a great song Rog, and it’ll be on the album whether the record execs understand it or not.” John offered with a smile, which was returned by Roger.

“Mary!” Freddie squealed loudly, causing the other three men to look at him in surprise. From what they could see, there was no Mary anywhere in sight.

Brian looked at Freddie, squinting down at the excited man. “Fred, there’s no Mary here.” He shrugs, unsure as to where his exclamation had come from.

Freddie points towards a bridal store, grinning light a child on Christmas. “She’s in there darling.” He coos, waving at Mary through the display window. Mary looks shocked, then promptly runs away from the window, arms flailing like a mad woman.

Roger had turned his attention to the store now, along with Brian and John. “What’s Mary doing in a bridal shop?” He muses aloud, as he takes a long drag from his cigarette, before stamping it out beneath his toe.

“I haven’t the faintest idea, let’s go find out, shall we?” Freddie decrees, as he pushes his way through the crowds of people, parting them as if they were the red sea.  The remaining three men gaze between one another, before following their lead singer towards the elegant store.

Upon entering the store, the four men look around, rather overwhelmed by the sheer abundance of white dresses. How can there be this much choice in only one colour? Roger walks further in, stopping every now and then to take a closer look at some of the garments hanging around him. From the corner of his eye, he spots a frantic Mary shoving a figure draped in white back inside a dressing room. “Get in! And don’t come out!”  She shrieks, as she barricades the door with her body. Roger frowns at the sight before him, shaking his head before making his way towards his flustered friend.

As he reaches Mary, the other men had decided to check what all the commotion was about themselves. “Uh, hi Mary?” Brian begins, lifting an eyebrow at the pale rose coloured dress she had on.  The dress boasted puffy sleeves at the shoulders, with the length ending mid forearm, a deep plunging neckline showed off her chest nicely, and a large bow was tied at the back. “You look stunning love, but I must ask. Do you have some news to share with us?”

Mary had the decency to look affronted by Brian’s suggestion, placing her hand against her chest. “Why, whatever do you mean Brian?”

It was John’s turn to speak up next, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded Mary. “I think what Brian means to ask, is whether or not there is a particular reason as to why you’re trying on bridal dresses?”

“Yes! Who is the lucky man? And for the love of God, why did you not tell me you were getting married?” Freddie gasps, as he takes Mary’s hand away from her chest, twirling her in a circle.

Roger frowns deeply, desperately trying to put the pieces together of this puzzle. “Who’s hiding in the fitting room?” He finally asks, referring to the figure he had seen her practically tackle into the small room just before

Mary blinks up at the four men before her, her eyes darting between each of her friends, desperately trying to think of a way out of this situation. “What makes you think I’m getting married?” She finally asks, folding her arms across her chest, tapping her foot impatiently as she awaits a response.

“Well darling, either you’re getting married, or being just a little bit presumptuous. I will happily speak on behalf of all men here, if you were to find a wedding gown in the closet before having asked the woman to marry you, it would be a little bit confronting.”

Mary’s eyebrows crease together, listening intently to Freddie’s explanation, of course he of all people wouldn’t buy her story! She bites down on her lower lip, looking back at the fitting room behind her, praying that you would be able to keep quiet, and hidden from just a little while longer.  “If you must know, my dear friend is getting married shortly, and she has asked me to be a bridesmaid. So I’m looking for a dress for her big day.”

“Oh really?” Brian smirks, lifting an eyebrow in challenge up at her.

“Yes really, thank you very much.”

“What’s her name?” Roger queries, leaning his hip again a glass cabinet filled with tiara’s and accessories of the like. His arms are folded across his chest, his baby blues regarding her with scepticism.

“Um, my friend’s name?” Mary stammers, her eyes going wide, as if she were a deer caught in the headlights of an approaching car.

“Yes, your friend’s name. Who else?” Deaky jumps in, from what he could tell, none of the others were believing her story. What he couldn’t quite understand, was why she was being so secretive. If Mary was engaged, surely, she would be excited?

“Her name?” Mary begins, before losing her nerve, and stepping backwards, pressing herself closer to the door leading to the fitting room. “Jessica!” She quickly declares, breathing a sigh of relief as she thinks up a name.

Freddie’s grin broadens across his lips, showing off his teeth. “My dear, I met all of your friends while we were together, you have never known a Jessica.” He chuckles, and the four men watch the colour drain away from Mary’s face.

“Just tell us the truth Austin, who’s in the fitting room, and who’s wedding is it?” Roger groans. He was already tired from the morning they had had, and he found himself in no mood to play silly games with an over emotional Mary.

Mary gulps audibly, “I dragged Y/N in here to start looking for her wedding dress.” She finally admits, and as if on cue, the fitting room door which she had been guarding is pushed wide open, sending the young woman tumbling to the ground, as a vision in white emerges behind her.

 You only manage to make it halfway towards the podium in the centre of the store, surrounded by mirrors so you could see yourself from each and every angle, before Mary comes running at you, the silken fabric of her maid of honour dress shining merrily beneath the bright lights. “Turn around! Get your arse back in that fitting room right this second!” She yells, waving her arms above her head wildly. You blink at her in surprise, unsure of how to react to her sudden outburst, that is until her hands are cupping your shoulders, and marching you backwards, back into the fitting room you had just emerged from.

“Mary? What on Earth are you doing?” You gasp out, as you take hurried steps backwards, both trying to follow the lead of your friend, and also get away from her.

“Roger! The boys! They’re outside, they saw me and are coming in!”

Your eyes widen, while your jaw goes slack, Roger can’t see you! It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress! Even if this isn’t the dress you end up purchasing, you still don’t want him to see you! “Get rid of them! I don’t care what you have to do, but they cannot be in here!” You plead, just as the chiming of the bell above the door informs you that the band had arrived. Mary has just enough time to slam the fitting room door shut, sending you  tumbling into the sales assistants arms. She caches you swiftly, a scowl forming over her features.

“What do you think you’re doing, playing around in a dress this expensive?” She chastises you, glaring daggers down at you.

“I am so sorry. But please, we need to stay quiet, my fiancé just walked in with his friends, he doesn’t know I’ve started looking at dresses yet!” You plead with the furious woman. The moment you had regained your balance, she had taken her arms away from you, whether to protect the dress or because she was cross with you, you were unsure.

You keep your voice hushed, and the sales assistant does the same, allowing you to hear the conversation beyond the door. The boys are pressing Mary for a reason as to why she’s here, and her lies didn’t seem to be doing a good job at convincing them as to her situation.

“I’m sorry my dear, but I don’t care who else is in this store. You do not, under any circumstances throw yourself around wearing a dress like this.” The woman hisses at you, as she pushes you towards the door again, desperately trying to get you out of the fitting room, despite your protesting.  “This is a three thousand pound dress, you either get out there or get out of the dress!”

With one final push, you find yourself practically flung out of the door, falling against Mary as the door swings open. You both crash to the ground, Mary luckily breaking your fall. “Five more minutes Y/N! I nearly had them convinced to leave!” Mary groans, as you roll off her back.

“You really didn’t…” Four voices laugh from above you, and you find yourself too embarrassed to look up at them. Mary pushes herself up to a standing position, before dutifully reaching her hands down to you, assisting in pulling you upright.

Once standing up straight again, you smooth the dress out around you, lifting the skirt before dropping it back down, quickly removing any creases that had formed from your, elegant entrance. After a few moments of silence, you finally look up at your audience, biting your bottom lip, desperate for someone to break the silence.

“Y/N, you look stunning…” Roger breathes out, drinking in the sight of you. You were an absolute vision, the dress looked as if it had been made just for you, and he would not mind seeing you walk down the aisle wearing exactly this dress.

“Thank you, Rog.” You smile gently, your gaze meeting his heated one, causing your smile to grow wider. It wasn’t an often occurrence for Roger to be honest with his feelings, however you knew he was genuine with his compliment.

Brian nods in agreement, his wild mane of curls bouncing around his shoulders. “You truly do look wonderful, but I must ask. Why are you trying on wedding gowns?” Deaky and Freddie both nod their agreement, all with equal looks of confusion adorned on their faces.

You blink at the three men, confusion colouring you features also. “Why wouldn’t I be trying on bridal dresses?” You press, lifting your eyebrows in anticipation.

“Well as we said to Mary just now, typically one waits until they are engaged before they start dress shopping.” Deaky supplies helpfully.

Nodding, you lift your left hand up, just as Mary points directly at the engagement ring adorned on your ring finger. “Yes, I think I’ve completed step one.”

Freddie gasps loudly, racing over to you and wrapping you up in a rib crushing hug. “Who and when?” He squeals, reaching a pitch that only dogs could hear.

“What do you mean who? Roger of course!” You declare, whirling around to glare at your fiancé.

Brain looks between the two of you, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Roger finally got up the guts to propose?” He chuckles deeply.

“Roger Taylor. You have some explaining to do Mister!” You snarl, your hands resting on your hips as you glare at the blonde, who at least looked somewhat embarrassed by the situation at hand.

“Yes, I proposed, last week so everyone knows exactly when it happened, on a Tuesday. I just, I wanted to keep it between us for a little while, before telling this lot.” He shrugs, a look of guilt gracing his features, as he gazes at you. You step closer to him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, causing him to smile against yours.

“Okay, I understand. You just had me worried for a moment there. I thought maybe I had imagined the whole, you getting down on one knee, and asking me to marry you, thing. But good to know I didn’t!” You blush, reaching up to push his hair back off his forehead.

Mary sighs dreamily behind you, wiping a fake tear off her cheek. “No matter how many times you tell me, I still find it hard to believe that The Roger Taylor proposed to you in a traditional manner.”

You roll your eyes at her antics, shaking your head slowly, smiling once more as you feel Roger’s arms circle around you, his hands resting gently against your waist. The moment is soon broken however as Deaky raises his voice to gather everyone’s attention. “While this is all very romantic, may we just take one moment to remind ourselves of the fact that Roger, our dear drummer, didn’t think any of us important enough to share this news with!”

Roger bows his head, his shaggy hair flopping over his forehead once again. “I mean, you did find out eventually.” He shrugs, looking only somewhat guilty about the whole situation. Deaky shakes his head in disapproval, while Freddie and Brian grin at the semi argument before them.

You can feel Roger’s fingers gliding along your spine as you face the group, playing with the ivory buttons that trail from the nape of your neck, down to the base of your spine. His fingers catch on the price tag, and he plays with the piece of card idly, taking a moment to glance down at the price stamped across it. His breathe hitches in his throat for a moment, though you pay him no mind, instead focusing on the grumpy sales assistant. She had recently emerged from the dressing room, her arms folded across her chest, a stern look gracing her already hard features. “This is no place for a friendly catch up! I must insist Miss, if you are not here to try on our gowns, then you must leave.”

Her look is focused solely on you, and you feel a blush cover your cheeks, averting your gaze quickly. Freddie, reading the discomfort on your face jumps to the rescue, sauntering over to the woman, a devilish grin tugging at his lips. “My dear, we were just leaving now! We are so sorry to have caused a scene, please forgive us!” He finishes his apology by walking up to the woman, taking her hand gently, and placing a kiss against the upside of her palm. Freddie’s grovelling only manages to raise a small smirk from the woman, though it soon falls away.

“I believe it best if I never see you four in this store again.” She grumbles, before turning her attention to you and Mary. “And you two are on thin ice too.” Mary gasps, taking a step back, at what she had deemed as a verbal attack.

“What did we do wrong?” She demands, stomping up to the older woman, both standing with their arms folded across their chests, glaring daggers at one another. You couldn’t help but giggle at the sight, it truly looked as if Mary were fighting with an older version of herself.

As Freddie rounds the band up, deciding it really was time to leave, Roger leans down against your side, his lips resting against the shell of your ear.  “Get any dress you’d like Y/N…. Just not this one.” He whispers, still struggling to wrap his head around the exuberant cost of one dress. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he dashes out of the bridal store, racing to catch up with the others, leaving you to try and stop Mary from arguing with the sales assistant.

 The four beer bottles clinked together, the noise muffled out nearly entirely by the noise of the band playing in the small pub. “To Marriage!” Brian declares as he grins at Roger.

“To secret proposals and not telling friends!” Deaky interjects playfully.

“Let’s just stick with to Roger hm?” Freddie offers, before downing a large gulp of his beer, the other three quickly following his lead.

Roger taps his foot along to the song the band had begun playing, the drummer in him unable to rest when a decent beat started. He had never heard of this band before, nor seen them at any of pubs the regularly visited. Though they were quite good, might even be the next Queen he thought. “Is it wrong for me to be worried about the cost of this wedding already?” He laughs half-heartedly, looking at John intently. “You got married Deaks, how much did it cost? Are you still in debt? Help me!”

John blinks at Roger in surprise, the usually stress-free drummer looked to be in the midst of a panic attack. “Ronnie and I kept it pretty simple, so it wasn’t too much, and no we aren’t still debt. We were never in debt. It’s the dress that’s the killer, they can cost a small fortune.” He finishes, before taking another swig.

“Trust me, I know. The dress Y/N was wearing, I don’t think I could ever afford something like that.” Roger sighs, his nerves now calmed somewhat from John’s reassuring words.

John nods in understanding, smiling gently. “You may think that now, but the dress is what makes them the happiest. That’s what Ronnie says at least. At the end of the day, all she cared about was having me there, and her perfect dress.”

“So, from the sounds of things. As long as you let Y/N get the dress she loves, then the wedding could be held in a grocery store, and she wouldn’t care!” Brian chuckles, noticing as the colour drain from Roger’s face.

Roger gulps audibly, before he leans forwards and rests his chin against the table. “I told her not to get the dress she was wearing. And now I can’t imagine her wearing anything other than that one!” He groans, as John moves Roger’s beer away from his head, in an effort to stop it from spilling.

“Congratulations Rog, your marriage is already doomed, and you haven’t even started planning the wedding yet. Surely that must be a world record!” Freddie smirks, while Brian timidly pats Roger’s head.

 “Did you get the dress?” You hear Roger long before you see him, as he stumbles through your apartment door, swearing as he walks directly into the coat stand by the front door. Despite you both having your own apartments, you can’t quite recall the last time Roger had stayed at his, not that there was much of his there anymore. Most of his belongings had migrated their way into your living space during the course of your relationship.

