#and saw that caffeine was also making me really sick both physically and mentally

[nalver]

need someone to explain to me why theyre addicted to caffeine i just cant imagine it

[rilakoya]

Oh, pt. 3 (m.)

— genre | Roomie/Bestie!Namjoon x female reader + fluff + angst

— words | 3.9k

— member | Kim Namjoon

An awkward encounter with your roommate triggers painful memories, but there’s a way you can learn to move on.

— warnings | NSFW, mentions of sex, body worship, fingering (f. receiving)

*Y/N- Your name

1 2

A/N: It's taken me a long time to get back into this fic, and I'm so grateful to you all for being so patient with me (I'm definitely looking at you, Owls-and-stars ! As many of you know, this was my very first fic ever, and of course as an overachiever, I had to start with a miniseries, so this has been a growth exercise for sure. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

[As he disappears around the corner, you roll over on your side, curling yourself tightly into a ball and pressing a fist to your mouth to muffle the sobs as the tears fall hot and fast onto your pillow.]

Oh my god, he’d done it. Was he dreaming? Or better yet, was he insane? Could this possibly end well? Never in his wildest fantasies could Namjoon have imagined that he would be in this position. But there was no way he was going to turn back now. This was an opportunity to show you what was possible, what you deserved. Taking a deep breath, he focuses himself. Just do this one thing, yes, one thing at a time. He knows that he could frighten you away if he’s too aggressive. But dammit, he’s seen you go through so much and he is so sick of watching you underestimate and undervalue yourself because of your ex’s stupidity. You are such an amazing woman, so beautiful inside and out, kind-hearted, impatient, compassionate, stubborn, intelligent, and strong, with crazy quirks and occasionally unpredictable. You’re wonderful, and he feels fortunate to be your friend. It is time you understood that you are worthy of every good thing life has to offer, starting now.

One thing at a time, man. Start with this one simple act, running you a bath. And so, he concentrates with almost ritualistic intent, ensuring the water temperature is just right, pouring in your bath foam and salts, reaching for your fluffiest towel and making sure your robe is within reach. Finally, it becomes increasingly apparent that he’s just stalling, so he hurries out of the bathroom in hopes that you haven’t fallen asleep.

You’re not asleep, of course, although you wish you could be, and though his heart breaks just a bit more at the evidence that you’ve been crying, he pretends not to notice. “Let’s get you cleaned up, princess.” He reaches over you and takes you in a soft embrace, before reaching under you and lifting you like you’re delicate, fragile. And to be honest, in this moment, maybe you are. Normally, you’d be raising hell about being carried around like you’re incapable of walking, but right now, you’re emotionally too drained to give a shit, and there’s a part of you soaking up Namjoon’s tenderness and care. So you don’t complain as he places you gently into the bathtub, releasing a comforted sigh as the water soothes over your frazzled nerves and pretending you don’t notice the painfully tented profile of his sweatpants when as he closed the bathroom door on his way out. 

How could you be so… there are no words for it. Foolish? Wanton? Shameless? You wince internally at the last mental suggestion, all too aware that shame is something that you currently feel, in spades. What the hell were you thinking? Are you so dick-deprived, so sexually depraved that you just had to bed your bestie? Shit. Your lengthy attempt to baptize yourself in your bathwater was enough to burn your eyes with the soap from the water, but not enough to cleanse your mind and the contents within.

You’ve been staring at the closed door for several minutes, but that’s not the scene inside your head. No, your mind is a theatre, and the current showing features the delicious sight of Namjoon, his sculpted abs taut with tension, his neck arching temptingly in alignment with his pale blonde tresses thrown back in abandon as he strained against the pleasure of your mouth laving over his thick, hot, throbbing…  

Fuck. You really needed to stop reading so many romance novels, and you also needed to stop remembering the lingering, savoring kisses, the excruciatingly tender caresses, the passion that made you feel so needy and desperate, the way you almost came apart at the hand of-

Miserable, obliterating hell, you wince, your best friend. Can you even still call him that? Are you still friends, or more, or- shit- even less now that you just had to be a horny slut? The reemerging horror and subsequent shame is enough to send you diving back under the lingering bubbles once more.

The first brisk jolt of the shower does nothing to calm Namjoon’s mind, nor the raging boner he’s been sporting since he pulled out of you.

Oh God, get it together, man. He was ruined, absolutely ruined. He was so stupid for you before, and now this. Why had he ever thought this would be a good idea? But how could he ever walk away from a chance to love you the way you deserved? To make you feel beautiful and desirable, to cherish you in a way that none of the others ever had, the only way that you were worthy of. He would walk through fire doused in gasoline for the chance, and here you were, so trustingly offering yourself into his care. He could not, would not fail. God, if only you knew how much he loved you. Play it cool, Joon. He knew his place, knew you didn’t really see him how he saw you. But he knows he can show you so much more, and now that you’re willing to let him, he’s willing to take it as slow as you need, for as long as it takes. He’s well-equipped for the marathon of bringing you to the fullness of love that he has for you.

It took all of his willpower to walk away from you just now, when everything in him was crying out for you. The longing to take you into his arms and pamper you and whisper words of tender affection into your ears as you reclined against him, as he gently bathed you and scrubbed your worries away as he washes your hair for you… oh too much.

For now, he’d settle for plotting as he temporarily froze his hunger for you with a frigid shower, the only kind that helps. At least, it helped until he allowed himself to remember the sound of you, the feel of you as you writhed under him, lost in the throes of passion. Oh fuck, the smell of you, the taste of you on his tongue… he groaned in torturous recollection, overcome by the memory as his mouth begins to water at the thought of all he’s been missing. You were sweeter than he’d even dared to imagine…. Shit, focus, Namjoon… He turns the temperature of the water even colder as he conjures up mental images of calculus problems, quantitative physics, and chess strategies and tactics so that he can make it through his shower in peace, all while planning a strategy of his own.

Bathwater long gone cold, you accept your fate and brace yourself for an encounter with your roommate-turned-hookup, rounding the corner to the living room/kitchen area with almost militant intent. The curtains are open and the sun is bright, illuminating the clean, peaceful space that is completely foreign from the way you and your girlfriends left it the night before. For a moment, you stand there, a bit lost and blinking. It feels like an age has passed since last night, hell, since this morning. But in truth, it’s still Saturday, and Namjoon is still a sweetheart, which is why he is currently putting breakfast takeout from your favorite diner on plates, the aroma of coffee wafting enticingly toward your caffeine-deprived nostrils. He glances up mid-plating when he hears you enter, scooping up a steaming mug of devil’s brew and handing it to you with a nonchalant brush of his lips against your forehead in greeting.

You pause mid-step, unsure how to proceed, but Namjoon continues serving the food like nothing has happened, launching into a casual recitation of his plans for the day, plans which most notably involve him being gone for a significant portion of the day, beginning shortly after he serves breakfast. You can feel the tension slowly draining from your body as he chatters on, until you’re leaning slightly against the counter watching him work although you don’t quite recall coming further into the room.

Before you can process this further, the movement of a pulled out chair registers in your periphery, distracting you from any unsettling notions. Namjoon waits calmly as he gazes at you, one gently arched eyebrow serving as both invitation and silent challenge. Accepting the seat, you murmur your thanks, stomach complaining loudly in anticipation of the food. “Eat up, it’s all for you,” Namjoon informs you, chuckling as you duck your head in embarrassment and surprise.

“Wait, you’re not eating?” you ask. Even though you aren’t sure if you could be completely comfortable sharing a meal with him so soon after everything that’s happened, you don’t want things to be so awkward that he feels he has to avoid you. Shaking his head no, Namjoon starts to sit down on the edge of the table next you, then seems to think better of it, at the last minute pulling over a chair to your side and plopping down. “I told you earlier, Y/n, I have to go into work today. But,” he pauses, taking a breath, “I did want to talk to you before I left… and I, uh, kinda hoped that the food, you know..” Now you were the one who had to laugh. “Joon, did you hope to coax me out here with food?” Your laughter grows even louder at the sight of Namjoon looking…sheepish. “Well...yes?” And then he was joining you in your laughter.

“Okay, but for real, Y/N, I know that you don’t want to discuss what happened this morning, and like I already said, I won’t ask you to if you would rather not. But I just wanted to say again that I only want you to feel comfortable. I know that I’m asking for a lot, asking you to trust me. I just- I just want to know that we’re okay?” The sincerity shining in his eyes is almost too much, but you know it would hurt his feelings if you looked away right now. “Yeah, Joon, we’re okay; promise.” You see his posture lighten with this, as if a weight has been cast away. Was he really that serious? You don’t know what to do with that information. You decide to file it away for later review, being drawn back to the present moment by the gentle tug of Namjoon’s hand on yours. “I, um, I also wanted to ask…” He’s the first to look away after all, voice trailing, face growing redder as the moment drags on in silence. You wait, assuming he will eventually say what’s on his mind, but the seconds tick by on the wall clock as you watch him seem to struggle in an internal battle, you realize that you are going to have to be the one to gather courage to bridge the gap. “Ask me what, Joon? My food’s getting cold, you have to go to work, and I’m starting to get nervous.” Head snapping up at the sound of your slightly peevish tone, the words seem to fall out before he can fully control them.

“Iwaswonderingifyouwouldstillallowmetotry?” Taking a breath, he tries again. “Sorry- I- I was wondering… if you would still let me try? To, you know?” Closing his eyes briefly, he gathers his courage one more time. That seems to be his thing, you notice vaguely. “I really want to please you, Y/N. Will you let me?” This he says so gently, so intently, that you feel yourself swoon a bit inside. The answer is yes, hell yes, always yes, but your brain fails to communicate the message so you just sit there, staring at him a little lost until you finally realize that he’s still waiting for your response. “Yes,” you nod, a bit dumbly, and the smile that he gives you in return is almost blinding. “Okay,” he sighs, leaning in to touch his forehead to yours before leaping back with a start. “Oh shit, I’m going to be late!” Jumping up, he grabs his keys and bag and heads for the door.

Finally redirecting your attention to your probably-now-cold pancakes, you barely register him say, “I forgot something,” and are startled by the way his face intrudes into your vision, until he kisses you, quickly and suddenly, and you forget everything, too. The tender brush of his lips coaxes and caresses, soothing your lingering worries and filling you with the suggestive promise of more before he pulls away, tasting your lips once more before he speaks. “Thanks for an amazing morning, Y/N,” and then he’s gone for real, and you’re left sitting dumbfounded at the table, food long forgotten. “Thank you, Namjoon.” And for the first time in a long time, you dare to daydream of good things to come.

The warm and fragrant atmosphere of candles at dusk, providing both soft illumination and forgiving shadow. The decadent softness of a plush blanket. The exotic curve of a softly curled wisp of hair. The burnished ochre of a well-loved page, no longer crackling with the crispness of paper newly printed, but rather whispering and sighing like a lover sharing secrets. To Namjoon, that is what Heaven is like, because it is this moment that he is spending with you. In this instant, watching you, curled up against his side with your favorite book, breathing in your tantalizing scent as he pretends to read over your shoulder as an excuse to appreciate the delicate arch of your neck: how could he not feel like the luckiest man alive?

Lips softly trailing behind his fingers as he traces light patterns over your skin, Namjoon’s almost imperceptible sigh echoes your own. It’s been a few weeks since that fateful experience, and Joonie’s been as good as his word. He hasn’t pressured you to have sex again, but he’s been, well, affectionate. It started out slow: with him sneaking quick kisses every now and then or finding reasons to touch you more. But then it evolved and escalated, quickly. Swift pecks turned into much more heated kisses, and tender caresses have started to get a bit hot and heavy at times, but he always seems to bring you to the point of relaxing into it, of enjoying it, and then lets it die away. You’ve been trying not to overthink, not to read even more into this already complicated situation, but then again, when have you ever successfully corralled your brain when it wanted to be chaotic and inconvenient? So, naturally, right now as the two of you are simply basking in each other’s presence, the words are out of your mouth almost as soon as you think them.

