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kaibacorpintern · 3 years

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the wound

word count: ~2500

summary: kaiba has some pointed thoughts about yuugi’s recent cooking injury. platonic rivalshipping. post-DSOD

a/n: a woman has too many unfinished one-shots in her google drive so i’m making time to finish them instead of overthinking them (and never finishing them.) yes this is about cooking and yuugi and kaiba and depression. yes i have already written about this. whatever man. enjoy.

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Same time as usual. Two in the afternoon, on Saturdays. Same place as usual. The picnic table under the massive oak in the park, two blocks away from the Kame Game Shop and twenty minutes by subway from the station under the Kaiba Corp tower. Seto took the subway mostly out of scientific interest, taking a professional curiosity in the world Atem had wanted to live in, and because Atem had told him to enjoy it. What had he seen here, in the faded orange seats and bright pastel advertisements and the quiet scattering of human-not-Puzzle bodies? What had he felt, as the subway swayed around the curve in the tunnel, unseen in the darkness and known only by its momentum, making everyone sway with it? Hands curled around handrails and books. Fingers on phones. The train burst into daylight. The side of that girl’s head against the glass, watching Domino slide by with an equally glassy look in her eyes. Two layers between her and the city. Missing someone? Or just bored of life?

He slunk off the subway, unnoticed and unknown, in an immaculate white hoodie and aviators, stainless steel water bottle dangling from one hand. Yuugi was waiting for him at the park entrance, as usual, wearing some kind of fashionable belted dark purple romper, with the usual tote bag full of games hanging from one hand. On the other hand, something unusual: his fingers stuck out from a half-formed mitten of gauze, giving his slender hand a clumsy, snub-nosed silhouette. He was having trouble holding his iced tea, thumb and fingers alligator-clamped around the lid. Someone had drawn a pair of flowers in pink marker across the back of the mitten, a bumper sticker of cheerful admonition: 🌺 BE CAREFUL! 🌺 Not Yuugi’s handwriting.

“Hey,” Yuugi said. “How’re you doing? You sleeping better?”

Seto pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, over his bangs, crown-like.

“On and off,” he said, which was true. His nights were now vast, tossing oceans of insomnia between shores of just good-enough sleep. Last night he’d simply given up trying to swim and instead, for the first time in years, read a book for amusement instead of education. Some sci-fi novel Yuugi had mentioned and Seto bought on a lark from the bookstore in the subway station. Most of his amusement came from correcting the bad science in the margins, until he woke up at dawn with his glasses bent and his bed linens blotted like calico cats with black ink. “What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, this?” Yuugi said, lifting his mitten-hand. “So, I was making a ceviche yesterday…”

He told the story as they walked through the park to the oak tree: the protagonist was a ripe avocado, its tough, disingenuous alligator hide concealing a soft, buttery-green flesh. The arc of the conflict: avocado against knife, a natural antagonist. The climax: the knife, ignorant of its own bluntness and made arrogant by the shine of its own steel, slid off its trajectory like a failing rocket and plunged at speed through plant skin and plant flesh straight into human skin and human flesh. The resolution: two identical cuts, a half-opened avocado and a half-opened hand. Man versus fruit.

"There was so much blood Otogi almost fainted," Yuugi said, thumping the tote bag onto the wooden table and straddling the bench sideways. "So we went to the ER and they stitched me up, and then when we got back home I finished making the ceviche. What game? You pick."

"Hive," Seto said. He couldn’t stop looking at his bandaged hand. It drew his attention like a glitch on a screen, an inescapable aberration. “Does it bother you?”

“I mean, it hurts, but whatever, you know?” Yuugi said, digging into his tote bag for the drawstring bag of wooden tokens. He spilled them onto the table in a clattering cascade of wood against wood. They rapidly sorted them out. “It’s not my first cooking accident.”

Seto raised his eyebrows. It was a testament to the amount of time they’d been spending together lately - every Saturday afternoon for a handful of hours, until he made some excuse to leave, and Yuugi accepted it not because he was gullible but because he knew Seto had a battery and it ran low - that he didn’t even need to ask a question, and Yuugi simply provided an answer, with examples.

“So, here, I was frying onion rings for Jounouchi, and I splattered hot oil all over my arm,” Yuugi said, lifting his hand and pointing out a haphazard constellation of white scars over his forearm. “Then here - I was baking cookies for Shizuka’s birthday and touched the tray fresh out of the oven with my bare hand, like a moron, I dueled Jounouchi after and drawing my cards was like, ow - ” he waggled his fingertips - “and this one is another burn - ” a long white ink-stroke across his wrist - “from when I was making ramen for Anzu, ‘cause she was home from New York. And this one - ”

More interesting than how and what were who. This burn for Honda’s birthday barbecue, that cut for Otogi’s game night. A violent kiss between blade and fingers behind a frothy veil of soapy water, cleaning up after a movie night. Another spray of oil splatters, frying tempura for his mother. A lot of meals for her, his grandfather, Jounouchi. Every scar Yuugi showed him had a name attached, almost all of them below the elbows, as though collected there for easy reference. Seto frowned as Yuugi's fingers flew over this map of friendships and family, their routes landmarked by midnight breakfasts, lazy brunches, beautifully-wrapped bento boxes. Something about it tasted sour to him, his tongue held tight and bitten between his teeth. All of his own scars had only one name.

“You probably think I’m a klutz,” Yuugi said, with a sheepish smile, sliding one of the wooden tokens into place around their hive.

“I told you to stop doing that,” Seto said briskly. “I’m not some dumpster for all your insecurities. You think you’re a klutz. You have no idea what I think.”

“I - ” Yuugi started, and huffed, with another smile, his chosen defense against causing offense. “Sorry, force of habit - ”

“Forget it. You don’t ever cook for yourself?”

“Duh. Of course I do. And I eat what I make with everyone else. It’s not like I make a pizza for all my friends and just sit there watching them while they eat it,” Yuugi said. “But I like cooking for people. I love... nourishing them. Knowing they’re not going to go to bed hungry or anything, and I can make something for them that makes them feel good.”

Seto tapped a wooden token on the table, under the guise of thinking about the game but really thinking about the kind of friends Yuugi made, and how he made them. Jounouchi. Honda. Atem. Himself.

“Did you ever cook for Atem?” he said, because he couldn’t help it, and braced against the soft look that came his way, with a default smile, a pre-emptive look, I'm fine. this didn’t hurt me smile.

“Yeah,” Yuugi said. “I did.”

Like what? Did he like it? Did he help cook or did he just watch? Just the two of you or with everyone else? Tell me. What did you nourish him with? What do you think he’s eating now? I ate pomegranates when I was there. Bread and honey and figs and garlic and beer. Nothing I ate makes me spend six months with the living and six months with the dead so instead I trade off day and night. Sometimes I leave for a few minutes, mid-afternoon, and I can hear my own name clattering through me as Mokuba calls me back. Seto kept all these comments to himself. There was only so greedy he could get with Yuugi’s grief; only so much he could share of his own.

He slid his wooden token into place around the honeycomb of pieces. Yuugi swiftly countered. Seto lapsed back into thought.

Yuugi took a quiet slurp of his iced tea, gave it a shake, rattling the ice until it settled, and took another, watching ducks paddle into the reeds at the edge of the pond and paddle out, a portrait of calm patience. It had taken him some time to get comfortable with Seto’s long silences. In concession, Seto made the effort to shorten them.

It was the kind of day where stepping into the shade made a difference. The air was darker and cooler under the trees and the flowering bushes that lined the park paths, while the rest of the earth baked in a cloudless dry heat. Seto made his move and pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to his elbows.

“How about I cook for you sometime?” Yuugi said brightly, nudging another wooden token against the others with a single fingertip.

Seto scowled, not at the suggestion but at the way his thoughts splintered apart, like two halves of a wooden log split by an axe. He had no doubt Yuugi would pull out the stops for him, slave and sweat for hours over some seventeen-course feast of modern art finger foods. Or maybe something cozy that made him feel like he was just nineteen instead of nineteen and exhausted. Whatever it was, Yuugi would put in the effort. But.

“No,” he said, and made sure to clarify this refusal before the clouds finished gathering over Yuugi’s face in a dejected overcast grey: “I don’t need one of your scars named after me.”

“I - what?” Yuugi said, flashing him an uneven, sideways smile, and Seto felt a flicker of irritation. Atem would’ve understood immediately. But, in fairness to Yuugi, he was being a little obtuse.

“You have a way of suffering for your friends,” he explained. “And I think part of you likes it.”

Yuugi straightened up in his seat, suddenly electric.

“What the hell? It’s just cooking,” he said, with a stormy flash of lightning in his violet eyes. “You’re reading into this way too much. I cook because it’s fun and artistic and I like feeding people, not because I like… self-flagellating or something. Seriously, you can’t just spout off - ”

“You misunderstand me,” Seto countered. “There’s no reason to… hurt yourself on my behalf. If you want to eat together, I’d rather go to that kitschy little ice cream place down the block and get a fucking waffle cone. I don’t want you unable to duel because you burned your hand trying to pan-fry a steak for me.”

Yuugi opened his mouth, brows furrowing together… and scoffed, a surprisingly affectionate sound. He rolled his eyes around the park, his gaze swinging across the sunlit grass, and looked back at Seto.

“Okay. First of all, I've mastered the art of the pan-fried steak, and you should try it,” he said. “Second of all, what makes you think you’re not someone worth suffering for?”

Seto snorted, masking his inwards flinch. Mokuba already suffered enough, thank you. And for what? A ghost of a brother. A black hole, a perpetual collapsing. Things went in and they crossed the event horizon and the pressure squeezed them for eternity without ever letting them reach the center and nothing ever came back out, as much as it wanted to. The scientific term for such distortion of effort, stretched to an immeasurable length without breaking, was spaghettification. Even a black hole needs to eat!

He slid one of his tokens back and forth with his fingertip, short, scraping jerks of wood against wood, thinking.

“Direct attack on my life points,” he muttered.

“Yeah, you also got me pretty good,” Yuugi chuffed. “Let’s call it even. But relax. It’s just cooking. I love the process, and I love the result, and I love doing stuff for my friends. It’s not some big… metaphorical… symbol of something. This - " he lifted his mittened hand - "doesn't mean anything except I mishandled a knife. It’s not like… you and Duel Disks.”

But Seto also loved the process and the result and more than once he'd injured himself, machining parts or fiddling with wires that, like all wild living things, bit back in fear of his touch. He splayed his hand over the table, watching blood drip onto his work station, knowing he should get up, clean it, bandage it. But it was only two in the morning and there was work to do.

“The Duel Disk is a symbol of Kaiba Corp’s future,” he said, closing his hand into a fist. "I know what you've done for your friends. I’ve seen it. Doesn't that merit the same... mythology?"

Yuugi gave him a funny look, half skeptical, half knowing.

"That’s nice of you, thank you," he said, and an uncomfortable blush crawled up Seto’s neck. Sometimes he did understand. “Are you sure you don't want me to cook for you?”

Seto opened his mouth, closed it, folded his arms on the table. He felt like he was trying to explain the feeling of the color blue, or the arguments for why numbers do or don’t exist, or what it was like to dream. Well, you see, the last time I saw Atem, he told me - correction: the last time as in the most recent link in a chain of time, not the last time as in the end of the line, because he also told me we’d see each other again - he told me to enjoy this, and you know me, I never do what I’m told. And I can’t do what he told me to do because he was my friend, and if friendship is just getting caught in a great sticky web of small cuts and large cuts and burns and bruises and tears and suffering because they’re here and suffering because they’re not, then just go ahead and let the spider drink me up and dump what’s left of me in the dirt. I am so sick and tired of pain. Mine. Yours. Ours.

But he did enjoy these afternoons. He was enjoying the process of making this: he had more with Yuugi now than he ever had before. He reached across the table and took Yuugi’s bandaged hand between his own hands, running his thumb carefully over the inked warning. Yuugi's hand relaxed in his. Yes, Yuugi was wrong. It was the same as Duel Disks. In any act of creation there was pain, there was power, and there was glory. What difference was there between a hologram of a dragon and a steaming bowl of soup? Both nourished something. Both were an answer to hunger. Discovering an emptiness and filling it.

“Okay,” he said, releasing Yuugi’s hand. “Alright. Cook for me.”

“Yeah?!” Yuugi said, with rising excitement, beaming. “What should I make? What do you like?”

“Make me a steak,” Seto said, smiling. It felt good to see Yuugi smile. His hypothesis neatly undermined. See? It’s not all damage. “No. Surprise me.”

#fanfiction #intern memo #rivalshipping #a lite snack... once i've written up a few more i'll cross post to AO3 #okay good Night i am. wiped the fuck out

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matildashoney · 4 years

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London Town

Loving You’s the Antidote Extra

MASTERLIST // MOODBOARD // TAG LIST // TAGS // PLAYLIST

TAG LIST: @ihearthemcallingforyou, @goldenfeelin, @detroitkiwis

talk to me about it!

thank you miss @berrynarrybanana for creating the sex bucket list fic challenge! i wanted to write something with the mile high club for harry and ames a while ago and this gave me every opportunity to do so. this is pure filth about harry and amelie getting back to london recently after being stuck in malibu during the quarantine.

warning: this is literally 4.4k of filth. i can’t be sorry for what my brain has done. i take no responsibility.

Harry is guarded, to say the least. There was too much happening for him not to be.

One of the security guards that was driving them to the airport got out with Amelie first, making sure that there weren’t any photographers waiting outside for them (which there shouldn’t be, all things considered) and having her get inside to wait for Harry when he was able to get all their luggage and out of the car. Harry was nervous, his hoodie tugged over his head and his passport and identification all sitting in his hoodie pocket. Amelie was wearing the hoodie they bought at a Spice Girls concert the year before, but it was beginning to fit a big snuggly around her tummy and they knew that anyone that saw them would start pregnancy speculations before they could even begin trying to have a baby themselves. Her hand grabs his as soon as he walks beside her, interlocking their fingers and hiding her face in his chest, the exhaustion beginning to set in and the bruising on her hips from the needles beginning to ache as she stands for much too long without rest.

Harry guides them through security, his heart breaking as Amelie knuckles her eyes and desperately clings to her last bit of energy and pouts as his bag gets checked once more and she isn’t able to sink into his embrace as she wants. Considering the amount of time Harry and Amelie have spent together in quarantine, it would have made more sense that they need space, when in fact, Amelie has never been clingier. Not that Harry pays any mind to it. He knows that it’s with the best intentions, all because she loves him and is happy to be with him. Her hormones are messy with the new birth control she was trying, as well, with all intentions to perhaps make her body ready to be pregnant later in the year. All Amelie wanted was a good snuggle a very hefty amount of the day. Harry was happy to give that to her.

Los Angeles International Airport is surprisingly empty, Harry thought there would have been more celebrities trying to get back to wherever they’re from now that flights are slowly beginning to depart again – not that they really should be. Harry is excited to get back to England, London particularly. Amelie, although her heart is in love with California, misses London, misses home. All of the exhibition pieces that she was working on were left there, and for nearly four months her creativity was dry and there was nothing she could think of. Harry misses his family, his home. He even misses Tigger, especially now that he’s been staying with Anne for nearly six months. Harry misses their routine. Amelie misses the comfort of being home.

Malibu is home in a lot of ways.

Malibu is where they said the three words for the first time. Malibu is where they got engaged. Malibu is where they got married on a whim. All of Amelie’s family is nearby and their best friends and godchildren are only a fifteen-minute drive away. Mostly, it’s being together that makes it feel like home. Home is so subjective. To Harry, after travelling for so many years, unsteady relationships, the media overwhelming him with labels and rumours and the way his mental health suffered, Amelie really became the one thing that made the most sense, that made him feel safe. To Amelie, with all that she went through, the idea that someone could make you feel like home was absolutely mad, and there was a nagging voice that always told her she wouldn’t find it, and then Harry waltzed into her life and simply knocked every single thought she had about her life into another world; Harry made her feel as though there was nothing that she couldn’t do, and maybe he was right about that. Home was with each other, no matter where they are or where they go.

Harry squeezes Amelie’s hand, the engagement ring and wedding band ice on his skin. He smiles though, the feeling that the symbol gives him making his eyes sting with tears. He sniffles, drawing her attention and her eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. He shakes his head, kissing her hairline and nodding to the near-empty terminal that was about to board their flight.

“’ey,” Amelie whispers, brushing her thumb under his eye and moving the mask slightly to kiss his cheek, “you okay?”

“Thought about how we’re married and got all,” Harry mutters, his nose in her hair and laughing to himself. “Don’t know, guess m’heart is softer, now.”

“Always has been, baby,” she smiles, laying her thighs over his legs and cuddling into his chest, her eyes falling shut as he gently rubs her back. “Think they’ll yell at us for laying in the same bed, again?”

“Don’t think so since everyone has to stay away,” he mumbles, taking in the way the ten other passengers for the flight are wearing masks and gloves. “Can’t wait to be home and don’t have to wear this thing.”

“Meaning you’re gon’a be naked in the garden most days and dragging me out with you.”

Harry snickers, meeting Amelie’s knowing stare and shrugging his shoulders, “As long as you’re naked, too.”

“Don’t try your luck, Mr Styles,” Amelie sighs, squeezing his hips as his thumb dips beneath the waistband of her leggings. “Harry.”

“Didn’t wear any knickers.”

“Je ne voulais pas qu'ils me montent au cul pendant douze heures,” she whispers under her breath, trying to avoid the entire terminal hearing that her decision this morning was to go without any knickers on an eleven-hour flight.

Harry smirks, tugging his mask to his chin and pressing his lips to the shell of her ear, “Tu essaies d'entrer dans le club du mile high, chérie?” For a man that slept maybe three hours, Harry is awfully horny at barely four in the afternoon.

Amelie lightly smacks his hand as his fingers inch towards her inner thigh, coming dangerously close to her centre. “Harry, I swear to God.”

“Oh, it could be fun, Ames.”

“Ah, yes, because you,” Amelie’s voice lowers to a whisper that even Harry can barely hear, “fucking me in our seats in first-class sounds like so much fun when we could get caught.”

“’s the thrill of it all, baby.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t use the baby card,” she says warningly, her eyes narrowing at the man she loves with her whole heart, trying to convey her seriousness. Her thighs clench around his hand, a near-death grip to break his movements where his fingertips would brush over her heat.

“Need those fingers, Cherry.”

“Don’t stick your hands in my leggings, then.” Harry smirks at Amelie. “That doesn’t mean you find a loophole and stick your hand over my fanny either, thank you.”

“Mean, technically I’m not over your fanny.” Harry laughs so loudly, the entire terminal turns to face him. “Need you to tell me when the hell you started calling it that, though. Taking to all the slang now that you’re half a Brit, huh.”

“Much less aggressive than calling it my,” Amelie whispers, “cunt. Don’t you think?”

“Quite like calling it that,” he shrugs, weaselling his hand further up her thigh, nearly holding her heat in his palm. “’s mine to call anything, you know.”

“Oh,” she snorts, shaking her head and lightly pushing his shoulder and smirking when he grabs her hand with his other hand, kissing her palm with a smirk. “Is that how marriage works? Don’t think that was on the document we signed.”

“Mean, as far as I’m aware. Got like,” Harry hums, pretending to count on his fingers the number of months since they’d gotten married in March, “three months under m’belt. ‘s kinda like how you say you want my cock in your mouth.”

“Harry, quit it. There are people around.”

“Half of them would need a hearing aid to hear me, honey.”

Amelie shakes her head, “Whipping your best terms of endearment isn’t making me any more inclined to have sex on the plane.”

“Hate to break it to you, angel, but you saying, fanny, doesn’t really give me an inclination to stick my hand in your pants, anyways.”

“Good,” she says, wrapping her hand around his wrist and moving it away, interlocking their fingers and grabbing their bags to walk to the desk to board. “Not to mention, it’s barely four in the afternoon.”

“Oh, time is a social construct, baby. Isn’t that what you say when you’re begging for it in the morning before I have get on a flight out somewhere?” Harry whispers in her ear, smiling at the flight attendant and handing his phone for the boarding passes.

Amelie releases Harry’s hand, tugging her sweatshirt sleeves over her fingers and crossing her arms over her chest. “I hate you.”

Harry smirks, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and kissing her head, his phone stuck in the front of his The Face sweatshirt that Amelie threw onto the bed for him to wear while he was sleeping. “No, you really don’t.”

“Welcome,” one flight attendant says through their mask, oblivious to the sexual tension spurring in between the freshly married couple and the way her hand was holding his simply to ensure that he wouldn’t squeeze her breast with his hand hanging limply over her shoulder.

Harry steps inside the row first, and Amelie knows why he’s hiding in the seat that would be the least likely to be seen by the flight attendants. Her head shakes with a sigh, heaving a breath and settling into the chair, giving a warning glance to him as his lips toy with a mischievous grin.

“Garder les mains pour soi.”

“Can’t keep m’hands to m’self for eleven hours,” Harry stresses, his cheek laying on her shoulder as he stares at her through hooded eyelids, the separator pushed away to allow him to cuddle into her, the way her nails are scratching at his scalp making him want her more.

“Harry, yes, you can,” Amelie says, knowing that Harry is trying to wear her down with the dramatic nature of the conversation. Her thighs are warm thinking about the adrenaline that would course through her veins by having sex where they very well shouldn’t be, but with the environment being heavily closed away from interaction, maybe this was just the right time to do so.

Amelie wouldn’t admit that to Harry, though. No. Because that means he won.

“Haven’t touched you in like, three days.”

“Because we had to get all of our things together, see our godchildren, and see my family. Not because I didn’t want to.”

“Alright, well, now we have eleven hours.”

Amelie sighs, carding her fingers through her hair and gently pulling out the tie in her curls and letting the baby pink fall over her shoulders. Through her peripheral vision, she can see Harry roll his eyes, trying to look away as she tugs on the sleeves on the sweatshirt, gently pulling the material away and leaving his eyes to bask over the loose-fitting shirt from his closet and her chest free from any restrictions.

“For fuck’s sake, Amelie,” Harry groans, sitting up and beginning to pull his mask away from his mouth, all the passengers boarded and the flight attendants beginning to go through the safety measures as he’s heard a million times before. “Did you not wear a bra, either?”

“Like you said, eleven hours,” she shrugs, a smirk playing at her lips as she set the sweatshirt over her thighs, dragging the blanket over her body, locking his hand between her legs.

“Know just how to get what you want, huh?”

“Maybe,” she hums, spreading her thighs the slightly amount to give him the ability to roam further across her skin. “Have had quite a few years of practice.”

Harry smirks, taking Amelie by surprise and sliding his hand beneath the waistband of her leggings, her thighs unable to be held together as his fingers drag slowly and teasingly across her mound. “About, five years, huh, baby?” Amelie gulps. “Don’t go quiet on me, now. Have had the wittiest comebacks for an hour and now you’re quiet?”

“Harry,” she says through a clenched jaw, trying her swallow back a moan as his fingers delicately trace along her core, arousal collecting on his fingertips as his finger draws over her clit lightly, barely touching her skin. “Either you do it or you don’t.”

“Do you want me to?” Harry smirks, lips ghosting across the shell of her ear and making her sink further into her seat, her thumb between her teeth as she nods shamelessly. “Amelie Fay, tell me what you want or I’m going to take my hand back.”