You bite down on your lip, waiting for your drunk fiancé to navigate his way into the sitting room. You couldn’t blame him from having a few drinks in celebration with the others, even you and Mary had gone to a fancy café that served mimosas all day, after leaving the bridal shop. Though from the sounds of things, Roger had likely had a few more to drink than you. “You’ll just have to wait and see won’t you? Just, you know, don’t go into the closet.” You grin softly, as he finally makes his way to you. It was fun to tease drunk Roger, it was fun to tease sober Roger too. Roger looks down at you, curled up on the sofa, with a book across your lap. He raises and eyebrow at your comment, mulling over your words for a few moments, before turning on his heel and marching towards the bedroom.

 A part of Roger was ecstatic at the thought you having bought the dress, the other part of him was utterly terrified, still unable to get the price tag out of his mind. Soon, he finds himself stood before the closet, hand hovering above the handle, shaking with anticipation. “Just do it!” He mutters to himself, before swinging the door open. There, in the corner of the closet, is a white garment bag, with the name of the bridal store printed across it, in black cursive. Reaching out, he pulls the bag off the rack and brings it over to the bed, draping it over the duvet. It’s not as heavy as he had thought it would be, though really, what did he know about the weight of a wedding dress?

Carefully he pulls the zipper down on the bag, pulling it down inch by inch, before it lay open before him. Roger wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the sight before him, there, in the garment bag, from a bridal store none the less, lay a brand new leather jacket. A note, with Roger written in your handwriting taped to the material. He hurriedly shook off the denim jacket he was currently wearing, before replacing it with your gift, grinning at how well it fit, the smell of leather filling his nose as he breathed in deeply.

While Roger was engrossed in his findings, you quietly made your way into the bedroom behind him, leaning your hip against the wall, as you waited with a baited breath for him to reveal the jacket. “Damn I have excellent taste in clothing.” You chuckle, as he whirls around on the spot, sporting his new jacket.

“So, you didn’t get the dress then?” He raises his brows in surprise, blinking his striking blue eyes over at you. With a sly grin, you step over to him, reaching your hands out to his jacket.

You zip up the jacket slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I will not justify that question with an answer.”

The zip stops at his throat, and Roger smirks down at you. “It’s at Freddie’s isn’t it?’

“it’s at Freddie’s.”  You smile.

My Masterlist

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x y/n #roger taylor x you #roger taylor fanfic #queen fanfiction #queen band #Freddie Mercury #Brian May #John Deacon #mary austin #shopping #dress shopping #wedding dress #fluff #humour #sweet #funny #love #romance #wedding fluff #domestic roger is my spirit animal #you and mary are terrible liars #mary especially #why are wedding dresses so expensive #roger forgot to mention that he proposed #whoops? #roger stresses over the wedding

[therewasatale]

have a cup of tea

On Ao3.

The room was so saturated with magic that the air was sizzling. It flow through the cables, vibrated around the monitors, and completely filled the three tanks. Each of them contained one, different colored heart, all the three pulsating slowly.

The leader royal scientist put out his cigarette and lit up another one. His hand trembled for a moment as pain flashed into his forehead, but he tried to shake off the waves of pain. They were becoming stronger and more frequent. He focused on the data with his left eye as he put his lighter in the pocket of his worn-out lab coat.

'We were only able to extract a miniscule amount of DT from the three souls. We are sure that DT is more abundant in the souls of infants than adults, however, if the subject… '

The cursor slowly pulsed.

…the subject….the subject…it…It's that damn headache again. I don't have time for this!

Dr.Gaster blew out a breath of frustration and reached for his painkiller.

His phone rang, Lerian sent an SMS based on the display. Gaster read through the message several times, but kept his right eye closed. He had been awake for more than 29 hours and it was taxing on his body, but he couldn’t let that stand in his way. His fingers started dancing on the keyboard again.

'… If the DT in the subject's soul's is not its primary aspect, it can only be found as a cohesive force. The amount needed for this cohesion is miniscule. In comparison to the other parts of the soul, DT is hardly measurable. Still our research has shown that for the soul of a monster even such tiny amount can be suitable for maintaining it for an unknown time, possible forever. '

Not far from his door, three figures stuck their heads together.

"He's not listening to any of us, Neo."

"Well, that’s far from being a new situation, especially these days," the answer was full of sarcasm, but there was also genuine concern, just carefully hidden.

Cigarette smoke rose up.

"Orchid, do you have to smoke even when we are inside?"

"Sorry, when I'm nervous I just have to…"

The three royal scientists looked at each other in silence and just stayed like that for a while.

The first voice, which belonged to an older lizard monster and bearing the name Orchid, took the chance to speak again as he blew out another dose of smoke. He moved his dark blue, scaly tail behind him as he talked.

"As we were talking about, he isn't listening to any of us, so we are forced to turn to the only voice he always hears."

"I feel like some kind of tattletale." Neo, the cat-monster, currently a full-time scientist, scratched his head with the temple of his glasses.

They had to do something; they were in agreement about that.

Their last colleague, a newbie, Alphys, stood nervously placing her weight from one leg to the other. "But-but we have to do it… Dr.Gaster…"

"Yeah, he's starting to overdo things again. We all seen his injury, I think it got worse again. If we don't do something, he'll lose his right eye completely!" Orchid glanced at his colleagues, slowly blowing out a puff of smoke. "The only question is who should go?"

There was a heavy silent which sit down on each of themes shoulder.

"I will, the king trusted me with it anyway." Neo put his thick glasses back on his nose. "You keep an eye on him in case he finally decides to go home."

Orchid snorted a little, putting out the cigarette on the wall and for once ignoring Neo's disapproving look.

"I don't think he will leave; in fact, if you ask me, he hasn't even got up from his desk in hours."

"Mhm," Alphys rubbed his hands together. She fantasized a lot about what it's going to be like working in the lab, but keeping an eye on the lead researcher never came to mind as a possible aspect of her job.

"All right, all right, I won't be long… or more like we won't," Neo hurried away.

When the two of them were alone, Orchid patted the young monster on the shoulder amiably.

"Everything will be okay, Dr.Gaster just have this habit of getting too into his work, and forgetting that there are those who are worried about him. His heart is in the right place, but no matter how big his skull is, he never pays attention to his own well-being."

Alphys smiled slightly. "We really owe a lot to him, the Core was a huge step forward in the monsters' lives here."

"As you say…but I think he's always focused on the next step. He really wants to get us out from here."

"But, if-if he continues like this-"

"Yeah…but everything will be all right, the king always can talk some sense into him."

An hour later, there was a knock on the door of Dr.Gaster's office.

"I'm busy right now."

"What a shame…I've even prepared a special tea."

A voice from the other side of the door immediately woke the scientist up from his work-haze, and almost it almost made him fell out of his chair. It didn't take three seconds and he was already on his feet at the entrance.

"Your Majesty!" Gaster opened the door and looked up at King Dreamure who head a wide smile. "Wha-"

"It's good to see you too, Gaster. I've heard you buried yourself into your work, so I thought I better visit."

"You've heard…" the scientist stepped aside and glanced behind the king down the hall. Three of his colleagues were making sure to look everywhere but at him "so my colleagues have sneaked up on me and furthermore they have bothered you with some nonsense."

"Now-now, they're just worried you might overdo the work, and they haven't, and no, it is not some nonsense." Answered Asgore kindly.

"I'm fine, sir," said the scientist with a small huff.

"Good to know," the king smiled, and put down the small box in his hand, starting to unpack. "In that case, how about we drink a cup of tea? Then I promise I won't bother you anymore."

"I-" but as their eyes met, Gaster knew well he wouldn't be able to get out of it. "All right, as you wish, Your Majesty."

He pulled another chair closer to his desk and made sure to only sit down after the king. The squeaks, vibrations, and clicks that filled the room before all seemed to fade into the background the pleasant smell of peach tea took their place.

"How are you, Gaster?"

"Everything is fine, Your Majesty. The research progress at a rate that could be expected, soon we will be able to extract the determination out of the souls without losing any of it. If that happens we will have some options in our hands to try to break the barrier."

"Commendable." Asgore glanced at the three souls for a moment, but decided not to let the past distract him from the present. "And how are the boys, Sans and Papyrus?"

"They…" Dr.Gaster took the cup and held it in his hands. Thought for a moment as he gazed into the dark, steaming liquid "They're fine too, they're growing nicely. Sans is getting more talkative, Papyrus loves to hide from me all over the house every time I'm home."

"Then you're not getting bored. It's good to hear you're not alone at home." The king smiled warmly, but in the meantime he carefully inspected the skeleton sitting in front of him.

The lead researcher looked just as exhausted as his colleagues had painted him. The dark circles now sat much deeper under his eyes, the sleeves of his lab coat were covered in stains of oil, dust, and coffee. Still, the most worrying thing was the injury running along the right side of his skull.

The crack that stretched all the way to his right eye was not new, but it had gotten worse lately, which filled Asgore with worry.

During the fighting, when survival was the only thing before their eyes. Gaster, teleported far more monsters to safety using his magic than his power would have normally and then a crack appeared on his forehead. It was neither this deep nor so wide then. It all started to get worse during his underground research. The unhealthy lifestyle; minimal or irregular sleep, bad eating habits, plus the constant stress had an increasingly serious impact on his soul and body. No one could really determine what shape his soul was actually in. He refused to show it even to the king.

And the crack just drew deeper and deeper.

"I can assure you, your Majesty, I am fine. I feel like I'm nearing a breakthrough and I don't want to lose my momentum."

"I know you carry the weight of the fate of monsters on your heart, and you have the best of intentions to act like this. I'm just asking you to sometimes think about your own well-being when you do your research." Asgore raised his hand before the monster could answer. "Before you answer we should drink, if the tea cools down, it's all just wasted."

"As you wish." Gaster took a slow sip of his tea. The warmth quickly spread through all his limbs and for a few second the painful tightness in his chest eased. He didn't even notice the feeling before. When did it appear? Maybe it's always been there. "Really delicious."

"I'm glad you like it." However, Asgore didn't touch his cup.

The room began to slowly sway in front of Dr. Gasters eye.

"What…?"

The cup clinked on the floor spilling the remaining tea to the floor.

"What…Asgore..."

The king watched him in silence, an apologetic light glinted in his eyes.

"oh…you gotta be-" the world darkened before Dr.Gaster's eyes, but before he could collapsed to the ground the king caught him and held him safely.

"I'm sorry, Gaster, but I had to act fast and I haven't got any better idea."

His limbs were pleasantly numb, and the throbbing of her eyes were a thing of the past. His hands felt some kind of soft material, but so far his head didn't feel like getting up. His scientist self, however, could not stay asleep very long and tried to discover the reason for him suddenly falling asleep. He was in the middle of his train of thoughts when he heard some nearby voices.

"Why does a skeleton always tells the truth?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"He wants tibia honest."

"Ohoho. I didn't even think about that."

"Nyeee."

"I think your brother likes puzzles more than jokes."

"He's, but I'm just being humerus."

"Nyeeeeehehe!"

"Sans…" Gaster turned his head to the side as he opened his eye.

"Don't bother your brother."

Said young skeleton-monster scratched the back of his neck a bit ashamed. "Sorry, dad."

He and his younger brother sat on the floor between a pair of coloring books and various pencils, in the company of the king, who watched the young monsters with a warm smile.

"Da!" Papyrus toddled to the couch, then raised his arms toward him.

"Hello, Papyrus." Gaster reached out carefully and stroked his son's head. Encouraged by this, the young skeleton struggled up the couch with some help from the king.

"Nyehehehe." He proudly raised his hand in the air and then crawled under the blanket next to his father. The royal scientist noticed that the fabric was blue with a large white bone embroidered on it. So, he was resting under Sans' blanket.

"So, Your Majesty," Gaster's voice sounded more different then when he was in the Lab "would you enlighten me how I got home and on this couch?"

"Well, I-"

"He brought you home!" Sans chuckled at the embarrassed Asgore who slightly blushed.

"Yes?"

"Well, I…" the king gave out a defeated sigh. "Your colleagues have messaged me that you don't move from your office, you don't eat and you don't sleep properly. While you can go or not go wherever you want, but not sleeping has a serious effect on your body. Not to mention that your sons were missing you. By the way I thanked Gerson, that he took care of the boys while you were away. "

"Nye."

"I think I can say that Papyrus agrees with me."

"Nye!"

Asgore's warm chuckle eased Gaster's tension.

"Hm, I see," he carefully placed his bone hand on his younger son's head and smiled faintly as he snuggled closer to him. Even though both of his sons born from his soul, he had no idea where Papyrus inherited his affection and kindness from.

"Thank you. Um, all right maybe I've really needed some time home." Gaster glanced at the king who watched the kids with soft eyes. "You're not staying for dinner, Your Majesty? As an apology for causing much inconvenience."

"There was no inconvenience, don't worry about it."

"But still."

"Nyeh!"

"Stay, let's make some spaghetti!" Sans nodded and climbed up next to his brother.

"Maybe, should we ask our guest abo-" Gaster's words seemed unheard.

"And there will be a lot of ketchup in it!" Sans raised his hands enthusiastically towards the sky.

"Nyehehe!" His younger brother joined him.

"Sans, Papyrus" Gaster snorted softly, but even his sons felt that his gruffness wasn’t really there.

"Come on, come on. Spaghetti sounds great, I haven't eaten in a long time, now that I think about it."

Asgore gave an encouraging look to the scientist.

"Hm, in that case we're making a giant serving of spaghetti, I think we might have everything for it already...or we'll improvise."

"You're good at that, Dad," Sans chuckled and his grin only grow when his father snorted while rubbing his son's skull.

"Okay, but no need to hurry, rest as much as you want. I'll make some tea before we start cooking. I still have a serving of raspberries."

"Raspberry?" The scientist closed his right eye and glared at the king, trying to hide his confusion.

"I'm sorry, over the years I've learned to improvise, too." The king walked toward the kitchen, "and I think I have some ingenuity in me, too."

Gaster also snorted, closing his left eye while called out to Asgore heading into the kitchen.

"The biggest gas-rose turns on a little suddenly," he took a few slow breaths and felt Sans falling asleep beside him as Papyrus wrapped the blanket around his brother and squirmed closer to them.

"The tea can in the cupboard below on the left..." the thought slowly faded to black and with it he himself. He could still feel the weight of his slowly breathing sons on his side, and the pleasant smell of raspberries. However, exhaustion and some quiet peace finally rolled over him. Taking slow deep breaths, he fell asleep.