“Hey Joon, what are we doing?”

“Hmm?” His reply is notably distracted as he continues to nuzzle his way toward your jawline. “Reading?”

“No,” you begin patiently, although that patience is swiftly disappearing into the fuzzy haze of what you’ve begun to refer to in your mind as “casual lust”, aka whatever the hell it is that Namjoon has been teaching you to feel recently. “No,” you try again, more firmly this time. “I was reading, or trying to.”

His lips pause in their exploratory mission as he sees that you are struggling to concentrate, and in true Namjoon form, he places all of his attention on whatever it is that you wish to say. However, the fingers that continue idly tracing your side still threaten to steal your focus. “I was reading, and you are,” you breathe, “doing, well, this, whatever this is that you’ve been doing. You know, all of it. The touching and kissing. What’s up with that?”

Namjoon has been diligently listening, attentive to hear your concerns, but now that you’ve voiced your complain, he can’t help but smile inside. This is good. You sound slightly disgruntled, but he’s spent the past few weeks learning your body, learning you. He knows that you like it. If anything, you sound… unsettled. Dissatisfied, even. That is very good. It means you’ve been adjusting, getting comfortable with feeling good. Who knows? Maybe soon, you’ll feel comfortable enough to allow yourself to feel even better. Of course, he doesn’t say that.

“Do you mind, Y/N? Does it bother you that I touch you? I can stop if it does…”

“No,” you reply a little too quickly. “I don’t mind. I guess I’m just...curious.” Because it feels like more than just messing around, you think to yourself. It feels...tender...romantic, even. It makes you feel like home, Namjoon, and I don’t know what to do with that.

“Curious?” he parrots. “Then allow me to satisfy you. Your curiosity, I mean.” The devious glint in his eyes confirms that he knows how it sounded and makes you suspect that he meant to give you a double meaning. “I could tell you all the reasons why I can’t seem to keep my hands to myself when you’re around, why I always look for a reason to touch you, why I’m so hungry for that sweet mouth of yours. I could tell you that I am just trying to make you feel good, and that would also be the truth. But in all honesty, Y/N, I just really enjoy kissing you.”

His declaration makes you freeze, but Namjoon gives you no time to think or fret before he’s using his hands and his lips to erase every last thought and potential worry from your brain, his tender kisses branding your flesh with their heat, the gravel in his voice causing your mind to stall and go blank.

“I enjoy it because your skin is so soft, and you taste so sweet, and I love how your eyes close and your mouth falls open because you love the way my lips feel on you… Or am I wrong, Y/N?” Even your name feels like a caress falling from his lips, and the sound of it makes you shiver a little. “Don’t you like the way it feels when I run my lips across your skin, savoring the taste of you?” He knew you did, and heaven help him, he did, too. It would also be true to say that he loves being with you, always has, but he knows that to admit that would scare you, would pressure you. So instead, he’s still honest, but he only tells you what you can stand to hear, what you can handle…

Right now, he knows you could handle a little less talking on his part.

And so, he continues to show you instead, artfully undressing you in a slow, painstakingly deliberate way, feasting on your beauty with his eyes, his hands, his mouth. The praise in his words, the adoration in his eyes, the reverence with which he devours every inch of you, unhurriedly, passionately… it’s enough to lose yourself in the feeling.

His nose brushes the soft skin where your side and hip meets, pausing to inhale the sweet, earthy smell of your arousal heavy in the air. Fuck, you make his mouth water. Placing another kiss, this time at the top of your thigh, he takes another deep breath, this time discreetly reading your body language for any signs of tension or discomfort. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, your last remaining article of clothing, lightly teasing both the material and the ticklish skin underneath. “Baby,” the nickname comes so naturally to him now, “may I- Shit.”

The question is interrupted by the jarring ringtone, the obnoxious one that indicates it’s his job calling. His apologetic dimpled expression is all it takes for your to swallow your frustration and give him a forgiving smile as he reaches for the phone, pulling the blanket over you to prevent you from exposure to chill in his absence. As his voice and footsteps fade around the corner, you finally release a shaky breath of pent-up emotion.

Damn, Namjoon is good. It seems that no matter how frequent these encounters have become, he still never fails to leave you breathless. It’s true, that in some perverse way, you’ve gotten used to the initial feelings of arousal-- they don’t frighten you anymore, not in that “he’s expecting something from me” way. Now it’s easier to just relax and go with the flow, if being horny as hell on a regular basis can be considered relaxing. But it is nice to be able to just appreciate feeling good at the hands of a skilled and handsome man without strings attached. Unless of course you count heartstrings. Yours, to be specific. But, yeah, no, you’ve decided you’re not counting.

You’re counting, comparing the number of heartbeats per second against what you consider normal; is your heart beating unusually fast?

And you’re hot; god, why are you so hot all of a sudden?

You feel unsettled in your skin, restless and slightly desperate, and you determine that you must have dozed off while Namjoon was gone. You say “was” because you’re faintly aware of his bodily presence next to you, adding to your body heat.

It’s probably the blanket, you think, and in the next moment you’re peeling back the covers, feeling the cool air ease the discomfort of your skin.

Better.

Only now, you’re aware of your exposed, naked body, of your nipples erect from the chill, of soft hands grazing over your breasts, your collarbone, your stomach… Fuck. It feels so good to be touched, so soothing in the wake of the ache that’s been building in your body for so long.

You’re so needy…

A faint whimper escapes as you feel one nipple pinched, the other one twisted and caressed alternately. More. You need more and you need it now. You’ve no sooner thought the words than the hand pinching and pulling your breast makes its way down your torso, circling and stroking your clit.

So good, it feels so good, but still you need more.

“More, please,” you plead, and you’re rewarded by the stretch of two fingers plundering your heat, while the other hand continues to edge you toward your pleasure. You’re on fire now, but every sensation is hurtling you closer, closer. But you want to see his face, hear his voice. Why won’t he say something?

“Namjoon?” you say, but did your mouth move? “Joon,” you try again, more moan than anything as you feel yourself racing towards the precipice of bliss. “Please.” And then you hear him, sounding so close and so far away.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you,” and then your world is exploding, hard. It feels like worlds are contained in a single moment, all expanding at once to give you a divine glimpse of unnameable glory before it’s all gone again in a blink, and as your body fights to regroup, you’re forced into- awareness?

You awaken breathless and disoriented, forcing your eyes to focus in the dimly dawn-lit room. As you struggle to catch your bearings, your eyes meet Namjoon’s penetrating gaze, dark, hungry and intense as he stares back. A slow smile spreads stealthily across his face, seductive and slightly predatory. “Did you have a nice dream?” he inquires, in a tone a shade too precise to be innocent. Still groggy, you search your brain to try to catch his meaning… until suddenly you falter, recalling the moments prior to your awakening, both figurative and literal. But wait, you scramble mentally to put the pieces together, there’s no way he could know…

Your confusion is written all over your face, and still you flounder, until he reaches out and grabs your hand... the hand that you’ve been touching yourself with in your sleep, now coated with the juices from your thoroughly soaked and sated cunt. Before you can fully allow your mortification to process, Namjoon, the bastard, proceeds to wrap those plush, agonizing lips around your fingers and lick them clean, never breaking eye contact, and the growl of pleasure that escapes his throat is positively feral. Well, fuck.

Part 1 Part 2 Tag list: @lamourche, @brie02, @btsspell, @kpurereactions, @ringsofjoon, @maddoxwildove, @socialmaddox, @chiminiemoans, @serendipitiousbutterfly,  @ogsoftbabyboy, @kludsy, @wallflower060, @chimsinyourarea, @tokikav, @bangtanpraise, @dragonsbbygirl, @awsome-small-k, @notyourtypicalrose, @spider-manblog, @awesome-ash15, @its-joyvely, @swiggitswooggit, @sungoldish, @b-angst-tanrecs, @owls-and-stars,  @everything-got-confusing, @i-hate-this-name-thingy, @imverywiggly, @chimsbabyy, @armyguide, @sosok-lucasa, @markslefttiddie, @awkwardwookie, @loststars2255, @sehuns-vi-vi, @nari-la-morena, @wheelsxsoftiee, @latina-nerd, @sandra123abc, @aeiva, @kaeru012, @kimtaehyungisbiasdestroyer, @jiminsthicccthighs, @xcharlottemikaelsonx, @spike-meowsters, @jiminieslovely, @inlovewithjooniejoonie, @slut-for-fandoms, @mozy-j, @byuns-coco, @jellycake2109, @bitesizebtsrepost, @rosiexx8, @thirstykpophoe, @trashynctzenwritings, @groovygooppersonfish, @mochiiblues, @maryseesthings, @passportapprovedobsessed, @perfect4niall, @scalbra, @sailorjoonies, @amordesiempre01, @bubblyabs, @joonlonelyheartsclub, @speakyourselfloveyourself, @gabriellagena, @shoot-shoot-bang-bang, @lifesaleech, @teddybearmuke, @lyssakrista, @flawlessbitcx, @7sirens, @kittenxo2, @satiricallll, @hellosweetiesworld, @kathrynwynterbourne, @alphnai​, @chocolatedreamlandfury​, @lakeli​, @jkxnochu​, @bangtanhardcore​, @iriswashername​, @bts-7-forever​, @bobatae13​, @jessica-lynn93​, @4namjoon​,  @sakurauchiha2018​

[maren-as-an-adult]

The 2020 Experience, Part 4

December was...rough. Every free moment I had was spent looking for better paying jobs and more apartments. Christmas gifts were planned and purchased under extreme budget. I had an upcoming OB-GYN appointment. And the accumulated stress finally broke me physically and mentally.

I started noticing it when I had my OB-GYN appointment. My appointment wasn’t until 4:30pm, but I wanted to get some Christmas shopping done, so I took an early train into Atlantic Terminal to do some shopping in and around Barclay’s Center. I didn’t have breakfast before I left, so I grabbed a latte and a slice of iced lemon cake from Starbucks. There were some benches outside where I sat down and ate. Afterwards, I hit up Target and Marshall’s. Once I was in line for Marshall’s, I started feeling... off. I could feel my pulse rushing in my face, and my stomach felt simultaneously empty and twisted upside down. I couldn’t tell if I felt like I was going to vomit or poop, or if I was just really gassy and needed to fart. I made it through purchasing and left to sit down somewhere, anywhere. I think I settled down in front of either TJ Maxx or Burlington on the ground. I pulled my knees into my chest, waiting and hoping for this feeling to pass. After about 15 minutes and no change, I knew I needed to find a bathroom. And in COVID times, I had a better chance of finding a four-leaf clover growing out of the concrete than a public toilet I could access.

Target, however, was my savior. Having purchased from them earlier, I happily took advantage of their open and clean bathroom facilities. I won’t go into too much detail, but I will say I spent a long time on that toilet trying to feel better. Eventually I had to move on, and I decided I would go outside and get as much fresh air as I could, hoping that would somehow cure me of this... whatever feeling it was. It helped, or at least that’s what I told myself as I slowly sipped water from my water bottle. I tried to make one last stop at one last shop before heading down to Bay Ridge for my OB-GYN appointment, but after two instances where I was forced to sit down again and wait for the feeling to pass to something barely more manageable, I decided the best course of action would be to arrive exceptionally early to my appointment and hope they had an unoccupied bathroom I could access.