Harry rarely uses Amelie’s whole name. And by rarely, Amelie means that Harry only uses her whole name – first and middle – when they’re arguing and she won’t listen (which is most of the time) or they’re about to do something filthy and she won’t give verbal consent (which is most of the time they’re taking to exhibitionism). But whenever Harry uses it, fuck, it’s another type of sexy. His accent draws out every syllable, especially when he’s trying to use an accent that her mother has or it’s deeply his own.

Amelie sucks in a deep breath, trying to steady her breathing and not melt into the chair with the barely-there movements of his fingertips, his middle finger teasing her warmth by dipping in to collect more arousal over her clit. “Okay, okay.”

“Okay, what.”

“Need you to use your fingers,” she sighs, his fingers beginning to ease into her warmth and brush against the velvet that squeezes him in. “Fuck.”

“Be quiet,” Harry says strictly, his cheek laying on her shoulder and his lips touching the cut of her jaw. “Have barely touched you and you’re already squeezing me, doll. Maybe I should’ve tried a bit harder to get you into bed, hm? Have I been neglecting you? Horrible husband, you have.”

Harry and Amelie never could describe their sex life as neglected – certainly not that – but it definitely was not what it was when they first got married at the beginning of March. Harry and Amelie tiptoed around the subject because there were days when there was too much frustration to even think about getting naked and sharing their thoughts with the other person. That definitely isn’t what want they wanted, what they promised each other. And so, here they were, three months into the isolation and just being able to go home, and there was a desperation lingering between them that neither really knew was there. Getting comfortable was something they didn’t want, and that’s exactly what they did.

His fingers work at a speed that could only be described as desperate and longing. His thumb pressed against her clit with patterns that have her hips longing to writhe beneath him, his middle and third finger curling inside of her with every thrust, taking a second to ghost across the spot that would have her screaming inside their bedroom.

“Baby, please,” Amelie whimpers, tucking her face into his hair and breathing out through parted lips, squeezing her eyes shut as the flight attendant walks through the aisle, completely unsuspecting of what is happening beneath the linen. “Harry.”

“All over me, honey. Gi’ me all of it.”

Amelie tugs on Harry’s curls, earning a smirk and a grateful kiss, swallowing her moans as the orgasm ripples through her body. Her hands shaking as she grasps onto the blanket and her hot breaths hitting his neck. His hand is coated with her orgasm, his mouth watering at the thought of her taste on his tongue.

If Harry couldn’t go down on her, right now, this is the next best option.

“Get out the fruit and water from your bag.”

“Huh?” Amelie whispers, her eyes barely opening to try and read Harry’s expression. “For what?”

“For you to drink,” Harry smiles, kissing her hairline sweetly. “And so, I can stick my fingers in m’mouth and it won’t look like I just fucked you under the blanket.”

“Christ, Harry,” she mutters, rolling her eyes as he chuckles under his breath. “Do you realise you still have your fingers in me?”

“And?”

“Can’t lean over and grab everything with you puncturing my cervix.”

“Don’t flatter me that much, baby,” Harry quips, nodding towards the bag laying at her feet and gently tapping his thumb against her clit once more. “Already have a big head.”

“Hate you,” Amelie swallows, trying to control her breathing as she leans forward and reaches for her bag, Harry’s fingers wiggling inside her warmth. He is just as needy as she is, at the moment, except, Amelie would rather wait until they are home and can’t be caught. “Here.”

“But, baby, I know you don’t.” He chastely kisses her cheek, gently taking his fingers from her warmth and slowly removing his hand from her pants, pouting his lips, “My hand is cold, now.”

“Unfortunate,” she shrugs, taking a long sip from her water as his tongue licks along his palm, his two fingers suckled between his lips and tasting all that he’s missed in nearly four days. He isn’t used to going that long. Maybe, he’s a bit spoiled in that regard. Harry and Amelie are running on the same sex drive at all times. Call it inspirational in some respects. Amelie has found it quite useful in the exhibitions recently. Harry finds that flattering.

“Quit being a brat,” Harry teases, squeezing her knee over the blanket and standing on his feet, nodding towards the bathroom a few feet away. “Have to wash my hands. Got a bit messy.”

Amelie shakes her head, wiggling around in her seat and shrugging her sweatshirt over her torso, settling under the blanket and laying over the chair, waiting for Harry to get back and cuddle into. Harry smiles at the sight, wiping his hands over his sweatpants and manoeuvring around her legs and settling into his seat. His arms open wide, graciously accepting Amelie as she climbs over into his seat and lays in the reclined bed with him, tucking her face into his neck. “Hi.”

“Hi, Cherry.”

“Can’t wait to go home,” she whispers, yawning as his fingertips drag through her hair. “Miss home.”

“Know you do,” he says, kissing her temple and bringing the blanket tighter over her body. “Me too.”

“Need a really good night of sex, too. Or day. I’m not picky.”

Harry snorts, “Have our other nights not been satisfactory to you?”

“Always the best with you. Don’t worry,” Amelie smirks, kissing his jaw and breathing in his cologne. “Different when we’re home, though. Don’t care about anything or anyone. Can just do it wherever, whenever. Don’t have to worry about my parents or sister, or our friends coming and knocking on our door.”

“Love your sister,” Harry says, his voice hanging on the last word, “but she is the biggest cock block in the entire world.”

Amelie laughs so loudly into Harry’s chest that the flight attendant peers over his novel. “God, you’re right.”

“Need to just be alone with m’missus for a while.”

Her voice is quiet, once again, barely above a whisper as she begins to fall asleep nuzzled into his warmth. “Alright.”

His eyebrows furrow together in confusion. “No argument? No rebuttal?”

“Not today.”

Harry laughs breathily, shaking his head and kissing her hair, his hands dragging along her spine as she drifts asleep. He stays awake until nearly eleven, waking her to eat and watching a film on his phone until they’ve fallen back asleep together, only waking to the sound telling them to buckle their seatbelts and settle into landing. Harry can see the relief on Amelie’s face, the smile that sits permanently on her lips as the pilot welcomes them to England and Heathrow Airport.

Amelie nearly forgets their luggage when Harry pulls into the garage, rushing inside to see Tigger and breathe in the scent that is permanently a mark of their London home. He tugs in their bags, setting the mickey mouse printed luggage in the foyer and wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her neck sweetly and nosing her hair away from her skin.

“Fuck, ’m happy to be home.”

“Know you are,” Harry smiles, gently biting her neck and licking over the red mark lingering on her skin. His hands squeeze her thighs, lifting her onto his hips and wrapping his arms under her ass, his eyes rolling as their cat begins to rub along his legs. “Not the time, Tigger.”

“He missed you.”

“Flattered, but not really the time. Quite missed shagging m’wife, so that’s the priority at the minute.”

“That sounds really sexy coming from your mouth,” Amelie hums, dragging her thumb over his plump lips.

“Hm?” Harry asks, carefully making his way up the stairs and shoving their bedroom door open, careful to make sure that their cat would not be in the way when the door closed behind him. He became way too good at carrying her up the stairs when they moved in two years ago.

“My wife.”

Harry snickers, walking straight into the bathroom and turning on the light with his elbow, setting Amelie on the counter and harshly pressing his lips to hers. “’s what you are, m’wife.”

“Can’t wait to have this on me,” Amelie smirks against his cheeks, her fingertips dragging along his beard as Harry tugs their sweatshirts and shirt off their bodies. “First place you’re going to have sex with me in our house is the shower.”

“Know you better than that to think you’ll let me on the clean sheets after we were just on a plane for twelve hours.”

Amelie giggles, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and tugging him into her, his arms circling her waist and his tongue tasting her lips, her tongue, her. “Know me well.”

“Hope so after five bloody years.”

“Go turn the water on.”

Harry nods eagerly, walking away and turning the water in the shower, the waterfall faucet sprinkling water over him as he tugs on his sweatpants tie. His head rolls back as two hands skirt along his naked torso, dancing dangerously close to where he wants them most, his cock already painfully hard between his thighs.

“Don’t tease me, now.”

“Am I not allowed to have a taste, either? ‘s been four days, remember?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry moans, squeezing his eyes shut as Amelie’s hands bring his sweatpants over his ass and thighs, her gently hand tugging teasingly over his shaft. “Get in the bloody shower, woman.”

Amelie laughs, taking Harry’s hand and stepping inside the shower, the steam already beginning to fog over the glass doors. His back hits the tile wall, a gasp leaving his lips as she sinks to the ground, her knees printed with the tile, her tongue dragging over the arousal wetting his tip. He moans, the sound spurring her on, his hand running through her hair as she wraps her fingers around his base and begins sucking on his cock, all of him surrounded by her tongue and her wet lips and her warmth.

His stomach tightens, nearly spilling his entire orgasm down her throat. His whimpers as she pulls away makes her laugh, his eyes barely open before he’s helping her stand and grabbing her thigh to wrap around his waist, his cock sliding deep inside her warmth without warning. Her forehead falls to his collarbone, the sensation overwhelming and deeply missed. Her nails dig into his shoulders, their kisses messy and sloppy as his thrust reaches every inch into her core, his thumb drawing shapes around her clit the way he knows she loves.

“Missed this so much,” Amelie moans, her fingers tugging at his curls and bringing his mouth to hers. “Can’t go that long again.”

“Fucking swear on m’life,” Harry grunts, the way his cock is driving into her making her lift onto her toes. “Gi’ me your leg.”

“Do you want to fall over?”

“Trust me.”

Amelie wraps her legs around Harry’s waist, sighing when her back hits the cold tile that is out of the water’s reach, a gasp leaving her lips as his shaft sits deeper inside her warmth.

Harry is grunting mercilessly into her neck, Amelie’s moans echoing inside the bathroom, and to anyone that doesn’t know them, they might have thought that they’d not seen each other for a month, maybe two, with how intense their orgasms spill onto each other. Her thighs shake around his waist, their orgasms dripping out of her and onto his legs as he holds her, making sure that she wouldn’t fall.

And their shower isn’t devoid of more touching and kissing, in fact, the water goes cold before they’re fully finished washing up and rinsing the shampoo and conditioner from their hair.

Harry watches Amelie change intensely, soaking in the way she’s never changed the way she looks in their time together – except for the new three tattoos – the way she’s never felt the need to. Harry adores every curve and tattoo and mark and dimple, especially when she’s naked and he’s touching her skin.

“Can you look away for maybe two seconds?”

“No,” Harry deadpans, laying his hands behind him on the bed, the towel still loosely covering his waist.

“Are you going to eat lunch with me?” Amelie wonders, tugging one of Harry’s old shirts on and sliding briefs onto her hips – he never wears them anyways.

“Think I need to go for a run, and then I’ll shower and come back and eat.”

“You want to go for a run? After a twelve-hour flight?”

“Need to otherwise you and me will be in that bed for the next twelve hours,” Harry says surely, taking a deep breath and nodding his already semi-hard cock between his thighs.

“For fuck’s sake,” Amelie breathes, shaking her head and walking to him on the bed. Her lips press against his chastely, once, then twice, smiling when he tugs her onto his chest, and they fall against the mattress.

“Love you.”

“Love you more. Go for your run. Think I can take, like, six hours in bed, with breaks, alright? I’m not a machine.”

“Ooh, a compromise.”

“Married men get three compromises a year, this is one.”

“Deal.”

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

Moments Too Late

Part two!

I don’t know it’s fun writing all this college nonsense (while ignoring my own college nonsense) and I think I’ll probably write a chapter three because this is giving me a little kick and it’s fun

Warnings: panic attack, briefly mentions Derek’s childhood, Carl Buford, and the insinuations of what that entails

Part One is Here

The quad, a great expansion of grass covered in a sea of moving sweaty twenty-year-olds, is nearly unaware of the scene played out before them. A mismatched group of a twelve-year-old, a Chicago born here on a scholarship football player, a brightly adorned orphan, a blonde basket case, an alcoholic, the Italian mobs missing link, and somebodies lanky older brother don’t typically need so much attention. They’re the sort to pass quietly through college. The blonde basket case might make honor roll and the football player might be seen in the back row of some newspaper before an injury takes him out but that’s about it. For them, that’s a point of pride -- not being noticed.

Derek knows from the pull of Aaron’s shoulders to the rattling sound of his breathing as he stumbles away from them that he’s having a panic attack. He watches Emily step to follow, knows she means well but will only make things so much worse. “Stay,” Derek shouts at Emily. Alliances mean everything to them, young and dumb and alone in a world not yet fully accessible to them. They need the little promises -- that Spencer will only eat red skittles out of the bag, that JJ will carry rocks in the pockets of her pristine clothing to give to Penelope, and that Derek sides with Emily.

Out of shock, Emily rocks to a stop. Derek’s never yelled at her.

“I’ll go,” he offers, not waiting for anyone to argue even though it looks like Dave might try. “Don’t follow.”

Aaron’s spider-like legs carry him quickly but he’s got nothing on the suicide’s Derek’s football coach has had him running for the past six months. Derek pulls them hip to hip, glad that the sun and the chatter pull all attention away from them. They look like tipsy girls on their way back from a party, stumbling into one another heads pulled in as if to discuss something of great importance.

Derek’s never been so thankful their dorms are on the main part of campus.

“Hey--” the RA, some poor kid just trying to put himself through college, watches Aaron and Derek come barreling into the building. He’s not on duty but he’d gone to get one of his kids the extra key to their room and been on the ground floor to watch Derek loop his arm around Aaron. Nearly having to pick the older boy up by his hips to plant him back on his feet. He’s got a split second to decide what to do.

To his defense, he knows Aaron and Derek. Aaron is a sophomore and never causes anybody any problems. Hell, he spent spring-break in the dorms and didn’t tell anyone the hot water went out. He just showered with freezing water for a week. Derek is a football player but not the sort that drags in all their muddy crap all over the carpets, when Derek comes in from practice there’s not a trace of his existence. When the two are together, they’re the least rowdy group to deal with (even though one or both has at least three or four more people in their rooms).

So, the RA looks at Aaron, looks at Derek, and decides whatever those two are doing… they can handle on their own. “Don’t fucking run! This isn’t a barn!” Hmm, just another job well done. Nice.

Derek looks over his shoulder, smiling despite how hard his hands shake with his anxiety. “Right!” he offers. “Sorry!” He’s not worried about tearing past everyone they see or that pulling Aaron’s heavy ass behind him is making his biceps burn. He’s worried about the tears Aaron seems to have no control over or how broken, how lost he looks. “Just a second,” Derek promises, throwing his weight into the bathroom door. The communal showers are empty, not many people take showers at two in the afternoon, and that’s what Derek’s banking on.

“I -- I --” Hotch goes where he’s pulled. His face numb and his feet heavy, it takes his brain a moment to really compute where he is. “What are we--” he coughs on a breath that doesn’t come outright. Whimpering and pulling his hands in towards his chest, trying to soothe the feeling of his sternum chipping away to shoot hard bone fragments of pain down his arms and up his throat.

His cry startles Derek enough to spur him to further action. Grabbing Aaron by two fist fulls of his ratty old sweater, a beige monstrosity that Aaron will never admit to having bought at Salvation Army with the last twenty dollars he owned, Derek pushes him into the shower. Holding him against the wall as he sputters against the shock of the freezing water beamed at his chest. Caring about neither of their clothes, he ignores his shirt wetting and sticking to his shoulders and back.

“Derek please--” Aaron cries, weakly pushing at Derek’s arms. He’s too disorganized, too frantic to push the stronger boy off. It’s nothing for Derek to grab Aaron’s thin wrist and pin them to his chest; not an issue of strength but it pains Derek to watch Aaron sob and try and pull himself free. If anyone were to walk in they’d think Derek was hurting him but this is just all Derek knows will help.

Derek feels Aaron’s body start to take to the cold, become too shocked to panic. “Just breathe,” he instructs. “Just calm down.” Carl Buford had been the person to teach Derek about this little trick. Naked and terrified and too trusting in all the wrong men. Buford had lifted him and dunked him in a freezing bath, shushing him when he’d scrambled madly out of the painfully cold water. Buford had held him, pinned Derek’s thin arms down, and held him down in the water. Buford held him close until he calmed down, Derek nearly felt safe once again as if the atrocities done to him never happened. He considered maybe they hadn’t.

“Shit,” Derek scrambles closer, grunting when Aaron’s knees just give out from beneath his body. They both as they hit the floor, a clatter enough to draw attention to them. Derek hits his elbow against the wall, sending sparks of pain through his nerves. “Alright, alright.” Aaron’s teeth are chattering but he’s not fighting, he’s not panicking. “Just --” he didn’t think this far ahead. To the aftermath. He needs a towel and someplace warm but not too warm. “I’ll be right back.”

He leaves Aaron sitting on the floor, curled as far as he can get from the water but just limply leaning into the wall. Temple resting against the wall and arms wrapped around his body and fingers clenching the wet material of his shirt. Staring vacantly at nothing.

He runs to his own room where his towels are sitting in his clean clothes basket from where he cleaned them three days ago but hasn’t needed to put them away just yet. He grabs two because he’s not sure what the damage is and it’s likely they’ll both need one. He’s in such a state he nearly busts his ass. His sneakers slipping in the water dripping off his clothes. He lands with a plop on his hands and knees, brain short-circuiting for a moment as all he takes in is the sting of the skin on his knees and the ache of his wrists.

In the hall, legs of a fawn not yet certain how to move its knees, arms wrapped tightly around each other, and jaw clenched tightly to prevent his teeth from clacking together and sounding out his painful retreat back to his room Aaron shuffles down the hall. Derek catches sight of just his drenched clothes, hanging pitifully off his frame and weighed down by the water, and can’t help but be frustrated but not entirely surprised.

“I told you to stay,” Derek fusses as he jobs up behind Aaron. He wraps a towel around his shoulders, wincing when Aaron looks up at him and Derek gets a good look at his face. Aaron’s always had bags under his eyes and he’s naturally just very pale but the cold has drawn any color out of his face leaving behind only the darkly contrasted proof that though he might tell them he’s sleeping well that he’s lying. That’s where you have to be careful with a man like Aaron -- they have long ago mastered the art of redirection and lies. A skill he learned at his mother’s hip as she dabbed concealer over his eye. Redirect their attention to protect yourself. It hasn’t failed him yet.

Well… except for today and, evidently, every day before that.

Derek allows Aaron to keep shuffling in the direction of his room with the assumption that the room will be a nice warm space to get comfortable. The problem is supposed to be in getting Aaron out of these clothes; Derek knows he won’t strip in front of him. Not that Derek is going to enjoy himself watching Aaron -- mostly because he’s a little afraid of what those oversized sweaters are hiding but also because Derek typically prefers women.

What Derek isn’t taking into consideration is that Aaron is a borderline masochist.

“Why is it so cold in here?” Derek takes a step back when Aaron manages to get the door open. Shivering at the cold air that comes rushing out.

Aaron shrugs, lips blue and jaw starting to betray him. “Can’t sleep under the blankets if it’s too warm,” he offers as if Derek might be the silly one here. But they both are really, standing in the doorway of a dorm shivering in soaking wet clothes. “Whatever you say, boss,” Derek mumbles with an eye-roll, stepping around Aaron. They’ve all grown very familiar with the layout of each other’s rooms. Even when new school years bring new floor layouts, some of them are more reliably the same than others. Emily is a bit of a wild card but people like JJ and Aaron have the same habits. And Derek knows where the changes of clothes he’s looking for are.

He’d borrowed a pair of Aaron’s slacks last semester for an advising meeting with people from his major and they’d been snug. Snug is an understatement -- he thought his ass was going to bust out of them. He’d even had to have Penelope bring them up two inches because, despite being the same height, Aaron has freakishly long legs. Derek would never comment on this, Aaron might come across as your normal brooding angst but he’s kind of sensitive. Though the others might not think so (given Derek’s nature to push and shove at everything Aaron says) Derek values Aaron’s friendship tremendously and Aaron knows that when Derek pushes it’s to understand boundaries and because he trusts Aaron.

“Oh my God,” Penelope exclaims from the doorway. “What did you do to him?”

Aaron jumps, wrapping his arms around his naked chest in a hurry. He shuffles back, trying to put some distance between himself and Penelope standing in the doorway of his room. Glancing at Derek as he does so, pleading with the other boy to do something and get the attention off of him.

Derek tosses a pair of pajama pants on Aaron’s bed, motioning for Aaron to turn and pay them mind. “Get out of those clothes before you get sick.” Turning his own attention to Penelope he averts her, shuffling her back until their both out the doorway. Giving Aaron the privacy he needs and letting her air-out her loudly proclaimed worries as he does so. “Baby girl,” he says over her rapid speech. “Baby girl, hey. Hey, he’s fine. Look at me, he’s fine.”

Penelope stops, mouth open and brows pulled down with great concern, “Derek, he’s soaking wet and pale--” She stops and really gets a good look at him. Standing before her in a shirt clinging to his skin and shivering slightly in the air-conditioned hall. “And-- And you’re soaking wet too. Derek Morgan, what did you do?”

Derek grimaces in preparation for how crazy he knows he’s about to sound. “I--I threw him in the shower.”

Penelope raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“He was…” Derek hesitates. He’s not entirely sure how much he should tell her, for the sake of Aaron’s privacy. If it was Spencer, there would be no doubts but Aaron is far more complex than that. “Sometimes cold showers can help nerves and so I directed him to that solution.” Leaving out the bits about Aaron’s panic or maybe anxiety attack, his vulnerability, and the wrestling that took place to get him there Derek feels he’s left Aaron’s virtue intact. A win. “It sounds crazy,” he admits, “but it helps, I swear.”

Penelope considers what she’s just been told and while she would like to implement further comments on the terms and conditions of a shower (even if it’s a cold one) with Derek Morgan, she just narrows her eyes and knows that Derek always seems to know what’s best. She trusts him. “So, he’s better now? Asides from the pale, shivering bit?”

Derek nods, “yeah but in my defense, he’s always pale and shivering.” Which is true, no matter where they go they carry blankets and jackets something to offer Spencer and Aaron when they inevitably get chilled.

“Okay,” she caves. That seems to settle some of her own anxiety. She looks sadly to the shut door separating her from Aaron. “Okay,” she repeats again, deflating at the thought of her poor Aaron sitting on the other side. Hurt and upset. “Do you think there’s anything we can do?” She looks to Derek, so hopeful that he’s come up with some solution she hadn’t come up with on her own.

Derek shakes his head, “I don’t think so, Penny. I think we’ve got to let them work it out. It’s not about us.” He sighs and he’s frustrated that it’s true but he can’t amend Emily’s words and he’s not so sure she can either. With a sigh he opens Aaron’s door back up, peaking in to see where the other boy’s gone.

Aaron’s climbed into his bed, lights off, and back facing them, covered in his mounds of blankets.

“I hate it when they fight,” Penelope whispers.

Derek takes one long look at Aaron, watching his back move as he sleeps. Panic attacks are draining, he’s just glad Aaron’s sleeping for once. “Yeah, me too.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #penelope garcia

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courtorderedcake · 4 years

Text

Majestically Too Far Beyond, CSSNS 2020

Emma Swan is a Witch who has made (And apparently makes) bad decisions. Helping a desperate Witch out of a weird situation doesn't seem like a bad decision, even against her, runes, a tarot reading and her friend's Snow druid intuition - until it is and the consequences are very real.