#undertale #undertale fanfiction #gaster #gaster x asgore #asgore #asgore dreemurr #wd gaster #wingdings gaster #drgaster #copper #dadster #babybones #sans #papyrus #kidsans #kidpapyrus #sans the skeleton

[like-the-wings-of-butterflies]

Fate (Brian May x Reader) CHAP. 1

Summary: A series of events separate you from the people you care about, but fate miraculously brings you back to a close friend

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and drinking + very minor angst

Word Count: 1,682

A/N: This feels a bit choppy and poorly written, but I worked too hard on it not to share it with you all. Please let me know what you think! ♡ (UPDATE 25/5/19: This fic is in the process of being a series! Another three parts are currently being written/edited so if you enjoyed this one, you can find the other parts on my masterpost) 

It was a Friday afternoon when fate decided to reunite you. On your way home from your morning shift at the cafe, for one reason or another you found yourself walking into the local music store, browsing over the hundreds of vinyls that sat stocked up in crates ready for other to enjoy. You were flicking through the cardboard covers, one at a time with a million thoughts buzzing through your head, when your hand landed on a particular record. After you pulled it out of the crate and went to expect it further in the light, a someone chirped beside you, “Not a bad choice if I do say myself.”

“‘Sheer Heart Attack,” You spoke, “Interesting name.”

“I’m sure you’d find the guitarist far more interesting.”

“You think so?” Finally peering up, the owner of the voice smiled at you.

“Hello (Y/N).”

“Brian!” You exclaimed, your voice raising a few octaves as you practically catapulted yourself into his arms. Brian had become a close friend in your university days, “Oh my God! I mean, how have you been? I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too Love. Things aren’t quite the same without you.”

He held you a bit tighter before he pulled away and picked up the record that’d been tossed on the floor in the midst of your excitement. “As excited as I am to see you, please don’t damage our work, this is only our third album.” He teased. 

The suddenness of your conversation startled you both, but yet it somehow it flowed so naturally. 

“This is yours? Since when have you been in a band?”

“Since a short while after you moved to America.”

“I see.” You responded, the atmosphere shifting slightly.

“If you’re free, maybe you could pay a visit at our show tonight? Meet the others and catch up a bit more? You do owe me some stories from your travels.” He encouraged.

“You’re playing tonight?”

“Of course, Rainbow Theatre, doors open at 7:00. I’ll be in the dressing room after the show, I’ll make sure someone keeps an eye out for you.”

You felt your heart swell at his words, “That’d be amazing Brian, I can’t wait.” You gushed, quickly, he pulled you into a hug before saying his goodbyes and dashing out the brick and mortar store with a spring in his step. Thank god he’d been running low on guitar picks or perhaps he wouldn’t have seen you at all. He had around five hours to squeeze in as much practice as he could and make sure the others were prepared too. Tonight, he didn’t want to impress anyone else but you.

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

You arrived at the venue with plenty of time to spare, and found yourself only mildly intimidated by the sheer amount of people surrounding you. Luckily for you, time passed rather quickly, likely a product of your excitement. The light dimmed and you were momentarily deafened by the crowds cheers. When the lights turned on again, four figures dotted the stage. You couldn’t help but laugh when you saw the outfit Brian was wearing. Large, white flowing sleeves cascaded against a white form fitting shirt with thin horizontal lines. It was different from what he would usually wear, but it oddly suited him. You assumed the choice in costume had something to do with the lead singer, seeing as he was clad in a black bellbottom jumpsuit that exposed his chest. Certainly not the most traditional outfit choice for a rock band but unique nonetheless.

As soon as the music began however, you were starstruck. The layering of instruments and voices brought a warm, full feeling to your chest. The way they interacted with the crowd and their dynamic amongst each other was to be admired. Even by only knowing one of the four members, you knew that they had become a family. They were so comfortable with one another and seeing them in their element made you feel incredibly thankful to witness. Some of the songs sounded familiar, you must’ve heard them on the radio before without realising who they were produced by, but after tonight, you knew you’d be paying another visit to the record store rather soon.

When the show had ended, (much to your displeasure), you followed Brian’s instructions from earlier in the day, sneaking backstage and playing a few gentle knocks against the dressing room door. It creaked open only seconds later and a pair of hazel eyes met yours. “(Y/N)! Come in.” Brian wrapped an arm around you and began to introduce you to his bandmates. “(Y/N), this is Freddie, John and Roger. Everyone, I’d like you to meet (Y/N), an old friend of mine.”

You were very aware of the eyes drifting over the pair of you, along with the knowing look the three men shared as they noticed the placement of Brian’s hand on the middle of your back. The decided his hand was high enough to not be suggestive, but low enough to be testing the boundary of friends.

In attempt to ease the silence and shift the focus of the conversation, you spoke: “It’s lovely to meet you all.”

“You too (Y/N).” The brunette named John beamed, still plucking at the strings on his bass.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Roger queried, a drumstick rolling between the fingers of one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“I did,” You stated, truthfully. “I never seen anything quite like it, the four of you are wonderful together. You complement each other beautifully.”

“Would you look at that, I’m quite fond of her already.” Freddie exclaimed.

Roger walked beside you and placed a hand on your shoulder as he passed, “Careful (Y/N), I wouldn’t inflate his ego too much.” He responded, teasingly.

“Drinks anyone?” Brian offered.

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

The evening went on, and you found yourself situated in the lounge of the bar. Brian was sitting closely to your right, almost protectively even though you assured him that his band mates were lovely and there was nothing to be worried about. As you were speaking with John, his long, thin fingers gently intertwined with yours and much to Brian’s surprise, you welcomed the contact, allowing him to do so. You sent him a quick smile before resuming your conversation with John, however the action didn’t go unnoticed by Freddie and Roger. Much to Brian’s delight, they didn’t say anything but instead, Roger fished out his wallet and plucked out a £50 bill, ungraciously slapping it into Freddie’s outstretched hand before resuming chatting up a girl he’d met at the bar.

“So (Y/N), where’d you meet Brian?” John said, shifting the focus to you.

You laughed lightly before speaking, “We were good friends at university, Brian was studying astrophysics and I was studying literature. We had a lot of fun. He even taught me how to play guitar once. Then about a year into my course I was offered a scholarship to study the reminder in America. I enjoyed my time while I was there, but looking back on it now I probably shouldn’t have taken it, I lost touch with a lot of people in my life. I’ve been back here for about two years now, and somehow I feel its only been two months,” You sighed. “But I suppose fate had it that we ran into each other earlier today and he invited me here.”

“I’m offended you didn’t even recognise me on the album cover.” Brian fake sulked.

“Oh hush.” Taking a breath, you continued, “How about you? How long has Queen been going on for?”

“We’ve been together for about four years now, but we didn’t start producing our own music until mid last year.” John answered, peering at the others to make sure he’d gotten everything right.

“Before that, Brian and I were in another band called ‘Smile’,” Roger continued. “Then our lead singer upped and left and we found these two.” Gesturing to John and Freddie.

“Since then we’ve released three albums.” Freddie went on.

“And sold out almost every uni and pub south of Glasgow.” Brian finished, beaming at you full of pride.

You smiled back at them, both in amazement and shock. Deep down, the pit in your stomach was filled with guilt, you wished you could’ve been at part of it from the beginning. Brian always took music so seriously and you felt selfish for not being there to support him, as a friend should. You thought it was best to push past the discomfort you were feeling and instead enjoy the time you were having.

Late into the night, you bid your farewells to Freddie, John and Roger before Brian ever-so-kindly walked you home. You talked for a majority of way back to your apartment, from your adventures in America to stories of Queen, even reminiscing on old university memories. When you arrived on the doorstep, Brian enveloped you into a warm embrace, “It’s been really nice seeing you again (Y/N).”

“You too Bri,” Looking down, you reached into your bag and pulled out a small piece of paper, quickly scrawling out your number and placing it in his hand, “for my sake, please don’t let me disappear for another three years.”

The abundance of black curls on his head bounced as he nodded. A sudden surge of confidence overcame him, carefully, he leaned toward you and pressed a single, feather-soft kiss against your lips.

“Dinner. Next Friday. 5:00pm. I’ll pick you up?” He proposed.

You met his warm hazel eyes, and saw something you hadn’t seen in them before. They were the tiniest bit misty, presumably from the alcohol and the bright lights peering down all evening; but behind the mist you saw the glint of hope that flickered as he watched you intently. A bright smile spread across your features and you nodded in response to his proposition, a pink hue dusting your cheeks. Little did you know this was only the start of what fate had in store.

#this is really bad oops #queen x reader #bohemian rhapsody x reader #borhap x reader #brian may x reader #gwilym lee x reader #john deacon x reader #joe mazzello x reader #roger taylor x reader #ben hardy x reader #freddie mercury x reader #rami malek x reader #queen #queen imagines #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #brian may #john deacon #roger taylor #freddie mercury #gwilym lee #joe mazzello #ben hardy #rami malek

[lady-o-ren]

Sorcha

Prologue

Read the above link for the full backstory.

Chapter 1

In all of James Fraser's nineteen years he could recall exactly how many days of sunshine he had seen.

How many times his mother's nose was reddened and freckled from it's bite. How they escaped the heat in pools of chilly water that turned them head to toe blue and wrinkled like newborns.

On the days, ones particular in brightly warmth, Jamie would wonder if his father were happy.

Did he too like to watch the flicker of colors shine along the scales of trout as they made their way downstream?

Did he find great delight in his silver coated cheetie Adso, in serious mortal combat with his tail?

Or had his gaze fallen on his mother, hair loose from it's pins in soft waves of crimson gold as she brushed away, lost in dreamy contentment?

On cloudy days dense with fog that shrouded all that lay outside his doorstep or ones filled with thunder so resounding Jamie could feel his teeth rattle, he was sure his father was upset with him.

Was it when he spilled their meager amount of milk on the floors?

When he'd forgotten to latch the door to the chicken coop allowing for their only two birds to flee?

Or maybe it was the many times Jamie used his fists, knees, elbows and all he had on the local boys, whose tongues of bitter spittle were too much to ignore.

What frustrated Jamie was that his mother had no answers when questioned. Only blind faith in her love and the world touched by him. Yet, he could see the waver in her spirit every year that passed, as the lines around her eyes grew slowly deeper with somber defeat until that day in the fields revitalized her anew with blessings of her unwavering devotion.

It only infuriated Jamie more.

Why would his father deny his presence in their lives.

Why wait so long to make Jamie's gift known, a gift where life sprouted from his hands that he still found startling to fathom.

Even now, he could see the shape of it hidden amongst the clouds as a hazy, distant obstruction, it's ray's stubbornly turned away from him in abandonment

That's why Jamie had settled on a plan of action put into motion with a letter.

______

Presently

Jamie was walking from the cowshed, a gleam of sweat covered his face and trickled down his neck that he swiped with the cuff of his sleeve. He carried a bucket of fresh warm milk in his hands, the snowy liquid swished along the rim teasing poor Adso, who followed in hungry anticipation, careful of his masters heavy tread.

Three days of blazing sun had passed now.

The flowers bloomed full and bright, their fragrance filling the air of sweetly spring, birdsong was no longer a whisper on the wind but a joyful chorus and the branches of the trees stretched out in a canopy to bathe in sunlight. The life around Jamie seemed to sing in a glowing hum of praise at such a rarity, and he too couldn't help but smile, despite himself.

Jamie's vision caught a glint of light down the road and shielded his eyes to ascertain the source.

"Jamie!" The glint hollered.

"Goistidh!" Jamie called back in happy recognition, and deposited the bucket of milk on the fencepost to run to his godfather.

The man was a fellow kinsman, partial anyway. When Ellen's parents forced her from home when the signs of pregnancy became apparent. She was left destitute and wandered with not but her wits, but wits can only get you so far when you have a bairn growing to the size of a great gourd and making himself known in the most painful of ways.

Murtaugh was a vagabond Ellen had met at an inn she had found work in. She took an instant liking to the mans straight forward demeanor and his lack of judgment. For him, it was love. No one in a hundred miles could be so blind to the man's undying affections the moment he laid eyes on her, and she nearly socked him for gawking at first meeting.

A friendship formed of trust and true honesty of what laid in her womb, Murtaugh had given Ellen the sum that lined his pockets, all that an expectant mother could need, though it was like pulling teeth from a she-wolf to get her to accept. And unintentionally a name. Fraser.

Ellen, touched by his heart of sincerity and generosity, made the decision herself to drop the Mackenzie name that had shunned her and found the fitting of Fraser to her liking.

Now firmly family, Murtaugh would come now and then bearing 'treasures' for the two.

Jamie's favorites had been animals with funny names and faces, intricately carved out of cherry or oak wood. When older, a dirk of Jamie's very own, much to his delight. That soon failed in comparison to the fierce broadsword, two inches of broad double edged steel, with the hilt beautifully carved with interlaced knots on the grip, given at twelve years. Jamie saw it's significance and never drew it in foolishness of play or boasting. It was kept in it's scabbard, only drawn in lessons to wield the blade.

His mother received books, fat and thin of every and all things. Mysterious intrigue that thrilled, romance that left longing and drawn out sighs, tales of heroes from long ago (more a treat for Jamie), practically myths, and philosophy that could screw the mind to a bruising knot. And once, a sterling plated hair brush simply adorned of thistles that she would keep in a fine cloth sleeve in the back of her drawers.

Their relationship, was one that never crossed the barriers of kinship but Jamie couldn't help his observations and his minds own inventions of the two.

"I dinna ken why ye go on as ye do with Murtaugh." Jamie had asked his mother while she was in a quiet mood of knitting. "Ye pay him more mind then any other suitor ye've had and there have been a few."

"I wouldna mind him much, but he's no' who I was meant for and it would be dishonest to give him my hand when I'm bound to another's, even one so far away." She smiled in quiet reply as she twisted the yarn into a loop.

"Yer not marritMam, not to him," Jamie spat, "Who ken's how many lasses he's found bonny -"

"Sàmhach." The smile vanished with a voice that was a low, sharp whisper and silenced Jamie mid sentence. She gripped the knitting needles tightly in her hands, that trembled slightly in response. "Ye may be tall as any man fer yer age but yer never too old for a strapping. Get ye to bed or get me the belt."

Jamie's mother had never raised a hand to him in all his years and the subject of marriage was never brought up again.

"Jamie lad! Och!" Murtaugh shook his head as Jamie came nearer, "I should be calling ye James now. Ye tower over me like yon oak tree." He took a moment to inspect the once wee sapling before embracing him with a hard slap on the back.

"Aye, take after Mam in that respect." Jamie said proudly.