Thankfully, they did. I somehow managed a thirty minute train ride, a ten minute wait for the bus, a ten minute bus ride, and a ten minute walk to the doctor’s office, where after filling out a few forms I retreated to their very clean single occupancy bathroom. I felt awful and wanted something done about it, so I open mouth breathed while kneeling in front of the toilet bowl for a while. It’s a technique I use when I feel like I may throw up and want to encourage my stomach to expel whatever’s clearly upsetting it. [I also wish to take this moment to make this very clear: I am not, nor have I ever been, bulimic. I don’t endorse or condone bulimia. I’m sure it’s very easy to read what I just wrote as inducing vomiting to purposefully purge, but it is not. I was not trying to make myself vomit, but I was prepared for that to happen should my body have decided that’s what it needed to do.] What ended up happening was about five minutes of dry heaving before my body apparently decided that because there was nothing there, that nothing was wrong anymore.

What was wrong with me? I hadn’t interacted with anyone who was sick, had I? I had recently started babysitting, could I have gotten something from one of the kids? Was I not as diligent as I thought I’d been with maintaining social distance and wearing a mask and sanitizing and washing my hands? Or was it something else? All I’d had to eat that day was some processed cake and a sugary latte, could I possibly have developed celiac disease overnight? Was my body finally shutting down it’s lactose-digesting functions? Was I just really overcaffeinated because I forgot to specify “half-caf” in my Starbucks order?

I posited these queries to my doctor while she poked around my vagina. She said it was possible I could be lactose intolerant or I could be crashing from the caffeine. When the staff had taken my temperature I wasn’t running a fever, so it wasn’t likely I’d caught anything off of someone. With a final fingering to gauge the position of my uterus (I learned it has a slight anterior tilt), my appointment was done and I was free to go home. Though I felt better, I decided against calling on my old roommates and to instead just head back to Graham’s. I made one last gift purchase before hopping on the LIRR, and my Christmas shopping was essentially done.

The feeling didn’t disappear though, and on some days it became unmanageable. My GI system was clearly in distress, and not a lot was helping. I found a few packs of ginger turmeric tea at Graham’s house and made myself a cup, firmly placing my faith in the healing properties of what some (uncultured) people call “hot leaf juice”. I think it helped, but I can’t be sure. I’d told Graham about what was going on and what I thought it could be, and he could sympathize and to a degree empathize. It wasn’t until one night when I was again dry heaving into a toilet bowl that Graham fully saw what an awful state I was in. I told him at this point I thought it was a manifestation of the stress we’d been under for the past eight weeks. For eight weeks we’d been searching for apartments, passing on nice ones just out of our budget, trying to come to terms with the infinite number of mediocre same-floor plan, same-color, same-appliances, same-building looking ones, and getting discouraged with the shitty, falling apart ones. I had spent my first Thanksgiving away from my family and had resigned myself to spending Christmas apart from my family for the first time as well. I’d had three separate COVID tests in the past two months. I hadn’t spoken to my therapist since before Thanksgiving. And I had spent the entire month at Graham’s family’s house, which was not something I had wanted.

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. Truly, I’m indebted to Graham’s mom for letting me not only stay with them rent-free (but agreeing to walk their dogs) but also keep my stuff there while she is also getting ready to move out. But I have never felt comfortable calling someone else’s place my home. I cannot help but feel like an outsider, and no matter how many times people tell me to “make [myself] comfortable” and “help [myself] to whatever food there is” I will feel like an imposition and a burden. It’s only my anxiety coming through, but it comes through LOUD.

I finally scheduled an appointment with my therapist again, and poured all this out to him. I told him exactly how bad things had gotten, and not for the first time I considered asking to be prescribed anti-anxiety medication and possibly antidepressants. I decided to keep going without them...for now.

Christmas Eve came and Graham, his family, and I all celebrated together. We were gifted some lovely items to start our life living together, like a knife set, a set of glasses, new bedding, and a casserole dish. It was a lovely respite from the stress.

On Christmas Day, Graham and I went to see another apartment. This apartment was in the same building as the apartment we almost signed for, and the only differences were that this apartment was on a lower floor and didn’t have a balcony. It was also almost $100/month less than what we had almost agreed to. The owner said he would send over the application and answers to our questions on Monday. We both felt good about this apartment.

When Monday came with no e-mail from the guy, I reached out to him to ask when we could expect it. His response was that he had just been diagnosed with COVID-19 and now wanted to sell instead of rent. This became all too much for me, and when I got back into Graham’s car as we were out running errands, I started screaming. I hadn’t screamed like this since a particularly bad day of work I had back when I worked at Target. It was cathartic, but I felt cold and disconnected from Graham for the rest of the day. Something had broken inside me, and I wasn’t sure if it was my heart, my soul, my mind, or all three. It took a while for me to recover, and honestly I’m still hurt and feel betrayed by this guy. I understand I cannot speak for what’s best for him or what he felt he should have done, but Graham and I felt that we were given the runaround by this guy. We scheduled another COVID test for ourselves, and tried to move forward.

We made it to New Year’s Eve, and stayed up to watch 2020 end. New Year’s felt somber this year, and it felt hard to celebrate the start of a new year when the one we just went through was so damaging.

But we made it. We’re here, and it’s the first week of January in 2021. Currently there are radical conservatives storming the Capitol protesting the electoral college results, but in less than 20 days, Trump will be out of office. I’ve given myself goals that are manageable for the new year, and Graham and I have three applications out for three different apartments, and there’s a chance we may be able to get the apartment we saw on Christmas Day. We keep moving forward, because the alternative is to not move at all.

And I refuse to allow that for myself.

[anotherdarkiboi]

Warnings: blood, eye horror, medical themes, bandages, blindfold, mild cursing, mild nudity, innuendo and sexual references, references to murder.

Dr. Iplier changed out of his mildly bloody medical scrub shirt and formerly-white lab coat, discarding them onto the floor. His mind has been wandering lately. One of his regular patients seemed to occupy himself in his brain like a cancerous tumor or Taenia solium larvae might. He was frequently distracted and excitable, getting flustered uncharacteristically easily. That and the overall warmth he felt coursing through his body and the achey tightness in his chest concerned him to no end.

What's worse was that the doctor couldn't diagnose exactly what sickness he had. Dr. Iplier knew they could be signs of a heart attack or about a hundred other maladies that could possibly kill him, but he didn't dare imagine the possibility that he was the one who was dying, as painfully ironic that would be.

He wanted to get rid of it, and soon. It was impeding on his work and the credibility of his profession, to the dismay of his business partner, fellow doctor, and best friend, Schneep. Dr. Iplier accidentally dropped a scalpel into Peter during his surgery and caused a bloody mess (literally) because of it. Poor Peter didn't make it. But then again, that's what you got when you ran a medical practice with Henrik von Schneeplestein (the "Doctor" part was debatable): Peter never stood a chance.

But as time progressed, Dr. Iplier found that whatever he had made him feel euphoric. Maybe the disease or parasite released dopamine? He suspected that it had something to do with that patient of his. Maybe they were also the Patient Zero for his ailment? Or were they somehow causing these symptoms through mind control?

The doctor was familiar with the paranormal through his experiences with the infamous Darkiplier, so it wouldn't be too farfetched. He had his suspicions about his patient, but knew that it wasn't really professional of him to comment. Either way, they were forced to interact on a daily basis and Dr. Iplier didn't feel like losing his most loyal customer, so he said nothing of it and ignored the rapid beating of his heart (tachycardia?).

Soon the doctor found himself thinking about his "favorite" patient. Again. Of course. His thoughts always drifted to that quiet, contemplative man. The disease- Illness? Parasite? Whatever it was, the symptoms were getting worse.

Dr. Iplier sighed, picking up his bloody scrubs from the floor. He didn't want to further lower the reputation of his business by leaving his bedroom and private clinic messy.

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

The Host opened the door to Dr. Iplier's bedroom and makeshift clinic with a faint creek. He considered knocking first, but what he needed to ask the doctor was urgent. Well, maybe not urgent per se, but he had been thinking about it for a while now and had finally come to the conclusion that today was the day he would ask their resident doctor out.

What the Host didn't expect was to find was said doctor shirtless. The Host can't see, not in the physical sense anyway, but he has the ability to narrate his surroundings to get a vague sense of what's going on. So when his internal monologue started describing in excruciating detail exactly how lean Dr. Iplier's exposed upper body looked like and the faintest hint of his V-line peaking over the elastic of his thin blue scrub pants, the Host became overwhelmed. Of course, the Host doesn't say this aloud: for once, his narrations remained in his head in a loud, frantic monotone. The Host couldn't hear himself think, let alone focus from the mental barrage of stimuli. Shit.

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

Dr. Iplier tosses the bloody clothes into the hamper. He turns around to find the Host, propping himself up by the doorway looking like he was on the verge of collapse.

"Oh! Uh, you're here awfully early... Are you alright?"

"The Host, um, I- fuck."

The doctor's eyes widen in concern. Blood streaked down the Host's bandages like tears. It was rare to see him shocked into using first person and it was usually was damaging to his physical health. And this was the first time Dr. Iplier ever heard the Host stutter.

The Host makes an attempt to step into the room and falters. Dr. Iplier is quickly by the Host's side, holding the trenchcoated man up by the waist to guide him to the bed (which served as both a hospital cot and the doctor's actual bed). The Host sits on the edge while the doctor hangs his stethoscope around his neck, putting on his lab coat and head mirror out of habit: all without noticing that he still wasn't wearing a shirt.

The Host can't help but compare the mental image to the intro of a low-budget porno. He covers his head in his hands and groans in exasperation. Why did Dr. Iplier have to be at the pinnacle of health?

The doctor feels the Host's forehead with gentle tenderness, his cool hand resting against warm skin. He tilts the Host's head up from under his chin, examining how much blood his patient lost. The Host can feel Dr. Iplier's intense stare on him as he attempts to figure out what's wrong. He hopes that the doctor won't notice his face heating up.

The physical contact felt intimate, even though it was practically ritual at this point with the amount of times the Host visits. The Host mentally compares it to heavy petting leading up to eventual smut. He internally screams.

The Host's narrations drift to Dr. Iplier's inner monologue as the doctor checks his vitals. It's something that the Host tries to avoid as it's an invasion of privacy, but it wasn't something he was able to control in his current state. Anything was better than whatever his brain was conjuring right now.

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

Usually he's calm under pressure, but the doctor can't explain is why he feels irrational, seething anger for whatever caused the Host's predicament. Dark maybe? Or Wilford? Probably someone with a great deal of power for the Host to essentially overload.

The doctor rarely gets angry: Annoyed? All the time. Cranky? Every morning before the caffeine hits. But Dr. Iplier felt, for the first time, homicidal. How dare they? The Host's health is delicate to say the least: the other egos know that. Yet Dr. Iplier is well aware that the blindfolded man can take care of himself. Then why does he feel so protective of him?

He knew, in great detail, at least 50 different ways to kill a person and had the means to do it. Injecting air into the bloodstream and facilitating an air embolism, constricting the windpipe and suffocating them while they sleep, utilizing any number of lethal drugs he had on hand: the list went on. If anyone ever hurt the Host again, he'd have to...

He takes a deep breath. The Host needs a doctor now, not an emotional wreck. The doctor checks off his mental checklist and goes through the familiar motions of proper medical procedure for his patient. It was his job to help people, and he'd be damned if he did just the opposite: at least on purpose (accidents happen).

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

For some reason, imagining Dr. Iplier attempting to murder the infamous Dark and Wilford duo calms the Host down. The Host had an especially violent streak during his Author days, so he understood the feeling well. But the fact that the doctor would feel so passionately about him was... endearing. Maybe this could still work...