Killian is a Demon with a long history of persecution against him, and his denizens are not much better off. His Angelic brother is on a mission to rehab Demonic image to prevent violence on the streets of Hyperion Heights, as some sort of Holy mission deeply rooted in millenia of guilt. Witches and Warlocks use them for parts, Werewolves see them as a threat, Angels mostly still hold on to the ancient feud regardless of their treatise, Fae stay chaotic neutral, Vampires don't care for others affairs - it's a perilous world where hate crimes happen without consequence. After a disastrous meeting, he attempts to drown his frustration with a trip to the bottom of a bottle, but ends up falling in bed with a mysterious Witch in her tower home. Soon he's missing a hand, has only the vaguest idea of what happened from the mess of blood he's woken up to, and a mirror shows that some strange, different, Witch is pregnant with his child.

RATED M for Mature Themes. Written for @cssns 2020 Beta’d by The best team ever ( @jarienn972 @ultraluckycatnd @donteattheappleshook) and Art by @kmomof4

Read on Ao3 HERE. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

Chapter 4 - For with you, earth is heaven too

"Thank the bloody stars, Liam is it really you?"

"Killian," Liam breathed a large sigh of relief. "Yes, are you - what the bloody hell happened to you? Your hand!"

"But a flesh wound, more importantly can you free me from this wretched tower? This mad Witch trapped me here and I need to - " He caught sight of Emma, who froze, pressing herself against the wall. "It's you."

Emma swallowed hard, Killian pulling away from his brother to stare at her with those unearthly eyes. The feeling of being dropped from a great height overcame her, knees almost buckling at the sensation of floating that eased into a strange thrum in her bones. It was an immediate revelation, her lips parting as his clawed hands balled into fists.

It was him. His name was Killian. Her heartbeat was louder in her ears, and she could somehow feel his shock as if a ripple moved in a small pond.

"How did you -" Killian tried to ask, but Liam pushed him back, standing between Emma and Killian as Emma backed away further.

"Is this Witch involved in the plot on your life, little brother?" Liam growled. "If she is, say the word. I had her locked away, and I'm itching to do it again, if not just to prove to my ex that I was right. She refused to listen to me about my suspicions on her delinquent friend, and now she's being frigid. She broke off things, but - "

"You and Elsa were dating?" Emma yelled, snapping out of her trance. "For fucks sake, do you know how much you probably hurt her with your bullshit? How dare you call her frigid!"

"You won't guilt me for this, Witch. I know you had something to do with this."

"Brother," Killian said, his voice trembling. Emma was suddenly full of dread, wishing to simply go home, never to think about the two ever again. "She isn't the, er, the one who -"

"Say no more. I'll have her arrested, and this time you better not even imagine getting out of that cell you -"

"No," Killian interrupted, laying his hand on Liam's shoulder. His whisper became louder, hesitation falling away from his voice. "No. No, Emma didn't do anything."

"It seems very clear that she did do something," Liam grunted, pointing at her. Killian looked annoyed, trying to interject through Liam's blustering.

"She's pregnant, yes, but -"

"And this child - It's yours?" Liam interrupted, his irritation rising.

"Liam, could you bloody well shut up for one moment - Look, it's easier to just - let me show you. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, show me Gothel the day she removed my hand."

Emma was immediately greeted by an enthusiastic Killian and Gothel making out as they stumbled through the same walls that she was surrounded by. Her cheeks flamed as Liam sputtered, and to her surprise the Demon's ears pinked with embarrassment.

"Sorry, sorry," he hissed out over the sound of their groaning. "Mirror, after this, please."

The mirror showed a naked Eloise from behind seated on Killian's waist as she rocked, loud moaning echoing, causing everyone in the tower to utter a different expletive.

"No, you bloody piece of glass, after. After all of that!" Killian gritted out with his face stained red, the mirror phasing into a dim view of Killian's sprawled form on the bed.

Eloise approached, magic rolling off of her in thick mauve smoke, a dagger raised in her hand. The cut was inhumanly fast, Killian waking groggily with surprise to look at his missing hand with confusion, the dark blood dripping from the stump making Emma feel dizzy with returning nausea.

Eloise held the hand in triumph, using a finger to draw a symbol on her belly as light began to emanate just below her navel. Killian was standing now, sheets clutched to him, looking at her with rage as he held his wrist and yelled, but the noise was growing around him as if a tornado bore down with its wind. He was quickly drowned out while wind began to swirl around Gothel, her hair whipping around her face.

Ripping a bedsheet that lay over a cauldron aside, she tossed in Killian's hand with a giggle. An explosion of blinding light burst forth, and she was gone, leaving a bewildered, bloodied Killian alone in the dark.

Liam cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, what does any of that mean in regards to -"

In the darkness, the mirror suddenly lit, shining a gentle glow over the room. Killian walked towards it dazed, squinting at what displayed on the glass.

Emma could hear her cries of pain, and knew at once what he was seeing. She stepped forwards, watching both brothers with clear wariness.

"Show them what you showed me," Killian commanded.

Emma appeared on the glass, her body contorted and stomach swelling, agony written on her face as David attempted to break down her door.

"I'm so sorry, lass. I don't know how, or why -" Killian began, before Liam interjected.

"Don't apologize to her. She's the one who did this to you; she made a deal with that woman, and now look." He gestured, and Emma looked down at her feet in shame. "This is just another reason to hate Witches, another proof of their disregard -"

"Enough!" Killian growled, his eyes flashing. "I know what she did."

"Why didn't you leave? You just watched me go through this, knowing -" Emma asked quietly, her voice breaking.

"I wanted to leave. Do you think I enjoy this luxury resort? I can't, she transferred some curse on to me."

"Don't entertain her, little brother. This is proof, and all I need. I hope you enjoy your second trip to prison, Ms. Swan," Liam smirked.

Killian blocked him from his approach as Emma scrambled backward.

"I'm not pressing charges on her. Drop it, Liam. Haven't you harassed her enough?" Killian whispered.

"Can we, um, have a moment alone?" Emma mumbled, her sideways glance catching how Liam bristled, his wing feathers puffed in agitation. "I need -"

"That's a grand idea, actually." Killian cocked his head slightly, glaring at Liam. "Give us a moment or two, I promise that I can handle myself without you here for a moment."

Liam crossed his arms, his glare meeting Killian's so forcefully Emma would swear there was an electrical current in the air. Finally, he nodded.

"I'll be literally perched outside, so don't get any ideas about escaping Ms. Swan." Emma nodded, looking away when Liam's gaze tore from Killian to land on her. "And don't forget: I know what your power is. Using it here just gives me more incentive to find you."

Emma's eyes widened in shock as her head snapped up, just in time to see Liam smirk as he flapped once, disappearing out the window.

Awkward silence fell between Killian and Emma, left alone as papers stirred in the gust.

"Are you really not going to press charges?" Emma asked, after a long moment. Killian surveyed her carefully, her nervous fidgeting as she bit her lip and refusal to meet his eyes easing his own nerves.

"I won't be, lass. Aye. You have my word on it." She looked up, relief flooding her face. When their eyes met, Emma felt a jolt of warmth travel up her spine, her body relaxing of its own accord.

"And I can trust your word?" she asked, suspiciously. Killian's eyebrow raised, his lips turning upward into a mockery of a smile. "I didn't mean -"

"Oh, no Swan." He took a breath, laughing darkly while his only hand carded through his hair. "I can guess your exact meaning."

Pointing a finger to his horns, Emma scoffed. She pointed a finger outside at where Liam was most likely lurking.

"I meant that your brother is trying to put me back in jail," She pointed her finger at him, jabbing it as his tail flicked in agitation, "Because you didn't have the decency to find a way to contact me," she hissed, stepping forward further.

He growled low, his eyes narrowing. "And how was I supposed to bloody well manage that when I have been literally trapped here, eh Swan? I wrote on your mirror, should I have let down my long hair or charmed some carrier pigeons?"

Liam poked his head back in, looking between them. "I told you she is a stubborn -"

"For fuck's sake!" Emma threw up her hands in the air.

"Shut up Liam, and bugger off!"

Liam sulkily returned outside with a disgruntled noise.

"So what," Emma asked, hands finding her hips. "You were just going to wait up here as I felt this bond thing, and hope for the best? Did you just not feel them, or is this some sort of Demon courtship I don't know about?"

"Of course I felt the bindings, I've been watching everything, every day. It's been torture." Killian's voice rose, and he was suddenly stalking toward her as Emma backed up, her hands immediately resting against her stomach defensively. Stopping in his tracks, Killian froze, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath and exhaled it. "This choice didn't belong to me, or to you. Eloise worked the system, broke laws with her magic to make this happen… If you had just studied the ritual more or realized how wrong it all was, we wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be confined to a bloody tower unless I'm summoned or wearing a brand -"

"Listen, buddy, you watched me right?" Emma gritted through her teeth. A cloud of shadow began to form around Killian, her magic crackling in pinpricks of light around her fingers. "I didn't know a bundle of Demon baby was coming my way via express mail, so if you could not blame this all on me, that would be great."

"You expect me not to be angry at you? My child was not - I had different expectations of what their life would be like. I, unlike you, wanted a family and children -"

"I've always wanted a family, even if that didn't necessarily include kids, don't go after me for that."

"You had the choice!" he yelled, the dark around him deepening. "I have had none. I'm just an observer, caged while you -"

"Choice? I had the choice? Well, gee, good to know I chose this with full consent. I wanted to be hospitalized by your monster baby that tried to explode out of me the first chance it got. I chose to puke up everything I eat, because it's super fun. I still haven't entirely come to terms with the fact that they won't classify this as a rape, unless I press charges - not on Eloise - but on you. I can't think straight, and people think that I did this all on purpose, because yes, I wanted to go back to jail - "

"Alright, lass, alright," Killian put his hand out in supplication, Emma realizing that her own hands were shaking and breath was coming into her lungs in ragged rasps. She took a few breaths before collapsing onto a low stool, his face immediately falling to a look of regretful concern. She heard him mutter, her eyes closing as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. When she opened them, Killian stood with an offered glass of water.

"Thank you." Emma mumbled quietly, taking it from him and swallowing it greedily. He nodded, opening his mouth to say something a few times, then thinking better of it. Finally, he scratched at just behind his ear, clearing his throat.

"I'm sorry for all of that, it wasn't - it's not what I meant. We both wanted this to go differently. I didn't mean - I apologize." Taking another breath, he stepped closer, kneeling to be on the same eye level as Emma. She watched him warily, but to his surprise did not flinch away from his approach. "I can't imagine what you are going through. I haven't had a chance to really talk about everything or process that this is real, that someone would do this to me. To us."

"Thank you. It's not exactly been… I'm not… I've been really alone." Emma admitted. Now that they were closer to each other than before, a strange sense of calm seemed to flow over both of them as if a cooling rain had started. "This isn't exactly a common thing, so there's no one to talk to. I know it's my fault, and I know that I… Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'm sorry, if it matters." She nodded, and he grimaced. "For my part in whatever this is, and whatever she did to us to bind us, I'm sorry. I wouldn't wish this on anyone."

"If you want… I could brand you. I'll free you, and replace her brand with my own."

"No. No, I think not." He laughed lightly, smiling wryly. Suddenly standing, he pulled away and began to pace the floor in quick strides, not looking at her any longer. Emma felt the loss of his stare acutely, shivering. "I'd rather boil my tongue in piss than be another Witch's play thing, and follow your commands like some puppet. You called my child a monster just a moment ago, which means that to you, that's what I am. Absolutely out of the bloody question." Killian tried to rein in his anger, but she kept looking at him as if she cared after making remarks like that. He had tried to calm her, tried to offer an olive branch, and this was her reaction?

Emma could feel the sting of the lobbed insult, wincing at his outright derision and dismissal. "You're right. You aren't a monster, and I - I'm sorry. The real monster here is Gothel, or anyone who would do all of this. I wouldn't - I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't do any of this to you. You may not like me and we both hate Eloise, but this child doesn't need to suffer for that. I… I want her to have a good life. No. Her best life, everything I couldn't - didn't have. I love her already despite everything, and I want her to be okay."

He calmed, stopping his rapid pacing. "No commands? No chopping off bits of me? And I get to see her… my child?" His blue eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her. "What's the catch, why would you do that for a Demon?"

"Because. I've spoken to your brother and Milah's ghost. They have nothing but trust in you, even if they admit that you have stumbled."

Killian felt his heart stutter. He had put her to rest so long ago, his anger completely doused in one fell swoop. "Milah? Is she -"

"Worried about you, but for the most part at peace. She's in the vast gardens of the afterlife." Emma watched the Demon physically relax, the panic she had felt from him ebbing away to a deep melancholic ache. To her surprise and utter bewilderment, the urge to hug him popped into her head, which she shook off with confusion.

"Why did you contact her? Liam said that you were trying to raise this child by yourself. Why bind yourself to a child and an unknown father for a deranged woman in the first place?" Killian asked, not bothering to veil his suspicion.

"I didn't… I should have realized that Eloise was hiding something." Emma nervously fidgeted again, and Killian watched as her eyes found a spot on the floor to stare sadly at. Her half smile was easy enough to read, as he was discovering were many of her tells.

He watched her fingers trace the swell that lay beneath her t-shirt in small circles, listening intently while curiosity bested his better instincts.

"I have a soft spot for people trapped in their situations because I've been there. She used that against me, made me believe that I was some savior. As for a baby, I thought that this would be years away and never like this. I knew that I would never have a family of my own besides my brother, and as an orphan I thought that any parents willing to give up their child like I was given up… I just decided that I would at least be able to give an unwanted child the family I didn't have. I figured that if the binding worked, great. If it didn't, fine."

"And the fact that it's part Demon?" he challenged, watching her face and body language with interest. "A monster as you called it? That didn't factor in at all? Did you decide to find me when you realized it wasn't some perfect mortal?"

"I should not have said that. I'm actually… she's definitely not a monster." She traced the curve of her belly absentmindedly, sighing softly. All of their anger melted away as a deep exhaustion settled in its place. "It doesn't bother me for that reason. It's been hard because of my body, I don't know if you saw what this is doing to me -"

"There are times where I felt your privacy was more important than my desperation," Killian stated, blushing slightly. Emma gave him a small smile, surprised to see the tips of his ears go pink.

"I… I do need help, but not because I'm scared of her or resent having a partially Demon child. I'm scared because of the changes in my body, how crazy I feel, and how alone I am in this. I want her to have the best life they can, and that means guidance from someone who understands better than I do." Something shifted between them, Killian hearing the endearing honesty in her tone. "And you, you've acted a lot more humanely than many of the mortals I've met even in the brief moments I have spent around you. It's obvious that you would love your child - this child, and I do - I mean, I care about her, and I want her to have two parents - "

Killian blinked, sure he had misheard, his breath catching in his throat. "Two parents? As in - "

"You and I, yes. I can't do this alone, and your brother is already trying to draw up paperwork for me to give her up for adoption. He put me in jail, and I don't think he really believes that I didn't… Look, if you want out, I understand, but I am keeping her - I think it's a her. I can't do adoption, especially when it's orchestrated by Liam."

They both glanced at the window, Liam still out of purview. "Ah. Yes. My brother is…"

"He's a fucking asshat. The king of the dickheads." Emma smiled, Killian letting out a bellow of genuine laughter.

"That sums it up. And then Demonic infancy... The pregnancy alone without support - I suppose this could work," Killian mused. He grinned, her smile widening. Warmth poured through the bond, and he watched her form ease into comfort, body loosening fractionally. "You have been more of a mum than Eloise by far, I guess that's fair. "

"I want nothing but the best for my child. This world is not going to be kind. It's going to try and shortchange every aspect of her existence. At least having two parents that love her -"

"You believe a Demon is capable of love, darling? How progressive." The edge of his tone was back, both of them snapping on their armor with well tuned practice.

Her eyes shot up to search his, in a challenge. "I don't believe. I know it's true, don't act like I'm an idiot."

"Just who are you, Swan?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Perhaps I would." Killian said quietly. After a moment, he took in a breath and licked his lips. "Very well. I'll wear your brand, Swan. I'll find a place to stay closer to your abode and -"

"Stay at my place. I'll make you a set of doors, and it should lessen the need for a full power brand. I think using that much magic might be tricky for me right now anyway, I get tired quickly." He nodded, sympathy leaking into her mind. It felt weird, their feelings intermingling, but not wrong. She could somehow taste it, and knew it was a grayish blue. "You can add a door to somewhere else eventually, but for now I'll put one here to lessen the blood magic that traps you. It'll go to my spare room. You can use whatever suits you best once you find a place. I won't mind, and it's safer for you than the city."

"You'd trust me alone there, on the farm? And alone in your home?"

"Snow will say you are a strange omen, but not in the way that makes the flowers shrivel or some other cryptic statement that is Druid for, ‘you're alright’. And then there's what your brother's pamphlets said… I would just feel better if you were nearby, if you don't mind." He nodded, and she released a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Tension fell from her shoulders as she stepped forward, reaching out to touch him but stopping short when he flinched back. "Where do you want my brand? It's a bit large."

Muscles rippled under his skin, and she could see where old lines of Witch brands had burned there.

He had been a slave many times, and many of the brands were old, none quite as faded as the largest one on his shoulder. Almost completely gone, it was ornate and delicate from what was left visible; the shape of a heart and a name. Milah. Emma swallowed hard.

Gothel's wasn't there, she noted.

The Demon's eyes were dark, black as raven feathers but for the blue flame that licked underneath long lashes. A small silver scar rested on one cheek, shimmering slightly with icy light. His body moved as if it was made of smoke, the main parts of his form solid that trailed away as if he was dissolving into stardust. Swirls of celestial light moved under the many brands, constellations spiraling as she watched. A nebula drifted lower, disappearing halfway under the waistband of his leather trousers, and Emma briefly felt heat color her face.

Whatever lay below was foreign to her, and based on the guidebook given to her, varied vastly from Demon to Demon. As far as she knew, he could have another arm.

"Like what you see, love?" Killian whispered lowly, and Emma shook off her thoughts on his beauty and possible anatomy.

Emma rolled her eyes, and placed her hand to rest on the left side of his torso, just below his sternum. The touch made both of them hiss in pleasure, the gold of her brand a bright metallic color against the light blues of his skin.

"Now," Emma smiled, looking up at Killian's attempts to blink away his half lidded gaze. "If we hurry, I can add these doors and we can leave before your brother makes it back. If you're so inclined that is."

"Why Swan," Killian practically purred, "I must say that is the best idea you've had all evening."

ﾟ・. ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

The first door from the house to the tower took what felt like ages to make, and its toll on Emma's magic was as if she'd been run over by a herd of unicorns. She wobbled through it into her kitchen, immediately opening a can of Red Minos. The magic restoring liquid felt smooth against her tongue, its race to replenish her magic buzzing under her skin.

The buzzing was met with a strange undercurrent of annoyance with sudden force, and she turned to see Killian glowering at her.

"You really shouldn't drink that in your condition. All of those magical replenishing energy drinks are terrible for you." He eyed her worriedly, and Emma sighed.

"I don't normally drink them, but I need to make extra space -"

"It can wait for a day. I can wait for a day. I'll sleep on the floor somewhere or in the tower." He shrugged and took a step forward, standing next to her to watch her fidget nervously with the can. "It's not worth your health, or the little one. Especially given that I've only seen you eat a pop tart and a candy bar for meals today."

Emma felt her fist clench around the can, the aluminum crackling as it crushed.

"So, the ghost I felt, that was you keeping tabs on me?"

Killian blushed, the pink of his cheeks startling on his pale blue skin. "When you say it like that Swan, it sounds worse than it is - I was merely trying to get in contact with you and see who was carrying -"

"Fine then. I'll just fix you up a spot in the nursery," Emma mumbled, interrupting him before she could get more annoyed. "And I'll just throw this away." With a flick of her wrist, the can dropped neatly into the bin.

The foreign feeling of concern faded, replaced by guilt at potentially hurting the baby with her bad habits. She knew the basics of no sushi, no drinking - if those even applied. What else didn't she know?

"Where do you keep your linens then?" Killian’s voice steadied her, and Emma pointed him toward a closet.

"There isn't much. I'm sorry, but you can sleep in the nursery's glider, I have a few blankets somewhere…"

"I'll be alright, Swan," he assured her, chuckling lightly. "I tend to stay rather warm."

Emma rolled her eyes, carrying a pillow into the nursery to drop by the glider. She gestured at the murals on the wall. "This is the nursery -"

"I know. I've watched every day," he admitted sheepishly, his ears reddening at the tips. "I know your entire schedule."

Emma blinked, then blinked again. "Oh." The surprise in her tone didn't seem to bother the Demon, who chuckled softly. "I'm sorry. This is just so weird."

Killian laughed, but the smile he gave her did not reach his eyes. A stale silence filled the room. Not one to sit on idle hands, they began to work in tandem to set up his sleeping arrangements. Finally he spoke again.

"I'm sorry for not being here. I'm sorry for everything, truly, especially this all happening. I didn't know, I swear it-"

Emma swallowed hard. Guilt poured through the bond, swirling itself around to the point of being indeterminable if it was hers or his.

"It's OK, you couldn't have known," Emma soothed. "You don't need to be sorry. I'm not. I mean, it would have been nice, but… I'm a big girl. I can handle myself, and I always have."

"I wanted to be here so badly. You shouldn't have been alone in this."

“Hey - You're here now.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

A comfortable silence fell in place as she watched him make his makeshift bed on the glider. It was hard not to stare at him, her eyes kept catching the way his horns caught the light even in the dim; an almost mother of pearl iridescence making them shimmer.

"Oh, your hand -" Emma realized suddenly, only to have him laugh and shrug it off.

"It'll grow back. Just needs some time and a good potion or two."

Emma nodded, His skin was also strange and ethereally beautiful: it seemed to be a sky blue, but when she moved closer, it became clear that it was as if glittering stardust, galaxies, and things that she could not begin to describe shifted to turn or crash together. His tail was another oddity that left her lips quirking upward. It swept around him in gentle swoops, and she'd noticed it flicking with agitation when they fought earlier.

Everything about him charmed her in the most peculiar ways.

(It's the bond. You are bound to each other, and your child. Don't be an idiot.)

"I can put on the skin suit - er… the glamor if you want." Killian mumbled so quietly she almost missed it, his back turned to her. His tail moved slower still, reminding her of a nervous cat. He was wary of her.

(Adorable, how unbearably sweet that he was nervous -)

"Only if you want." Emma shrugged. She saw his shoulders lose their tension, and heard his light chuckle before he turned to face her.

Emma blinked. She had gotten closer to him, not noticing her drift towards him. Blushing, she watched his face settle into a sly smirk of knowing in the warm quiet.

(This house has always been quiet, but never like this. This feels -)

"So, you… Er, work? I guess I don't know what a 'Prince of Hell' does. Are you kissing babies and cutting ribbons all day?" Emma asked, shaking away the bizarre thoughts that seemed intent to turn her to mush. She needed her walls more than ever.

"I'm actually quite a big deal in the Below. I'm a large feature in the Below's gossip rags and newspapers, if you'll believe it." Killian swallowed, licking his lips. "I'm sure that this will be quite the scandal I'll have to figure out. I might have to hire a publicist…" He ran a hand through his hair, gently scratching behind his ear in thought.