"That ye do, the good parts of ye fer sure." Murtaugh's eyes softened long enough for Jamie to notice and went pink from cheek to ears and quickly looked upward for distraction and found it in the weather.

"It's been shining fearsome of late." Murtaugh grunted with a nod towards the sky.

"Aye, and I promise I willna question it." Jamie grinned at memories at incessant questions that would drive the man to deep gulps of liquor that caught in his beard.

"I prefer a brisk air from time to time, none of this damn jibber jabber of squawkers the light brings, but aye, tis nice." He relented with a shrug that allowed for the strap of his weatherd rucksack to slide down his arm, hastily tied closed and contents now left in partial view.

Jamie tilted his head to take a wee keek but hopes were quickly dashed by a pair of dirtied hands that moved the bag away from sight.

"Maybe ye are still a lad then."

"Curiosity never wanes, especially on a farm." Jamie laughed.

"Aye, but ye'll get yer hands strewn 'bout the fields if ye keep on as ye do. What I have willna spoil with time and I must be seein' yer mam."

"Ye should wash or she'll hand ye a tawsing and she's in a right place to do it."

"What ye mean?"

"She has a blade at the ready just now," Murtaugh raised his brows,his body stiff, "She shot a red stag this morning and is in a skinning mood." Jamie explained with a chuckle and his godfather's frame relaxed.

"Ellen was always good with a bow and a fine eye about her," he smiled fondly and patted his flat stomach. "Even so I'll take my chances, I'm right near starved."

They headed down to the cottage, followed by a miserably drenched Adso, another battle lost for the poor feline.

______

During supper, where Murtaugh donned a large swell of a bump on his noggin, he noticed the plentiful mass of food that graced the table before him and queried to the sudden abundance. The answer left him with a dead eye blink of disbelief.

A demonstration with a rose plucked from a small blue vase left him with a gaping jaw for a swarm of flies to dwell in.

"I'm still the same Jamie I always was, just..more of me to know." Jamie finished lamely, trying to reassure his godfather and looked to his mother, almost in question, who nodded in confirmation.

"Aye, same. Same is what ye call the ability to give life? That's the gift that the God above all gives women. What ye have I- I dinna ken." He was dumbfounded for sure and stared in wide eyed awe at Jamie as if he was committing the act again just now.

"I think we may have given poor Murtaugh an apoplexy." Ellen teased.

"Shall we give his plate to Adso, Mam?" Jamie added with a deliberate straight face.

Adso, who had been trying to charm his humans by  rubbing affectionately against their calves, meowed in happy enthusiasm at such a lovely idea.

He gripped his plate with a loud grunt. The dark, whiskers on Murtaughs face twitched while his nostrils flared wide like a bull, sending mother and son into hearty laughter.

"Cackle like the hens ye are ye wee ninnies, I willna show ye what's hidin' away fer ye," Murtaugh grumbled as he stuffed his gob.

It was a hollow threat.

____

The 'treasures', Murtaugh informed them, were simple this time around, for work as a traveling hired hand had been slim. But something is something, at least he hoped.

For Jamie, a wool tartan of Fraser colors in tones of the earth. Jamie traced the lines with his finger tips, a proud fabric he draped over his broad shoulders smelling mildly of lanolin.

"Verra handsome, mo chridhe." Ellen remarked, as she smoothed the fabric of the young man before her, a faint blush lighting his cheeks.

For the matron of the family Fraser, a pair of  bracelets made from the tusks of a boar, lovingly polished to an ivory glow with the tips capped in silver and etched with flowers.

"I ken the'r not finery," Murtaugh mumbled, scratching his beard to near baldness,"not jeweled or gold, just horns of tuskers."

Ellen ignored him and held the bracelets up, the lowering sun catching the ends as if it were truly studded with such splendors. Her eyes, so deeply rich in blue with shades of violet heather at the edges, held a softness, so clearly moved.

"Ye made these, mo sheann duine?"

My old man.

That was as close to a true heart endearment Jamie had ever heard. For the old man himself too.

"Aye." A man of few words when moved and one who couldn't sit in his own ineptitude to voice more.

Murtaugh cleared his throat,"Maybe we could spar a bit, Jamie, see what I can teach ye." Without waiting for an answer he quickly got to his feet and made for the door.

Ellen, seemingly unfazed, looked to Jamie, pulling his drapery away from him and gave her son a push to follow.

"Knock the manners back into your godfather till his ears ring, will ye, mo mhac?"

"Whatever ye say, Mam."

_______

Outside

After a heated sparring session that left young and old more then a bit breathless, the two men dropped like flies to the cool short grass and had themselves a wee nip of whisky to soothe muscles and joints.

"I dinna remember ye being so skilled with the blade on last meeting." Murtaugh huffed, pulling the collar of his shirt to waff in air.

"I've been taught by the local schoolmaster Murray." Jamie said casually, knowing the response he'd receive right close to his ears.

"Schoolmaster?!" Murtaugh exclaimed as predicted.

"He wasn't one in his youth and since his son marrit a wee thing he took an interest in me, maybe a bit of pity too." Jamie took a heavy swig of the brown liquid, sure to grow him a fleece if he kept on.

"That Murray ken't his sword." Murtaugh rubbed the muscles in his arm, tense from a blocked over head strike." Damn, sure."

Silence overtook them as they sat side by side watching the sun dip low behind the crest of the mountain range, washing them in a light of dying embers of ruby bronze and the air became crisp once more.

Now was as good as time as any. Jamie knew when he saw the man that it was providence, his lucky star of hope throwing him yet another bone of what he had been denied. That the letter received a few weeks ago was now a reality for the answers of his youth to be fullfilled.

"I plan on leaving, Murtaugh," Jamie spoke, his voice gruff from the sting of whisky," I want to see a bit of the world before I'm auld and greyed," not a total lie," and I want ye to look after mam for me."

"Does yer mother know?" Jamie expected a string of curses and questions, a whack definitely, but his godfathers voice was oddly soft in Scots to Jamie's ears. A man striving for patience and understanding.

"I think she may know already." Jamie thumbed the mouth of the whiskey bottle, as a tremble of nerves pulsed in his belly, "She's seen other lads leave their home, far younger than I and lately she's been sweeter than buttermilk to me." She was always sweet with him. "I've waited three seasons of crops to put more then enough coins to line her pocket…more then enough for what I need to do."

"Three?" The tone of the older man was lightly accusatory. "This plan of yers has been grinding in yer mind, hasn't it?" He swiped the bottle and gulped down the last of the amber drops.

Jamie was hesitant to reveal the correspondence he had been keeping, of the last letters contents, worried that the danger of such an endeavor would be met with him being hog tied. He scratched his wrist at the thought.

"Dinna fash, I willna be like my father. I plan on coming back home, as quickly as the wind can carry me, I assure ye."

Murtagh tapped his palm against his knee in contemplation with his head hanging low but eyes on the last of the horizons light, longer then Jamie would have imagined.

"I'll care for Ellen's well being while ye have yer walkabout," he answered softly,and I wish ye a swift and safe journey, Jamie. Just use yer heid." The expected slap finally made contact.

"Thank ye, Goistidh." Jamie stood, wiping his breeks of grass when a thought crossed his mind that curled his lips to a beaming grin," And when I come back I hope to see you and Mam hand in hand." Jamie scampered off like a child who had bested his elder, leaving the man reddened to an alarming degree with a string of mumbled curses under his breath.

It was only when Murtaugh raised himself to follow Jamie's path did he notice…

The grass was knee high now where Jamie had stepped.

Flowers that had never graced the fields bloomed in his wake.

And the man the cause of such a sight, his back to him now heading to homes embrace, unaware of how he was now lit within. A ray gently, gently aflame.

***The scene with the tusks I pulled straight from the book

Thank you to everyone for the response to this and my oneshot!! Writing is not natural for me so the support was wonderful.

Also my wifi is going to be on the fritz so the next update might be awhile.

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #outlander #jamie x claire #Claire is coming I promise #crash!bang!boom!love!!

[mayonara]

★ So, basically, I've read a lot of A/B/O fics where Omegas are treated really horribly, and have just been wanting to read something about Dick being a Beta instead of Omega, in a universe where the Beta's are treated like shit bc they don't "react properly to Alpha's" or w/e and Omega's are treated like gold. And basically the Batfam being super protective over Dick. I really love your stories and just realized you took prompts so I figured I'd send this in to you, to see if you wanted to

★( cont. 2/2 ) write this. Can be Jay/Dick if you want. Emotionally hurt!Dick. Maybe Dick gets physically hurt because of the prejudice and hatred towards Beta’s or something. Up to you! I really just want to see a fic where Dick handles being a Beta in that kind of world plus emotional hurt/comfort + angst yes pls. + protective batfam bc protective batfam over Dick is my guilty pleasure. I hope you’ll think about writing this prompt. If not, that’s okay! Either way, I hope you have a great day!

So sorry this took a while to get out! I didn’t have any inspiration until now. Anyways, I hope this is what you were looking for! I would have written more but I tried to keep it at a good length. It was a fun take and I enjoyed writing it! Thanks!

There wasn’t anything Dick hated more than attending a Gala—a Wayne Gala. Okay, he lied. He actuallygetting into arguments with Bruce over stupid matters or when the Bat was beinga stubborn fool. But this had to beone of his top.

Why? Well one, it was boring. And two, he hated theattention he garnered. Not even good attention, like ones where people fawnedover him. No. Not in this type of society. What he received instead wereglares, judging looks and eyes filled with hatred and disgust.

That was the luck of being a beta in this world where alphaswere praised upon and omegas were treated like gold. Where being a beta wasless respected due to the fact that they brought no benefit to either caste.They have no worth and can’t satisfy an alpha or an omega in any shape or form.

It wasn’t as if Dick hated being a beta. Really, he didn’t.It was just hard on him, having to go through life being hated when all hewanted to do was get along with people. Of course there were those thataccepted him nonetheless, like his family and friends, but there were otherswho ill-treated them solely because he was a beta.

And this situation that he was in right now was basicallyhim being tossed into a den full of wolves. Bruce did tell him he didn’t needto come if he didn’t want to. He knew how much Dick hated it and it was his ownsilly way of protecting him from the public. And yet, even if he didn’t showhis face, he would still be talked about. Written as the disobedient child ofthe Wayne family, or a shameless beta who wouldn’t even spare the time to showat his adoptive father’s gala.

Which was why either way, he couldn’t win. Better to suck itup and go rather than having the Wayne reputation being tarnished by his ownreluctance. Even though it was already being ridiculed just because he was abeta.

He couldn’t do much about the issue so, Dick tried not tothink too deeply about it. Tried his very best to not let it get to him becausethe few times (or many times) that it had, it fucked with his emotions reallybadly. Fucked him up so much that he’d ruined a few of his past relationshipswith those he dated, mainly alphas.

Dick hid within the shadows of the room, pressed up close toa wall where the light was the dimmest. He wanted to stay out of sight, sothose lingering eyes fueled with disgust wouldn’t be gazing at him. Gawking athim like he was a creature that couldn’t fit in with them.

Even though he was trying his best to stay hidden, it didn’texactly work like a charm. The place was large and filled with an abundance ofpeople adorned with fancy clothing. Those who surrounded him where engaged inconversations, but every so often, they toss a glance back his way, eyes fullof mockery. Lips pulled into a smirk, like they were better than him.

It made him want to puke. Dick pulled his gaze away from thepeople and stared at his hands instead, but he couldn’t still feel theirintense stare burning a hole onto his body.

He just prayed that the gala would end soon, althoughunlikely because it just started about an hour ago.

Dick was just minding his own business, hoping no one wouldbother him, but that was never the case when it came to betas. Especially abeta of high society. Even that couldn’t do anything about the constantharassment and shun he received from others. Honestly, he just wished theywould leave him be. Insult him from afar or behind their backs instead of tohis face.

So when a small group of three alphas approached him, Dickcouldn’t help but scoff loudly, ready to turn around and leave. Unfortunately,they caught him before he could escape. The three spread out, cornering himagainst the wall as they crossed their arms and stared him down with widegrins.

“I can’t believe you have the confidence to show your facein public,” one of them sneered while the other standing beside him, tall withbrown hair, laughed and nudged him on the side playfully.

Dick drew in a long breath and arched a brow at them,putting on a smirk, showing that whatever they were about to do wouldn’t botherhim at all. “It is my fathers’ galaafter all.”

The tall one’s laugh grew even louder, attracting staresfrom nearby as the people glanced at them, staring in interest. “Sure. Ifthat’s what you believe. You were just a pity that Bruce Wayne brought in.”

Bright blue eyes blinked at him before they fell into a lookof irritation. That wasn’t one he hadn’t already heard, but no matter how manytimes they said it to him, it always hurt. Not that he believed it was true. Itwas just the thought of it that bothered him.

“I bet you’re just his boy toy anyways,” another commented,the one who hadn’t said anything. “But oh, I bet you’re not even that goodbecause you’re a beta.” The other twostarted snickering and Dick rolled his eyes so hard, there was no way theywould have missed his look of disinterest.

“And Alphas are so much better?” Dick challenged, his angergetting the best of him. “You guys ravage like animals. Worse than animals.”

And that got the three to shut up real quick, the laughter disappearingwithin seconds, grins being wiped off just from that mere insult.

“What the fuck did you say?” One of them growled, hissing atDick, trying to reveal his domination. His pride as an alpha to make thosesubmit to him. But guess what? It didn’t work on Dick and that wasn’t becausehe was a beta, it was because he himself didn’t submit to others easily.

When Dick showed no signs of backing off, no signs ofshowing respect to the alpha, he got furious and took a step forward, reachingout a hand to grab at Dick’s shirt. Dick was prepared for it, was going to lethim do it anyways, but a hand flew out, catching his attacker’s wrist.

“I don’t think punching your hosts’ son is such a goodidea,” a familiar voice was heard, filtering into the mix of whisperssurrounding him and when Dick looked up, he spotted Jason standing beside him. He’dforgotten that Jason was around, having not seen him for a while. And might headd, Jason looked stunningly handsome tonight. With his hair slicked back,looking clean cut and dressed in black slacks and a loosely tucked in whitedress shirt, two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up a third of the way and nottie in sight.

Dick had to take a moment to catch his breath from thegorgeous view before him and fluttered his eyes briefly for a moment before heopened them back up. Now, he could see the dangerous look in Jason’sexpression, how his eyes were narrowed, and staring straight at the alphas. Hewas smiling, lips curved upwards, but that was definitely not a nice smile. Itwas the “do it again I’ll fuck you up,” look that he was giving to them.