The doctor grabs his glasses from his desk and pushes them up the bridge of his nose. They were rectangular ones reminiscent of Mark's old trademark, which the Host imagined made Dr. Iplier look more distinguished and erudite. He reads off his clipboard with concern.

"Elevated heart rate, irregular breathing, flushed but no fever, dilated pupils... Host, do you know what -or who- caused this?" The Host notices how Dr. Iplier clenches his jaw at "who". How cute.

You. "That doesn't matter, Doctor. I can assure you, I'm fine. I've been experiencing these 'symptoms' for a while now. I know they're not fatal." He casually fails to mention the overload he just had.

"And you didn't bother to tell me? We see each other every day!" Dr. Iplier gasps with a look of genuine horror on his face. "Have you... have you been seeing other doctors?!"

The Host stifles a laugh. "Of course not. Dr. Schneeplestein may be 'zhe good doctah', but you are the best one."

"Oh, I know," Dr. Iplier asserts, the flirtatious remark flying over his large ego. "Trust me, you wouldn't believe how many lawsuits we get every week. It's a wonder how our business stays afloat."

Something that the Host said triggers something in the doctor's mind. He checks his clipboard again. The Host had been experiencing this for a while now, minus the almost collapsing part. And so had he. It can't be... can it? The symptoms were the same as his own.

"I'm sorry, but I think we're both dying."

"...We?"

Dr. Iplier sets down his clipboard and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He never liked being the bearer of bad news, but the burden seemed to be part of his job.

"I'm afraid we both have the same illness- same symptoms and everything. Yours is probably later-staged, which would explain the fainting spell. We should warn Dark and the others to quarantine the area or something."

The Host starts laughing, loud and unabashedly. Dr. Iplier looks on in confusion and finds himself unable to speak. This was the first time he saw the Host laugh this much. Creepy sadistic grins? Sure. A wry smile after making a snide remark? Rare, but certainly rewarding. This crazed fit of giggling however? Unheard of until now. The doctor liked seeing the Host happy, even if it was due to the thought of their own deaths. Maybe it was a coping mechanism. He wonders how much time he had left to hear it again.

The Host slowly calms down, wiping the blood dripping down his face as if he was wiping away tears of laughter. It doesn't have the same effect: Dr. Iplier grimaces at the red smear on the back of his patient's hand.

"I assure you, those measures will not be necessary. Tell me Doctor, when do these 'symptoms', as you call them, tend to occur?"

"All the time since a few weeks ago, but it gets worse when you're around: no offense. Is it that Hanahaki disease Yandereiplier was telling me about?"

The Host resists the urge to facepalm. For someone who supposedly went to medical school, Dr. Iplier was surprisingly dumb. He completely went against the stereotype of glasses-wearers being the most intelligent.

"No. What you- we have is not an illness nor disease, at least not in the traditional sense."

"You know what it is then? Is there a cure?" Dr. Iplier replies in all seriousness.

The Host sighs. He still didn't get it. "Doctor, are you familiar with the concept of love?"

"Obviously", Dr. Iplier retorts, his ego kicking in again. The Host sincerely doubts it. "There are tons of books on the subject and Wil talks about it all the time. It's a combination of dopamine, serotonin, and adrenaline."

"In scientific terms, yes. And the physical indications?"

Dr. Iplier thinks for a moment, going down the list. It clicks.

"Oh my god, I love you."

A pause. The doctor starts to realize what he blurted out loud. He covers his face in his hands, not daring to make eye contact (or whatever was closest to that) with the Host/newfound target of affection. He opens his mouth in an attempt to amend his spur of the moment confession until he hears the Host's muttered response:

"...The feeling is mutual".

The two of them are both blushing messes and the silence is impenetrable. Dr. Iplier doesn't know how to respond. What was he supposed to say? How does one typically proceed from here? How does this work?

He breaks the silence with a hastily stammered excuse to grab a damp hand towel and a fresh bandage for the Host's bleeding eye sockets. The doctor gently wipes the blood off the Host's face, dyeing the towel pink.

The Host knew better than to argue about being able to do it himself. "It's my job!" the doctor said every time the Host commented on it, even though he knew it wasn't necessary. Whether it be the simple action of bandaging his face or wiping blood off it, Dr. Iplier was always gentle. The doctor was one of the only ones who knew what happened to the Host: what happened to his eyes, what he had done, who he'd hurt. And still, still Dr. Iplier treated him with curtesy and kindness. But why? It was one of the things about the doctor that the Host found intriguing- captivating even. And to think that Dr. Iplier liked him back...

"You are..." the Host pauses, searching for the right word to say next. Although he's a writer and self proclaimed linguist, he can't find another word that conveys the same emotion and feeling. "Beautiful. The Host wishes that he could see you".

"Host, you don't have to. I'm really not," the doctor asserts with a half-hearted chuckle. He tries to focus on helping his patient instead of the burning sensation on his cheeks. At least the Host was stable enough to phase out of talking in first person.

The Host's head tilts to the side, frowning slightly. "You are the kind of doctor and person that others like the Host need, but not necessarily the one they deserve. The Host understands if this is something you aren't comfortable pursuing yet, or ever."

Dr. Iplier scoffs, setting the now bloodstained towel down. "Hold on, you deserve all the care and support in the world, medical or otherwise. Sure you've done horrible things in the past, but that doesn't make you any less deserving of happiness now."

The doctor gingerly unties the Host's bandage to expose closed eyelids caked with dried blood. "Because you're 'beautiful' too. And this-," Dr. Iplier pauses, taking the Host's hand in both his own. "This is something that I want too. If you'll have me".

"Of course," the Host says with a rare smile. It's sweet and small, but the doctor's heart palpitates anyways. "The Host would even like to ask if you were free for coffee or a beverage of your choice later, if you are interested."

"Are you... asking me out?" The Host was always taken aback at how dumb his doctor sometimes was.

"The Host says yes".

"Neat!" Dr. Iplier exclaims a little too enthusiastically, "Um, I'll be there."

He carefully ties the new bandage over the Host's face. The doctor knew the pristine cloth would only stay white for so long until it got stained red again and his patient would have to return. The Host slides off the bed to face Dr. Iplier.

"The Host would like to thank the doctor for his help and for accepting his proposal. The Host also implores Dr. Iplier to put a shirt on." The Host's gaze (if one could call it that) drifts to the floor to try and avoid having his thoughts veer into dangerous territory again.

That explains why the doctor felt so cold. He tries to ignore the sharp spikes of embarrassment stabbing his insides. You know it's bad when a legally blind man points out your dress code infringement (or lack thereof of said "dress").

"Well that's unprofessional of me. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"The Host says it's more than fine, just distracting. The Host will leave to let the doctor finish changing."

"Oh."

Dr. Iplier is still unused to all the compliments and to seeing this slightly flirty Host. Not that he was complaining though. He had so many questions and cursed his lack of experience. The Host was halfway out the door when the doctor calls out after him.

"Hey Host, how do you know all this stuff?"

Dr. Iplier knew with 100% certainty that the Host never brought any partners back to the manor (his medical questionnaires tend to be extensive, if not a little insensitive), and he was sure that the Author's experiences didn't really count as the Host's own.

The Host grins mischievously. "You don't know half of the things I write. Maybe I'll show you one day, if you're up to it."

A spot of crimson spreads through the Host's bandages as he shifts into first person. On that note, the Host leaves and the doctor is left with more confusion and a piqued interest.

The doctor grabs a clean shirt, bunching it up and covers his face, groaning. What does the Host write? Where the hell did he get "neat" from? What happened to the less awkward (but not nearly as fulfilling) doctor-patient relationship they used to have?

The doctor finally puts the shirt on and his lab coat over it, falling facedown onto his bed. The headmirror presses uncomfortably against his skull. He didn't know when "later" was for his little date, nor where. Where they going to meet there or were they going together? And holy fuck, what was he going to wear?

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

Host smiles to himself, walking down the familiar path to his room. For the first time in a long time, he felt content: he finally asked the flustered doctor out, though he didn't expect getting "distracted" or the doctor actually accepting.

He turns a corner to sense some of the other egos crowding the hallway with conniving looks directed towards him. How did they find out so fast? The Host mentally prepares himself for annoyance.

"I hear that someone has been trying to make a move on our good doctor here," Dark announces with a smirk. "I congratulate you Host, I hope the two of find happiness."

Dark sighs wistfully. The others can't tell if he is joking or not when he mutters "they grow up so fast" like a proud parent.

"So~?" Wilford teases in a singsong voice, slinging his arm around the blindfolded man's shoulder and whispers conspiratorially: "didya fuck?"

The others respond with similar curiosity, loudly talking over one another. The Host can sense an imminent migraine at the multiple dialogues and camera panning he has to keep track of. But he appreciates their support nonetheless.

"Can I just establish the fact that I am still the gayest one here? Just saying," Bim affirms as an afterthought.

"The Host asks all of the egos to stop blocking the hallway."

[jarienn972]

A Simple Spell - Chapter Twelve

A Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

I honestly did not plan for this latest @cssns​ chapter update to take so long. I had the majority of this finished over Thanksgiving weekend, but then an awful upper respiratory infection started making its way around my household. The past few weeks have been a blur and I feel like I've been completely out of touch. I finally managed to get the haze out of my head and finish up this chapter.

There are two chapters left in my outline so expect some big reveals coming! I really appreciate everyone who has read, shared and commented along the way. Thank you so much for sticking with me with my first AU!  Thank you @kmomof4​ for being such a great cheerleader and I’m sorry I made you wait so long for the next chapter.  And as always, thanks to @lassluna​ for her beta assistance along the way and to @cocohook38​ for her incredible artwork!

Read from the beginning or get a refresher:  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven           Also on AO3 and FF.net

In such a remote area, the process of extricating the unconscious Captain Jones from the root cellar had been a time-consuming challenge. Since the ambulance wasn't off-road equipped, the paramedics had been forced to hitch a ride in Graham's 4x4 and utilize the SUV as an improvised transport vehicle. After a few tense minutes of concern as the team determined the best way to carry the wounded man from the cellar, Emma finally breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her friend loaded safely into the back of Graham's vehicle.

She would have been happier to accompany Killian to Storybrooke Hospital but since space was limited, she remained behind to return the borrowed ATVs and then returned to the Sheriff's station with David. He parked the cruiser in the alley behind the station and they entered through the rear door near the break room. David ducked into the break room to start a pot of coffee brewing, needing a caffeine boost after their busy morning. Emma continued into the squad room, dropping her gear atop her desk as she collapsed her weary body into her chair. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, but she was incredibly relieved as they'd managed to locate Killian quickly and best of all - alive. Of course, the outcome hadn't been entirely perfect as they had no idea who had abducted the captain or why, but at least they had a few leads.

After delivering Killian and the paramedics to the ambulance, Graham returned to the house in the woods to gather evidence. David wanted fresh eyes on the crime scene - to search both the main house and the root cellar, primarily tasking the deputy to find the identity of the current occupant. David would have handled it himself, but he was worried about his little sister and what her state of mind might be after finding the man she was dating unconscious and injured in a hole in the ground. And he became even more concerned when he strolled into the squad room to see her tossing items out of her desk, frantically hunting for something.

"Problem?" he asked quizzically.

"Yeah - my mother's journal… I can't find it…," she replied, emptying what remained of the top drawer onto the floor. "I put it in this drawer before we left - I know I did!"

"You sure? Maybe you put it in the bottom drawer instead?" he suggested, but it only earned him an unpleasant glare from his sister.