"I - is the Below - is it like, democracy or monarchy or...?"

"Ah. Yes. Of course no one up here really takes the time to learn, but I digress. I'm a Pre-fall Celestial, and I chose a side which ended in my fallen status. We designed, built, and made the laws regarding the Below, and thusly were rewarded Kingdoms or provinces in it. There were twenty or so of us, but it has dwindled down over the years from infighting, outfighting, war, and all the other things in between the two." His chest puffed with pride, the bond prickling with touches of it.

(Get your walls back up! He's weird Hellion royalty and you're some hussy he found who was magically knocked up! This is not Cinderella - this fairytale is too weird even for the Grimm's.)

"Oh," Emma said flatly, turning and striding into the kitchen.

Killian followed behind, with a hum of disappointment. "Oh? That's really all you have to say about -"

She pulled a large gallon of jasmine tea out of the fridge, pouring herself a glass. "That gives me no idea or insight into what you do."

"I'm - I write, edit, and serve as witness and or notary for all contracts that fall in my province."

"Meaning…?" Emma gestured with her hand for a breakdown, drinking her tea.

Killian moved closer, plucking the now empty glass from her hands to wash it in the sink. "Imagine I'm the Captain of several fleets of ships that make up a bigger navy. I make sure everyone that touches my name and status is good."

"Hell has a navy?

"The Below has -" He paused, and his eyes narrowed as a smirk spread across his face. "Now you're just being right cheeky to vex me. I can feel it. "

She blushed, biting her lip, their distance shrinking as they both seemed to sway into each other. He turned off the sink, the kitchen suddenly much smaller than he remembered. As if in a dream, Emma's hand found his to steady herself, the touch of her fingers soft. His senses were immediately invaded by her while everything else fell away. Catching her eye, he could see the dreamy sort of contentment that relaxed her features, the calm not brief enough to mistake for anything else.

It disappeared just as quickly, her brows pinching and lips pressed together in a grim line. She flinched away as if burnt, immediately cradling her stomach with her palms.

"I'll make a downstairs guest bedroom tomorrow, then. It will need, well, everything. I wasn't expecting many guests, and I can't make anything too fancy. A bed and an ensuite are as much as I can muster currently. Ask before you need anything though, I might be able to squeeze a feature in. I'll help you out to the best of my ability."

"Aye, Swan."

"I eat dinner with my brother every Tuesday and Thursday night. Otherwise I don't really cook -"

"I know, you eat those awful sugar encrusted tarts instead. You need vegetables and -"

"So feel free to cook for yourself."

"You have an appointment coming up too, and I was hoping to broach the subject of coming along with you. I just, I have a lot of questions; I am both not ready but also entirely ready for -"

"Well, it's still going to be a while. A year of this, at least, and I'm already scared. I don't know anything about babies, but even less about Demons. At least your brother will chill out slightly now that you have been located."

"Ah, yes. That reminds me. Do you want to continue working? If you do, I don't mind, but you could work less. I am happy to provide a stipend -"

"A stipend? You can't bribe me -"

"I'm not trying to -" He stopped himself, taking a slow breath in exasperation while rubbing his hand across his face. When he looked at her again, she saw a patient frustration resting on his brow. "You know, Swan, some people just have good intentions at heart. Take a leap of faith here, and let me repay you for being absent the first four months of our child's life."

"I guess we should talk about our expectations, and intentions, or something then, because I don't want you thinking I'm some damsel in distress." Storming away from him toward the living room, Emma plopped down carefully on the couch. Killian appeared a seconds later, leaning against the wall to appraise her. "I'm not. I don't need help, I don't need you or anyone -"

"You may not need someone, but that doesn't mean you don't want someone there," Killian began striding toward her stopping a short distance away. "I get it, you're perfectly capable, strong, brilliant really - but I'm here to stay, love. I don't want you to have to do this alone, and I know you don't want to either."

"How do you know what I want?" she snapped, unable to get comfortable on the couch. She huffed in annoyance, trying to position a pillow behind her back.

Killian sat beside her, and she glared at him openly. Reaching towards her, she flinched as his hands gently moved the pillow upwards and to the side.

"You're an open book, love," he murmured, scooting to sit on the other side of the couch, letting her stretch her feet.

The anger dissipated again, the bond gently thrumming in contentment at his presence. Emma realized she felt exhausted, the onset of the draining interactions and introductions catching up to her.

"It might not be so bad, to just have you around. Only just a little bit, to help me do baby stuff, and nothing else at all."

Her eyes closed despite the Demon staring at her, and she blinked them open trying to stay awake.

"Who knows, love," he whispered, voice a low rumbling as her eyes shut again. "You and I could become friends in this mess."

Emma yawned, curling into the couch, feeling his presence nearby as if they were connected by a length of cord.

"Not your love," she managed to grumble, his chuckle the last thing she heard before falling asleep.

ﾟ・. ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

When Emma woke, she was surprised to find she felt well rested, something that hadn't happened in what felt like years. Light music was playing on a radio, and the smell of something delicious was wafting from her kitchen. She blinked the bleariness away, standing with a stretch and a groan.

"Good morning, Swan," Killian called from the kitchen. Looking around, she realized that he'd cleaned too, her floors gleaming in the pale morning sun. "I made you an omelet, if you'd like one."

"Oh, we haven't been feeling eggs much lately," Emma looked down at her stomach, surprised that the smell wasn't making her retch. "But… Maybe this morning she's decided to give them a chance."

"Probably desperate for something other than sugar and grease," Killian teased, his tail flicking as his head fell back to look at her. He grinned, and she tried to hide her own.

This was weird. All of it. The familiarity of him, cooking in her kitchen wearing pajamas he'd somehow acquired while she had slept, humming along to the radio's music. Her friends didn't even know he was here, and he had already broken (crashed) through her walls without any of the resistance they had met. Emma bit her lip, rolling it between her teeth.

A plate slid in front of her, breaking her from her thoughts. A beautiful yellow omelet with flecks of tomato, ham, spinach, and onion rested in front of her. Mouth watering, Emma took a small bite, letting the cheese melt on her tongue.

She let out an indecent noise, digging into it as Killian sat beside her, amused.

"I'd never have guessed you haven't eaten before, Swan."

"Shut up," Emma managed, swallowing another bite. "This is so good, I don't know how you did this but it just - it's so good."

"I went downtown after I was sure you were asleep. If I'm going to be staying here, I needed some clothes and the contents of my fridge." He shrugged, taking a bite and chewing slowly. "I didn't go Below, it would be too much hassle right now, and I was worried about you waking up alone."

"Oh." Emma felt surprise tug at her heart, her brows furrowing. "Why would you be worried about me being alone? I'm alone a lot."

"Because, now you're not. It'd be bad form to take your kindness and make it look spurned." Killian blushed, and Emma stared, scrutinizing him.

"Well, you don't have to worry, I told you before that I'm fine."

"Aye, Swan. This was more courtesy than compulsory."

"Good."

They ate in silence, Emma finishing before him. She placed the dish in the sink, then turned to the wall of the kitchen. Focusing her magic, she made the outline of a door appear, pulling it into reality carefully and folding the plane of existence around it. Connecting the door's functioning portal to Killian’s place was the trickier part; without him there, she had to search manually for traces of him.

Sure enough, she found his apartment in the penthouse of a downtown tower, its all glass windows and dark, minimalist, slate doors sleek compared to her white paneled addition.

The door clicked into existence, and she fell to her knees, panting.

"Emma, by Fenrir's blade, are you alright? What did you -"

"Made," she panted, pointing to the door. "You, door."

"This could have waited, you scared me! The bond fell from reception for a moment and I thought -" Killian looked panic stricken. Emma rolled her eyes.

"I'm fine. Just used more magic than I thought. It fluctuates; the baby wants more some days. Usually the days when I need it, but," Emma wiped a hand across her face, finding it sweaty as she slicked back her hair. "I make do."

"I'll get you something to -"

"I'm fine, Killian. I promise."

He nodded and straightened, but watched her warily as she stood. Emma brushed off his worry easily, his concern as far as she was concerned, was nothing more than worry for his offspring - more bond induced nonsense that they would have to muddle through. Killian disarmed her through it, if her guard even let down the slightest bit, the link between them made her too honest, too trusting.

(Too vulnerable?)

(No. Never again.)

(Careful, always careful; better safe than sorry.)

ﾟ・. ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

Working out all the small kinks took a few days, including the call to her friends that she had found the Demon, and they needed privacy to figure things out before the coven could descend upon them. Mary Margaret, Anna, and Regina took it the hardest (the lattermost to Emma's surprise), but that was fixed with promises to visit individually when possible. Elsa had smoothed it over, truly, by offering (with a new frosty demeanor) to play bad cop to Emma's good.

Making it clear that Emma needed space and making a case that even rattled Regina, Elsa had convinced everyone to ease up - even while she was miserable. Liam had tried to use his discovery about Killian to apologize, discovering very quickly how 'frigid' she could actually be.

Killian for the most part seemed grateful just to be there, and out of the tower. His room was set up and Emma had attached it neatly to the tower (the door currently in his closet), and his other residences. It took time, but the house and her magic got along in a great way, the door's stability not at all in question. Killian had teased her after they toured his homes that it was a lot to baby proof - Emma was simply thankful that the two properties he favored were not out of state. The further the distance, the more taxing it got - it was among the few reasons she had that as much as she wished she could make a door to the Below for him, she couldn't.

"It's alright, Swan. I don't mind going back and forth to get what I need from the Below. It truly doesn't bother me to commute." Dropping another box into his downtown penthouse as she looked on, he shrugged, leaning back to rest on the bar with his elbows. "I can turn in some work, touch base with my team, do the things I can't do up here that need to be done. Plus, it's not as if you would have if you could have - it's illegal to have unauthorized portals to and from the Below. It's in the DRIVES act."

"Oh," Emma blinked. "I keep seeing that, but I don't know much about it honestly. I have to sign the baby up under it at some point -"

"Not any longer. Liam said that when he suspected you initially, but now he's rescinded the request." Killian’s jaw clenched, his claw like nails ripping open the top of the box in a slash.

Emma shook her head, looking at Killian with sheer confusion. "Why would he do that? I thought it protected -"

"I asked him to," Killian stated, an edge to his tone. His eyes flicked to look at her, the sideways glance almost a challenge of some sort. Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to understand what was going on.

"Okay, I guess I don't get it." Shifting to step towards him, Emma frowned when she saw hurt flicker across his face. "Are you upset with me? Why would you ask Liam to do that? Is there something I should know?"

"There's a lot you should know, love, I just - just don't fret about it. It's fine." Killian smiled, but the lie seeped from his words into his expression. "Just know that if you ask a Demon or anyone close to them, the DRIVES act is not popular. It's a hit list in the right hands, and the attributes asked in that questionnaire are very unnecessary."

"I don't -"

"Emma, I don't want to explain all of this right now, but I promise I will. I just - I just can't until I am sure you will understand. My brother isn't great about it, but he's better than many."

"I guess I'll leave you to this then?" Emma grumbled slightly, unaware of whatever she had done. He caught her wrist as she turned to leave, his hand warm over her skin.

"It's fine. Please stay, we can change the subject." Killian nodded, and he encouraged her to sit at the large bar. He had impeccable taste, if a bit too modern for Emma's liking. Dark colors and steel fixtures looked untouched, gleaming in the light of a sleek fireplace built into an onyx wall. "So you have a doctor's appointment here soon, right?"

"In two weeks, at the five month mark. I'll be a third of the way along, basically." Emma stroked along where the swell of her belly curved upwards, marveling at how fast time had passed. She was still carrying large, but had completely slowed down in growth to stay the same size. Her body was rounded out almost completely and as much as it could be, her breasts heavier and her center of gravity at risk of creating an orbit.

Killian hummed in response, watching her intently. "Do you feel…?"

"Her move?" Emma finished his question, and he nodded. "I'm starting to. She's the size of a plum right now, if you can believe it."

Killian nodded again, the silence once more taken over. He cast a longing look at her before returning to unpacking. The bond thrummed, and Emma found herself by his side.

"Here." Taking his hand even as he startled, she placed it on the lower side of her stomach, pressing softly against where she felt the baby laying. Killian let out a choked noise of surprise, his hand stiff until the tension loosened and his large palm formed to her side.

The bond exploded with warmth, as if a knit blanket had been wrapped around her shoulders and a mug of cocoa had been placed in her hands. Every muscle unwound, her thoughts hazy and free. It made her feel too comfortable, to which she accounted for the madness of what came next.

"You could come, if you want," Emma whispered, her body resting against his in a gentle lean. "To the appointment, I mean."

"I'd like that a lot, actually," he murmured back, his other hand lazily hugging her against himself.

They stayed like that for a few moments, the bond between them alive with its vibration, until Emma pulled away with sudden realization.

Killian looked dazed when Emma stared at him, but said nothing when she turned on her heels and stomped back into her own house again. Emma's anger felt like it might eat her alive, the door to her special room opening with no resistance. She scooted between the boxes and ducked under the bottoms of clothes, curling into herself.

(The bond was officially a problem.)

ﾟ・. ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

For the most part after that, Emma was successful in her attempts to avoid Killian, both of them happy to stay clear of the other without risking the consequences of the tenuous bond.

Neither of them acknowledged it openly, until a few days before the first trimester check up when Killian confronted her.

"I don't have to go if you are uncomfortable, but I truly do want to be there for you and our child," he told her seriously, handing her a large bouquet. The flowers smelled amazing, the yellow and white blooms immediately making Emma's heart clench. "I've taken off that day, and I have a chauffeur for you to save you from the commute. I thought we might -"

"It's fine. I said you could go, and I meant it." Emma shrugged, holding onto every bit of her armor.

"I meant to ask, and I know what you have said, but…" Killian raked a hand through his hair, tousling it around his horns. "Mixed children tend to take after the non-Demonic parent. Are you sure that you want to keep -"

"I'm sure," Emma growled, her attention snapping towards him. He lowered his hands in supplication, and Emma realized she was practically ready to spring: her arm had curled around her belly protectively, while the other was outstretched, and the grimace she wore was more bared teeth than anything.

"I was only confirming. It's - I'm not -"

"Whatever," Emma snapped, hugging herself tightly. "It's at eight am. Be here by seven."

"Aye."

Per his word, he was promptly waiting for her at seven am the morning of the appointment, the sleek black town car's leather seats warm as he helped her inside.

Emma hadn't seen much of him since their tense conversation, but he cleaned up well in the skin suit - horns, claws, and tail disappearing, and his skin a pale color that made his lips seem to blush. She could tell he was uncomfortable in it, and in an attempt to calm him she took his hand in hers.

"It grew back nicely," Emma remarked, examining the scars that still appeared, even through the glamor. "Does it hurt?"

"No. It's prone to stiffness and some cramping, but," He gave her a grin, the unearthly blue of his eyes bright with mischief as they crinkled. "What can one expect from second hand goods."

Emma could not help the laughter and groan that bubbled up as he gave a dramaticized sigh with a tilt of his head. "That was terrible," she managed, still giggling.

He only grinned back, giving her hand a squeeze. They sat quietly together until the car stopped, Killian helping her out again and into the lobby of the office. It was a short wait, the doctor looking at Killian with surprise and then distrust as she ran over her checklist.

"Still feeling movement?"

"Yes," Emma answered, sitting sideways on the examination table.

"Eating and drinking well?"

"Yes," Emma answered, as Killian made a noise.

"Are there any recipes or guidelines I could follow to cook for her, so she eats -" Killian tried, the doctor wrinkling her nose and not looking at him.

"You are growing right on schedule, are you having intercourse at all?" the doctor asked, ignoring Killian completely.

"I - no, I'm not, I -" Emma stammered.

"Good. Any Demonic Malevolence?" The doctor shot a sideways glance towards Killian, and he frowned. Crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair, he tilted his head to stair at the ceiling. Emma noticed his tail had broken through the glamor as it began flicking rapidly with agitation.

"Um, I am not sure -"

"This would be thoughts of hurting others, destruction of items of value, cravings for raw meat, forcing contracts or actions to be done by means of thrall on others or against your own will, feelings that result in heightened fire magics -"

"Oh, no," Emma shook her head. "Nothing like that at all."

"It's illegal to withhold reports of malevolence, are you aware of that, Miss Swan?"

"I - Yes," she repeated, slowly. "Yes I am."

"And you are sure there is nothing you would like to report?" the doctor asked, leering at her. Emma laid a hand over her stomach, looking at Killian. He let his stare at the ceiling drop, catching her eye, his gaze unreadable.

"I'm sure," Emma nodded.

The doctor clicked her pen, making a clicking sound with her tongue. "Alright, slide your pants down and lay across the table here. The ultrasound technician will be in shortly."

The doctor left, leaving Emma and Killian alone.

"Do you need me to -" Killian began, but Emma was already shimmying down her pants and underwear.

"Oh, no," Emma said, realizing his attempt at giving her privacy. "I - you're going to want to see this, I think, and at this point, my vagina and you are going to become acquainted in the least desirable of ways that I doubt anyone could sexualize. I'm fine with it. If you are grossed out, let me know. I don't want you fainting - "

"I assure you that I do not intend to faint or do anything untoward," Killian stated firmly.

"Good," Emma said simply.

The technician came in moments after, immediately glaring at Killian as she got to work. She squirted freezing gel on the roundness of Emma's belly, making her jump. Killian snapped to attention, looking at the technician with narrowed eyes before moving his chair closer.

The technician pursed her lips before plastering a sunny smile over her grimace. "Alright, let's see this baby! Fingers crossed for good news!"

Taking her wand, the Fairy made a few circular motions, a glowing mist sticking to the gel of Emma's stomach. Waving her wand at the machine, the machine whirred to life, focusing in on a blurry image.

"That's her?" Killian asked, reverently, leaning forward to look at the monitor in awe. The small white blob kicked out a tiny leg, flailing in the black and gray of the background. Emma felt his fingers interlace with hers, and found that she was grateful for the grounding gesture.

"That's our baby, oh I - Killian, she's perfect, she's -" Emma could barely recognize her own voice; the excitement, the weight, the proof that they were a part of this something forever and the giddiness of everything stealing her breath. Tears pricked at her eyes, the emotions too much. Swiping them away, Emma took in a deep breath, and steeled herself again.

"Good call, a beautiful little princess is nice and snug in Mum." The nurse pointed to the screen at the baby's sex, before giving a sly glance towards Killian. "She looks normal enough; didn't inherit much of her father at all. Bless your luck for that."

Emma glanced at Killian, tensing at the nurse's rudeness, but he didn't seem to notice. His smile was wide as he squeezed her hand, the grin making his eyes twinkle absolutely infectiously. All Emma could feel was adoration, the warm balm of it through the bond, and the lightness that made her squeeze his hand back in turn.

"She's beautiful," he sighed out, and Emma managed a choked nod, before his eyes caught her own. Worry immediately spread across his features. "You're crying, darling are you -"

"I'm fine, I just got -" Emma hiccuped, trying to stop the tears rolling down her face. The nurse, to her credit, was cleaning up quickly, wrinkling her nose at them in disdain when Killian cupped her cheek, his thumb gently swiping away tears. "I just got overwhelmed for a moment. Thank you for coming, it means so much more than I thought, and -"

"Thank you for letting me," Killian replied simply, shrugging ever so slightly. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and Emma shivered at the electricity that seemed to shoot down her spine.

Emma rebuttoned her pants and pulled her sweater over her stomach, standing carefully while Killian smoothed down the knitted fabric. Swaying into his touch, he let her rest her cheek against his chest, the comfort of the not-quite embrace washing over them. Humming a noise that he reciprocated, her hands splayed across the stretch of his chest, as Killian’s nose rested against the crown of her head while his lips pressed chastely against her forehead.

(It could be like this forever, it could be everything and a future if you just -)

The nurse cleared her throat loudly, and Emma jumped away from Killian’s arms, looking startled.

"Your pictures are ready," she drawled, her eyebrows raised even as her eyes began to narrow. "If you'd like them, that is."

Emma nodded, swallowing a deep breath to calm her racing heart.

The pictures were a blurry mess, a few profiles of their baby that were more modern art than much else. One was marked as 'thumbsucking' and Emma tried not to be overcome by the strange swell of emotions that threatened when she traced the tiny hand that met a tiny mouth. Killian’s favorite was of their baby's feet, crossed at the ankles but directly in view of the camera's viewpoint. They were so tiny, so small even with their tiny nubbins of toes.

Leading her to the car, the chauffeur asked where they were headed.

"We can go home if you like, Swan," Killian hesitated, taking her hand and swiping his thumb over her knuckles. "But -"

"It's alright if you have plans today. I understand, I didn't expect you to stay," Emma mumbled, trying not to let her strange disappointment leak through the bond, or show in her downcast eyes.

Killian laughed slightly, shaking his head. "On the contrary, I was going to ask you to lunch."

Emma looked up sharply, lips parting in surprise. "Oh, I'd - I wouldn't mind that at all -"

"I thought we could have lunch together, then we could go shopping for her, now that we know for sure, and you could pick out anything you don't have already." Blushing, he raked back his hair with his other hand, scratching behind his ear. "If you're up for it, that is. I know that this is all…" He made a gesture with his hand, and Emma could not help the laughter that bubbled up.

"I'd love that, but I can't afford -"

"My treat, all around." Killian squeezed her hand again, his eyes meeting hers as she bit her lip. "Please. Let me take care of you, and her. I know it's all -"

"Fubar?" Emma suggested, his lips quirking into a grin.

"Sure, though I would argue Snafu, as not everything has been a disaster. Some of this, it's been -"

Emma cut him off, calling out to the chauffeur.

"Granny's please, on Crimson boulevard and Lupine Highway."

The chauffeur nodded, and Killian rolled his eyes. "You have to eat something besides grilled cheese and onion rings, Swan."

"You said vegetables, and that's what onion rings are. Delicious, delicious, vegetables." Emma grinned, leaning herself to rest against him.

(So much for armor, you let him through your walls like he owns the place. Stop letting the bond win, stop letting yourself forget about your scars!)

(Shut up, brain, and let me eat my onion rings.)

#Courtorderedcake #October 5th 2020 #October #2020 #captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan fic #cs au #cs ff #cs ff au #MTFB #Majestically Too Far Beyond

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angrylizardjacket · 4 years

Text

Run to Paradise {Nikki Sixx} Part 31

31. told you not to worry (but maybe that’s a lie)

Summary: lola starts taking her job seriously, but its hard to be mostly sober around the band now.

Warnings: angsty as shit, blink and you'll miss it sensuality but no smut, and happy pride, that's not a warning, that's just a little note!

ragtag bunch of misfits: @starlalove @toofasttofallinlove @xrosegoldwolfx @obsessivesky @lovehelpmewrite @marvelismylifffe @lilytalebi @glitterdreamsz @freddiessmallnipples @crazysaladchopshop @dramatique-moi @calspixie @aryssav @catsoo12 @sweetshutter @silvertonguedserpent @shamelessobsessions @lavenderbones22 @keepcalm-and-beyou @scarecrowmax @nicholeh7 @unknownoblivion @sighsophiia @fruitinthebottom @misscharlottelee @local-troubled-writer @redlipscrystalskies14 @kaitieskidmore1 @the-specific-oceans

{ MASTERLIST }

Touring is a new and special kind of hell now that she's actually trying to be good at her job and not sleep with most of the band.