He could just feel Jason’s dominance oozing, his top tieralpha pheromones permeating the air, affecting those around him. He was showingthat he meant what he said and that it probably wasn’t a good idea to challengehim.

The three alphas quickly backed off though the one caught byJason lingered for a bit, engaged in a staring contest, trying to see who wouldprevail. Well, he foiled first when Jason tightened his grip around his wrist,quickly shaking Jason off and took a few steps back.

“Whatever,” he grumbled. “Suit yourself with that worthless beta,” he tossed out and thethree fled with their tails tucked between their legs.

A breadth of relief washed over Dick and he sighed heavily,less anxious and uptight. He leaned back against the wall and took a moment torecover from those insults. Even though none of what they were saying was true,it still got to him slightly. It bothered him and did a number on his mentalpsyche. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, so it didn’t hurt as much as when itstarted, but the numbers stack and it grows as Dick wasn’t the type to releasehis stress. He was the type to keep it into himself until he burst.

He was so deep in thought he’d forgotten that Jason was withhim and startled slightly when he started talking.

“Assholes,” Jason muttered and turned his attention to Dick,settling his eyes on the man. “Can’t believe you didn’t just punch them.”

“That would be no good.”

“Yeah, but they completely deserve it. Besides, youtypically shove them aside when these things happen,” Jason commented and Dickjust sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“I guess,” Dick murmured softly and Jason eyed him,suspicious. He was staring, watching him, reading him, and trying to analyzehim, making Dick squirm. He didn’t want to talk about it and hoped Jasonwouldn’t ask.

“Hey, are you—“ he started, but thankfully for Dick, Jasonwas interrupted when Damian crashed into them, knocking Jason off to the sideso he could have direct contact with the man.

“Grayson,” Damian said and Dick shook away the emotionscoiling around him, putting on a smile for his little brother.

“Damian, hey.”

There was a moment of brief silence as Damian stared at himbefore he reached out a hand and tugged at his shirt sleeve. “I am quitefamished.”

“Uh—hungry?”

Damian nodded.

“Okay, we can get some food over there,” Dick said andglanced around the room, quickly locating the table of refreshments. Now thathe thought about it, his stomach was grumbling and he realized he hadn’t had asingle bite to eat this evening.

“Hey, wait a minute. I wasn’t finished yet,” Jason retortedand glared at the young teen. Damian just clicked his tongue and folded hisarms across his chest.

“Tt. It can wait.”

“Uh no it can’t. And you can just get your own food,” Jasonstarted, ready to pick a fight with Damian. Dick wasn’t about to let thishappen and inserted himself between the two, giving them both a look ofdisapproval.

“No fighting. We’re in public,” Dick said. “Damian firstbecause I’m also hungry. Then we can…talk later if you want.”

Jason just scowled, pissed that he was put on reserve whileDamian just smiled in triumph. Dick could only sigh and shake his head at thetwo, always having to give him a difficult time. Either way, he escaped Jason’swrath and went to satiate his hunger.

The evening continued on fine for the most part, at leastthat’s what Dick thought. The gala was almost over and Dick just really wantedto retire to his room. It’d been dragging all night for him and he was just sodone with everything.

He went to use the public restroom that Bruce hadspecifically built for his social events. Dick dipped his hands underneath thefaucet and started scrubbing away the dirt and grime off his skin. While he wasdoing so, he heard the door swing open and the sounds of people shuffling in.It sounded like a few and reflexively, he looked through the mirror to see whoit was and found those assholes that had bothered him earlier. A heavy sighflew from his lips as he finished washing his hands and shook off the excesswater.

“Well, look what we found here,” the tall bastard spoke andthe way he said it, it didn’t seem like it was a coincidence.

Dick turned around to face the three and leveled his eyes atthem, not at all smiling or happy to see them. As he took in their features, hefound that all three of them were still holding their flutes of champagnes.

“What do you want?” Dick prompted and glanced at the door,looking for a way to escape. If he could just swing around the real quick, hecould make it, but it didn’t look like that was happening as they shuffledcloser towards the doorway.

“Just looking to put you in your place,” the smug one, whohad first spoke to him, said.

“Wha—“ And before Dick could react, they tossed their drinksat him, the sweet liquor splashing onto his face, drenching him. Drips ofliquid rolled down his face, dripping off the edges of his jaws and chin andall Dick could do was suck in a frustrated breath, curl his hands into tightfits. He was tempted, really tempted to show what it meant to put them in theirplace, but he could not. It would reflect poorly on him and it wasn’t somethinghe would do either. It was just, in a moment of irritation, he wanted to.

“Serves you fucking right for disobeying us. Betas shouldknow their place. You’re nothing but bottom trash,” he sneered and then thethree of them threw their flutes to the ground, aiming directly for Dick’s feetas the glass shattered into a million pieces.

Laughter escaped from their grinning lips and filled the airas they laughed and filtered out of the room. Even though they were gone, Dickcould still hear them mocking him.

It took him a while to finally find his breath again whenthe rage within him finally dissipated. He was so angry, so pissed at thetreatment he received, but he tried to not let it get to him. Let it compressinto his growing ball of stress.

He breathed in and out and finally looked at the ground,gazing at all the tiny shards littered around the floor. Alfred’s going to hatethis.

Drained of energy, Dick sighed and collapsed to the ground,felt the glass pieces digging through his clothes, piercing through as theypoked at his skin. It hurt, but he didn’t care.

“That was a stupid way for getting revenge. Like champagnewould even hurt me,” Dick huffed, grumbling to no one but himself.

And although it didn’t physically hurt him, well, the glasssort of it, it did mentally scar him. And while everything they said was false,everything they claimed towards him was just their own warped reasoning, itstill hurt.

Dick just couldn’t understand why being a beta was bad. Whybeing a beta was frowned upon just because he wasn’t the best of the best?Because he wasn’t born as an inferior alpha or a prized omega. Why was it sobad being an ordinary beta? It didn’t make any sense and no matter how much hetried to understand the world’s mind, he never understood it. Their prejudicewas what it was and there was hardly anything that he could do to change it.

So at most, he learned to embrace it. To love himselfunconditionally even though some things would sneak beneath that bubble he’dbuilt around himself. And from time to time, it happened and there wasn’tanything he could do about it besides mope.

Time passed, how much? Dick didn’t know, but he was lost inthought, wrapped up in his own mind and didn’t notice someone coming in. Butthere was a hand to his arm, large and tender before he felt long fingers curlaround his biceps and suddenly, he was being pulled to his feet. When his eyesmet the gaze of his helper, he was met with familiar turquoise ones.

Jason, his savior once again for the night.

“Helping me out again?”

“You know it. You’re just a magnet for trouble,” Jasonmurmured and stared down at his pants, grimacing at all the glass shardssticking to the fabric. He quirked his lips in ponder and then grabbed a towelfrom off the rack (one used for decoration) and quickly wiped away all theglass as best as he could.

Dick was just waiting for Jason to say something to him, toask him what happened, but he said nothing and just continued cleaningmeticulously, carefully sweeping up the broken glass into a pile as best as hecould.

“How’d you find me?” Dick questioned.

Without looking at him, Jason answered. “I overheard thoseshit-heads talking.”

“Oh.”

And then there was silence once more. Jason was quick andgathered up however much glass he could and dumped it in the trash. “I’ll haveto tell Alfred,” he muttered softly to himself. “Okay, let’s get you cleanedup.” Jason then returned to Dick’s side, holding onto his arm once more, gentlythis time, and then led him out of the bathroom. As they ventured down thehall, they ran into Damian and Tim who looked appalled by Dick’s appearance.

“What happened?” Tim asked and pointed at his oldestbrother.

“Assholes. Three.”

“I know which ones,” Damian growled, a look of fury fillinghis eyes.

“Alright, I’ll let you two take care of them then.” Whichthe two nodded in agreement, Damian already cracking his knuckles inpreparation.

Dick wanted to retort, but didn’t feel like arguing againstthem when his mind was in a weakened state and let himself be whisked away byJason and his brothers. They’d taken the back way of the manor to get to thepart of the home they lived in and Jason brought Dick to his room.

“Go clean up,” he instructed and pulled him over to hisbathroom, pushing him inside before he disappeared for a minutes and reappearedwith a stack of clothes. “I’ll be in your bedroom,” he said nonchalantly, likethis was a typical thing they did. It wasn’t, but Dick nodded his head anyways.

Doing what he was told, Dick stripped down to his birthdaysuit and turned on the shower, putting it on hot. He jumped right in and dippedhis entire body beneath the shower head, letting the water rain down on him,soaking him to the core. He stood still, just letting the heat of the waterengulf him as his mind wandered about.

Thinking about those times he’d fucked up because of hisinsecurity. How he could have easily ignored them, not letting the wordspenetrate his heart and mind. And while he had a certain amount of protectionhe built around himself, it wasn’t as sturdy as he wanted it to be.

It was all so stupid too. Everything was stupid. What otherssays shouldn’t matter to him. None of it should matter because they didn’t havea say in his life. And yet, it still had an effect.

Dick’s mind was wandering, still going around in circles andcircles, lost in thought. He just couldn’t control his feelings, his emotions.Couldn’t get a handle on them, reel it in and be himself again.

“Hey!” A voice called through, shocking him. The curtains ofhis shower was pulled back and there he was again. Jason staring at him withhis arms propped against his hips, a look of annoyance reflected in his eyes.

“What the fuck Dick?” Jason grumbled. “You’ve been in hereso long.” He reached over and turned off the water, tossed a towel at him. “Dryup.”

God, he really needed to snap out of it because Jason wastreating him like a child now. Do this, do that. Ugh, he wasn’t a child thoughclearly, he was being one at the moment.

Dick dried his body quickly, shivering from the cold thatblew past him and then draped the damp towel over his head.

“No,” Jason rejected and snatched the towel from him only togive him a new and dry one. He grabbed his hand and helped Dick out of the tuband then started handing him clothes for him to get dressed in.

“Need help?” he asked with a hint of playfulness in his toneas Dick was slipping on his briefs. The man just groaned and mumbled a no athim which just made Jason chuckle.

Once done, Jason guided him towards his bed like he was somesick child and tucked him in. Bundled up under the warmness of his blankets,Dick rolled to his side and stared up at Jason was sitting on the edge. Theireyes locked and they were just gazing at one another, neither saying a word normaking a single movement.

Honestly, Dick was waiting for Jason to say something firstbut it looked like he was instead waiting on Dick to be the one to break thebarrier of silence. Well, Dick didn’t say anything and finally Jason crackedand took the initiative.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

And that seriously annoyed the hell out of Jason. “Don’t saynothing. Something is up. You’re not your usually perky self.”

“I’m not that perky.”

Jason rolled his eyes at him. “Really?” And Dick curled hislips into a tiny frown.

“Come on. Just tell me what’s up. Was it those fuckers?”

Dick wiggled his nose at the mention of those alphas fromearlier. “Sort of.”

“Go on,” Jason said and made hand gestures, making circularmotions for him to continue on.

Dick didn’t want to dig too deeply into his sob story but hesupposed he could brief him. “Being a beta is hard,” he admitted and wow,wasn’t that a relief to get off his chest. He was sure he’d never told anyoneabout that before. “I don’t hate it. Actually, I like it because I don’t haveto deal with your bodily hardships. But the hate, it’s—“ he takes a moment tobreath before continuing, “is heavy sometimes.”

He’d dig a little further, but he wasn’t exactly in the moodto do so. That was all the information he was willing to give up. Bright blueeyes watched carefully for a reaction of sorts, but there was none. Instead,Jason was just staring at him intently and then he sighed heavily. He got upfrom the bed and for a moment there, Dick thought he’d annoyed him with hispity story, but he was getting up to leave. No. He was doing something else.

Like getting into his bed.

Jason lifted the covers and slid right in, curling up closeto Dick’s body, so close their bodies were flushed together.

“What are you doing?” Dick asked and before he could askanymore, he was engulfed into a tight embrace, felt a hand curl around the backof his neck and warm lips pressing against his own.

Eyes widened in shock at the realization that he was beingkissed, kissed by no one other than Jason himself. One of the least expectedpersons he’d be kissing. The kiss was short and only last for a few seconds.When Jason pulled away, the first word that flew from Dick’s lips was, “What?”

Jason shook his head at the man like he was an idiot. “Ilike you. Can we just date?”

Confused, Dick raised a brow at him questioningly. “Jason, Ijust told you some really deep things and this is how you react?”

Jason just shrugged his shoulders. “Honestly I don’t care.Beta, Alpha, Omega, really, who the fuck gives a shit about that?”

“The world.”

“Well I don’t.”

“…Your point?”

“My point is. Fuck it.”

That confused Dick even further. Sure, Jason always wentwith his own agenda and that was fine and all, but that certainly wasn’t howDick acted. It wasn’t easy for him to just ignore people in general.

“I don’t get it.”

And now Jason is groaning at him, exasperated. “Look Dick.Who cares what people say? They gonna hate each other and that’s that.”

“Yes but—“

“I don’t care if you’re a beta. I like you. You’re fuckingawesome even if you’re annoying sometimes and you’re fucking hot.”

“Jason.”

“Dick.”

And Dick sighed at that, couldn’t believe how easy it wasfor Jason to just wash away all his worries by showering him with compliments.Or rather, words of truth that opinions shouldn’t matter.

“I don’t know,” Dick murmured and that was the honest truth.While he found Jason attractive, he wasn’t exactly sure of his feelings, but henever did quite consider Jason his ‘brother’ as they’ve never actually bondedwhen they were younger. More so, he was a terrible mentor and role model to himwhich he in turn worked to fix that part of him for Tim and Damian. “I’m notsure I can handle a relationship.” Not after all the other’s he’d messed upbecause of his self-consciousness and insecurities.

“Try me.”

“It’s not you if that’s what you’re thinking,” Dick said.“I’d love to date you,” and he could feel the corners of his lips tugging intoa smile. “I’m not sure if I can make you happy.”

Jason cursed loudly at that comment and captured his lips ina bruising kiss, biting and nibbling to show how real his feelings were, howmuch he wanted him. “Stupid. Don’t doubt yourself,” he whispered, lips hoveringabove Dick’s, could feel Jason’s warm breath tickling his skin.

“But in the past—“

“Is the past. The future is…us. Let’s give it a shot. I’lljust tell you if you’re being a Dickhead.”

Dick didn’t appreciate that nickname, but he let it slidesince he knew it was his way of teasing him. Besides, Jason made a good pointand it’d been so long since his last relationship. Maybe he could do it.