"I put everything in here together - the box and both books. The box is still here," she said as she lifted it for him to see. "And so is the other book, but the journal isn't anywhere to be found…"

"Well, I doubt it just vanished. You're absolutely sure it was in your desk?"

"Yes, David - I'm sure. Someone must have taken it off of my desk."

"Emma, come on… Who would break into a Sheriff's station to steal a diary?"

"I don't know. It makes no sense, but then not much that has happened this week has made any sense. What if this was just another part of our so-called warlock's sick game? What if he kidnapped Killian as a diversion so he could get his hands on that journal? He was probably afraid that mom might have left clues."

"Considering she lost, I can't imagine they'd be good clues," David quipped, but she didn't appreciate the sarcasm.

"Maybe she left clues about what not to do?" she retorted, her frustrations nearing the boiling point.

"Maybe… Look, why don't you head over to the hospital and get an update on Captain Jones' condition? I know you're worried… I'll keep searching around here and see if the book might have just been misplaced. The rest of the paperwork can wait until Graham gets back here."

"Fine. Just please, let me know immediately if you find it?"

"I'll bring it right to you. I'm sure it will turn up. Now - go. I'm trusting you to get the Captain's statement when he wakes."

"I will. Thank you, David." Wary of leaving any of her mother's other items behind lest they vanish along with the journal, Emma scooped up the box and the spellbook. She wasn't going anywhere without these now, certain that Gold had hung onto these things for a reason. She hoped David was correct and the journal was around here somewhere, but she wasn't feeling particularly positive right now. She was certain someone had taken it while they were rescuing Killian, but why? The answer to that question would likely be the key to unraveling this entire mystery.

**********

Emma arrived at the main entrance to Storybrooke General hospital a little after 2pm and, after a brief spat with the head nurse, was directed to Killian Jones' room and provided a synopsis of his current condition. He'd needed some minor surgery to repair the damage to his wounded shoulder and he was also being treated for some mild hypothermia after being in the damp, chilly root cellar for an unknown length of time. The staff was baffled by his lingering comatose state as none of his injuries would explain why he remained unresponsive. Dr. Victor Whale, the lead physician overseeing Killian's treatment, suspected that drugs might be involved and and ordered blood samples taken and sent to the laboratory for processing. Until they had those results, everything was pure speculation.

She found herself staring at the shell of a man laying before her on the hospital bed, one who bore little resemblance to the brash Captain she'd first encountered days ago. Maybe it was the flimsy hospital garb he wore in place of his dark leathers, or perhaps it was the silence of his sharp tongue, but either way, she felt as if she were in the presence of an entirely different person. There was a vulnerability to the man in front of her and Emma couldn't help but feel a little bit of sadness for him - both for his ordeal and for the fact he had no family to be here with him.

She had already spoken to his first mate, Mr. Smee, to advise him that the Captain had been located and was currently hospitalized. The skittish little man had stopped by briefly to check in and say thank you, but hadn't stayed. In the Captain's absence, the task of running the Jolly Roger fell upon him so he couldn't stick around long. His crew was likely the closest thing to family that Killian Jones had but there was still distance. It was another bit of kinship that Emma felt with Killian. She'd spent years alone after her mother died, and yet even when she'd found David and the rest of her ever-expanding family, she wasn't as close with them as she'd been with her mother. She and Killian were both essentially orphans and her gut was telling her that she needed to be here for him.

As Killian lay sleeping beneath a pale blue blanket drawn up to his bandaged shoulder, Emma sat quietly in a padded wooden armchair in front of the room's large window, focusing intently on her tablet screen. She may not have her mother's journal, but that wasn't going to stop her research. She was fiercely determined to make sense of all of the week's strange events. Nothing about the things that were happening sat right with her and she needed to figure out why.

She'd received another message from Belle not long ago which fueled her study. The librarian had uncovered a few articles that she believed would be helpful to the deputy, emailing Emma copies of anything she could send electronically. She also advised that she'd located a few books that were pertinent to Emma's interests. After returning Belle's call and arranging to have the books delivered here to the hospital, Emma had started perusing the electronic files immediately. There were quite a few scans and links to look at, but she figured she had some time to read before Killian woke.

But she also had plenty of time to think - maybe too much. All of the week's events seemingly stemmed from her casting the true love spell - the spell that was now mysteriously missing from the book she'd recited it from. How had she seen it in there before when Zelena had recited another from the same book? Had it been visible only to her or had it existed within those vellum pages only to disappear once recited? And then there was that stupid spell itself… She'd felt so compelled to cast it, but had she now drawn innocent bystanders into its mix? Unlike her mother's situation, she knew that both Killian Jones and Walsh Gibbons were real. Unless Killian's entire crew was an elaborate ruse, they'd been sailing with him for years so Captain Jones wasn't imaginary. And Walsh - she'd known him for a while now. They'd dated when she lived in Boston so he was real enough. Now both men's fates were intertwined with hers and for what? So some greedy, needy warlock could cheat her out of her powers if she couldn't figure out which man was her true love?

The whole damned situation irked her. She certainly wasn't the first witch to cast a spell to find love. The very fact that these spells exist was evidence that others had been every bit as hopeful (or maybe desperate) as she'd been. But had she stumbled onto this particular spell by accident or had it been predestined? Had the warlock chosen his victims in advance or was it mere coincidence that both she and her mother had become his victims?

No one had yet mentioned who the warlock's first chosen opponent had been or whether that person had been kin to Emma's family so that had been one of Emma's questions for Belle. There had to be some sort of record as to who that unlucky person had been and fortunately for Emma, Belle had been successful in locating a name. The first opponent had also been a woman - a powerful witch by the name of Ursula who had arrived to Storybrooke from the West Indies in the early 1900s. Belle hadn't been able to uncover any information about what the warlock had used to trick her, but the reports from the time stated that she'd not only lost her powers, but also her voice. A month later, she'd been found floating in the bay, apparently having drowned herself to end her suffering.

What sort of sadistic bastard was she dealing with? He clearly enjoyed preying on women, but why? Were they easier targets or were their powers stronger? Knowing she'd fallen pretty easily for the trap, Emma assumed women might be easier to coerce, although her powers certainly didn't seem to measure up to her mother's or to what she'd read about Ursula's. Had Emma been targeted because of some weakness the warlock had observed? And why did he feel it necessary to resort to so many games?

Magical deals be damned - something wasn't adding up here.

Emma had entirely lost track of time when she heard a faint rap on the room's door. Glancing up, she was somewhat surprised to see David's face peeking around the doorframe. As he passed through the entrance, she could see that he had a stack of books tucked beneath his left arm and a carry-out bag from Granny's clutched in his right hand.

"I figured you'd text me first," she greeted her brother as he deposited the books on a narrow counter beside the sink and dropped the bag of food onto her lap.

"Mary Margaret insisted that I bring you something to eat and as I was leaving Granny's, I ran into Belle who said she was bringing these books over for you. Since I was already on my way over, I figured I'd save her the trip and brought them myself. Unfortunately, I didn't manage to find the journal you were looking for."

"I didn't figure you would," she replied dejectedly. "I'm quite certain that someone took it while we were searching for Killian."

"Pretty bold to steal something from a deputy from inside the station."

"Even bolder if they abducted and stabbed Killian to provide themselves a diversion," Emma added.

"Agreed. How's he doing anyway?" David asked, jabbing a finger in the direction of the slumbering man in the bed behind him. "Any change?"

"No. He's still unconscious, his heart rate is extremely slow and his breathing is unusually shallow. Dr. Whale said that there's no real medical reason for it so he's running some tests to check for drugs or other substances that might be in Killian's system."

"Could be some really strong knockout drugs, but I guess we'll have to wait and see. I really would like to get his statement and get this crime linked to a perp…"

"There's no way to know how long it will be until he wakes, but in the meantime, I've got some reading to do."

"I see that. What's the subject?"

"Some history and some stuff about warlocks and wizards, but without the magical school and British accents… Well, al least no accent until Killian wakes."

David shook his head at the exhausting thought of doing this much reading. "I'll leave you to your studies then but I'll check back in a few hours."

"Sounds good. Thanks, David."

"You're welcome. And I do hope your captain here wakes up soon."

"Me too," she said as David strolled through the doorway and turned out of her line of sight. As she stood, she inhaled the tempting aroma of onion rings as she placed the take-out bag on the windowsill and took a couple of steps over to the counter to retrieve the books. Her eyes were drawn to the figure on the bed and she couldn't help but stare at him while picking up the first book from the stack. Mythology of Supernatural Beings was the title and the book cover was emblazoned with a devil's trap pentagram. This wasn't going to be light reading but she was ready for the challenge. She had a few suspicions about what was really happening in this town but she wasn't yet ready to share her theory - or the choice she'd made. She fully intended to put an end to these silly games permanently but she needed to be sure.

**********

Emma hadn't realized that she'd dozed off until she felt a tap on her shoulder. She woke with an involuntary shudder, stunned for a moment until she recognized the face of the brunette nurse who'd been in and out of the room all afternoon.

"I'm sorry, Deputy Swan. I didn't mean to startle you, but you have a visitor downstairs in the lobby."

"Oh… Alright then… Thank you, Michelle." Emma closed the book on her lap and placed it over onto the windowsill before pushing herself to her feet. Maintaining a vigil at a hospital bedside wasn't the most comfortable way to spend a day. "Would you have Fred keep watch on this room and page me if anything changes while I'm gone?"

"I'll be happy to, Deputy, although any changes in Mr. Jones' condition don't seem likely at this point."

"I know. Wishful thinking on my part. His case is still active and I still need to get his statement." Emma was reluctant to leave Killian's side, especially when they'd yet to identify his abductor but she knew that Fred the security guard wouldn't let anyone past without proper authorization. Killian would be fine for a few minutes while she went downstairs to see who was waiting for her so she stepped into the elevator and took it down to the ground floor. When the doors parted, she made the left turn into the main hallway, strolled past the security checkpoint, gift shop and snack bar into the open space of the entrance lobby, not expecting the person she found standing there.

"Walsh? What are you doing here?" she asked incredulously.

"I hadn't heard back from you all day so I got a little bit worried - especially when the other deputy said you were here."

"I'm fine. It's just been a very hectic day. I've been waiting here all day waiting for a kidnapping victim to wake up so I can get a statement."

"Is that why you had to leave the diner this morning?"

"Partially," she replied, not wanting to divulge too much information. "Just the usual chaos that is the life of a deputy sheriff in Storybrooke."

"I'm sure," he chuckled before sighing with relief. "I'm just glad you're alright and… well, I was going to see if you would like to join me for dinner?"

"I'm sorry, Walsh. I really can't. This is still an open case and David and Graham will really need my help to catch the kidnapper." She was trying to let him down easy, using work as an excuse so she didn't have to reveal that she really just wanted to be here with Killian. "I would love to, but maybe another night?"

"Of course. I understand," he replied in a quiet, dejected tone, his posture now echoing his visible disappointment. "Please, call me tomorrow. I really would like to have one more evening with you before I head back to Boston."

"I'd like that, too," she insisted.

"Well, I hope he wakes up soon so you can close your case."

"Me too," she said as she gave him a quick hug that turned out far more awkward than she'd expected. She'd wanted it to be a nice, friendly gesture, but she wasn't feeling as though her sentiments were being reciprocated. Walsh had wrapped his arms around her back, but she sensed no emotion from the embrace - at least not the sort of emotion one would expect from someone claiming to be concerned about her. "I'll see you later, Walsh."

Then again, perhaps she was reading too much into things after everything she'd been reading. As Walsh vanished out of the hospital's front doors, the little gears inside Emma's head were going into overdrive so she decided to call one person who could help clarify things a bit - Graham.