It was actually rather nice to reconnect with them in a way she hadn't been able to, with Vince and Tommy and even Mick; for all she'd been around them, the tour was the first time she could convincingly call them good friends. Now more than ever was she fulfilling her role as the band's assistant, and more importantly, as their wrangler.

"Nikki needs to be onstage in three minutes!" Doc shouts through the door of his dressing room, and Lola calls back that he'll be there, despite the fact that he's busy hurling into the toilet, and she's holding back his hair.

And of course, he'll be there, on time, puke free for the most part, and Lola's taking the first song to breathe for the first time since getting to the venue. And she finds one of Nikki's syringes in his bag, and takes the edge off before she has to be side-of-stage herself.

She makes a point of spending time with Tommy, and more often than not, she's the one handcuffing him to the bed at the end of the night; unfortunately it's at Doc's insistence, after Tommy goes out of control in the early hours before dawn.

Tommy, who will absolutely not remember this the next morning, fixes Lola with a blurry, vaguely lustful stare as she affixes his wrist to the bedpost.

"This feels familiar," he laughs, blind drunk, giving the handcuff a rattle for good measure.

Behave, Lola reminds herself, and she steps off of the bed as he makes grabby hands at her.

"Stay, Lols, please stay," he whines, and Lola swallows hard, smiling despite how her heart was beginning to ache under the effects of his puppy-dog eyes, "I've missed you." And that hurts like a physical ache.

"You're engaged," she reminds him gently, and Tommy's pleading gaze immediately turns blissfully fond as he remembers Heather waiting for him back home.

"I'm engaged," he repeats back, almost dreamily, "I think this one's gonna stick." He tells Lola with as much earnestness as he can manage. Lola's smile starts to crack.

"I'm happy for you, drummer boy," she tells him gently, patting his shin, and Tommy sighs happily.

"You won't tell her about the- the groupies, right? The girls backstage?" He asks, suddenly worried, and Lola sighs deeply. "They- Heather's so perfect, Lols, she's so sweet, and so fucking hot." He all but groans, shifting his hips in a drunken, horny stupor, "if I could have her backstage after every show, I would, I would in a heartbeat, Lols, I just- I don't, and I'm weak, you know I'm so weak." He whines, and Lola has to remind herself that his happiness is what was most important, that she's being selfish for feeling hurt. She tries to smile a little wider.

"You and Nikki," Tommy starts, but his expression falls, and it's like he sees her again, sees how hard she's trying, "you guys," his voice is so gentle, "we were so lucky." He muses, and she's not quite sure if he even realised his mistake, "having each other all the time? So lucky." He says with a faint, surprisingly warm smile.

Lola can't help herself.

"We were so lucky." She agrees, and it's all she can do to leave.

As a stark contrast, Vince hates being sober, especially with the rest of the band practically black out drunk from the moment they wake up, but with Lola at the very least not drinking, they take to partying together rather frequently. But Lola watches with growing concern as Vince grows bored with the hard-partying lifestyle the longer he goes without a drink.

"It's killing me," Vince admits. He's got Lola in his lap at a party, more to keep himself from hitting on any other women, because it appears she and Sharise have conspired together to try and keep him faithful. It works, sort of, he still fucks a lot, but he's got it down to about one girl per city, and he definitely doesn't fuck Lola.

"What? Your dick? Dude yout hard-on is skewering my thigh," Lola tells him with a grimace.

"No," Vince flushes, shifting his hips a little, while Lola clenched her teeth and reminded herself to behave. Why did she wear a damn skirt? "I'm fucking tired of being treated like a damn kid; can't fuck when I want, can't drink, not even allowed anu fuckin' dope. Prison was more fun than this." Lola gives him a curious look, but he's quick to backtrack on that particular statement.

"Call Sharise."

"We always finish too late, I don't wanna keep waking her up after midnight," Vince muses gloomily. His grip around Lola's midsection tightens and he presses his lips to her shoulder. "What if I get you off, for old time's sake?"

Lola sighed, shifting so she face mostly facing Vince.

"You know it won't make you happy, lover boy," Lola's fingers were gentle on his cheek, and Vince leaned into her touch, expression forlorn as he sighed and nodded.

"This isn't fun anymore," Vince admitted, "I fucking hate being away from Skylar, I'm missing all the big moments in her life, and instead I get to watch everyone else having the time of their lives." Lola hugs him, holds him close enough to press his face into her boobs, perhaps as some sort of consolation.

"You can still leave," he tells Lola, reaching up to trace the tattoo of the drumsticks on her collarbones, "you should run while you can, get out before it kills you." Lola laughs but he doesn't understand why, just continues, "after all the shit you've been through, I wouldn't blame you. Leave us in the care of Doc, collect your last paycheck, and disappear forever."

Lola just gives him a sad smile and cards her fingers through his hair.

"Vinny, I don't have anywhere else to go." It's said with a sad smile, and air of finality, and Vince plants a kiss on her cheek before gently urging her to stand up. He goes and tries to call Skylar, and Lola finds Nikki and drags him to a bathroom, shakes him down for a syringe full of heroin she knows she has. And he kisses her, sloppy and slurred, and Lola holds him close so her hands don't shake.

Nikki is easy, Nikki is familiar, Nikki she knows better than she knows herself, can read him as easily as breathing. He moves and she moves in sync, their whole life an unspoken duet.

"You told me not to kill myself over Tommy," Lola and Mick are the only ones awake in the back of the tour bus at eleven in the morning; Lola's sipping a coffee, riding the high of shooting up right before they'd left the last hotel, and Mick's reading a newspaper. "Did you ever think that he wouldn't be the one to kill me?"

"He didn't," Mick reminds her pointedly, and Lola casts a nervous glance to the bunks at the back of the bus, but no-one made a move towards waking up. Mick looks up from his paper to follow her gaze, before he looks back at her.

"You never worried about me and Nikki?"

"No point," Mick huffed, looking back at his paper. This was not the answer she'd been expecting, and it takes a long moment for her to order her thoughts. By the time she had, however, Mick had already lowered his paper, anticipating her next question, "if you wanted to kill yourself over Nikki fuckin' Sixx, there's no person on Heaven or Earth who could talk you out of it." He tells her flatly, "I wasn't about to waste my time on you co-dependent sociopaths."

And perhaps she wants to be offended, but the more she ponders on the sentiment, the more she finds comfort in it, can't help but bring it to Nikki.

The night, though it's almost six am, is warm and humid, and after a hard night of partying, they fall into bed together, like so many nights before. Something about Mick's words plays on her mind, and maybe it's that she's not quite sure where she ends and Nikki begins in this heat, but she doesn't want to let him go.

"Mick said something weird to me the other day," Lola starts, her head on his chest as she's catching her breath, and she feels Nikki's laughter as it rumbles through his chest, his arm around her, sweat sticking them and their hotel's bedsheets together in the afterglow.

"Everything Mick says is weird," Nikki snorts, "the guy's an alien." His idle hand draws an indistinct patterns on the sheet over her thigh.

"Do you think we're codependent?"

"Yeah."

"And don't you think that's... bad or something?" Lola tries, but Nikki just hums noncommittally.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Lo," Nikki tells her, voice shooting for something other than blunt, but not quite hitting the mark, "you're all I really know," he admits after a moment, voice softening, tone far away, as if there's something else on his mind, "and I know I could live without you, just like you could live without me, but I don't want to." He swallowed hard.

"I don't either." Lola says with a small smile, but when she looks to Nikki, he's gazing at the roof.

"I didn't realise I'd have to learn to live without shit I thought I needed, you know?" He says, and Lola's expression falls. Nikki looks back at her, as if realizing what he's said, and licks his lips, hesitating. Sensing his sudden nervousness, wraps herself around him, hugs him so he doesn't have to look her in the eyes, and squeezes her eyes shut tightly as she feels him breathe a sigh of relief. "I didn't mean you." Nikki says, his arms around her, warm and solid, his lips gentle against the shell of her ear as she kisses his shoulder gently.

"I didn't think you did," she says, with the faintest air of amusement, and Nikki huffs a quiet laugh. Neither lets go.

"Did you write Starry Eyes for me?" She murmurs against his skin, and Nikki holds her just a little tighter. She feels him nod.

"Wrote a lot of things for you," he trails his fingertips down her back gently, and Lola feels herself all but melting under his touch. Up and down, gentle as a feather, they lay, wrapped up in each other, in silence, until Nikki's hand stills, palm warm and flat against the small of her back.

"Tommy asked me to be his best man," he says, voice surprisingly raw, and Lola stays still as a statue.

"Congratulations," is all she can manage, a pit in her stomach at the very mention of Tommy's upcoming wedding.

"I couldn't say no," but it sounds like he wanted to, and Lola slowly sits up, straddling Nikki, her hand on his bare chest as she searches his face for what he's trying to tell her. Instead, Nikki reaches up, his hand coming to rest on her ribs right over her heart, "I think I get it. Being with Nicole was never about the drugs, was it?"

Lola's mouth opens in a surprised, quietly hurt oh, and her hand moves to join his.

"I don't -" but the words won't come out, and Nikki gives her this strange little half-smile.

"Am I an ass if I say that I hate Heather?" Nikki asks, and Lola's shock melts a little as she starts to realize exactly what Nikki's saying.

"She makes Tommy happy," she tells him, like she's told herself a thousand times before, wearing a sad smile.

"So do you," Nikki tells her, and Lola's heart starts to ache in a way that's all too familiar, "so do we." Nikki says quietly, unable to look her in the eyes. "How the fuck did you do this twice? How do you just say 'they're happier without me' and be okay with it?" His lip curls into a snarl and he gently pushes Lola off of him, maneuvering himself to the side of the bed, hunching in on himself. There's tears beginning to sting Lola's eyes, but Nikki's voice is raw, is bitter as he asks, "does it always fucking hurt?"

"I don't want to lie to you-" Lola tries, but Nikki turns, snaps at her.

"I don't care! How the fuck can you watch them together and not want to yell at him that he's throwing away -?" Nikki's mouth snaps shut, and the fury in his eyes dies down, too afraid to voice his thoughts. Like approaching a wild animal, Lola slowly makes her way over to him, wrapping him up in her arms, letting him rest his forehead against her shoulder.

"I didn't even know I was... was allowed to love him like this," the words spill from him, messy, angry, and Lola's silent, curled over him like a shield from the outside world, tears dripping from her eyelashes, "didn't even realise I did, but Heather just thinks she can, can what? Fucking take him? From us?" His grip on Lola is tight, his nails digging into her skin when all he can focus on is his own anger, but after a moment of silence, he feels the way Lola's shaking, and he comes back to reality, "Lo?"

"It always hurt," Lola whispers through her tears, "Nikki, it always fucking hurts."

#nikki sixx #Tommy Lee #Vince Neil #nikki sixx imagine #tommy lee imagine #vince neil imagine #nikki sixx x oc #tommy lee x oc #the dirt #the dirt imagine #motley crue #nikki x tommy x oc #motley crue imagine #the angry lizard writes

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winrene · 5 years

Text

wenrene fanfic masterpost

(last updated 15/07/2020)

(these are all from ao3, i can try and make one from aff too if anyone wants it, but i don’t really read on there)

Completed

let's get away tonight by daybreaking - “you should really stop showing up like this,” joohyun reprimands, wry and dry, but her hands are reaching out to take the spare helmet anyways. “my parents will know about it someday.” seungwan just grins under her helmet, cheeks full and pressing against the insides of it. she pats the space behind her on the motorcycle. “yeah, someday.”

oneshot, 3,341 words, highschool au

i'll be your naughty girl & i got to have ya babe by throwaway18 - seungwan thinks joohyun is too much of a prude to be able to beat her in a dance-off. and joohyun is certain she's the only person capable of getting into seungwan's nerves.

oneshot, 6,800 words, dancer/rivals au

much ado about nothing by numot94 (futureplans) - seungwan's front-door neighbour is the most beautiful woman she's ever seen, and one day she'll definitely work up the courage to ask her out. in the meantime, though, she'd be happy to get through a conversation without embarrassing herself.

39 chapters, 180,319 words, neighbour au (this is simply gorgeous, one of the best wenrene fics of all time in my opinion, again highly suggest reading their other wenrene fics)

tell me why my gods look like you (and tell me why it’s wrong) by irwens - joohyun waits tables. seungwan is a cook. they work at the same restaurant.

oneshot, 3,333 words, restauraunt au

when you move, i'm moved by birdii (birdmint) - when you're an idol dating a ballet dancer, finding time to appreciate each other is difficult. seungwan and joohyun do their best.

oneshot, 2,195 words, ballet/solo-artist au

playing pretend by xpenguinqueenx - yeri needs a fake girlfriend to meet her parents, and wendy agrees to fill the spot, but mostly because she wants to eat her yogurt in peace. irene is not enthusiastic about their new 'relationship.'

oneshot, 10,026 words, ordinary-life au

this structure fell about our feet (and we were free to go) by redcapesarecoming - the seven times irene and wendy met in an airport

oneshot, 4,740 words, airport au

recessional by birdii (birdmint) - seungwan calls joohyun for a ride to the airport. it's the first joohyun has heard from her in five years.

oneshot, 4,045 words, modern au

rain will make the flowers grow by 8moons2stars - after red velvet splits up, joohyun and seungwan find each other again.

5 chapters, 5,334 words, canon-divergence au (highly suggest reading this author’s other wenrene fics too)

death of the author by numot94 (futureplans) - all seungwan wanted was to escape reality at least for a little while and go live in some fairy tale where everything goes right and everybody’s happy. still, she didn’t expect it to actually happen! now that she’s found herself in the fairy tale kingdom overnight, she’ll do her best to keep the story on track and make sure princess joohyun gets her happily ever after with the prince. of course, nothing is ever that simple, is it?

11 chapters, 35,134 words, fantasy au

the purity club by changdeol - joohyun bae is the president of their school's christian union who thinks she has all the answers. seungwan son proves her wrong.

37 chapters, 152,278 words, highschool au

sweet like honey by hyunsvelvet - son seungwan is in desperate need of a job. when she gets hired as the new secretary for up and coming forensic lawyer bae joohyun, who has developed a habit of firing secretaries, she's determined to keep this job. she pictured joohyun to be cold and distant, but upon meeting her seungwan can't help but notice her warm personality and begins to wonder how she's the same person known for firing secretaries after hiring them just weeks before.

25 chapters, 48,900 words, lawyer au

and i could see for miles, miles, miles by jisooosname - based off of the prompt: in which joohyun runs an advice podcast show and one day, seulgi asks for her advice and she gives an advice so bad that seungwan hunts her down

oneshot, 5,547 words, college radio-host au (fluff and good feelings all around, a very adorable read)

never mind your bleeding heart by numot94 (futureplans) - the first time seungwan saw joohyun, she’d just turned 13 and the older girl was 14, a few weeks away from her birthday. she fell in love instantly.

3 chapters, 32,742 words, childhood au (yes yes i know another numot fic, but god their writing is amazing i can’t help but suggest it cause i just love everything they write)

hey jealousy by fated_addiction - "you know they're not dating." or when wendy struggles with definitions.

oneshot, 1188 words, canon au (i have a thing for this author’s introspective writing. it’s like a drug, also i’m a sucker for lowercase. highly suggest their semicolon and check one series)

a kiss (to build a dream on) by seungvvannie (galaxygerbil) - there are other things and other people that should fill up Irene’s time, but maybe… maybe just for now, it can be her in Irene’s heart. just her on irene’s mind. everything else can wait until tomorrow. wendy just wants tonight.

oneshot, 3,845 words, fallout au

pisces by espressochoreom - in which a 24-year-old joohyun is at a laundromat on a gloomy tuesday morning when she recognizes someone across her washer. it's none other than the girl who had her earnestly question her sexuality in high school—son seungwan. the last time joohyun heard from her was six years ago, months after they graduated from high school, when she told her that she was planning to move and stay in canada for good. but of course, that's not the case anymore. seungwan happens to be in the same laundromat building, and from there they attempt to catch up where they left off. the awkwardness is so consistent; it's laughable.

oneshot, 2,447 words, laundromat au (kinda)

vague hope by beatosuffers - irene only knows one thing: emotions are prohibited.

oneshot, 6,475 words, nier:automata au

yesterday, today, tomorrow by sparksfly7 - there are two new girls this year. one is tall and round-cheeked and sweet-looking. the other one – from canada, with her collection of instruments and powerhouse voice – won’t leave irene alone.

oneshot, 2,796 words, canon au

let it shine by sparksfly7 - “it’s just – i planned to talk more, to give people a good impression, but…” irene trails off, clearly frustrated. “i don’t know.” she drops her head, her hair falling over her face. even the pink streaks in it look duller, as if her mood has washed out the dye. “there was nothing wrong with how you acted.” wendy sits down next to her on the bed. “being quiet isn’t a bad thing.”

oneshot, 2,064 words, canon au

see you soon by leirskald - seungwan tries to be okay with everyone leaving for the new year's holiday, but it's hard when she's the one left behind.

oneshot, 1,237 words, canon au

trust these butterflies by rosybutterflies - the circus just isn't that fascinating for irene bae anymore, having been in it since she was young. but the butterflies in her stomach tell her otherwise every time she's with one of the newbies, son seungwan.

2 chapters, 17,527 words, circus au

in her eyes by blkvelvets - now is definitely not the time to get hooked on a dumb freshman with a smile that could light up planets.

oneshot, 2,387 words, highschool au

i wanna come home to you by newboldtrue - irene says, “thanks for not thinking i’m a serial killer. i guess.” “thanks for letting me throw up the worst new year’s eve of my life in your apartment,” room 53 returns, and irene cracks a tiny smile at that. or, irene doesn't know her upstairs neighbor, really, but it's 5am and she won't stop ringing the doorbell;

oneshot, 1,599 words, neighbours au

the scent of you by ashensprites - seungwan, a private investigator, is hired to find a child who went missing almost 15 years ago.

16 chapters, 38,253 words, private investigator au

the downfalls of procrastination by lovelines (alliwantisthetruth) - fun fact #1 : seungwan has exactly 3 midterms coming up this week. fun fact #2 : seungwan has not started to study for any of her midterms. fun fact #3 : joohyun might kill her before she has the chance to sink her gpa. college au where seungwan is a smart but hot mess(TM) and joohyun cannot tolerate messes but for her, she does. somewhat.

oneshot, 1,413 words, university au

close your eyes, see through mine by sindubu - "her name is joohyun, and if that were the case...." her heel comes up to rub at the bridge of her nose. "why is she even here?" junior shrugs. "the intricacies of repressed lesbianism, my young, sapphic friend, is shockingly not in my field of expertise."

4 chapters, 9,070 words, conversion therapy au

feel my heart come undone by sindubu - wendy is homesick.

oneshot, 1,390 words, canon au

Ongoing

i’m different by throwaway18 - when wendy returns to seoul, being mistaken as a homeless person has been far from her expectations.

6/? chapters, 27,871 enemies to lovers/baker au

my heart and this night (makes this game flicker) by daybreaking - seungwan just got dumped and her roommate is trying to make her feel better by playing cards with her, but she just keeps winning and whispering, "sorry."

4/? chapters, 33,782, university au (an absolute favourite of a fic, it is so so good)

colored out the line by baechuzz - it’s been a while since joohyun had seen sooyoung blooming with happiness and love since her soulmate died. so when joohyun met wendy for the first time and during their handshake, a little dandelion blossomed on her wrist—she decided not to say a word and step back on the sidelines. even if wendy was her soulmate.

4/5 chapters, 27,628 words, soulmate au

somebody wants you by winterbreath - wendy doesn’t need anybody to tell her that this is a bad idea but she needs something to draw attention to the coffee shop; and irene needs a pretend-girlfriend. except Irene is a brat—and can someone please just send wendy to hell.

12/? chapters, 71,840 words, fake/pretend relationship au (another one i love a lot, definitely suggest reading this author’s other fic too, especially their all this love series)

shared space by sapphicirene - seungwan needs a new roommate, and joohyun is searching for an apartment. joohyun wonders if it's bad luck or fate that draws her back to seungwan after all these years.

4/? chapters, 11,259 words, college au (i’m not going to lie, this hasn’t been updated since 2018-12, but the chapters that are written are very lovely, so i think it’s worth a look!)

tea party for two by scarletstring - as a veteran female escort, wendy expects to be between the sheets, receive her pay, and then leave -- all within the hour. but wendy can't tell if this particular client knew that when she was spending her time preparing her tea instead of telling her to take her clothes off.

8/? chapters, 114,713 words, female escort au

noisy thoughts by scarletstring - irene moves in to her new apartment, where she meets her interesting roommate.

15/? chapters, 172,654 words, college au (scarlet is currently on hiatus, but their fics are one of the best things you could read)

just my cover, sweetheart by newboldtrue - wendy threw a disbelieving glance at the woman in her passenger seat. “have i had lunch? i just attended my own funeral, haven’t much been in the mood for eating.” or, son seungwan is leaving her life as a hitman in the past--but when a dead woman criticizes her epitaph and offers her one last job, she finds herself agreeing to help. wendy isn't quite sure what she's signed herself up for.

6/? chapters, 14,319 words, 1950s hitman au (hasn’t been updated in AGES, since 2018-08, but it is honestly a really worthwhile read)

#wenrene #these are my personal favourites #i went all the way to the back of the ao3 wenrene tag for these

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

malamente part 7 (branjie) - evan

art by @k-i-t-e-98!

AN: oh hello! It’s been a while! I’ll admit I had abandoned this story and dove headfirst into school this past semester, but I can’t move on from this little world and I really want to see this through. There’s no telling how long the next chapter will take, but I have a plan. This might have 11 chapters total, but that’s an estimate. Let’s see what more trouble I can get these two into. Shoutout to Meggie for her constant encouragement!

New to Malamente? Catch up here on AQ or over at AO3. I’m @formercongressman.

–

It’s a slow news day, but every day is a slow news day in this town. So Yvie’s got her sketchpad unabashedly open over her work computer’s keyboard, knowing there’s no easy way she can make it look like she’s actually hard at work were someone to come in and check up on her.

She’s trying to find the line between human and starfish for the five-limbed creature she’s sketching, and it’s proving more of a challenge than she had anticipated. There’s only so many places you can locate a face.

“Knock-knock,” a voice says aloud. Yvie cringes before she turns around, trying with little avail to block her sketch pad with her body.

Her boss is in the doorway. He looks chipper, he’s got his fist raised as if he was going to knock on her cubicle wall but no, that would be too normal and unobtrusive of a thing for him to do. She smiles with as many teeth as she can show. “Hi, Patrick.”

“How’s that school carnival story coming along?”

“Almost done,” Yvie lies. It’s been sitting in her drafts folder completed for two days. It wasn’t a story she could make anything mildly edgy out of, so she banged out a haphazard scene of kids and goldfish and smiling parents that she couldn’t get away from quickly enough. “Just putting in some final touches.”

He must know Yvie hates him; she’s not subtle, and it bugs her even more that he pretends everything is perfectly peachy-keen.

“That’s great! Because I’ve got something new for you.” He hands her a manila folder which she doesn’t open. “Something a little more exciting, a little more up your alley.”

“Great, I’ll take a look at it.” She sets the folder on her desk, turning away in the hope that he’ll leave.