“You sure you want me? I’m not an omega.”

“Didn’t you fucking listen to what I just said?” Jasongrumbled.

“Yes. I’m just confirming.”

“I don’t care what case you are, I just want you.”

“But the people…”

Jason was about fed up with this constant back and forth.“Fuck it. If they try anything, I’ll spit on their faces and give them hell.”

Dick blinked at that comment and laughed at how seriousJason looked when he said that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Maybe trying dating again would be worth a shot. And maybethis time around with Jason, it’d be different.

“Okay. I’ll date you.”

“Yeah of course. You can’t deny me.”

Dick was appalled at that accusation. “Wha—“

“I know Dick,”there was a grin on his face, an all knowing look that he had a piece ofinformation that Dick didn’t know about. “You stare sometimes.”

At that remark, Dick just licked him in the shin and shovedhim aside, while Jason just laughed his butt off and tried to coax him backinto his arms.

Jason really did keep up his side of the bargain because thenext time someone insulted Dick to his face, Jason immediately turned around,took a gulp of his drink and spit it in their faces. But that wasn’t all theyhad coming to him because Tim and Damian followed suit with a kick to the kneeand a dumping of alcohol on their heads.

Much to say, their relationship was going quite fine andDick was learning how to deal with the dislikes towards betas.

[heretherebefandom]

Throw Like Pollock

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender Paring: Lance x Shiro Words: 3933 Rating: M Tags: Mild Sexual Content, Mild Language, Mostly Fluff, Lots of Fluff, Established Relationship, Moving In Together, Did I Mention Fluff?

Summary: The sputtering pause and adorable look of confused shock on Lance’s face would have been enough. But the way that shock begins to slowly morph into hope and excitement and eventually unprecedented glee makes the possible loss of their deposit worth it.

Read on Ao3

So!! Couple of things.

Firstly, I've been listening to Lewis Del Mar's Painting (Masterpiece) pretty much on repeat while writing this, so here check it out.  Legit.

Secondly, I'm half Mexican and used quite a bit of inspiration for Lance's love of color from family and friends who live in Mexico, El Paso TX, and Miami. So if what I've implied doesn't work for a Cuban heritage, please let me know and I'll make some much needed adjustments.

But to be honest, this was mostly just my way of embodying what I love most about owning your own place and/or sharing a home with someone. Not just in the financial sense, but in the "decorative" sense. In my ideal fantasy, living with someone I love, we paint each room a different color. And while I might be projecting, with the right person to urge him on, I think Lance might feel the same.

Anyway, hope you're in the market for some fluff, my dudes! Enjoy!

“Shiro! You have to come and see this!”

The voice echoes from somewhere towards he back of the apartment. It’s a giddy outburst of excitement that Shiro feels himself responding to without hesitation, legs carrying him towards Lance as if on preconditioned autopilot. When he finds his boyfriend, it’s in their soon to be guest room, a faded, blue stuffed cat clutched firmly to his chest.

“The last residents must have left him behind for us. Isn’t he cute? I’m gonna name him Blue!”

Despite the undeniable cuteness of the spectacle, Shiro can’t help but frown, eyeing the stuffed animal’s weathered fur and slightly protruding right eye. “You know, this is the sort of thing that gets couples killed in horror movies right?”

With an overdramatic gasp Shiro has grown overly familiar with (and possibly a little fond of), Lance clasps both hands over the plush’s ears. “How dare you insult our baby! You keep those blasphemous words to yourself, mister!”

The exaggerated pout and the mischievous look in Lance’s eyes do Shiro in. They always do. So, taking care to offer Blue a soft and heartfelt apology on the way, Shiro steps in close and places a teasing kiss right on that jutted out bottom lip of his.

“You can’t just kiss away your transgressions, you know,” Lance mumbles, refusing to drop the pout. So Shiro kisses it again, this time taking Lance’s lip between his teeth and pulling just so. As expected, Lance gasps softly, façade crumbling the more Shiro lures him in, releasing his bottom lip to kiss him more fully on the mouth. When Lance’s hold on the little toy cat gives way, the plush bouncing off of Shiro’s feet and a few inches across the floor, he considers the mission a success. Even as Lance breathes out a quiet, “Cheater…” against his lips.

He can practically taste the word on his own tongue, Lance pressed firmly against every inch of his chest, his waist. He wants nothing more than to spread Lance out right here, make him breathe every word into Shiro’s lungs, let loose every moan into Shiro’s mouth. Problem is, they won’t have a bed until tomorrow. So Shiro pulls back a bit, letting Lance bury his face into Shiro’s shoulder, Lance’s arms coming to wrap around to Shiro’s back in a way that could be described as clinging.

“You can keep Blue,” Shiro murmurs into Lance’s hair after a moment, content to simply continue cradling him in his arms. “But if it turns out she’s possessed by the spirit of a dead tenant, we’re burning her in the fire pit out back.”

As if a switch has flipped, Lance pulls away from Shiro’s chest with a grin almost too big for his face. “The complex has a fire pit?” He beams, nearly bouncing in place even as his arms never leave Shiro’s back. It’s impossible not to chuckle at the level of over abundant cuteness, so Shiro smiles and laughs, offering his excitable boyfriend an affirmative.

“God, Shiro…” Lance sighs, face-planting right back into Shiro’s chest with a muffled but undeniably excited squeal. “This place is seriously almost perfect.”

“I know, we really lucked-” Shiro starts to say before the words really register. When they do, he pauses, clearing his throat in confusion. “Wait.Almost perfect?”

“Well yeah,” Lance sighs, and thankfully, when he finally pulls back enough for Shiro to see his face, it’s not one filled with disappointment. Or worse, Lance’s feigned happiness Shiro has learned over time to recognize and pick apart.

No, this happiness is real, a contentment that Shiro had been hoping for (and let down by) at every open house until this one. It appears Lance’s appreciation for their new home hasn’t dwindled, so then why-?

“The walls are white.”

“The… walls?” Shiro blinks, caught off guard.

A light blush begins to spread across Lance’s cheeks as he shrugs. “Yeah, you know. The walls. I’m just more used to color I guess, I don’t know. White walls just feel a bit… impersonal.”

The embarrassed uncertainty isn’t unfamiliar to Shiro, but that makes it no less endearing, his hands tightening around Lance’s waist on instinct. But before Shiro can say much of anything in response, Lance barrels over him with a fresh wave of dismissive rambling.

“I know, I know. We can’t paint the walls or anything because the apartment is a lease, and I don’t even know why I brought it up, I mean. This place is perfect because it’s ours and walls shouldn’t matter, so they don’t matter, really. I was just thinking of how nice it would be if the walls were a little warmer, like yellows or maybe even shades of green, but we can’t so I don’t know why I’m still-”

“How about we paint them anyway?”

The sputtering pause and adorable look of confused shock on Lance’s face would have been enough. But the way that shock begins to slowly morph into hope and excitement and eventually unprecedented glee makes the possible loss of their deposit worth it.

“Really, Shiro? Really?”

Shiro nods, looking around at the bare walls of their guest room. “Down the road, when we move into an actual house, we’ll just paint over it. I’m sure it’ll be-”

The rest of his sentence is abruptly cut short by the feel of smiling lips pressing firm and unapologetic against his own. The kiss is hurried by Lance’s enthusiasm but no less deep, no less intimate. When they pull away, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are practically shining.

“You really mean it?” Lance asks, voice softer than the eagerness clearly bubbling beneath his skin. Giving Shiro a final out, it would seem. So Shiro just shrugs, hugging Lance back to his chest.

“What’s a little paint if it means getting to make you smile like that?”

Shiro feels the snort more than hears it, Lance’s shoulders shaking against him in a quiet chuckle. “You cheeseball.”

No more than an hour later, they find themselves roaming the aisles of the local paint supply store. And Shiro finds himself pushing a cart now filled to the brim with eight different colored cans of paint.

“Which do you think will make a better accent wall against the Forest Green?” Lance asks, holding up two color pallets. “Evening Burgundy or Gentleman’s Grey?”

“Uh…” Shiro leans forward as if that will help him decide, but honestly, he has no idea what he’s looking at. Lance seems to have a color scheme in mind for every room, sometimes broken up by accent walls, other times by windows or molding. Shiro just assumed they’d be painting everything one color. Thankfully, and as has been the norm for this venture, Lance makes a decision before Shiro has to admit his own defeat.

“I think the Evening Burgundy will pop better, don’t you?”

And the eight cans of paint become nine.

“Lance,” Shiro follows as they embark upon another set of color pallets for the kitchen. “Do we really need so many different colors?”

“If we’re going to be painting the walls,” Lance states matter-of-factly. “We’re going to be doing it right.”

“But don’t people usually just… I don’t know, go for one or two?”

“Maybe novices do!” With a flourish, Lance puts down the color pallets and begins to paint a picture in the air in front of him, arms gesturing at the empty space between them. “You should have seen my abuelita’s house in Cuba. Even the outside door was a different color, a bright red to stand out against the yellow of the front. And inside? It was like every room had its own personality, and the colors were the foundation of that.” His voice softens and warms a bit as he shifts gears. “You saw a little bit of that when I took you to visit my family in Miami. For as long as I can remember, every room in the house has been different. When I was old enough to have my own room, it came with a paint brush. My room, my own color. I guess I just want us to have our own colors too.”

Shiro thinks back to that visit, standing in Lance’s bedroom, the walls a soft, inviting blue. His heart warms at the memory, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips in what feels like acceptance.

“We still have the kitchen and the master bathroom left, right?” Shiro asks, watching with fond amusement as Lance’s enthusiasm resumes full force.

It’s with eleven paint cans and only seven hours left before nightfall that they finally arrive back at the apartment. With the movers dropping off the rest of their furniture the next day, they both opt for painting the living room first. That way they’ll have somewhere to pile the biggest of the furniture while they paint the smaller rooms.

After laying out the tarp and taping up the moldings, Shiro hikes up his sleeves and grabs a paint roller. Three walls of the living room are going to be painted a bluish green the pallet had called Teal Ocean, the accent wall a grey tone called Silver Song. Ridiculous names aside, Shiro decides to start there. Before he can even dip his roller in paint, however, Lance steps in front of him, hands on his hips. He’s using a neon pink headband to keep his bangs back and wearing a muscle tee with the words “Started From The Closet Now We’re Queer” written across the chest in purple, pink, and blue. It’s adorable and very Lance, especially when paired with his expression.

“What are you doing?” Lance asks, an eyebrow raised in a way that seems almost chastising. Shiro puts the dry roller to the floor and leans against the long handle.

“Painting the accent wall.”

“Not like that you’re not,” Lance clicks his tongue, pushing past Shiro to grab two brushes from the bucket in the corner. He pushes one into Shiro’s chest and proceeds to dip his own in the grey paint. “You’ve gotta have a little fun with it, Shiro. That’s, like, half the process.” And then, without further ado, Lance paints a giant heart on the wall, finishing it off with an overly flourished “L + S” in the center.

It’s as adorable as he is, but Shiro can’t help awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck instead of joining in, because… Well… “We’re not just leaving it like that though, are we?”

“What?” Lance balks, looking absolutely affronted. “Hell no! Who do you think we are, heathens? We put a little personal touch, have a little fun, and then paint over it. No one else will know it’s there, but we will.” He’s grinning bright and proud, a smile that only grows when Shiro relents, dips his own brush in the paint, and draws a really, really awful smiley face that’s obviously meant to be a cartoonish version of Lance.

“Like that?” Shiro says, smirking. Lance blushes, punching him in the shoulder and subsequently smearing paint across a part of his arm and his prosthetic.

“You jerk!” He starts to say, but then his face falls into something a bit more sheepish once he notices. “Oh. Whoops. Sorry, Shiro.”

“Mhmm?” Shiro hums, looking from his arm to Lance and watching the look of trepidation bleed into his expression. Without a word, Shiro reaches down to dip a finger into the paint.

“Shiro?” Lance clears his throat. “Think about what you’re doing. I have a ridiculous amount of siblings. Do you really wanna start this fight?” But the waver in his voice is evident, so Shiro continues to approach, wet paint brush in one hand and paint dipped finger of his other outstretched towards Lance’s face. Lance takes a step back, but he’s too close to the wall, no escape. “Wait, wait, wait-!” Lance squeaks, closing his eyes tight when Shiro gets undeniably close. Shiro just smirks, hardly unconvinced, and leans in to draw a grey line down the length of Lance’s nose.

There’s a brief pause as Lance stills, cautiously opens his eyes, and looks cross-eyed down to the line of grey. “That’s it?” He asks as his eyes flick back up to Shiro.

Shiro just shrugs, still smirking, and says, “Yup. That’s it.” Then proceeds to drag his paint brush across Lance’s exposed collarbone and shoulder, the thin strap of his muscle tank caught in the fray. Lance jumps, though whether in surprise or at the chill of the paint, it’s hard to tell. Either way, it leaves Shiro laughing, a hearty sound that he feels vibrate all the way across his own chest.

“Oh, it’s on,” Lance tries to scowl, but Shiro can see the ghost of a smile trying to break through. He doesn’t get to dwell on it for long, though, because Lance jumps into his own vengeance with surprising vigor and haste.

By the end of it, Shiro’s shirt is ruined, Lance looks more grey than tan, and they barely have enough left to paint the accent wall.

“We’re not even going to finish this room tonight, are we?” Shiro half laughs, half pants against Lance’s neck, still pressing him into the hardwood floor where their fight finally fizzled. Lance just shrugs, equally as breathless.

“Not with that attitude we aren’t.”

“What if I’d rather just stay here?” Shiro hums against the grey-speckled bronze of Lance’s skin, settling himself more completely against the lithe body beneath him. If they weren’t pressed so close, he might have missed the shudder that wracks through Lance, a soft gasp crawling up his throat and reaching Shiro’s ears like a call to duty.

“Then we really won’t finish the living room by tonight.”

“Mmm doesn’t seem like a bad trade off, you know?” Shiro continues to murmur against sweat salted and paint slicked patches of Lance’s neck. His loose clothes have rumpled, revealing more of that beautiful brown skin he’s become so addicted to.

Lance arches against him, hips grinding up for a blissfully heady moment before rolling back down, his chest heaving. “W-We haven’t painted a single wall yet, Shiro.”

Shrio just responds to the movement with one of his own, a hand dragging down from arm to hip to waist before finally inching beneath Lance to cup the side of his ass. “I painted you, does that count?”