She yanked her phone out of her jeans pocket and dialed his number, worried that she might get his voicemail, but he finally answered on the fourth ring. "Hey Graham. Turn up anything?"

"Not much," he replied. "The place was pretty bare. I pulled a few fingerprints, but those will only help us if the person is in the system. Oh, I did find some interesting scraps in the fireplace that lead me to believe that those dust voids on the mantle were from photographs. I bagged the scraps as evidence but I want you to have a look at them."

"I'd love to see what you've got. Can you bring them by the hospital?"

"Yeah. I just got back to the station, so give me a little while and I'll be over."

"Sounds good. Oh, Graham - did you happen to talk to someone and mention that I was here at the hospital with Captain Jones?"

"No. Only people I've spoken with were David and the search party, but as I said, I just got back. Any particular reason?"

"No, that's okay. Just had some curious people stopping by and asking questions, you know?"

"Probably just someone trying to get the scoop for tomorrow's paper… Any changes though?"

"'Fraid not. Seems like it's going to be a long night."

"Alright. Well, I'll see you in about an hour or so then."

"See you then," she said as she disconnected the call, strolling over to an unoccupied, quiet alcove off of the entrance hall, needing to make another call with more privacy. Walsh was long out of view, but her conversation with Graham left her ill at ease. Graham hadn't spoken to Walsh so how the hell had Gibbons known she was here? And how had he known that the kidnapping victim was a man? Something smelled rotten here…

She scrolled through her contacts to find the number belonging to Mayor Regina Mills, dialing it even though Regina would be none-too-happy to hear from Emma again today.

"Hello, Emma," Regina's voice greeted her in a flat, disinterested tone.

"Regina, I need your help with something," Emma stated, keeping her voice low in case prying ears were nearby.

"Again? What spell did you cast this time?"

"Yes, again… And I didn't cast another spell. There have been some odd developments in the case."

"Such as? Robin told me that you found Captain Jones. Was there something odd about that?"

"Nothing specifically about finding him, but there are a lot of other things that aren't making sense… Regina, if I'm right, this town is dealing with something more powerful than a warlock…"

"You're probably jumping to conclusions, but just what do you think is going on?"

"I don't want to get into it over the phone. Can you come down to the hospital? I don't really want to leave here until he wakes up."

"Then call me back when he does."

"That's the thing, Regina - no one has any idea when he might wake up. He's been unconscious since we found him, but Dr. Whale can't find any medical reason why."

Regina's ears perked up at those words. "He's not injured?"

"He was stabbed, but not severely enough to be unconscious this long."

"I'll be there in half an hour."

***********

Regina seemed to have a permanent scowl etched onto her face today but at least she showed up promptly. Emma had advised security that Mayor Mills was on her way and to let her pass, not that anyone really would have dared to stop her. Emma wasn't really sure where to begin as Regina pushed open the door and entered the room, taking a side-eyed glance at the dark-haired patient on the bed as she passed.

"Well, at least he's good looking…," Regina quipped. "Now, just what the hell is going on, Emma? What was so secretive that you couldn't say anything over the phone?"

"I'm not sure it's safe to talk here…," Emma said as she pushed herself to her feet. "I'm worried that someone might be watching…"

"Then we make some privacy," Regina stated as she withdrew her ebony wand from inside her pantsuit jacket and waved it with theatrical flourish, producing a force field that sealed the room off from the rest of the world. "There - problem solved. You know how to set up a protective spell. Unless your magic is slipping, you're really distracted by this."

"Look, Regina, let me preface this by saying that this has probably been one of the most overwhelming weeks of my life. I've been here in Storybrooke for a few months, but I've been bombarded with more surprises and secrets this week than I could ever have imagined, so if what I have to say sounds crazy, imagine what has been going through my mind for the past several days."

"Noted," Regina replied without emotion as she sat down in the chair Emma had vacated.

"Okay, so I've been told by everyone this week that my mother was once a powerful witch who was tricked out of those powers by losing a challenge set up by a warlock, but what if that story isn't entirely true?"

"What about the story do you think is false? We've been told for generations that the warlock gave this town it's magic. It's our town's legacy, Emma. You've known that story for a few days and you already think it's wrong?"

"It just doesn't seem like a warlock would be powerful enough, not to mention that he'd have to be immortal to keep coming back here after all these years… I think we're dealing with a far more powerful being…"

"Seriously, Emma? A few months into the study of magic and you're suddenly an expert at identifying warlocks and magical beings?"

"Don't berate me, Regina! I may not be a magical expert, but I'm not an idiot and I'm a good enough detective to know when the clues don't add up. After skimming through my mother's journal and researching some stuff Belle sent me, I think we might be dealing with some sort of trickster."

"A trickster? You think that Loki is running amuck in Storybrooke?" Regina scoffed, rolling her eyes at the deputy.

"Loki is just the Scandinavian name for a trickster," Emma stated firmly, the irritation in her voice increasing. "There are other names for them in other cultures, but whatever you want to call it, a trickster fills in some of the holes in the story. Tricksters like to play games so these ridiculous challenges make more sense. This crazy true love spell… Killian being kidnapped to try to throw off my decision and whatever is affecting him now that's keeping him unconscious…"

Regina stabbed a finger in the direction of the sleeping Killian Jones. "That? That's magic - dark magic."

"What?" Emma wasn't sure she believed what she was hearing. "Magic? What does magic have to do with this?"

"When you called and said that they couldn't find any medical reason, it reminded me of a dark potion I'd only ever heard of before. A sleeping spell."

"Sleeping spell? Those are a thing?"

"We're not talking Sleeping Beauty here. It won't make him immortal and sleep forever. If this is the potion I think it is, he's stuck in perpetual sleep. He can only be awakened with the antidote - assuming whoever cursed him made one - or by a kiss of true love."

"A kiss of true love? So it is like Sleeping Beauty… And if he is my true love, he'll wake up, but if he's not…"

"You lose your powers and he'll stay like this forever," Regina deadpanned the obvious.

"Thanks for not making my decision any easier…," Emma sighed as her eyes drifted over to Killian's peaceful-looking face. She had no idea if he could hear what they were saying. Was he screaming at her on the inside? She hated that so much hinged on a seemingly impossible choice.

"So you haven't determined which one of them is your true love yet?" Regina questioned.

"No, I haven't. Every time I think I have it figured out, my brain thinks up something that changes my mind… It's incredibly frustrating and there's no way to just wave my wand and fix things…"

"If you had asked, I would have told you that matters of the heart generally aren't best served by magical shortcuts," Regina reminded her.

"I know - I screwed up… All the good it does me now…" Emma lamented as she sat down on the bottom corner of the bed. "It's my fault that he's stuck like this…"

"How is this sleeping spell your fault?" Regina chastised her. "You may have cast a spell that brought him into your life, but you didn't make the potion or give it to him. You don't even know for sure that your love spell is related to what happened to him…"

"I'm pretty sure they are," Emma replied defensively as she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. "Hold on a moment…," she said to Regina as she fished out her phone to see Grahams name on the display. "It's Graham. He has some evidence for me to look at." Regina nodded, uninterested in whatever evidence the two deputies were going to discuss. "Hi Graham… Yeah, room 306… Okay, thanks… See you in a bit."

Emma disconnected the call as Regina stood up brandishing her wand to lower the conjured protective barrier. "Better drop the protection spell so your partner can get in. Was there more you wanted to tell me or can I go now?"

"You're not going to weigh in with an opinion on my theory?" Emma wondered.

"I'm reserving my opinion until there's more evidence," the mayor insisted, seeing Graham's face in the doorway. "I'll talk to you later."

Emma nodded as Regina traded places with Graham, her heels clicking on the tile floor as she strode into the hallway while Graham took a tentative step into the room.

"Why was Regina just here?" Graham inquired quizzically.

"We had some coven business to discuss," Emma told him, which was only a partial lie. The conversation was about magic and spells. Graham didn't need to know more than that. "So - what did you find out there?"

Still hovering next to the door, Graham reached into his coat pocket and removed three sealed evidence baggies that he passed to Emma. "I found these scraps in the fireplace. Somebody tried to burn some photographs and I think you'll find these interesting…"

"Well, let's see…," she replied as she took the plastic bags from his hand. The remnants of the photos weren't very large and they were badly scorched, but Emma could make out some of the detail. The first black and white scrap showed a portion of a woman's face. She appeared to have dark skin and jet black hair, but the photo was so coated with soot that it was difficult to tell. Emma didn't recognize the woman in this photo but her eyes lit up at the familiar face. "This is my mother," she announced, pointing at the burnt image of a blonde haired woman with long, flipped bangs that were vintage 1970s. "It proves Ozmund Welch or whoever was living out there did have a connection to my mother."

"You may want to look at that last one…"

Shifting the two images she'd already seen to the bottom of the pile, Emma's jaw fell slack at the third imagine. "Son of a bitch…" she muttered, yanking out her phone and tapping one of the contacts. "Graham - stay here and don't let anyone through that doorway…" She darted into the corridor with the bag still clutched in her fist, leaving a bewildered Graham behind. She had the phone to her ear awaiting an answer, bypassing the normal greeting when the person on the other end answered. "Regina - are you still in the hospital?"

"I just walked outside. What is it?"

"Meet me in the lobby. There's something I want you to see," Emma implored as she stepped inside the elevator.

"Fine," Regina replied, pivoting on her heels to return to the lobby. "This had better be good…"

"It may answer one of our biggest questions…" Emma explained before her phone lost service inside the elevator.

Regina was waiting for her when the elevator doors parted at the ground floor and as soon as the other passengers came and went, Emma ushered Regina over to the still-unoccupied alcove she'd called from earlier.

"Alright, Emma… what is this about?"

"This," Emma stated as she held up the evidence bag for Regina to view. "Look at this… Graham found it in the fireplace at the house where we found Killian."

"What am I looking at here?" Regina queried, squinting her eyes as she glanced at the scorched photo, trying to make out the image.

"It's a photo of me." Emma said as she showed Regina the other two remnants. "And here's one of my mom and a really old one of a woman I think was the first victim… I understand the possible connection to my mom, but if he's got photographs of all of his opponents?"

"That's a little disturbing, but you said this would help give some answers. I don't understand…"

"Regina - this isn't a recent photograph of me. It was taken in Boston a couple of years ago. The dress I'm wearing was from an undercover sting - the same case I was on when I met Walsh!"

"Could it be a coincidence?" Regina asked, but she already doubted that herself.

"Do you believe in coincidence?" Emma retorted. "If this warlock or trickster, or whatever the hell he is, was stalking me then, he had to have already known who I was. I didn't even know I had magic back then, so how did he? Only someone who knew my mother could possibly have known that which meant they had to be connected to Storybrooke…"

"Which means…?"

"I think it means Walsh is no innocent bystander. I don't think my true love could possibly be someone who was already plotting this game years before I knew I was playing."

"Well, there's only one way to know for sure…"

"And that is?"

"You make the choice that Captain Jones is your true love and then you get back up there and kiss the holy hell out of that man."

[caps-lockdown]

Operation Man Flu: Part 3

I got done with Part 3 a little earlier than I thought I would, so here it is! I’m 3000% sure it’s my favorite part of this series, and I blame all of the gifs and pictures from Red Sea Diving Resort. Haven’t seen it yet, trying to protect my ovaries. Anyway, enjoy!

Summary: As a hacker nobody agent of S.H.I.E.L.D you get roped into what might possibly be your worst nightmare come to life. Will you survive the long weekend? Will you have a chance to get closer to a certain reserved Captain during this extremely stressful (and hilarious) situation?