“What are you drawing? Is that a starfish?”

Fucking hell.

She tosses the sketchpad into her desk drawer and slams it shut. “It’s nothing.”

“Well. Get me that carnival story by the end of the day!”

“Yup.”

She waits until she hears his footsteps recede, muffled by the dreary brown carpet, before she finally opens the folder. She’s curious, truly; that much she can’t pretend.

And damn, he wasn’t lying. It’s a big story, technically. Definitely not the kind of thing Yvie usually gets assigned. The first page is a police report of a rich white lady getting carjacked in the middle of the day about a week ago. The woman is important; she’s the wife of the chair of the symphony board. Yvie’s seen her smiling face on a billboard near the bank downtown, and she looks chipper even in the driver’s license photo paperclipped right below the report.

She knows the story she’s supposed to write. Community Rocked by Violence: Your Personal Wealth is Always Under Threat, with a picture of this woman looking stoic and a little hurt. She’ll write a paragraph about maybe why the guy did it, trying to realize and flesh out the narrative, and Patrick will cut it in editing and simultaneously lob off another piece of her willpower and soul. This story is an opportunity, sure, but she already knows where it’ll go, knows how it’s supposed to end.

She flips to the next page and the hairs on her arms stand on end.

It’s Victor fucking Paulson, smiling with his teeth but not with his eyes, in his Best Buy employee photograph. He’s the suspect, rumored missing for about a week, having taken off with this Nina West’s minivan. There’ll be no sympathetic paragraph for her editor to cut on this one, that’s for sure. She thinks of the screen door to his apartment slamming and waking Yvie up at three in the morning, Vanessa’s voice ricocheting off the buildings as she shouts back up at him, his cold and terse words back at her lost in the buzz of the bugs chirping in the night. He’s an asshole, Yvie knows that for sure. But this level of criminality is downright eerie. She whips out her phone to tell Scarlet.

Y: Have you seen Victor at all this week?

S: no, why?

Y: He stole a car, nobody’s heard from him in a while

Y: Just got assigned the story at work

S: sounds about right for him

S: that’s a big story baby!! happy 4 you

Y: Thanks, but it’s weird right?

S: it is

S: but as they say

S: bye bitch

Yvie chuckles and send back the thankful emoji. That explains why the neighborhood has felt different, why she hasn’t seen anyone coming or going from Victor and Vanessa’s apartment in the last couple of days. She wants to roll her eyes a bit at Vanessa for moving in with that older blonde woman the second her boyfriend skipped town, but she’s seen quicker U-Hauls and frankly doesn’t blame her.

She finds a sticky note on the back of Victor’s photograph. It’s in Patrick’s neat handwriting: police dragging their feet, he’s friends with cops, maybe investigate?

“Oh fuck yeah,” Yvie mutters aloud.

The non-starfish in her desk can wait. Yvie’s finally got a real mystery to solve.

–

“Vaaaaaanjie! Your girlfriend’s here with coffee!”

Silky’s voice booms through the dress store, earning them a concerned look from the few people shopping and a narrow glare from Vanessa’s boss behind the register. Brooke flushes red, nearly spills the latte she’s holding on the wall of wedding dresses beside them. Silky cackles as Vanessa pokes her head out from the dressing room.

“Bitch!” Vanessa hisses under her breath, loosely shoving Silky out of the way. Her cold glare melts as she shoulders up next to Brooke.

“Vanjie, huh?”

“You better not start calling me that.” Vanessa takes the coffee from Brooke’s hand with a well-concealed smirk. “Thank you, baby.”

She doesn’t bring up the “girlfriend” thing. They’re not girlfriends. They haven’t discussed it, haven’t thought to put a word on it. It feels risky, trying to cram whatever tenuous but wonderful arrangement they’ve managed to develop over the past couple of weeks into the box of a word. Besides, “girlfriend” feels frivolous. This is something else, not quite documented with language yet.

“You get off at six, right?” Brooke tucks a loose strand of Vanessa’s hair behind her ear.

“Six, yeah.”

“How does stir fry sound for dinner? I got some purple cauliflower at the farmers market and some Thai peppers and I wanna give it a go.”

“They make cauliflower in purple?”

“Vanessa!” A woman pokes her head out from behind the dressing room curtains, and Brooke watches the ice sink back into Vanessa’s eyes. “I think you already took your break?”

“Be right there!” Vanessa affects her voice, a kind of faux-sweetness that makes Brooke laugh while Vanessa’s manager turns away with a stern eye.

“That sounds real good baby,” she continues, voice softer, “but everything you make is good.”

Brooke rolls her eyes, knows it’s not worth it to argue with Vanessa on that. “I’ll have it ready a little after six, then.”

“I’ll be there.” Vanessa pops up on her toes to press a quick kiss to Brooke’s lips. She breaks into a smile that Brooke can’t help but mirror.

So it’s like that, mostly. It’s easy.

Brooke doesn’t really notice when Vanessa stops promising she’ll go back to her apartment eventually. Brooke didn’t really believe her in the first place, especially when the promises always came when Vanessa was splayed out adorably on the couch or picking up a pile of recently discarded clothing next to Brooke’s bed. Eventually Brooke suggested that Vanessa hang her work clothes up in the empty closet that used to be Jason’s, and that’s probably the moment that solidifies it.

Vanessa moves in. Her duffel bags empty out and disappear, and her makeup spreads across Brooke’s bathroom counter. The cabinets fill up with Takis and sour candy and other foods that would scald Brooke’s mouth, the fridge is stocked with leftover Chinese food Vanessa picks up for them both after work some nights.

It’s nothing like when she first moved in with Jason. He liked space, distance, room to think. Even in those early months he would lock himself away in his office after dinner and go to bed without saying goodnight. But Vanessa joins her in the shower, wraps her arms around Brooke’s waist when she’s cooking, falls asleep with her fingers laced against Brooke’s. Brooke thought maybe she just wasn’t cut out for domesticity. But this feels so fresh and good and right.

Whatever the opposite of loneliness is, Brooke thinks this is it.

It’s a week or so later and they’re sitting by the fireplace, wrapped up together underneath a knitted blanket Vanessa’s abuela had made, while Brooke flips through a Chekov play and Vanessa scrolls through her phone. Vanessa curls against Brooke’s side, a closeness and comfort that’s become thrillingly normal.

“This feels so easy,” Vanessa breathes into the collar of Brooke’s shirt. “Should it feel this easy?”

Brooke knows what Vanessa means. She tucks her book between the couch cushions and cards a hand through Vanessa’s hair. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“I just…” Vanessa sighs, straightens up, bites her lip. It’s a serious and vulnerable face, one that reminds Brooke too sharply where they are and how they got there. “I always wanted some fairytale romance, you know I love that sappy shit. Like in a rom-com where everything sorts out nice and happy in the end. And this, you, this feels like the end of the movie.” Her fingers trace around Brooke’s wrist. “But I keep looking over my shoulder. I keep checking under the bed. I keep biting my lip when I drive past cops, and I don’t know if that’s going to get any easier.”

Brooke pulls her close again, feels the emotion welling up in Vanessa’s shoulders and presses a hand against them, wishing she had her own magic to will it away. “I want it all to be easy. But life’s not a movie.”

“I know. I just want it to be.”

It’s quiet except for a few sniffles. Brooke holds her because it’s all she can do.

“Do you think we’ll ever get to be normal?” Vanessa asks after a moment.

Brooke smiles a little. “We were never normal.”

“Can we try it for a while? Cook dinner together, watch trash TV, tell me the shit from your past and I’ll tell you mine?”

That Vanessa’s eyes can glimmer like that after all of it, after everything, is reason enough to agree.

When Jason was still alive, Brooke had given up on a home. Hell, she’d largely abandoned love, or the concept of getting anything she’d expected or hoped for in life. Even someone who seemed like the most brilliant match – wealthy, educated, with famous friends and a divine record collection – could ruin your world, take and take until you were hollow and fragile as a seashell. Vanessa was far from her fairytale fantasy. Vanessa ticked none of the boxes she’d learn to look for. But life is not a movie, and maybe she could throw out that broke-ballerina-to-trophy-wife storyline script along with the coldness and cynicism she’d so far managed to shake.

“I want that,” Brooke breathes. “Yes, please, let’s be normal.”

Vanessa smells like spice today, cinnamon sugar with cloves. She laughs a soft laugh that’s just for Brooke, one that crackles like a fireplace. It’s warm here, Brooke thinks, the kind of place she could make a home.

–

The next morning, normal gets off to a rocky start.

The doorbell rings at eight A.M., and Brooke wraps herself in a robe to answer it. Her shoulders tense when she sees the gardener, who’d dug up her backyard before there was another body to bury. She had forgotten to call him to tell him there was no garden to fix, an oversight that snapped her immediately awake.

“Morning, ma’am. Warmer day today, thought I’d fill in your garden plot out back.” He’s chipper.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. It’s already filled in.” She mirrors his smile. “Just eager to start planting, that’s all. I’ll still pay you for today, of course.”

The gardener looks at his shoes, and then towards the gate. Brooke holds the silence, an old trick she’d learned at fundraisers with Jason to maintain control of an unpredictable situation, when someone else was thinking. Any awkward silence can be a power grab if you minutely twist it in your favor. Fortunately the man doesn’t need much convincing.

“Alright then, Ms. Hytes. Thank you for your business.” He turns to leave and grabs something at the base of the doorstep. “Oh, and here’s your paper.”

She takes the paper from him, lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding as the door clicks behind her. That hadn’t been suspicious, she’s pretty sure, and her confidence grows by a centimeter.

She’d never cancelled Jason’s Sunday paper subscription, and she barely kept up with local news anyway. She lays it absently on the kitchen island while she fumbles with the french press, still a little too sleepy to remember exactly how strong Vanessa liked her coffee. Very strong, she guesses, and dumps and inordinate scoop of grounds into the glass.

“You bringing me breakfast in bed?” Vanessa appears in the archway, wrapped tightly in the comforter she dragged along with her.

Brooke smiles. She can’t think of a better morning. “Yeah, get back in there.” She pops a few slices of sourdough in the toaster.

“It’s cold without you.” She moves towards Brooke, nestling back into her. For a brief moment she allows herself that indulgent, cliche thought: they fit well together.

“If you were wearing clothes–” Brooke starts to tease, but then she catches sight of the front page of the paper, and her face contorts in shock.

“What? Did I–” But then Vanessa sees it too, and her shoulders tighten. “Shit,” she breathes.

The lower quarter of the front page is Victor’s face in black and white, stern and unfeeling. It’s his Best Buy employee badge photo. There’s a smaller photograph of Nina with Jon and the kids, their Christmas card photo from this year. But she can’t look away from Victor, whose gaze seems to be boring holes right through the newsprint.

Brooke reads over Vanessa’s shoulder. Thankfully, there’s not much there. It’s a scathing indictment of the police working on the case, who refused to tell the reporter nearly any of the details they had, apparently because they weren’t looking into it. It’s a call for answers, ones that the reporter herself wasn’t able to find. That’s good. That’s something.

“They’re still looking for him,” Vanessa says, worried.

“The police aren’t.” Brooke bites her lip, and rubs small circles into the skin of Vanessa’s shoulder with her thumb. “And Nina won’t push them. There’s nothing here to worry about.” And Brooke surprises herself by believing it.

The toast pops up. The kitchen smells like rosemary.

“Let’s forget about it, then.” Vanessa turns away for a moment, shakes her joints loose, and then looks up at Brooke with the trusting beginning of a smile. “We can forget about it.”

Brooke rolls up the newspaper and wedges it underneath folded cardboard in the recycling bin.

–

“The front page!”

Scarlet elatedly drops the newspaper down on the bed where Yvie is still cocooned in the covers. Yvie saw a draft before it went to print, so this is no surprise, but Scarlet’s bright energy this early in the morning hits squarely her like a dropped pallet of bricks.

“Under the fold,” Yvie murmurs, snaking an arm out to peek at it.

“Yeah, but it’s the front page! My girlfriend is on the front page on a Sunday. I’m getting this framed.” Scarlet bounces on and off the bed, then heads for the kitchen. “And I’m popping champagne.”

Scarlet likes champagne, always keeps a bottle or two in the back of the fridge to mark the smallest celebratory occasions, so it’s not that rare of a moment. There’s no orange juice for mimosas, but that doesn’t stop her. Yvie knows it makes her happy to pop a bottle, so she lets Scarlet shoot it off over her bed and the cork smashes directly into the light fixture. Scarlet cackles, Yvie rolls her eyes, and they drink directly out of the bottle.

“I hope this doesn’t lead to them actually finding him,” Yvie says between sips. “It’s been so much quieter next door.”

“He’d end up in jail, right? Or at least if he came back there’s no one left for him to shout at.”

“Lucky Vanessa.”

Yvie missed having her around, and she knew Scarlet missed having someone to snoop on. But even then, she knew that anything would be better for Vanessa than staying in that place. Yvie left home on her eighteenth birthday. She knows the allure of an escape hatch.

Still, there was more that just felt… off about Victor’s disappearance. While she had been researching the story, Yvie had called the toll companies for the highways outside of town, and there was no evidence of any plates matching the ones on the stolen car. D15NEY, a cheesy vanity plate she’d repeated too many times to forget. He could have taken back roads, sure, but stolen cars just usually don’t stay stolen for long. It got under her skin that the police hadn’t called to ask those questions, though they still didn’t have any satisfying answers.

Maybe that wasn’t her job. Maybe that was well above her pay grade. Maybe she shouldn’t be so bothered about a rich white lady who lost her minivan. But she had a feeling that kept itching at the back of her neck, Victor’s gaze glaring vacantly from that Best Buy photo, and the persistent inability to drop it.

“Hey,” Scarlet says, snapping Yvie back to reality. “I’m proud of you. And you should be proud of you too.”

Yvie leans over to kiss Scarlet’s forehead. “I am.” It’s not a lie. It’ll open up more interesting projects at the paper, maybe even a promotion out of working under Patrick down the line. And then a bigger paper, and then something national… She’s getting ahead of herself.

“And hey,” Yvie says instead. “You know I love you, right?”

Scarlet beams and nods and scoots up the bed to kiss her, but her foot gets caught in a blanket and she topples forward. Champagne splashes on the comforter, which has seen much worse, and Yvie laughs as Scarlet rolls into her arms.

“Drinking on an empty stomach at nine in the morning…” Scarlet muses to herself. “Bad idea.”

Yvie finally pulls herself out of bed, and drags Scarlet along with her. “C’mon, put a shirt on. I’ll make you toast.”

–

It still looks a bit like an unmarked grave, so Brooke plants her garden.

It’s winter, but they’re pretty far south and Brooke researches some plants that are hardy enough to still grow. Spinach, kale, rainbow chard; dropping the seeds into the soil feels like she’s sending them on a doomed mission, but she does it anyway. But soon they sprout, soon they flourish, and Brooke can hardly contain her excitement.

“It’s all the extra nutrients they got in there,” Vanessa jokes when Brooke drags her out into the yard to show her the leaves peeking out through the dirt. Brooke isn’t sure whether to grit her teeth or laugh, so she does both.

Maybe Vanessa’s right. A corpse in a garden is something like compost.

Soon they’ve got more greens than they know what to do with. They make salads and stir-frys and smoothies but it’s still more than they can eat. Brooke snags a small stand at a weekly farmer’s market, and gets hooked on this new reason to get out of the house. She quickly learns why it was the last spot available, nestled between a particularly smelly fishery and an apiary that likes to bring along some of their bees, but she learns to live with it and breathe through her mouth and she sells the veggies off at rock bottom prices. Turns out Vanessa’s magic can get rid of bee stings like they’re nothing.

Time passes. The cold air softens, and a weed springs up from a crack in the cement under the carport and weaves itself through the spokes on the wheel of Nina’s van.

Holidays with their respective families come and go. Brooke is grateful her family is too cautious and uptight about grief to ask her if she’s seeing anyone, but when she facetimes with Vanessa that night she finds out there’s a horde of Mateos eager to meet her. They come over in early February, and Brooke and Paula cook side by side while Vanessa’s cousins gleefully raid the liquor cabinet.

She overhears Paula whispering something in Spanish to Vanessa in the hallway – esta suerte, para encontrar alguien tan sincera y cálida e inteligente, es algo que solo ocurre una vez en la vida – too fast and affected for Brooke to understand. A second later she sees Vanessa dabbing at red eyes, careful with her makeup, and Brooke gathers her up in her arms.

“They’re happy tears,” Vanessa explains. “Really happy ones.” Brooke kisses her eyelids anyway.

They manage to get Nina, Silky, and A’keria together in the same room for a dinner party, and the night seems to be off to a rough start when Silky shouts over every carefully planned conversation starter Nina tries to initiate. But there’s very little an entire bottle of tequila can’t fix, and soon Nina and A’keria are dancing to Nicki Minaj while Vanessa and Silky shout out less-than-tasteful alternate lyrics over the music. They all crash in guest rooms, and Brooke is pretty sure she can hear Nina mumble, “Much more comfortable than the back of my car,” before she falls asleep on top of the covers with her clothes on.

Vanessa says it first. Brooke brings her an iced dragonfruit tea with boba home from the farmer’s market on a Tuesday afternoon. Vanessa is wrapped in a tangle of blankets on the couch, nearly finished with the Donna Tartt novel Brooke had gifted her just a few days before. She takes a huge sip from the drink, and with a mouth full of tapioca pearls, it’s a grateful sigh: “Ugh, I love you.”

It’s so casual that Brooke almost doesn’t catch it, and Vanessa is so wrapped up in the book that she doesn’t even look up. But Brooke pauses, waits, hopes.

Vanessa looks up quizzically and Brooke watches the gears in her head turn. The color rushes from Vanessa’s face as she catches up. “Oh fuck, I mean–”

“I love you too.”

“I love you,” Vanessa says it again, and Brooke knows that the dopiest smile is spreading across her face. Bubble tea forgotten, Vanessa climbs into her arms. They say it back and forth until the words almost lose meaning on their tongues.

She’d said it to a few high school boyfriends, said it to Jason, said it to the Icelandic ballerina after a week and scared her away, but this is the first time it’s felt right, and mutually true. Now Brooke says it whenever Vanessa leaves for work for the day; Vanessa says it when she comes against Brooke’s mouth and she could never have imagined I love you sounding both holy and obscene.

It’s like nothing ever happened. Normal works, until the ground thaws.

For a few rainy days in early April, Brooke lets the garden go untended. She’s about to plant her first tomatoes, and she wants to make sure she has the perfect weather to be able to spend all day lining them up in perfect rows. Her shoes squelch in the mud, a feeling she’s almost come to enjoy, along with the dirt that cakes into her knees as she crouches down.

But then she catches it. There’s a corner of a black trash bag peeking up from the dark soil.

She wants to live in the moment where it’s just a piece of trash that’s blown in from another yard, before everything clicks into its horrible place. It’s torn on the edges, tattered like an animal had gnawed at it. Shit. She’s scooping soil on top of it before she can even think, pushing it back down into the ground and far away. She feels something shift, something that is decidedly not soil underneath her hands but she refuses to think about it, refuses to give it a name.

The tomatoes won’t get planted today. She’ll wait for another day of rain to wash away that texture beneath her fingers, and that memory from her skin.

When she stands, she feels a tweak in her back and winces. It doesn’t resolve when she stretches or twists, just pinches back harder with every breath. Of course. Phenomenal.

Brooke pours herself a glass of wine and takes a bath. It’s three in the afternoon, but that doesn’t matter. Warm water doesn’t loosen the tension in her muscles, and the lavender scent of the bubble soap seems oddly tinted with hints of iron. She closes her eyes and resists excavating anything she’s managed to keep buried for months now.

She’s dressed in sweats when Vanessa gets home from work, curled still uncomfortably on the couch.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“I pulled something, I think.” Brooke omits any mention of the trash bag in the garden. It’s gone now, and it will stay gone, no need to bring it back up.

“Here, sit up.” Vanessa’s hands on her shoulders are an instant relief.

Vanessa doesn’t use her magic often, doesn’t need to. She’ll use it to wipe away her own bruises from running into cabinets or when Brooke’s got a pimple in the middle of her forehead, and on the rare and glorious occasion, in bed. Now, Brooke feels the warmth from Vanessa’s hands sparkling under her skin. The knot against her spine comes undone, the stress that she hadn’t noticed before melts from her shoulders.

Vanessa catches it. “You doing okay?

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” It’s a lie, and Brooke hopes Vanessa can’t sense that.

Vanessa hums and Brooke feels her reaching deeper, into the base of her spine. Something opens. “I think I–”

Lightning strikes. It feels the way broken glass sounds, exploding in shards that crackle their way up and down Brooke’s back.

“Fuck,” Vanessa shouts, pulling her hand back sharply and shaking it like she’s been burned.

“What was that?” Brooke tries to reach for Vanessa, tries to comfort her, but she holds her hand close to her chest. The electricity lingers in Brooke’s body, crackling like a blanket loaded with static.

“I don’t know.” Vanessa rubs her palm, pain in her face. Brooke wonders if she can heal that kind of thing herself. “Abuela never… I don’t know. Fuck, I’m sorry, baby.”

“I’m sorry.”

Vanessa gets up and runs her hand under cold water. Brooke sits on the couch, silent and particularly helpless.

Something is catching up with them, but Brooke has no words for it. It’s seeping into their normal, which turns out to be more fragile than she had thought. Ordered rows of tomatoes and the easy comfort of fresh love feel a bit distant. She feels it in every vertebra.

They decide that if nothing else, it’s a safe night for a TV binge. They order pizza and curl up on the couch, as Brooke holds tight to Vanessa and tries to settle into the weird static sensation in her spine. She catches Vanessa flexing her hands, rubbing her fingertips together, still feeling the aftereffects of the shock. They settle into bed like any other evening, huddled in the weight of too much unexplained.

Most nights sleep comes easily, but tonight it’s miles away. She silently counts to ten, fifty, a hundred, and still can’t get the thrumming feeling of worry in her chest to go away. After an hour or so of sleeplessness, she slips her arms from around Vanessa and gets up to find a book in the living room.

She stops suddenly before she can even make it to the living room.

Jason is sitting in a chair by the bar.

There are a few things you expect from a ghost. They’re supposed to be see-through, or pale and ragged like a corpse, or at the very least levitating. Jason is none of those things. He looks solid, human, too comfortable in a spot where he so often used to sit. He’s got a glass of dark liquor in his hand, swirling a large ice cube around, with a rueful smirk carved into his face.

If she hadn’t watched him die, hadn’t felt him go cold, she might think he let himself back in with the key.

“Brooke Lynn.” His voice has a sour edge, and she’s instantly reminded of how much she hates the way her name sounds when he says it. “It’s been too long.”

“This isn’t real,” she says confidently, elbow planted on the back of the other chair.

He cocks an eyebrow. “You wanna test that?”

“Yeah, actually.”

Jason throws his glass at her, and she braces herself, but the glass passes through her, no impact. She glances over her shoulder, looking for glass shards or any sign that this was real.

“I thought so.” Brooke narrows her eyes knowingly, a little self-righteously, and god it feels way too good to be able to look at him like that with no repercussions. A bit callously, she sits in the chair across from him.

“You still flinched,” he notes. There’s another glass in his hand, refilled with scotch and ice that clinks against the sides.