Lance snorts, but even that sounds breathy, a little fractured by the way his throat clicks on a swallow. “Sh-Shiro…” It’s obvious the name is supposed to be chiding, but the way it comes out as more of a whine, the way Lance turns his head just a bit to offer more of his neck, is a delicious contradiction. So Shiro reaches between them to gently, teasingly skim against the waistband of Lance’s shorts.

“Maybe the painting can wait,” Shiro purrs, dipping his tongue out to lick a quick stripe from collarbone to shoulder, teeth nipping inch for inch in its wake just above a line of grey. “Doesn’t this,” he reaches between them further to cup the growing bulge between Lance’s legs. “Seem like a more… gratifying use of our time?” Lance bucks up into the touch instantly, his eyes rolling back as his mouth falls open on a whine.

But that whine morphs quickly into a breathy chuckle, Lance’s eyes fluttering back open just as his right leg locks behind Shiro’s knees. In a sudden and surprisingly effective motion, Lance has them flipped, Shiro falling to his back against the floor with a surprised grunt. Before he can properly react, however, Lance dives in to capture his mouth in a heated kiss, tongue delving deep without warning.

Shiro melts into it almost instinctually, the feel of Lance on top of him, grinding against him, now almost as familiar as breathing. He can read Lance’s arousal almost as clearly as his own, and right now, it’s practically a tangible force. Lance’s hands tangle in Shiro’s hair, his hips creating steady, consistent friction with each needy roll of his hips.

Which is why it’s such a surprise when Lance pulls back, sitting up to straddle Shiro’s hips as he splays his hands out across Shiro’s chest. Both of them are panting, obviously hard, but Lance just sits there catching his breath, completely motionless.

“You’re right, Shiro,” Lance says after a moment, voice still a bit low and husky. Match that with the way Lance’s eyes are heavy lidded, blown wide, and Shiro can practically feel more blood rushing south. “This would be more gratifying.”

Something about the way he says that sounds off, though. Not so much the tone of his voice as the way it leaves the smirking shape of his parted lips. So he shouldn’t be surprised when Lance stretches his arms over his head in the perfect display of nonchalance.

“If you want the first thing we christen in this apartment to be a tarp on the living room floor.”

Shiro blinks, completely flabbergasted by the sudden one-eighty the situation has taken. Honestly, if it weren’t for the feel of Lance’s erection still digging into his thigh, he’d believe Lance was thoroughly uninterested in what they’d just been doing.

He really, really must want to get these walls painted.

“Fiiiiiiiine,” Shiro groans, not even bothering to mask his own petulance as he lets his head fall back to the floor with a thunk. “Painting walls instead of sex it is. But the moment that bed is set up tomorrow, your ass is mine. Movers be damned.”

“Hmmm,” Lance grins, leaning in to steal one more frustratingly hot kiss before pulling himself to his feet. “I was thinking more, finish the living room, maybe the kitchen, and then make the first thing we christen in this apartment the air mattress I already set up in our new bedroom. But whatever. You do you.”

Shiro doesn’t get out much in the way of a comeback to that, but he does manage to give Lance’s ass a nice swat the moment he’s back on his feet.

Surprisingly, they manage to get the entire living room, kitchen, and half the guest room done before they call it quits. Unfortunately, they’re both too tired to christen much of anything after that.

The apartment ends up taking two weeks to be finished, filled every inch with the colors Lance chose out. Their colors. And with their furniture set up, boxes of knickknacks and art unpacked, it’s exactly as Lance had described it. Each room with its own personality, the paint on the walls a definite foundation of that. A sturdy and heartfelt foundation. Shiro has to admit, it feels like them.

“Alright, last step,” Lance declares once their hectic few weeks of painting, unpacking, and decorating are supposedly complete. It’s because of this that Shiro can’t quite help the wince.

“There’s more?”

Thankfully, Lance just laughs, seemingly unperturbed. “It’s an easy step, but the best one. And I’ve already done most of the work for you, so all I need is your hand.”

And as if that’s explanation enough, Lance grabs Shiro by the wrist and leads him into the living room without preamble. Shiro has to admit, with all the walls and moldings painted, it really does look cozy. Lance even managed to pair the decorative pillows on the couch. It’s like a scene from a Pottery Barn catalogue, and yet, somehow, already lived in, already home.

“Okay, go ahead. Pick your color.”

Shiro pulls himself back to the task at hand only to find himself faced with multiple tubes of different colored paint, a few paint brushes, and an empty place on the wall marked by lines of pencil. At the top of the empty square lies a frame hook.

“What am I doing exactly?” He asks, but Lance just rolls his eyes.

“I picked blue, so you can’t choose that one, but pick any other color. Then I’ll explain.”

“O…kay?” Shiro looks from Lance back to the rainbow of paints and grabs the black one. Lance snorts, snatching the tube from his hand and popping it open.

“You would,” he smirks as he squeezes a fair amount onto a paper plate next to the makeshift work station. Then, without further ado, he grabs Shiro’s hand, readies a paint brush, and proceeds to paint streaks of black along Shiro’s skin. Shiro can’t help but jolt under the cold and frankly bizarre sensation, but after a few seconds he settles in. And when he does, the pieces start to fall into place.

Once Shiro’s whole palm is black, Lance lets go with an eager, “Alright, just pick a spot in the square and go, anywhere you want. Middle, corner, whatever.”

Shiro smiles, chuckling softly to himself at the way Lance’s eyes shine, his enthusiasm contagious. After a moment’s deliberation, Shiro decides on a spot just off center, fingers splayed wide.

“Interesting choice,” Lance nods, fingers to his chin as if analyzing a piece of fine art at the MoMA. Shortly after, however, he’s right back in the moment, shoving his own hand in Shiro’s direction. “Alright, now do me.”

“Okay, okay,” Shiro laughs, gently gathering Lance’s hand in his own. A dollop of blue paint and a few strokes of his brush later and Lance’s palm is primed and ready. “Go for it.”

Expectedly, Lance takes longer to decide where to put his print, even going so far as to carefully hold his hand above potential spaces first. Eventually, he settles on a slightly diagonal approach, settling his print right over Shiro’s. Almost like they’re holding hands.

“Now we’ve just gotta sign it,” Lance instructs, plucking the blue dipped brush from Shiro’s hand and scribbling his name in one corner. Shiro follows suit, opting for the corner across, and then takes a step back to admire their work.

“Perfect,” Shiro smiles, leaning in to kiss Lance on the cheek. Before he can, however, Lance bounces out of the way, reaching over to the couch where he’s stashed something else.

“Not just yet,” he says, pulling out a dark, wooden frame and hanging it on the wall, the handprints nestled perfectly within its edges. “There,” Lance nods, inching his way into Shiro’s space and tucking himself easily into his side. “Now it’s perfect.”

And it is. A perfect finishing touch to what has been a perfect project. This apartment, this home is theirs now, plain and simple, each room an undeniable testament to that.

For a moment, Shiro feels overwhelmed at the realization. A perfect home, nestled in warm colors and warmer company. A perfect home made perfect not by what’s in it, but by who’s in it.

It’s not the handprints that make this home perfect, it’s you, Shrio could say. It’s not the colorful walls and the decorative pillows, it’s the fact that you thought to put it all there.

You’re what makes this all perfect, he could admit. You’re what makes this place home.

But if the way Lance snuggles into his side is any indication, the relentless, adorable, over dramatic love of Shiro’s life probably knows all that already.

So.

“Cheeseball,” Shiro whispers instead, placing a kiss into Lance’s hair as he wraps an arm around his shoulders, careful not to get black paint on his shirt. “But you’re right. It’s perfect.”

#shance #lance #lance mcclain #takashi shirogane #voltron #voltron legendary defender #shiro x lance #keylimepidge #fluff #almost smut? maybe? a little? #i just want them to be happy in a colorful and comfy apartment that's all #thank

[artificialqueens]

A Long December (Shalaska) - jazz

Summary: A story about how Sharon and Alaska (probably) met, inspired by this old quote from Alaska:

“We met almost four years ago. We were both drag queens and knew each other from Myspace. We’d comment on each other’s pictures and check each other out that way, but it wasn’t until I came back [to Pittsburgh] from L.A. to visit for Christmas that I met him out of drag. I was just like, “This person is so fun and so funny… and he has a really nice ass.” That was it. So I went back to L.A. to close up all my affairs and I moved into his house in Pittsburgh and never left.”

A/N: So, this is pretty canon. Getting back to my roots with 4.k words of some non-AU Shalaska! Many thanks to Rosie for reassuring me that I did their meeting story justice <3

The thing Alaska loved most about the holidays was the Christmas lights.

He loved the sheer abundance of them: loved them when they sparkled, loved how they illuminated his neighbors’ front yards, loved even the ones that were so hideously ugly they hurt his eyeballs.

It reminded him of home, of dragging the worn cardboard box up from the basement as a child and attempting for hours to untangle the mess of rainbow string lights that’d been collecting dust for nearly a year. He’d cry when one of the little bulbs went out, as if there weren’t hundreds of other twinkling bulbs to make up for it.

He used to drive around aimlessly for hours just to look at them, not that there was much else to do in northwestern Pennsylvania.

Los Angeles winters – less glittery, distinctly lonelier, and a hell of a lot more chintzy – just didn’t have the same appeal. So, with Christmas quickly approaching, Alaska packed his bags and hopped on a connecting flight back home to Erie, away from the blown auditions and the callbacks that never came, the late rent checks and the overpriced headshots that he couldn’t reallyafford.

But Alaska wasn’t about to worry about any of that tonight. Tonight, he’d made the short two-hour drive from Erie to Pittsburgh. He had some old friends that lived in the city, and they’d gotten him an invite to a house party that a certain someone was rumored to attend.

Alaska smiled in spite of himself. Sharon Needles.

He kept a mental catalogue of all the things he knew about Sharon so far.

He did drag, first of all, something that he and Sharon had bonded over almost instantly. Sharon’s drag was edgy and hideous and horrifying and beautiful, and Alaska was in awe of it. He thought that Sharon might be the smartest person he knew, probably.

He was from middle-of-nowhere, meth-addled Iowa. Alaska had never been to the Midwest, but he’d heard that there was a lot of corn there. Alaska shook his head. Yeah, no, don’t talk about corn tonight, he chided himself.

Besides, Sharon was a total Pittsburgher now, adopting the city’s strange dialect and practically bleeding its colors, black and gold. It suited him well, Alaska thought.

He knew that Sharon had blue eyes – sky blue, he could make out from his profile photos and their select Skype conversations – and a tattoo of Tammy Faye Baker on his upper arm, and that he was perfect, potentially.

Alaska knew better than to get his hopes up, though. Sharon might not even be interested. They’d been exchanging messages online for a few weeks now, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Alaska cringed at the possibility.

It meant something on his end, at least.

Alaska trudged on down the sidewalk, a thin layer of packed snow crunching satisfyingly underneath his feet. He was getting ahead of himself. First, he’d have to show up to the party – a half hour late, obviously, so he didn’t seem over-eager. He’d have a drink – or two or three – to calm his nerves a bit.

Then, he’d ask around for Sharon, all buzzed and aloof, and they’d embrace, and it’d be magical. Or something like that.

He clutched onto the brown-paper-bagged bottle of whiskey he’d decided to buy last-minute.  Bringing a gift felt like the polite thing to do, but now he just felt clumsy and awkward as he approached the small house, alcohol in one hand and a dumb Santa hat in the other.

Alaska wiped his boots on the doormat, mentally preparing himself for the night ahead, before letting himself in.

The place smelled strongly of burnt sugar cookies and hard liquor, and he didn’t recognize many faces. Someone was singing along to a Mariah Carey cover in the other room, and Alaska found himself wishing he were already a little tipsy.

He made his way through the throngs of guests, all clad in varying shades of red and green, and tossed his winter jacket onto a nearby armchair. His heart sank at the possibility that maybe Sharon had decided to skip the party altogether.

Alaska was about to question why Sharon’s attendance even mattered to him at all when he spotted him from across the room, in an oversized Christmas sweater that had definitely seen better days, cigarette burns garnishing the sleeves he’d cuffed twice around his wrists.

Suddenly, Alaska couldn’t have cared less about his surroundings.

His chest expanded as Sharon’s eyes locked with his own, an expression of pleasant surprise washing over his features, before striding over to Alaska purposefully. Alaska watched him approach in slow motion, his vision tunneling in to focus only on Sharon.

“For me? You shouldn’t have, Alaska.” Sharon smiled, his dimple on full display, as he grabbed the bottle of whiskey from Alaska’s hand and took an emphatic swig.

Alaska’s jaw dropped, his breath catching at the way Sharon said his name, how it rolled off his tongue with ease. “I, uh… you’re welcome, I guess?”

It was hardly the reception Alaska had envisioned for their first meeting. He racked his brain for a proper conversation-starter, something that said, I can be super fun and flirty, but also interesting and smart, and I think you’re really great, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he found himself staring at Sharon’s ass, forgetting why he’d cared so much about talking in the first place.

Sharon turned on his heel to walk away then, a signal that, to Alaska, meant their interaction was over. He frowned, until Sharon looked back and extended his free hand.

“You coming, or not?” he asked, lips pursed. “Let’s get you a beverage.”

Alaska placed his hand in Sharon’s without thinking, felt his universe crumbling and rebuilding itself in that instant.

He let Sharon lead him into the kitchen, too-small and dark, bumping his hip awkwardly against the counter in the process. His fingers were tingling and Sharon’s hand was cool against his own and he hoped Sharon wouldn’t let go any time soon.  

“Oh, by the way,” Sharon said flatly, “don’t drink the eggnog.” He made a face over his shoulder.

“Noted,” Alaska laughed.

Sharon disappeared into the refrigerator for a moment, allowing Alaska just enough time to try to compose himself, unsuccessfully. If Sharon backed up a few inches, he’d be pressed right against him, and Alaska felt dizzy at the thought. He hopped up to sit on the counter behind him for something to do, shimmying backwards so that his legs didn’t touch the ground.

“Here.” Sharon turned and handed Alaska a plastic cup half-full of red liquid, eyes wandering over Alaska as he inspected the concoction. “I’m not gonna poison you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“How romantic,” Alaska deadpanned, the corners of his mouth curling upwards.

“I can be.”

Sharon lowered his voice, taking a step closer toward Alaska and parking himself in between his legs. His tone was playful, but Alaska couldn’t be sure – not when he could practically feel Sharon’s body heat radiating off of him in waves, sending the butterflies in his stomach into a frenzy. Alaska brought the cup to his lips in an effort to distract himself.