Pairings: Steve x Shield Agent Female Reader!

Words: 5,672 

Extra Warning for this part: Get ready for Confident/Flirty Steve Rogers. And some adult(ish) situations. Reader discretion is advised.

Ratings/Warnings: I’m going to put hard R here for the whole thing because there’s going to be cussing, mentions of sickness, alcohol consumption, physical fights, mental breakdowns. Jealousy, love triangles (sort of), angst, drama, and lots of crude humor. Also as of part three some adult situations. Just strap in.

Also no Beta so my mistakes are my only thing to claim, I don’t own any characters either, with the exception of the reader, a doctor, and some random characters here and there.

It is in Y/N (Your Name) L/N (Last Name) format. Enjoy!

(Flashbacks are completely in italics) (Picture of outfit isn’t mine, found it on the webs)

Part Three

Saturday, 1000 hours

You were awoken to the sound of a quiet knock on your door, you rubbing your eyes to look at the clock on your nightstand before attempting to get out of bed. You hadn’t had the best night of sleep, your hair looking like something from a horror movie and your rumpled matching penguin pajamas not helping matters.

“Hold on a damn minute. Jeesh.” You called, bringing your hand to the knob and throwing it open.

You came face to face with a very happy looking Sam Wilson.

“Y/N you sly fox you!”

“Sam, it’s ten in the morning. You are way too happy and I have way too much blood in my caffeine system to allow that much happy.” You went to close the door in Wilson’s face but he calmly pressed his hand into it, keeping you from returning to your bed.

“Ah but I come bearing gifts!”

Your arm shot out to grab his offering of coffee, you sighing in complete bliss as the warm latte hit your lips.

“Hazelnut. You remembered.”

“Sure did! Now let’s go we have much to discuss.” He began to pull on your arm, a quizzical expression covering your facial features.

“Sam?”

“Yes my sleepy seductress?”

“I need to change out of my pjs first.”

Your close friend looked down at your current attire and nodded his head in a “Yes you do” kind of way that would have offended you if you were more awake.

“True enough. Wear the outfit you wore to the movies with me last Wednesday!”

“That’s oddly specific Wilson, any reason?”

“I’ll explain that on the way just do it!” Sam clipped at you, shutting the door behind him as you began to look through your closet.

“How bossy.”

Going through your various garments you finally found the combination of pieces your question evading pal had demanded you put on.

“Now what was the reasoning behind this demand?” You chose to ignore Sam’s low whistle as you shut the door to your room, bringing the coffee to your lips to take another sip.

“I heard from Tony about an hour ago that our favorite Captain woke him up at five this morning to talk about YOU!”

“Me?” You sputtered, almost dropping your coffee cup but managing to keep your trembling hands steady, Sam nodding enthusiastically.

“Yes you! Did you really tell him that you could wave a flag with your feelings in red, white, and blue letters and he wouldn’t notice?”

“I was tired Sam, and he kept rambling on about how wonderful I was. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, and honestly I didn’t think he would catch on.” An embarrassed huff left your mouth, Wilson only smiling back at you.

“Well I for one am super proud of you!’

“Yea thanks but what did he say to Stark?”

“What makes you think I’m a snitch?” You gave him a flat look as you entered the elevator to head up to Quarantine. “Fine, I’ll tell you…”

~~Saturday Morning, 0500 hours~~

“Stark….Tony…Wake up!”

“Shit Cap…someone better be dying.”

“Just you. Now I need your help!” Steve helped a cranky Tony sit up in his bed, the only light available coming from the small office they had been using for supplies.

“What’s going on Rogers? Do I want to know what time it is?”

“….It’s early.”The Captain had a sheepish smile on his face as Tony checked his watch on the table next to his bed, groaning as his eyes strained to read the time. “Listen it’s about Y/N…”

“I saw you leave with her last night. Did you finally make a move?”

“No, but I think she did.”

Steve proceeded to tell Tony about your conversations you two had the entire day, Tony only nodding off a couple times but Steve couldn’t bring himself to be mad at the man. After all it was his fault the superhero was even up at this hour, and he clearly didn’t want to be.

“So lemme get this straight. Y/N has been giving you signals ALL day, and not once did you act on it? Damn I knew you were slow Cap but this is a new one for you.”

“I wasn’t sure if she was just being nice! I always thought her and Sam had something!” The blonde man whispered angrily, mostly at himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Did you mean what you said to her?”

“Every word.”

“I see.” Tony nodded, his mind lost in thought for a moment before moving himself back down to a sleeping position on the bed. “You need to talk to her Steve. Tell her how you feel.”

“When?”

“Obviously not now.” The sick Stark growled out, shooing the soldier away. “Go get some sleep and leave me to get some myself. I’m seeing three of you and that’s three too many for this time of day.”

“But Tony what do I…”

“Goodnight Cap.” Steve rolled his eyes as Tony began to fake snore, taking the obvious hint and climbing into the spare bed next to him. Sleep didn’t come easy, but he managed to get some rest in before he awoke to the biggest case of sinus congestion he’d ever had.

1010

“Sam that’s great and all, but we both know that neither of us is going to do anything. I mean our relationship is strictly professional. I don’t even know his favorite color!”

“It’s blue.” Wilson stated with another stupid smirk, you looking down at your outfit and back to him.

“You don’t say?” Rolling your eyes you brought your attention to the shouting that was getting louder as you neared the group of ill men.

“Tony I’m your wife and you are going to listen to me and take your stupid medicine before I shove it down your throat myself!”

“Pepper must be here.” You chuckled at her shouting.

“You don’t say?” Sam mimicked you, earning a smack in the arm.

You walked in to seeing Pepper Stark straddling Tony on his bed, attempting to get him to open his mouth to take the same medicine Bucky had taken the day before. Clint and Bruce were taking bets on who would win, and Bucky for once was remaining silent.

“Oh Y/N, Sam, right on time! Help me out here would you?” You shook your head at the head of Stark industries, coming up alongside the bed to grab one of his arms to hold it in place, Sam holding down the other one from the other side.

“What betrayal is this? Et tu Brute?” Tony whimpered as Pepper forced him to down the liquid, coughing and tossing his head from side to side.

“Next time you straddle your husband, don’t ask me for help. It feels weird.” Sam muttered, avoiding eye contact with Tony as he stood to his full height.

“That’s what she said.” You giggled as Pepper rolled her eyes, Bucky bursting out laughing, which was the first noise he had made since you got there.

“Where’s Rogers?” Sam questioned, looking around the room.

“On your left.” You heard a small voice croak out behind you, your body instantly turning around to gaze at the bed next to Tony’s.

“Rogers…you look like shit.” Your words fell out of your mouth as Steve nodded in agreement. He was in the same clothes as the day before, his skin paler than normal, and his face was puffy. He sounded even worse, if that was possible.

“Damn Cap, looks like you went a few rounds with Muhammad Ali. And lost.” Sam managed to get out, the Captain in question keeping his eyes on you, never acknowledging Wilson’s comment.

“How’d you know blue was my favorite color?” You smiled sadly at Steve’s croaky congested voice, looking down at your outfit before making eye contact with Sam.

“Lucky guess.” You shrugged, the soldier’s smile widening as you bent over to feel his forehead with the back of your hand.

“You’re a bit hot.” Frowning you withdrew your hand, making a mental note at how the blonde’s eyes closed when your skin had made contact with his.

“Thanks Doll, you’re not too bad yourself.”

“Ahem…clearly Rogers has something, he’s not acting like himself.” You scratched the back of your neck, trying to hide your face.

“Nonsense. I feel fine L/W.” To make a show of his honesty he promptly shot himself up in the bed, causing you to jump back and nearly land on Tony. “See?”

You noticed as no sooner had those words came out of his mouth, the super soldier began to sway back and forth before finally falling back on the bed, rather ungracefully. “I…I may have been wrong.”

“Don’t move!” You demanded, feeling a twinge in your heart seeing him in such a state.

“ Ya easy there Pal, Wilson gave you some strong medication earlier. You’re in for a hazy day my friend.” Bucky commented, Sam nodding to the bottle on Tony’s table.

“Will you help me Y/N? I don’t...”Steve coughed into his shirt while you brushed his hair back out of his face. “I don’t think I can do this without you…”

“I’m not leaving you. I promise. Now be a good soldier and stay right here, I’ll get you a washcloth for your head.”

“Thanks…Y/N, I don’t..I don’t deserve you.” He choked out, placing a hand on top of yours for a brief moment, you heart fluttering in your chest as he smiled at you. Even looking like hell he still managed to look breathtakingly handsome.

“Sure you do…Steve. I’ll be right back don’t move.” You reassured him, taking off to find your supplies.

“Don’t plan on it!” He called back, Sam giving you a thumbs up as you pushed past him to get to the office.

What had made him so flirty? It had to be the fever. He wouldn’t do this if he was perfectly healthy.

“That went SUPER Y/N well done!” Sam praised you, shutting the door to the bathroom while you ran the cloth from the supply closet under cold water.

“Easy Sam, he’s obviously affected by the meds and sickness. He’d never be that open with me normally.”

“Yea but you still need to give him a shot! I don’t know what more you want!”

“It’s really simple.” You rung the cloth out, turning to the soldier and giving him a sad look. “I want him to ask me how my day has been. I want him to ask me out on a date and not feel like he was guilt tripped into it by you, or Tony, or even Bucky. I don’t want this sickness to give him the courage to do something he wouldn’t do in his right mind.”

“Y/N...” Sam started, a deep frown covering his face as he brought his hand to his mouth.

“I know, pathetic.”

“No it’s…I think it’s high time you get your ass out of this bathroom.” Sam commanded before running into the nearby stall and slamming the door shut. You didn’t stick around but heard him retching as you closed the door.

“Where’s Wilson?” Clint asked confused as you came out of the bathroom alone.

“Worshipping the porcelain god Barton. I’ll go ahead and make his bed ready.”

1300

“I brought Lunch! And help!” Pepper called out to you, your eyes lighting up at seeing Natasha and Wanda enter the room with her.

“Ladies you are a sight for sore eyes!” You beamed, giving each of them an emotional hug. You weren’t the only woman here anymore, you weren’t going to have to deal with these men by yourself any longer. Thank you to whoever is listening.

“Man Y/N, you miss us?” Nat snickered at your rumpled state.

“Yes. Yes I have and I’m not ashamed to admit it. These guys are the absolute worst.”

“Hey!” You jumped as the men all complained in unison.

“See what I’ve had to deal with?”

“You poor woman.” Wanda muttered sympathetically, looking at all of the sick bed inhabitants as she and Nat took off their coats.

“It hasn’t been all bad. Clint, Bruce and Thor have all been excellent patients. Barely any issues with them. Save for Thor’s incident earlier…” You trailed off to look at the pile of wood that used to be the table next to the God of thunder’s bed. It was covered in purple liquid.

“That medicine was foul Y/N, I only did what was necessary to avoid future consumption.”

“You realize the Doctor left us with tons more right?” The three other ladies and you laughed at his hurt expression, walking into the office to set the food on the counter and start dividing it up.

“You sure Chinese food is a good idea Pepper?” You questioned the red head as you pulled the pints of kung pao chicken out of a large paper bag.

“My mom always made me eat Chinese food to clear out my sinuses when I was sick.” Pepper loaded the contents of her bag onto some trays, Wanda effortlessly lifting them to float on their own out of the office.

“I could get so much done if I had super powers…”

“Tell me about it.” Nat agreed, helping you carry the remaining containers, Pepper ending the line with a couple pots of hot tea.