“Why are you here?”

“You drank all my scotch.”

“Well, you weren’t drinking it.”

“And there’s a 26-year-old shop girl sleeping in my bed.”

“My bed, now.”

“You always were a vindictive bitch, weren’t you? Under all of that? She can’t see it now, but give it a year. You know you’re meant to be alone.”

Brooke bites the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood. Jason always knew how to drive a knife.

“Why are you here?” she repeats.

“You’re getting too comfortable, that’s why.” The ice clinks against his glass. “I’m here so you don’t forget.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, you didn’t even know him–”

“I’m talking about me,” he smirks.

“You always are.”

“Would you listen? God. Justify that body in your garden all you like, but can you justify what you did to me? Have you heard of divorces, Brooke Lynn? Police reports? Fighting back?” Brooke feels her jaw tighten, and Jason catches it. His eyes light up, his words drip with sickly-sweet contempt. “No, instead of facing me, you spit on the life I gave you and killed me. You’re cheap, you’re greedy. But there’s quite a few different ways to stab someone in the back, huh?”

“Stop.”

Brooke feels ice prick at the base of her spine. It’s subtle, the first snowflakes just starting to fall.

Jason laughs softly to himself. It’s a face she’s seen too many times on him, that smug self-righteousness, one she never imagined having to see again. It’s engraved in the contours of his face, she notes. There’s no way to know the cruelty behind those laugh lines.

“You said it, honey. None of this is real. What does that say about what’s going on inside your head?”

Brooke stands, turning to leave, to run. She wishes she had a drink to throw in his face, wishes she had some way to hurt him. “You’re burning in hell.”

“Go back to that girl,” he calls after her, and she can hear his cruel smile. “You’re going to destroy her.”

In the hallway outside the bedroom, Brooke presses her face into the sleeve of her sweatshirt and breathes. Each breath is ragged, threatening to turn into a sob, but she packs it up tight, pulls it inwards and downwards. The pinpricks spread. Fuck.

Jason knows right how to get to her, how to wedge into those soft spots and make her wish they were never there. It’s impossible to write off. Ghost or fever dream, she’s haunted.

She presses the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, sets her shoulders, and goes back to bed. She settles in next to Vanessa, who rolls back into her touch.

“Hey, were you up?” she murmurs softly.

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep.”

“You talking to someone?”

“Nina.” Brooke lies. “On the phone.”

“Mmm.” And she’s asleep again.

Two lies in one evening. You’re going to destroy her, he said. Vanessa twists warm against her, settles against her chest. Brooke hopes Vanessa can’t feel her heart racing from where she rests her head.

Sleep comes in fragments, waves of unconsciousness so shallow she’s not even sure if she’s slept. Ice blue shards slice up and down her spine through the night.

–

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #nina west #scarlet envy #yvie oddly #branjie #scyvie #hurt/comfort #magical realism #malamente #evan #tw domestic violence #tw murder #concrit welcome #lesbian au

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soriseerakyra · 5 years

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A Flight of Fancy -1- (Black!Batmom)

AN: So hi I know this is the first story I’ve posted in months and that there are tons of other things that I still have to write and catch up with, but this request was important to me so that’s why I did it first. I’m not sure when I’ll feel like talking about why I’ll was gone, but I will be trying to post more regularly from now on (Trying!). Anyway way thank you to @farala-sunita for the request and the detail given. It really helped me get this story out faster than I would have other wise.

TW: Guns and Gunfire,a hostage situation, and a few cuss words

“I don’t see you, are you sure I’m at the right place,” You mutter into your phone. Rocking forward on to the balls of your feet you try to see through the crowded club. The heavy bass and the flashing lights are making it even harder to see the people you’re looking for.

“Ari is going to jump, she’s wearing one of those busted silver wings she likes,” A slightly irritated voice responds. You hear a small voice squeak out a perturbed ‘HEY!’ through the phone.

Moments later you see a small head rise above a group of girls. It is in fact a silver wig, not as horrible as some of Ari’s wigs usually are, and cutely styled in a pair of pig tails. Her short arms waved as she jumped, making her look like an excited fairy.

“I see her,” You say with a chuckle.

“Good, now hurry the hell up,” The phone clicks off quickly.

You roll your eyes at the tone but simply shrug it off.

Working your way through the gyrating bodies of the crowd, you have to apologize more than once when your hips bump into unsuspecting couples. Luckily none seemed too bothered by the intrusion, opting more to try and coerce you to dance once they see your figure than turn you away. Your cheeks warm at the invitation, but you politely decline.

“You guys got a table?” You question breathlessly as you come upon your group of friends.

A tall woman with honey brown skin stands with her hands on her hips, she flicks her eyes up and down your form, “It’s not like we haven’t been planning this for months, it just took to ‘til now for you to show up.”

“Sorry Kenya,” You say sheepishly. “We get swamped so easily, it’s hard to make time, you know that.”

She frowns, dark eyes looking over your form. Under her gaze you shift nervously, and your eyes flick to the other stone faces at the table.

Your eyes bounce back up to her pretty but firm face; you try you best to give her big doe eyes. You two lock eyes for a moment longer.

“Aww you dummy bitch, come here,” A wide smile spreads across her full lips and her long arms envelop you into a warm hug.

You have to stifle a giggle as she warmly rubs her hand up and down your back in sisterly affection. A chorus of cheers ring out from the other girls.

“How have you been, girlie?” She coos as she nuzzles into your curls.

“Okay,” you sigh as you pull back from her and giver her smile.

“Good,” she says slapping you on the back and then throwing an arm around your shoulders. She pulls you close and turns to the other girls, “Now that she’s here, let’s get fucked up!”

***

“What is with this city?” Serena, a mahogany brown beauty with straight dark brown hair and cinnamon highlights, questions exhaustedly as she throws down her second shot of tequila. “I swear almost everyone is on their way to crazy town.”

“There has to be something in the water,” you speak up, “I’ve never seen so many, like, objectively bad people.”

“You just think these people are crazy because you guys have been sheltered so much,” Kenya says taking a long sip from her vodka tonic. “As someone whose been working since they were fourteen, let me tell you, everyone is pretty fucked up. And they’ll do something fucked up to you the first time you let them. You always have to be on guard.”

As if on cue a thump lands on your shoulder, a warm head snuggles into you. You look down and let a small smile cross your face. Ari’s small head slumps against you, her eyes hazy as she drinks the last bit of her margarita. It was only her second drink, but she was already out of it. It was no secret to anyone at the table that neither you or Ari were the most capable of drinkers, but even you can handle more than two drinks; more like three.

“You’re right,” she coo’s drunkenly. “But it’s definitely worse her-*hic*- here.”

“I thought we came here to celebrate,” Jo-Jo, a full cheeked, septum pieced, artist drawls quietly as she sips her Hennessy. “Not to talk about how shitty this city is.”

“Boooo, why don’t you ever let me rant,” Serena, says full red lips pulling down in to a pout. “I don’t have anyone to talk to besides you guys. No one gets it when I say this city is weird, especially at work. They all think that I’m the weird one. Like sorry, I’m not used to niggas robbing banks every day like we’re in the middle of the 19-fucking-20’s.”

Kenya chuckles, “Jo is right though, we’re here to celebrate our two youngest.”

Eyes around the table shift to you and Ari, who gives a lazy thumb up.

“Our two babies here have finally made it too the big city,” Kenya starts with a smile. “No more suburbs, no more living out of mommy and daddies house. They are officially adults.”

A little cheer goes around the table. You feel a little shy at the attention, but Ari cheers loudly.

“So as a little gift we got you girls this,” Kenya, motions to another woman at the table, Chanté. Chanté was a quiet, slightly stern woman. Best friends with Kenya, and surprisingly Ari’s older sister. The woman hands Kenya two envelopes who in turn hands one to you and places the other in front of Ari. “We all chipped in.”

Excitedly you open the envelope and are almost instantly confused, “Happy six months?”

“Well, if you had shown up earlier it would have been the six-month anniversary of you moving into your own apartment.”

“Yeah but, Ken,” You sputter, “This is a congrats on your pregnancy card.”

Sure, enough the mostly white card had a featureless pink drawing of a woman with her hands spread lovingly across her protruding stomach.

“Hey bitch, we can take it back!” She snaps playfully.

“Okay, Okay,” you say fully pulling the card out. You flip open the card and among the words of congratulations, there is a small folded check sitting in the middle of the card. “You didn’t.”

“You haven’t even looked at it yet,” Serena says hazel eyes buzzing with excitement.

Gingerly, you take the check from the card and flip it open; you gasp.

“You guys, this is $7000,” You say slightly shakily as pinpricks of tears begin to assault your eyes.

“Holy shit,” Ari says as she tears into her own card. “What the hell guys?”

“We’re your sisters,” Jo-Jo says with a click of her tongue and a smack of her black painted lips. “Clearly you guys didn’t read our bylaws.”

“Bylaws,” Serena snorts, “No one read them Jo. Ken and Chan wrote them on a piece of notebook paper that was barley legible by the time these two came a long.”

“And they still signed it,” Chanté interrupts speaking for the first time. “If they couldn’t read it they should have said something at the time.”

“Why so you could give them the evil eye? Girl bye,” Serena responds with a roll of her eyes and a flick of her wrist.

Chanté does, indeed, proceed to give her a withering glare.

“We told you we’d take care of you when you graduated right?” Kenya asked looking between the two of you. “We meant to give this to you guys when you first moved here, but some of us weren’t all the way financially stable.”

Serena shifts uncomfortably while Jo-Jo sticks her pierced tongue out at her in defiance.

“And we were supposed to give you this at your six-month anniversary, but we know that didn’t happen.”

This time her accusatory tone is directed at you and you find yourself shifting as well.

“But money a year later is better than no money at all.”

“It’s so much though?” You protest looking between the older women at the table.

“Speak for yourself,” Ari says swooning slightly.

“We figured two months' rent in any decent apartment in this overcrowded city, and a little for expenses and fun,” Chanté said looking at you with a warm smile before her gaze narrowed at her sister. “Ari, give me your check so you don’t lose it.”

The drunk young girl stuck her tongue out at her sister and teasingly waved it at Chanté, “I’m rich you can’t tell me what to do now!”

Chanté snatches the check from Ari’s and stuffs it in her purse, “I hope you know you’re coming home with me. You could never handle your liquor.”

“Whatever, as long as I can see my baby when I get there,” the younger sister croons. Chanté had a Boston Terrier, named Prince who was just as spoiled as the name implied.

“He’s at a sitter, you don’t think I’d leave him alone by himself when we’re going to be out until God knows when,” Chanté reasons.

“Can we get Ice Cream then? I’m really hungry all of a sudden.”

“Are you 12?” Jo-Jo interrupts with a snicker.

A raspberry effortlessly flows from Ari’s lips.

“This means a lot to me Ken,” You say softly while the others engage in a childish argument. “Student loans are a killer.”

“We got you, girlie,” She says with a confident wink. “I know for a fact that if I hadn’t gotten that one big scholarship, I’d still be paying that shit off.”

“Hey, waiter!” Serena shouts banging on the table trying to get anyone’s attention over the bass of the club. “We need shots!”

“Water for me,” you speak up.

“You done for the night?” Ari asks looking at you with big eyes, “You barley drunk anything!”

“I have a shift in the morning I can’t afford to get drunk,” you reason.

“Ugh you and work,” Ari says with a wave of her hand. “You’re almost as bad as those two.”

She jabs a thumb ant Kenya and Chanté both of whom narrow their eyes in irritation.

“We could take our money back,” Chanté says quickly.

“If you do I’m telling mommy.”

“Ugh, he’s not even paying attention,” Serena says practically standing on her seat waving her arms around.

“This isn’t a restaurant, you’re going to have to go up to him,” Jo-Jo says coolly.

“When are you going to come work for us?” Kenya asks looking at you seriously.

“I don’t know, corporate seems scary,” You answer hoping that she’d drop the issue once she sees how uncomfortable you are.

“Yeah it’s scary as hell,” Kenya agrees. “But once you get there and you make a name for yourself, they can’t tell you shit. I’m telling you some of them people be looking at me like I’m crazy when I come up with new ideas, but guess what, they do it. They know the rules: they listen and get paid or don’t and get fired.”

“I-,” you start but she cuts you off.

“Look pulling triple shifts at a bowling alley and waitressing while selling papers to college kids isn’t going to pay the bills forever.”

Your cheeks warm when she calls you out.

“I know you had a bad experience at the place you were at last time, but this is me we’re talking about. You need to put that degree to work. You’re a programmer at heart and I could use you, and you can use the money.”

“I wouldn’t have to work with a lot of people would I?” You ask slightly timidly.

“A small team of like minded people that I picked out myself,” She says with a shrug. “Just come see me this week. Quit those jobs, I’m saving a spot for you.”

You look at the woman whom you’ve called an older sister for years now with wide surprised eyes, “Okay.”

“Okay,” She says with a grin, “Good.”

“I’m going!” Serena says as she forces herself up from her seat.

“Kick his ass!” Ari screams.

“Chan, control your gremlin,” Jo-Jo mutters.

“I’ve been trying since she was six,” The woman in question spits out between clinched teeth.

“We have to get one dance out of this before the night is over,” Kenya says.

“Aww you know, Pea isn’t going to dance,” Ari says snuggling back into you and poking your cheek.

“We’re still calling me, Pea?” You moan slightly embarrassed. Pea was short for Sweet Pea, the name that Ari and Chanté’s mother used to call you when you would stay at their home. The others got hooked on calling you that and the name has stuck.

“Only if it’s a wedding,” Jo-Jo comments slyly.

“Remember when she took it down to the floor?” Kenya laughs

“All the way down,” Ari says slapping your thigh.

“Guys!” You whine, “I don’t want to-”

“HEY LET GO OF ME!” A voice shrieks.

All of you snap your heads toward the voice, the familiarity of the scream sending shivers down your backs.

From your position you can see Serena struggling to wrench her arm away from a figure. The room was still dark and the music was still pounding, making it hard to determine who was holding her.

“What the FUCK!” Kenya screams flying from the booth with Jo-Jo right on her heels.

“Call the police!�� Chanté said to you before joining the other girls to help Serena.

“Hurry,” Ari says slapping your shoulders slightly as she got on her knees to watch the situation unfold.

“Trying!” You scream as you as you fiddle through your purse searching for your phone.

“Let go of her asshole!” You hear Kenya scream.

The music is still going but the atmosphere in the club has started to change. You can hear a mumbling break through the crowd. And then the screams started.

“HE’S GOT A GUN!”

It wasn’t the voice of one of your friends it was someone else.

“He’s hurting my sister Pea! What do we do?!” Ari screams.

Your head snaps up to look back to where the situation was unfolding just fast enough to see Chanté fall to the floor holding her cheek.

And while it was an awful sight, it only held your attention for a minute. There wasn’t just one figure over where the girls where, he’d multiplied to at least three or four.

“SOMEONE GET THESE FUCKING LIGHTS ON AND TURN THE GODDAMN MUSIC OFF.”

The command was followed by a rapid succession of gunfire and screams from patrons after. The music went off almost immediately, but the lights were a different story. At least thirty seconds had passed and the lights were still off.

Thinking quickly, you grab Ari’s arm and pull her down with you under the table.

“What are you doing?” She shrieks. “We have to help them!”

“What are we going to do? Think! They have guns” You hiss. “If they don’t see us when the lights come on maybe they won’t know we’re here.”

She looks at you with teary worried eyes and nods her head in agreement, wig shifting slightly.

“While we’re down here we can call the police and tell them what's happening,” You say as level headily as possible, while still searching for your phone.

“What if they kill her, Pea?” She whines her hands coming up to cover her ears as if she was trying to keep her head from spinning, the alcohol likely wasn’t helping.

“They won’t,” You say finally finding your phone and pulling it out. “If they wanted to kill her they just would have shot her.”

She opens her mouth to respond but is startled when the lights of the club finally come back on. The once hazy purple club is sudden lit, almost bone white. The dark table, while still a place of refuge, becomes less bearable as the light reveals the disgusting pieces of gum and other matter that are stuck to the bottom of the piece of furniture. Ari gags when she sees what was under the table that you had all been previously sitting at. She shakes her head and tries to clear her thoughts.

“We’re going to be okay,” you assure her with a whisper.

You aren’t sure that she hears you, because she either refuses to respond or no longer has the will to.

Shifting your attention back to your phone, you finally begin to dial 911. You press the phone to your ear and wait as the phone rings.

And you wait.

And wait.

Until finally, the phone clicks ending the call. You pull the phone away from your ear and your brow furrows angrily when you see that you have no service. But that shouldn’t be, you pay your bills on time and even if you didn’t, shouldn’t you be able to place an emergency call?

“Hey boss,” you hear a deep voice call over the whimpering over the crowd. “I shut the phones off but I think someone tried to get a call off.”

Your shoulders tense, we’re they talking about you? You couldn’t have been the only one who tried to get a phone call off could you? Surely, if they were able, someone would have tried to call the police too. And how could they stop phones from making calls?

“Nothing they can do now,” A voice says rather nonchalantly. “We just gotta wait here until we find a way out.”

“You heard the man!” The first voice yells, “Find a way out of here.”

You can hear at least ten pairs of boot clad feet start to move around, hurriedly looking for an emergency exit.

You want to peak out, to see if you can get a glimpse of your friends, but just as you’re about to make a move to do so a large figure stops in front of your table.

A thick pair of legs clad in dark pants and a pair of steel-toed combat boots are now positioned in front of you. You feel a lump form in your throat as the barrel of some type of military grade weapon dangles precariously between you and the figure in front.

Ari too, seems to see the gun and gets frightened. A small gasp leaves her form before she slaps a hand over her mouth.

You shoot impatient eyes at her and she gives you an apologizing look. Her gaze however, turns fearful as she begins to look past you.

Slowly you turn your head, and find yourself staring face to face with angry green eyes. A gloved hand reaches under the table and pulls you out from underneath. You let out a terrified screech.

“Pea!” Jo-Jo’s voice screams out followed by a grunt of pain.

There is some relief in hearing her voice and knowing that she is safe.

Quickly however, the relief is lost as you are smashed against the attacker’s body, his arm around your neck and his other around your wrist squeezing until your hand was forced to drop the phone that you were holding.

“Found the snitch boss,” he says gruffly.

A black masked figure in the center of the room, lording over a horde of whimpering bodies barley looks at him, “Smash the phone.”

The man brings a large leg up and his foot quickly descends on your phone, smashing the screen to bits.

“Done, boss.”

‘Boss’ seemed like he was going to respond when suddenly the lights in the club shut off. It was pitch black; it was so bad you almost couldn’t see in front of you.

“I thought I told you to get those fucking lights on!”

“They are on Boss! At least that’s what the system says,” another crony screams.

“Shit!” Boss says. “That means one thing! It’s the Bat be on guard!”

“Fuck!” The man holding you says gruffly.

He pulls you tighter against him and situates the two of you so that the gun is in front of the both of you. He’s moving frantically, almost spinning around like he’s looking for a ghost.

His movements get more erratic as there starts to be various moans of pain permeating throughout the room.

“Oh God,” he mumbles, “He’s here, he’s going to kill me.”

“Not likely,” a dark voice growls from behind the pair of you.

The man spins and lets off a few shots in the air, screaming in terror as he does so. The heat of the gun causes you to scream slightly.

There is small movement again and the man shoots. The flash of the muzzle lights up the room in front of you and because of it you are just barely able to make out two objects flying directly at your face. They seem to have a mind of their own as they swing around your face to hit the man behind you.

You fall to the floor but before you can right yourself, your leg is pulled and you’re going sliding across the floor.

“Pea?” An unsure voice questions when you finally come to a stop.

A warm hand finds yours and squeezes slightly.

“Ken?” You question.

“Thank God,” she mumbles, “He saved you!”

You all sit in darkness for what feels like ages the only thing that makes time pass is the occasional grunts of the hostage takers. It was the only sign that what you were experiencing was real, that you had really been saved by the Bat.

Soon a large spotlight is flashed into the club and your mind begins to register the police sirens. Had they been there the whole time?

The light illuminates the club and you’re treated to something of a horror show as police officers begin to rush in and secure the scene. The bodies, not dead, of most of the attackers are hanging from the ceiling by their arms, legs, and whatever else he could grab to string them up.

The man himself is standing not too far from where you are and looking around the room like he was surveying his work.

A strong hand is grabbing your and pulling you out of the club and you allow yourself to be pulled passively.

“Thank you, Batman!” You say loudly hoping he would hear.

There is only a slight turn of his head to let you know that he heard you.

***

“That was quite an experience, are you sure you’re doing better?” A smooth concerned voice asks looking at you with worried brown eyes.

You meet the eyes of your new therapist, Dr. Campbell. An older black woman that reminds you of your mother with her kind and caring face but also with her cutting advice that cuts as much as it does motivate you.

“I mean I think I’m okay,” you answer with a shrug. “I took that job with Kenya, that’s how I got you. And work is good, it’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be.”

“I asked how you were,” She interrupts looking at you with stern brown eyes.

Your eyes flick away from her, as you suddenly find it hard to meet her gaze and tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Finally, you say, “I thought I was going to die. I thought they were going to use me as shield. I thought I’d wouldn’t get to see my family again. I thought my friends were going to have to watch me die. How am I? I’m horrible.”

A box of tissues is shoved in front of your face. You touch your cheek and realize that tears had been rolling down your cheeks.

“And I thought heroes were supposed to make you feel safe!” You scream out suddenly. “He was just as scary as the guys who held us hostage.”

She looks at you slightly confusedly before something clicks in her head, “Oh, he saved you that night.”

“Yeah he ‘saved’ me,” you say shrugging. “Doesn’t mean that I don’t get nightmares about those little bat things flying at my face.”

“He tries his best,” she says with heavy sigh. “But he does leave a bad taste is some people’s mouths. It's just a part of Gotham living unfortunately.”

“He could at least smile; you’re already having the worst day of your life when saves you”

“Oh sweetie,” she says with a chuckle and a shake of her head. Her shoulder length, gray streaked bob shaking with her, “This is Gotham. If you want someone to smile while they save you move to Metropolis. Here, we take what we can get.”

“I get it,” you say with a relenting sigh. “I guess he fits the city somehow.”

“According to your schedule,” she says as she checks the clock hanging behind you. “We are running out of time.”

“Eleven already?” You mumble earning a chuckle.

“First things first, I want to say that even if you can’t see it you are definitely improving. You gave me details today that you never mentioned before, and you got through most of the story without crying. You are strong, you survived, and you are going to continue to overcome things that you never thought you would be able to.”

“Thank you,” you say slightly warming inside at the reassurance.

“Secondly, I want to give you some homework. Call a friend, watch a movie, go to brunch,” she says giving you a knowing look. “You have to start getting back out into the world. You can’t let this stop you from living your life.”

“I-, okay I’ll try.”

“Good,” she says standing up and holding out her hand to shake.

You meet her warm hand and shake it only to stumble forward as she pulls you in for a warm hug.

“Good luck today,” She says with a warm smile as she pulls back.

“Thank you,” you say slightly breathlessly and with an airy smile on your face. “I’ll tell you how it goes next week.”

You gather your bag and head for the door.

“E-mail me if you need me,” She calls.

“Will do.”