“So you’re liking Pittsburgh?” Alaska asked abruptly, hating how his first instinct was to make small talk, and how Sharon’s eyes glinted at it, like he thrived on Alaska’s jitters and nervous energy.

“America’s filthiest-kept secret,” Sharon said with a flourish of his hand. “You’re out in L.A., yeah?”

“Yeah, but…” Alaska trailed off. “I dunno, it’s not really working out for me there.”

He was conscious of Sharon’s middle finger tracing the rim of his cup that he held in his lap, his eyes flicking up to meet Alaska’s when he noticed him watching.

“Noted,” Sharon repeated, smiling slightly.

“What?” Alaska drawled, blushing. “What’s that face for?”

“You’re cuter in person, is all.”

Alaska grinned into his drink.

Guests filtered in and out of the kitchen as they chatted, and Alaska hardly noticed any of them, too caught up in how easy it was to talk to Sharon. He told Alaska that he’d been following his drag career out in California for a while now, that Alaska’s style of drag impressed him and reminded him a bit of his own, and when it got too crowded for their liking, Sharon pulled Alaska outside onto the patio that connected to the kitchen.

Sharon lowered himself onto a bench and grabbed a cigarette from his pocket, let it hang from his lips as he brought a lighter to the butt end. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.

“Oh, no – not at all,” Alaska sputtered.

“Some people don’t like the smell of it,” Sharon said, taking a long, contemplative drag. “But not me.”

Alaska stared at him, watched the smoke leave his lips and dance above his head, forming a carbon monoxide halo around his mop of bleached blonde hair, sticking up in every which direction. His nose was pink from the cold and Alaska wanted to kiss it, just once.

“Addiction’s a funny thing, y’know,” Sharon mused.

Alaska nodded solemnly. He had a feeling he’d agree to just about anything that came out of Sharon’s mouth, if he were being honest.

“What’re you addicted to, Alaska?”

The question hung in the air, cool and heavy.

You, his heart was screaming, threatening to burst right out of his chest. I’m addicted to you.

Alaska gulped down the rest of his drink to avoid Sharon’s intense gaze, felt the liquid travel through his body and warm his limbs almost instantly.  

“Should we head back in soon, see what everyone else is up to?” Alaska tried. “It’s getting kinda cold out here.”

“Sit with me, then.” Sharon patted the cushioned spot next to him on the bench, and Alaska’s pulse quickened. He didn’t know how much longer he could handle being that close to Sharon without doing something dumb and impulsive, breathing in his smell and scanning his face and hearing his voice – not behind a computer screen, but right here, close enough to touch.

And Alaska wanted to touch him, badly.Sharon was so real that it hurt, and Alaska’s bones ached from it.

He thought that, maybe, Sharon was the realest thing he’d ever known in his life. When Sharon looked at him, it was inquisitive and sharp, and Alaska felt fully seen, like Sharon had him all figured out without saying a word. Alaska didn’t know what to do with that, wasn’t used to feeling so exposed.

He gravitated toward Sharon, settling into the space under the arm that he’d draped casually over the top of the bench. They sat there like that, in comfortable silence, for what felt like minutes.

“I like you, Alaska,” Sharon said, matter-of-fact, snubbing his cigarette out on an ashtray. “A lot, actually.”

His boldness caught Alaska off guard, and he half-considered that maybe the nicotine, or the alcohol, or some combination of the two, had damaged Sharon’s better judgment.

“You’re special, I think,” he continued.

“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” Alaska drawled. He hiccupped, likely from chugging the remains of his drink too quickly, and giggled nervously at the possibility that Sharon really meant it.

—–

Over the course of the night, Alaska learned that Sharon was nothing like he’d expected – but somehow, even better than he’d hoped.

He was fun, and he was hilarious, and, when Alaska caught himself staring at him for far too long as Sharon danced to a pop remix of “Last Christmas” on top of an old couch, mouthing all the words at Alaska like he was singing it just for him, Alaska knew he needed a moment to collect his racing thoughts.

He shot Sharon an apologetic smile as he ducked away and disappeared into the sea of partygoers, darting toward the staircase in hopes that it might be a little quieter upstairs, that he could freshen up and maybe get it together.

He wandered into the room at the end of the carpeted hallway, expecting a bathroom but instead finding a spare bedroom. He sighed, dragging his hands over his face. Alaska was in too deep, he could feel it, didn’t know whether he wanted to be sick or if he wanted to run straight into Sharon’s arms.

It’s just a crush, Alaska told himself, unconvincingly. He pictured the way Sharon’s lips had closed around his bottle of whiskey, how delicate his hands had looked as he balanced a cigarette between his fingers, and wondered how those same lips and hands might feel running over his own body tonight, and tomorrow, and maybe the next day after that.

“What, I didn’t scare you away down there, did I?” Sharon asked.

Alaska jumped, spinning around at hearing Sharon’s voice from behind him. He looked almost sheepish, arms hanging at his sides, and Alaska could see his veins from where he’d pushed up his sleeves.

“Oh, no, this is just… a lot,” Alaska tried, licking his lips absentmindedly. “It’s a lot.”

Somehow, Sharon seemed to understand. He closed the door, traveled the rest of the distance between them and took Alaska’s hands in his own. “Look at me,” he said.

Alaska hesitantly locked eyes with him, fully aware of how close they were standing now, how alone they were, and his heartbeat thudded in his ears.

Sharon reached up and tucked a finger underneath Alaska’s chin, made sure he couldn’t look away. “You feel this, too, right?” Sharon asked, quietly.

Alaska wasn’t breathing. He thought he gave a small nod, but his knees were shaking and he knew that if he leaned in, right now, he’d be done.

Luckily for him, Sharon was the first to fall.

He shoved Alaska against the dresser, hands cradling his face as he kissed him, hard and impatient. Alaska was putty underneath Sharon’s grip, and it took a moment for his brain to catch up with his body.

Sharon was kissing him.

Sharon was kissing him firmly like he’d been starving, and Alaska was his remedy – and maybe he was, as Alaska instinctively wrapped his own hands around Sharon’s thin wrists, willed with his tongue for Sharon to understand that he felt it, too.

It wasn’t long before kissing wasn’t enough. Sharon had a thigh rutted between Alaska’s bowed legs and he pressed down on it greedily. Alaska moved his fingers to coil in Sharon’s blonde hair, and when he tugged gently, he felt Sharon audibly whimper into his mouth, the sound shooting straight to his abdomen.  

Alaska had been with plenty of guys before, but not like this – Sharon was clinging to him like he was afraid Alaska might slip through his fingers otherwise.

“Sharon, I…” Alaska began, and then trailed off, lips ghosting over Sharon’s cheek, his nose. He realized all at once that he didn’t have the words to articulate what exactly was taking place, just that it felt distinctly important.

“Yeah,” Sharon breathed, in between kisses. “Me too.”

Alaska sunk to his knees at that, shoving Sharon’s jeans down to his ankles as he went. Sharon’s pupils were blown out black as he watched Alaska, who was palming Sharon’s already-hard cock over the fabric of his underwear. Alaska didn’t think about what he was doing, not really – didn’t dwell on the fact that he wanted to please Sharon more than he’d wanted to please anybody, or that he’d been semi-hard, seeing stars as soon as Sharon’s lips touched his.

He just hollowed his cheeks, tried to take as much of Sharon as he possibly could into his mouth.

Sharon clutched onto the edge of the dresser for support, lips parted. Alaska developed a steady rhythm, used one hand to move in tandem with his tongue as he bobbed his head to suck at Sharon’s hardness.

When Alaska moaned, so did Sharon.

Alaska flattened his tongue against the underside of Sharon’s length, hummed around him. Sharon began to rock his hips forward, hitting the back of Alaska’s throat with each thrust, before abruptly pulling out.

He tugged Alaska back to his feet, smattering kisses along the curve of his neck. “Wanna make this last,” Sharon explained hoarsely.

Alaska could tell that Sharon was leaving marks, and was glad for it: he wanted to wake up tomorrow and remember where Sharon had been, see and feel where he’d paid special attention.

And then Sharon was spinning him around and maneuvering him towards the bed, yanking Alaska’s shirt up and over his head impatiently as Alaska kicked off his own pants, a clumsy dance of flying fabric and tangled limbs. Alaska’s hands flew to Sharon’s bare shoulder blades, his chest, warm and soft underneath his fingertips.  

It felt surreal, that they were doing this – and yet, it didn’t surprise Alaska in the slightest. He felt surprisingly comfortable, safe, even as Sharon pushed him backward onto the bed, pinning him underneath his body.

Sharon hovered over Alaska for a few moments, scanning him with those eyes again, before Alaska pulled him down by the back of the neck, cocks rutting together as Alaska’s tongue traced the shell of Sharon’s ear.

“Please,” Alaska begged, breathless. “Sharon, fuck – I need you. I really, really need you.”

Sharon closed his eyes and let out a huge breath, like the sound of Alaska’s voice, whiny and broken, did things to him. Alaska looked up at him, his hair falling into his face, tried to scoot his hips closer towards Sharon’s lap.

Sharon didn’t need much more encouragement than that.

He flipped Alaska onto his stomach, and Alaska wiggled his ass out for Sharon, who soothed his hands over the smooth skin. He felt delirious, how badly he wanted Sharon to fill him up, make him muffle his screams into the pillow.

And he knew that Sharon would be good to him – he could tell from the way Sharon made sure to kiss every notch on his spine, open-mouthed and careful. Alaska frantically reached over to the bedside table, ransacking two separate drawers before finding a small bottle of lube and a box of condoms, and he said a silent prayer.

Sharon’s hands were trembling as he slicked up his fingers, uttering a hoarse, “You sure, Lasky?”

Alaska had never been more sure of anything, nodding feverishly at the headboard, trying to remember how to breathe.

He didn’t know what any of this might mean moving forward for him and Sharon – if there even was such a thing as a “him and Sharon” – but he refused to worry about that now, not when Sharon eased one finger into him and then two, reducing Alaska to a moaning mess as he arched his back at the contact.

Sharon bowed his head and pressed his lips to Alaska’s shoulder blade, and when he finally entered him, it was with a slow roll of his hips, breath still dancing on Alaska’s back.

Alaska’s jaw went slack, his mouth falling open in a silent scream.

Then Sharon began to move: small and shallow thrusts at first, clearly restraining himself. “Oh, shit, Lasky, you feel so… so good.”

“Sharon, I need… move, Shar, please…”

“W-wait, hold on,” Sharon said, pulling out of Alaska decidedly. Alaska whined at the loss, until Sharon turned him over, scanned his face. “I wanna see you.”

Sharon appraised Alaska’s features: his cheeks, flushed pink, and his kiss-swollen lips, which Sharon leaned down to kiss again, quick and sloppy. Alaska drew his knees up, reaching down to guide Sharon back inside him.

Alaska watched as Sharon’s forehead crinkled, lips parted to let out a breathy exhale. Alaska couldn’t keep from staring, from committing his facial expression to memory – until Sharon shifted his hips the tiniest bit, reminding Alaska of his own throbbing cock, the desire welling up in the pit of his stomach.

He tilted his head back and moaned, exposing his throat for Sharon to nip at as he slammed into him, skin slapping against skin.

Alaska fell apart beneath him, grabbing Sharon’s ass to urge him on, lifting his legs so Sharon could go deeper, harder – a frenzy of clawing hands and salty kisses, more lips brushing against lips than anything else. When Sharon reached for Alaska’s neglected cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts, Alaska spilled into his hand, sobbing Sharon’s name almost incoherently, over and over again, the only word that mattered.

Sharon followed suit, shuddering into Alaska before letting his head drop to Alaska’s collarbone.

“God,” was all he murmured, and it was as good as I love you.

“I know,” Alaska breathed.

Alaska slid out of bed on shaky legs after Sharon cleaned them both up, bent down to grab the first article of clothing he could find on the floor – Sharon’s Christmas sweater. He tugged it over his head, smiling at the feeling of Sharon’s eyes glued to him, his body.

“You’re so pretty, baby.”

Alaska giggled, crawling back into bed with Sharon eagerly, nuzzling against him like they’d done this countless times before. In some ways, it felt like they had.

“Tell me how much you like me again,” Alaska purred.

“More than I know what to do with,” Sharon replied, and the honesty in his voice was jarring. “Probably too much.”

Alaska stared at the adjacent wall in silence, considering the full weight of Sharon’s words, realizing all at once that he felt the same way – and remembering suddenly that they lived on opposite sides of the country. It hit him like a punch in the gut.

“I don’t think I can do long-distance right now,” Alaska choked out. “I just can’t.”

Sharon rolled onto his side to face Alaska, propping his head up with his hand. “I wasn’t expecting you to, Lasky,” he said, his voice quiet.

Alaska squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel himself ruining the moment, and wished he could’ve just left good enough alone. Sharon probably thought that he was clingy beyond belief, and embarrassment burned hot in his cheeks.

“So what now, then?” Alaska asked, bracing himself for what was sure to be a letdown.

There was a pregnant pause before Sharon replied.

“So, move in with me.”

“What?” Alaska stammered, rolling over hurriedly and getting tangled in the sheets. He searched Sharon’s face, looked for any sign that he might be kidding, but instead only found a set of blue eyes, locked with his own.

“It could be like this, all the time,” Sharon said softly.

“You… you hardly know me.”

“I know enough.”

Alaska swallowed the lump in his throat, fought the urge to smatter kisses all over Sharon’s dumb face, which was sporting a small, hopeful smile now.

Alaska wanted it – he wanted all of it. He wanted to share a closet and take up too much space in the bathroom, wanted to wake up on Christmas morning next to Sharon and watch Bette Davis documentaries in bed. He wanted to feel Sharon pressed against him when he fell asleep at night, wouldn’t even care if Sharon ran hot or snored lightly into his neck. He’d let Sharon show him around town, too; they’d go out and make fools of themselves on stage and Sharon would take Alaska home at the end of their gigs, fuck him hard into the mattress and kiss him on the lips afterward.

Alaska knew he’d say yes before the words were even out of his mouth. This was right. This felt right.

He threw his body on top of Sharon’s, bare legs straddling his torso, and repeated yes against his lips until he was forced to come up for air, Sharon’s eyes twinkling like the Christmas lights lining the snow-covered street outside.

#shalaska #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #smut #non-au #christmas #tw mention of addictions #jazz #rpdr fanfiction #canon compliant