***

In the small private elevator reserved for the partners of Warner and Bobbitt’s Medical Fabrications, you rocked back and forth on your heels. The coffee that you stopped to get on the way over to the office had done little for your nerves, but at least you felt like you were zooming a million miles a minute. If you were moving fast maybe the rest of the world would speed up too.

As the elevator shot fast up to the 31St floor you started to worry. Was your blouse too tight? The beige pencil skirt too much? An aunt had warned you against wearing fitted clothes like the ones you were wearing now. That your natural shape and curves would distract people from your talent and brain. But you couldn’t exactly show up to this meeting in a sweatshirt and jeans the way that you usually did. After all, this wasn’t your job on the line, it was Kenya’s. The only thing you were confident in was your hair; thick and curly, you’d spent hours to make sure the lusciousness of your hair was on full display. Still was that enough to distract from your nervousness.

Maybe you had time to shoot a quick email to Dr. Campbell?

*Ding*

Too late you’re already here.

With a gulp you step out of the elevator and make your way to the conference room.

The glass is see through, and you can see the familiar tall form of Kenya talking to a group of men in suits. Sometimes you swear that all that sweet talk to get you to take the job was really for her own benefit. It was hard enough being a woman in a corporate power position, but being the only black woman? She must have felt like she had a target on her back. And while you were glad, she trusted you enough to give this job, you weren’t sure what you were going to do if she really did need back up. What if you got tongue tied and couldn’t explain your work?

Kenya catches your gaze and gives you a curt nod and a small professional smile. You take that as your que to come into the room. The door slides open and the chatter momentarily stops. The executives who recognize you turn their attention to the files in their hands.

Kenya’s assistant, Max, quietly moves over to you and hands you a folder with Warner and Bobbitt’s initials on it. Inside you find an itinerary of the meeting. An overview of the project you’d been shadowing and just started work on. It seemed like this was an acquisition meeting. Meaning someone was trying to buy the project even though it was barely out of prototype stages.

“I know that we have gone over the gist of the project gentlemen,” Kenya starts with a smile. “If there are any questions about the programming of the machine or the software, please feel free to ask them to our new lead engineer on the project.”

‘Oh shit that’s me’

Kenya gives you a reassuring smile, “If there are any other questions about anything else having to do with the project please feel free to ask me.”

To your surprise and relief, none of the executives in the room were too concerned about A.I. programming. Did she just bring you here to get your nerves all jumbled up? Clearly the meeting was over, even though you had come at the time that she’d told you to get there. What was Kenya up to?

“Excuse me?”

You jump, your shoulders find their way up to your ears in surprise. The voice is deep and considerably younger than the rest of the men in the room.

Your eyes meet with Kenya’s who has a sly smirk on her face. This is what she wanted?

Stiffly you turn to look back and meet a pair of dazzling blue eyes and wide million-dollar smile.

“Can I ask you a question about how this works?” He says smoothly.

“Huh?” You reply dumbly.

“Sorry,” he says mistaking your awe for contempt. “I’m Bruce Wayne.”

Your words are stuck your throat and your eyes can only go back and forth between his now outstretched and his eyes. Unfortunately, there is only one phrase that comes your mind.

“Son of a Bitch.”

#batman x reader #batman #batfamily #batmom #batman imagine #black!reader #black!batmom #black!batmom x batman

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dopcmine · 5 years

Text

⋆ 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑹𝑶𝑫𝑼𝑪𝑰𝑵𝑮 — * ⋆ ╰ hey , did you happen to see DAMON NAM on campus today ? you know , the JEON JUNGKOOK look-alike in our seven am class ? yeah , that SENIOR . ah , well they had their SILVER NECKLACE on their desk this morning and left without it . i wanted to return it … but i have to get to class in five minutes . wait , don’t you see them around at THE APARTMENTS ? oh , great ! can you bring it to HIM then ? ugh , thank you so much. you’re the best ! now i know they get the rep of being EGOCENTRIC but you don’t have to worry . they’re always MAGNETIC . and who knows , maybe you two’ll hit it off ! i know that they’re a INTERNATIONAL BUSINESS major too . well , i have to jet before i miss my exam but i’ll catch you at the frat party later , right ? oh , you should bring DAMON ! it’s always fun having the PLAYBOY around .

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔 :

fullname: damon nam

nicknames: none

age: twenty-three

d.o.b: april 15, 1996

zodiac: aries sun, leo moon, scorpio rising

gender: cismale

sexuality: bisexual

occupation: tattoo artist @ body electric tattoo and piercing

𝒔𝒐𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒂 :

twt & insta handle: p7ayboy

insta followers: 1.3m

twt followers: 1m

tik tok: 750k

𝒂𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄 :

cruisin’ around l.a with the windows down, drinking cold beers on a hot summer afternoon, old school music playing loudly from his apartment, late night kbbq dates with the gang, old childhood scars from fights and playing outside until late evening, silver jewelry around his neck and wrists, street racing, rolling blunts on the hood of his car, face smudge with oil and sweat working on his car, stumbling around the city on the lookout for his favorite food trucks, tattoos up to his neck and down his arms all the way to his back, a gold virgin mary necklace hanging from his rear view mirror, belting out to romantic spanish music drunk and slurring the words, always moving forward and never looking back, selfish tendencies, playing with people like a deck of cards, carrying a butterfly knife with him at all times

𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 :

born and raised in east los angeles, damon had to grow up a little faster than his peers. he comes from a working class family, his parents both public school teachers trying to get by like every other family. being one of the very little korean-american families in maravilla, damon used to get picked on and bullied to the point he refused to get out of bed in his early elementary days. but like any kid, he made friends with some of the neighborhood kids that went to the same school he did, and they stuck by his side. it gave damon the confidence to stand up for himself now that he had his little group to the point he repeated the bad words they taught him in spanish to the same little boys that would pick on him, not knowing what it meant but knowing it was something about their moms that caused one his many first fights to break out in the school yard. after that, damon and his little band of misfits became a little notorious for getting into scuffles with other students.

he stayed in maravilla up until high school, venturing north to a new house due to his dad being offered the position of principal at a junior high. damon went on to attend lincoln high school but it wasn’t hard to fit in, nor was it difficult to fall into step with a new group of friends ( some of which he knew from his earlier days when he used to sneak out of his house with his friend and venture off ). high school was a ride, even if damon had found a place where he belonged people still loved to talk shit and damon loved nothing more than confrontation. he got into fights behind grocery stores, there was fights in empty parking lots where groups of people showed up before everyone scattered the moment they heard cop sirens down the street. damon did get caught once for a misdemeanor the summer before sophomore year and his parents had to get him out which was a hell of a ride home, both his parents almost losing their voices taking turns yelling at him.

it was that moment that his parents made him attend mandatory after school classes, starting smack in the middle of summer. it’s safe to say he was very angry about it but found no outlet to get it out on when he was confined to the library. he started doodling instead of doing his homework while he was in there, soon off he started drawing more and he had talent. he could draw any picture you put in front of him just by looking at it, and soon he started to create his own. that very same summer, on one of the rare days his parents let him out to go to one his friend’s birthday party, he met their older brother, covered in tattoos from his legs to his arms. old english font and a portrait of a woman he later learned was his wife. he was entranced by the ink that decorated the man, asking him questions as the man grilled the carne asada, coughing every once in a while the smoke blew in his direction.

too keep it short, damon wanted to do that. he wanted to draw permanent drawings on people and he wanted his own. he drew more, filling more sketchbooks with his own ideas and interpretations of others. he started working odd jobs after school, trying to save up for his own tattoo gun and ink, even venturing off to tattoo shops to observe them before he got told to scram. at the age of sixteen he had his own set and it wasnt long before his friends lined up to get their first tattoos done by damon. just little small things that didn’t require damon to worry too much about safety and health. the first tattoo he made on himself was a lucky eight ball and a match, now faded on the sides of his fingers.

at seventeen his got his fake id not only for booze but to get a job at a parlor -- not tattooing -- but cleaning up after them, keeping the store tidy and clean. he had a car at the time, an old beat up chevy, and it took him thirty minutes to get to body electric. the owner new damon was underage but he let him work anyway. point is, he was taken under his wing and became an intern, an apprentice, and by the time damon hit eighteen and got his tattoo license, he was able to work a couple hours at first. from 18 to now, damon has been in the same place with a booming following on social media -- which is thanks to his good looks and talent.

he’s been wanting to drop out of ucla because of how in-demand he is now. he’s tattooed celebrities, from socialites to rappers to all sorts of people. he hooks up his old friends from where he grew up for free, and his close friends at school too. but overall, damon makes hella bank now. which is why he finds school pointless, however, the owner of the parlor he works out told him that if he didn’t finish his bachelors he’ll fire him. the owner definitely grew to treat damon as a son, and wants him to venture out and travel with his talent, but he wants him to be smart about it and learn the ropes of the business industry. it’s why damon stays despite not being too happy about it, but it’s his last year and he’s going to make it one shot of patron at a time.

𝒇𝒖𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒔:

damon is trilingual -- english, korean, and spanish ( considering he grew up in a heavily latinx/chincax neighborhood as a child, the language latched on to him ).

he’s very appreciative of the chicanx culture because he grew up around it, and they took him in despite not being chicanx himself he was still treated as family by his close friends. ( and also because i’m biased to my own culture and east los is heavily mexican/latinx )

he almost joined a gang but it was around the time he was forced into after school study where he found his outlet through art.

he knows how to dance pero like cumbias and shit, he’s hella good at it.

damon makes it his goal to be good at everything, it doesn’t even matter what it is.

he has a bmw he fixed up and uses it for street racing -- races which he wins most of the times ( just ask dae lmao ).

he can drive under the influence of weed but i do not condone this behavior !! but he can do it, but he’s beent doing it, don’t try this at home guys, or alone.

damon was a little heartthrob in high school though, going out with the girls and hooking up with some guys.

he was honestly one of the popular kids growing up, he was in THAT group that people longed to be a part of because they were always out mobbing, drinking, throwing parties and being out. they had fun, but they were also notorious trouble-makers.

his tik tok thing started as a joke because damon looked like the eboys that began to trend and now he has dae help him film them just for the hell of it, because why not. he’s got nothing to lose, it’s a good laugh in the end.

is a gym rat, he’s out there doing weights and bulking up and boxing because sometimes he just wants to procrastinate his homework and that’s valid, plus he’s gotta stay in shape with all that heavy drinking and weed intake.

patron is his best friend -- after dae of course lmao.

damon’s actually never been in love??? like he’s had maybe three s/o’s but it was never that serious? except maybe for his first one? but he’s never experienced something where he feels genuine care for a person and love, it’s mostly just lust and like the need to experience what it’s like being with someone but it never rlly takes off

𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔:

gang shit: this one’s already taken up by whoever’s in the no homo chat but like, let me plot out dynamics with you all cause ion know how damon is gonna treat y’all characters if we don’t talk about it lmao

enemies: damon could always use some tbh, those are fun because damon grew up around people that have given him a hard time and he isn’t one to back down from a good altercation

an ex: listen, damon isn’t that great of a person he probably cheated on them only because he didn’t know they were exclusive and frankly, he doesn’t really even remember agreeing to be something but they were and even if damon knew, he still went ahead and did it.

highschool sweetheart, THE ex: listen this one is...particular and super specific. must be a girl/nb but latinx because i picture this being the person who really really taught damon more than he already knew, from dancing to romantic spanish music, etc. perhaps they weren’t in love but they did care about each other, damon even still has a gift i picture she gave him ( a gold virgin mary necklace ) hanging from his rear view mirror. this is like...when we can take up more chars ig? idk just thought i’d write it down

flings: hookups ig? except not people involved with dae cause he isn’t about to fuck no sloppy seconds lmao, if not he venturing out to usc away from ucla lmaooo

idk what else to add im so tired and this is so late and i just want to post it, so if y’all got anything else just hmu tbh

#bruins.intro #im late lol

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dragonbornoflegend · 7 years

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1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45,46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, and 100. My hand hurts now.

Lord have mercy upon my soul 1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? I always try and have a decent balance with the two, but I lean towards more milk. 2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day? It depends. If I've just left a warm place, it feels refreshing, but if I'm already outside and cold then it feels like death.3) what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? Right now I'm alternating between an astrology card I got from a fortune teller machine in a Spinelli's and a dollar bill that has the word "BONER" written on it. 4: how do you take your coffee/tea? Coffee sweet with shit like chocolate or pumpkin spice, and tea usually iced with enough sugar to taste the diabetes.5: are you self-conscious of your smile? Yep 🙃 I lost my retainer in the 8th grade so my teeth are Fucked Up™6: do you keep plants? I certainly try, but I'm kind of like Timmy's mom from Fairly Odd Parents7: do you name your plants? Yep! I used to have a bromeliad named George before I accidentally killed it. 8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? I tend more to just bottle them up lmao but if I had to pick one it would be writing 9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? I do, but I refrain from doing so in public out of respect for others 10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? I'm a stomach sleeper. It's painful. 11: what's an inner joke you have with your friends? Most of my jokes honestly. "Just watch some porn and eat more chocolate", "you got a 30 on your ACT", the implication that I on the reg put it in @fuckthepersonthattookmyusername's ass, stuff like that. 12: what's your favorite planet? I feel like I should say Earth since I live on it? But I also highkey relate to Pluto bc I, too, constantly struggle with validation. 13: what's something that made you smile today? My dogs. My Big Dumb one is chasing his tail in front of me as I type this. 14: if you were to live with your best friend(s) in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? Spacious, with lots of plants and a goat skull hanging on the wall. A nice kitchen. My dog is there and healthy. 15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! I don't have my glasses on and at first glance I thought this said "weird spice fact" and I got really excited. I did google a space, fact, though, and I learned that Neutron stats can spin at a rate of 600 rotations per second. 16: what's your favorite pasta dish? Does "all of them" not count? If I had to pick one, right now it's tortellini. 17: what color do you really want to dye your hair? Silver. I do love my red, though. 18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. Basically everything I do that exemplifies how dumb I am lmao. I almost didn't graduate high school and they nag me parent-style about that one a lot.19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it? I do not, I've tried before but I've never known what to write in it. Plus I'm always way too paranoid that someone will find and read it. 20: what's your favorite eye color? @stripper-boots's 21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that's been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. The only bag I really have that's lasted a while (I abuse my bags lol) is an orange drawstring with a skull printed on it. It's got some weeaboo buttons on it bc for a while it was my convention bag. Now I mostly use it to collect buttons on. 22: are you a morning person? Absolutely not. If allowed to I will sleep until 2 pm with no issues.23: what's your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? Usually just sit around and watch YouTube/Netflix or play video games. Today is actually one of those few days, actually. I've got plans on running to the local farmer's market too so I can plant some herbs later on. 24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? I have people I would trust not to tell anyone else, but I still wouldn't ever tell them. It's less a trust issue and more that I just don't want anyone knowing some of these things. 25: what's the weirdest place you've ever broken into? An abandoned church compound. It was a big lot full of tons of old buildings. Some of them were used for storage and had a bunch of newer stuff in it but some of them looked like old schoolhouses and dorms. The desks inside had schoolwork dated from the 70s in them. The place has since been leveled, though. It's a shame. 26: what are the shoes you've had for forever and wear with every single outfit? My combat boots. They've seen hell, basically. 27: what's your favorite bubblegum flavor? I can't remember the name, but 5 gum has these two that are great. One is a fruity flavor that kind of tastes like Monster and one is a mint that's great because it's not as harsh as most other mint gums.28: sunrise or sunset? Sunset, probably. I'm usually awake to see that one more. 29: what's something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? Exist. 30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared? On one hand, I think so, but on another hand I do have that "could be worse" issue. Yesterday I was woken up by a man I didn't know knocking on my door and then literally climbing on my roof. After he got down he started banging on my door and yelling. That was pretty terrifying but I do feel like it could have gone much worse. 31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks. I do enjoy weird patterned socks, I think they're cute. White socks are demon spawn tho. I also despise sleeping with socks on. I went through a phase in middle school in which I exclusively wore fuzzy socks. Never again.32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. Boy do I have a story to share. I once went out to watch Rogue One with @stripper-boots and another friend, and somehow the night ended with us picking up another person, stealing a grocery cart from a CVS near my school, and driving through our old high school's parking lot while someone sat in the cart and held on to my van. We would then hit the brakes and the person in the cart would let go and see how far they would keep rolling. It was absolutely amazing. 33: what's your fave pastry? Listen, I'm a baking and pastry student, I can't pick just one. If I had to narrow it down, I love making turnovers and scones. Blackberry and sage scones are absolutely amazing. 34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? I kept (and currently keep) two stuffed Dalmatians named Spot and Pongo (I was a creative kid, I know). I've had them since I was born and they're both incredibly dear to me. 35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? I always want to, but almost every time I end up too afraid to use them because I want to wait and find something that would be worth using them for (spoiler alert: I never do). So I've stopped getting them lol36: which band's sound would fit your mood right now? Probably The Neighborhood or something like that. I'm feeling pretty mellow today. 37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean? I like to keep it super clean (even if it occasionally gets messy thanks to depression). The people I live with are pretty messy and it gets to me pretty badly so I try to have at least one clean area that I can retreat to.38: tell us about your pet peeves! Hoo boy, here we go. I cannot stand it when people chew with their mouths open (people that have to due to some sort of disability or something don't count, ofc). It is seriously one of the grossest things in the world to me and it honestly makes me uncomfortable to the depths of my very soul. Most of my family and a few of my friends do it, too, and it absolutely kills me. I also can't stand it when people put their feet on things or when they do something I've asked them not to because they find it humorous. 39: what color do you wear the most? Black. I'm still a little emo kid at heart. Plus I own all dark haired animals lol. 40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what's it's story? does it have any meaning to you? I wear a collar around my wrist that belonged to a dog we fostered. It's from when he was a puppy, which I think is pretty great because as he grew up he ended up coming up to my hip with his shoulder. Seriously, he was huge. 41: what's the last book you remember really, really loving? Both of the books in the Kingmaker, Kingbreaker series. I read them my sophomore year of high school and I still think about them a lot. I'm not even sure why, they just struck a chord with me and I absolutely love them. 42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! I feel obligated to say the one that belongs to my school. It's basically the only one that I really frequent, anyways. The cafe mochas are amazing. 43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? Honestly, I can't remember the last time I actually stargazed. It's definitely been a while.44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? Probably before I was born. My mom smoked a lot of weed while pregnant with me so I'd imagine I was a pretty chill little fetus. 45: do you trust your instincts a lot? Anxiety won't let me. 46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. Basically any pun my chef instructor this past quarter told us lol. Or anything that comes from @stripper-boots47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe? Candy corn 48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? I was always terrified of tornadoes, to the point that some nights I would just lay awake and cry because I was afraid that a tornado would come crashing through my house, even on nights with nice weather. I'm no longer that afraid of them, but I do still get really nervous when it storms out.49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought? I love CDs! I haven't bought one in a while, but the most recent one I "acquired" (aka stole from my dad) was the Cloud Atlas soundtrack. 50: what's an odd thing you collect? Sadness. 51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them? I associate the song "Fuck You" with my mom. Because fuck her. 52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? All of them53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them? I've seen Rocky Horror and parts of Beetlejuice. They're both pretty awesome. 54: who's the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? Myself in the mirror lmao55: what's the most dramatic thing you've ever done to prove a point? I try not to be dramatic that much? Idk. I'm answering all 100 questions of this rn to prove that I'm not a little bitch. 56: what are some things you find endearing in people? Genuine care. Like honestly, someone can act caring towards me once and there we go, I think they're great and want to be their friend. 57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? You mean there aren't people that dramatically reenact the lyrics? 58: who's the wine mom and who's the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? @thenomoreotaku is the self-proclaimed wine mom. I feel like @stripper-boots is the vodka aunt. 59: what's your favorite myth? Listen I love mythology, do not get me started. Just all of them. 60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves? I really like "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" from Robert Frost and basically anything from Neil Hilborn. 61: what's the stupidest gift you've ever given? the stupidest one you've ever received? Every gift I give is stupid. I'm not very good at giving gifts. 62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind? I'm not really a fan of juice. 63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? I want to be organized but I am Not. 64: what color is the sky where you are right now? Kind of a light gray with some blue. It rained last night. 65: is there anyone you haven't seen in a long time who you'd love to hang out with? I haven't seen my friends since Saturday night, does that count as a long time? 66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? Anything with bright flowers (probably red) and maybe some Quartz on it too. I actually plan on making some soon. 67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel? I like the melancholy feel but I hate how humid it is when it's misty so I'm kind of on the fence about it. 68: what's winter like where you live? Normally I would say Fucking Cold but this winter was actually pretty warm so?? Thanks global warming. 69: what are your favorite board games? I really like Betrayal at House on The Hill, and I appreciate the cutthroat factor of Monopoly. I was also recently introduced to Arkham Horror and it was pretty lit. 70: have you ever used a ouija board? Nope71: what's your favorite kind of tea? I have this black tea that's cacao mint flavored and I love it 72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you'll forget it? YEP73: what are some of your worst habits? All of them. 74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. Listen I have like, 3.5 friends this is going to be a pain to choose one. I have one that's pretty saint-like lately. Bc they're holey. 75: tell us about your pets! They're all amazing and I love them. I have a 6 year old blue pitbull named Jinxx, 3 year old Presa Canario named Murdoc, a 9 year old brown tabby cat named Tiger, a fluffy black cat named PJ that's somewhere between 7-9, and a betta fish named Radicchio. 76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren't? Going to the farmer's market and cleaning my house. 77: pink or yellow lemonade? I don't like lemonade 😐78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub? I will hate minions until the day I die 79: what's one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you? My friends literally made me a bedroom. 80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why? They're just white. I wanted to paint them but I never got a chance before we moved in. 81: describe one of your friend's eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. He much will everyone hate me if I use "azure pools" 82: are/were you good in school? Definitely not lol. I think I'm getting better now that I'm college though. 83: what's some of your favorite album art? I really like some of the drawings from Alesana's album The Emptiness. That's all I can think of off the top of my head.84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones? I currently have one tattoo of my cat, and I plan on getting something baking related (probably a quote about bread) and something Wizard of Oz related. 85: do you read comics? what are your faves? I always mean to but I've never actually gotten around to it. 86: do you like concept albums? which ones? I love concept albums. Alesana did three concept albums in a row that were all related and I absolutely adore them. 87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? Cloud Atlas, Uno: The Movie88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? Do Snapchat filters count 89: are you close to your parents? Occasionally with my dad, but not with my mom 90: talk about your one of you favorite cities. The one I live in lol. Louisville is pretty lit. Lots of good food. 91: where do you plan on traveling this year? I'm hoping to make it to Sandusky for ColossalCan in the beginning of June.92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? There is never enough cheese 93: what's the hairstyle you wear the most? My sidecut. It's basically my most recognizable trait at this point. 94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? My stepbrother's birthday is the 14th 95: what are your plans for this weekend? I'm not sure, but I'm hoping to chill with the D&D squad and play some more board games. 96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? I can't remember the last time I installed an update on my computer 97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house? ISTP, Libra, Slytherpuff98: when's the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it? Probably year or so ago. Hiking is lit. 99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. Stressed Out from top because I'm always stressed 🙃100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why? I wouldn't press either tbh. Leave that shit how it is.

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