“DUDE IS THAT CHINESE FOOD?” Sam piped up, rubbing his hands together like a kid on Christmas as he sat up in his bed, Bruce and Clint obviously perking up as well.

“Thank god I’m starving.” Tony exclaimed, his elation ending as soon as Pepper placed a bowl of soup in front of him. “Uh honey? What is this?” He looked at the mostly broth concoction, his wife patting his head.

“It’s wonton soup sweetheart. Don’t want you eating anything super heavy when it might come up later.”

“This is the second time you’ve betrayed me today and it isn’t even two o’clock in the afternoon. Did I forget our anniversary again?” Tony scratched his head as if trying to figure out where he messed up.

“Of course not Tony. Just consider this a little karma for being an absolute child recently.” His wife kissed his cheek lovingly before taking a big bite of her chow mein in front of him.

“I don’t want this! I want sweet and sour pork!”

“Should have thought about that earlier when I had to hold you down to get you to swallow. I know it tastes bad but you just have to get over it.”

“That’s what he said.” You said quietly, Sam and Bucky chuckling in response.

“You can want all you want sweetie but it won’t change anything. You get what you get and don’t throw a fit.” The female stark cooed, Tony pouting in sadness.

“Stop talking to me like I’m a child.”

“Stop acting like one then.” Her retort caused you to snort into your fried rice, the rest of the Avengers taking time to hide their own laughter. You had taken a seat at the edge of Sam’s bed, Steve taking up nearly all of his and you didn’t want to cross any lines. You had no idea how giant this man actually was until you saw him sprawled out on the hospital mattress.

“Hey Y/N can you pass me some hot mustard?” You complied, distractedly handing Sam some of the condiment packets, your eyes not leaving the stricken super solider a few beds down. No one had really spoken to him since this morning, and his downcast eyes were breaking your heart.

“Just go ask to sit with him, you know you want to.” Sam nudged you along, you looking over at him briefly before gathering your food and walking over to him. Nat had taken a seat next to Clint and Bruce, while Wanda ate alongside Thor, eating and laughing. You felt a twinge of guilt as you neared the Captain, memories of school and eating alone coursing through your mind.

“Care if I…If I join you?” Your voice was quiet and you stared down at your food, Steve’s blue eyes crinkling as he broke out into a large smile.

“I would love that Y/N.” You offered a small smile as he moved his feet, allowing you to sit at the end of his bed, boots handing off the sides.

“You haven’t changed your clothes from yesterday.”

“Good observation. I can’t really move let alone drag myself to take a shower and change. So unless you’re going to help me…” You felt your face grow hot as you heard Tony behind you start to cough.

“I’m sorry I must have missed something. Who are you and what have you done with Steve Rogers?” You asked, bringing your gaze up his body slowly, blue eyes meeting yours and you could practically feel your skin sizzling from the heat behind his gaze. Watching his jaw tighten you held your breath as he leaned forward just a bit, never breaking eye contact with you .

“Right here Doll. I’ve always been right here.” The statement came out like a breathless whisper and you clung to your plate, Steve giving you a flirty wink before going back to eating. You slowly released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your nerves a now bundled mess.

“Oh man would you two just get a room already?” Tony’s voice breaking you out of your trance, “Seriously, I’m trying to eat here.”

You avoided Steve’s face the rest of lunch.

1700

“I’m telling you, I think Stark is hallucinating. He called me Maria earlier.” Nat nearly spat out her drink as her and Wanda looked at you, taking in what you had said.

“Wait like, Maria Hill? Agent Hill?”

“I’m assuming so, I don’t know any other Maria’s.” You shrugged, Wanda looking warily over to the man in question.

“I’ll go check on him.” Nat squared her shoulders, walking away from you and Wanda. The three of you had been speaking to Thor and Bruce before when you had brought up what Stark had called you. The demi god and doctor seemed to be on the up and up, body temperatures back to normal, both of them able to keep their food down. You were fairly certain that the two of them would be back to normal tomorrow, as long as Thor continued to take the medicine. Which was proving to be a feat in itself.

“Helllooooo nurse.” Your ears perked up at the sound of Stark whistling, although very poorly, at Nat as she stepped over to his bedside.

“Ohhh boy this is gonna be good.” You heard Sam mutter and you moved to get closer, in case something terrible happened. Shooting your arm out you managed to grab Sam’s phone as he went to capture whatever was about to go down.

“What the hell Y/N?!” Sam whispered angrily, you shushing him as you tapped the record button.

“I have the better angle.” You winked, his demeanor changing immediately, quickly turning back to the action.

“Tony…who am I?” Nat questioned the delirious man, only getting a laugh from him.

“You’re my amazing wife. The love of my life. My favorite person in the whole universe…besides the Kid. Shit I shouldn’t have said that.” He grimaced as Nat’s eyes slanted in suspicion.

“Stark, I’m not Pepper. It’s me, Natasha.” The red head went to touch his forehead, Tony reaching to grab her hand and pull her close to him within an instant.

“Damn he may be sick but he ain’t slow.” Sam commented and you found yourself trying not to laugh, fighting to hold the phone steady as Nat’s body language changed on a dime.

“Do you have a kiss for your favorite hero sweetheart, or are you going to make me beg?”

The resulting slap was so loud it woke Bucky up from his after lunch nap.

“I DIDN’T DO IT!” Barnes shouted, the room erupting in laughter as he looked around, obviously panicked.

“For once you’re actually right.” Sam attempted to calm the shocked man down, you ending the video, laughing too hard at everything going on to hold the phone.

“Is Maria okay?” Tony asked, your laughter only getting louder as everyone else chimed in.

1800

“No way. HELL NO!” Your voice was shrill, anger reaching its absolute limits.

“Come on Y/N. You just have to sit outside the bathroom and make sure Rogers and Wilson don’t die in the shower.” Nat encouraged you, your head whipping to the side to stare at her incredulously.

“Absolutely fucking not. You can’t pay me enough to even consider it!” You crossed your arms over your chest in defiance.

“Listen we aren’t happy either. Do you think I want to risk seeing Clint naked?”

“Or I Bucky?” Wanda cut in, you pinching the bridge of your nose as you weighed your options. Pepper had already helped Tony up to their suite, getting him cleaned up after the “mistaken identity” accident. Doctor Hooper made a house call to put him on different medication. He seemed to look a ton better, smiling and talking to his wife about future meetings for the company. Not that he would likely remember any of today.

“Fine. Fine. But if anything happens YOU are paying my therapy bills.” You conceded, already hating the idea of having to play bodyguard to your crush and close friend. Sucking up your attitude you calmly walked over to the elevator, Sam and Steve already waiting for you.

“Cheer up Y/N, you could have been stuck giving Tony a sponge bath.”

“Just don’t make me regret this Sam. I have never seen you naked, and I’d like to keep that record thank you.” You grimaced at the idea, all of you cramming into the small steel box.

“We’re showering in my room.” Steve finally spoke up and you noticed Sam was shaking his head.

“Not happening Rogers, my room is closer. And I ain’t using your feminine ass hair products.”

“Why don’t we just leave you there on our way to my room then?” The Captain challenged, Wilson not backing down.

“Why so you can keep Y/N all to yourself? She was my friend first Cap, and regardless of you two’s pent up sexual tension, it’s bros before hoes.”

“You two keep this up and I’m going to drown both of you.” You snapped, both of their voices dying down. “This is how it’s going to happen. We’re going to Sam’s room first so he can shower quickly. I’ve seen him in and out within ten minutes before, and he’s not nearly as grimy as he is after a mission. Then, we can go up to your room Rogers, and you can take as long as your pretty head needs.”

“Fine” The two men agreed as you stepped out of the elevator, quickly making short work of the hallway leading to Sam’s room. You sat on his bed while Steve took the only chair in his room. He was right on the money, in and out of the shower in less than 10, fresh night clothes that weren’t stained with Chinese food and possibly bile.

“You’re wearing the pajamas I bought you!” You squealed upon seeing him in the green shirt that said “Sleeping is my cardio” in bold white lettering, along with matching flannel pants.

“Hell ya I am. They’re really comfy. You’re the sweetest.” You noticed Steve’s jaw lock up, his expression tense with deep thought. You’d kill to find out what he was thinking, he almost looked…jealous. But this wasn’t the first time. He had been acting strange with you all day, even the others had picked up on his weird vibes. He remained silent as the three of you started your trek to his room, the only sound being an occasional cough.

“I’ll wait out in the hall, you two take your time…” Sam crooned at you, Steve sputtering as you giggled, never having set foot in Steve’s room before. Watching him open the door, your eyes widened at the sheer space of it. So being the first Avenger does pay well after all. You thought, taking in the simple blue décor and clean smelling furniture.

“Sorry we don’t have time for a tour.” He said sheepishly, taking a towel out of a closet before opening his bedroom door. “Shall we?” You had to remind yourself to stay calm and keep your heart rate in check.

“Your bathroom is in your bedroom?” Gulping hard you looked at him, the blonde only nodding slowly. Peachy. This was it. This is how you die.

“Yours isn’t?”

“My whole room is like, a third of this space. That doesn’t count.” His laughter rang in your ears as he opened the door wider.

“If you’re nervous, how about I just leave this door open?”

“I’m not nervous,” You answered, again way too fast for your liking, “but that would be greatly appreciated thank you.” He nodded at you before stepping through his room and into his bathroom, the door shutting behind him. You felt a little bummed out that you hadn’t gotten to see him shirtless. But he was also very sick. And mostly helpless. And once you heard the shower start to run you realized there was one door standing in the way of you and a very naked, very sick, and mostly helpless Steve Rogers. The steam coming out from under the door had your mouth watering at the thought. It’s not like his suits left a ton to the imagination. An extremely loud thud awoke you from your impure thoughts long enough to grasp your courage and race into his room.

“Steve? You alright in there?”

“Yea Y/N I’m fine, just dropped my body wash.” You leaned your back against the door, hand on your hammering heart.

“Thank god. About gave me a damn heart attack Rogers.” You joked, calming down some. Sadly you didn’t hear the water flow cease. Your balance was thrown off when the door was pulled open, you jolting backward until you felt your back hit bare chest. Your blood was rushing in your ears as you felt an arm instinctively wrap around your waist to steady you. Fighting the urge to take in deep breaths of his intoxicating scent, you slowly and reluctantly peeled his arm off of you.

“Sorry!” The apology came out as jumbled mess as you went to step out of the way, careful to avoid looking at him, lest your ovaries explode upon contact.

“It’s alright Y/N, really.”

“No it’s not I should have moved sooner.” You heard footsteps and felt a large hand touch your shoulder. Your mind flashed with memories of yesterday, feelings overcoming you and willing you to turn around to look at him.

Sign your last will and testament now, because you were sure you were going to die. Water droplets clung to his half naked body, his damp hair hanging in his face. You were extremely thankful his other hand held on to the towel that was wrapped loosely around his waist, but you’d be lying through your teeth if you didn’t take an extra minute to appreciate his abs before forcing your eyes to meet his.

“You can fall into me anytime Y/N.” His tone was hushed, blue eyes crinkling as you began to close the distance, a sudden burst of confidence pushing you two closer together.

“Promise?” You whispered back to him, feeling his hand on your shoulder move to sit at the base of your neck, pulling you closer to him until you could feel his body heat mixing with your own. You watched his eyes dart from yours to your lips and then back again, as if battling with himself for a brief moment before bringing his face to yours at a deliciously slow pace. Your eyes began to close on their own, feeling his breath on your lips and your hands reaching to touch his chest.

“Hey you two done yet?”

The two of you jumped apart like you had been shot, your face burning with the intensity of the sun as Sam stood, looking totally slack jawed at the scene before him.

“We are now. Thanks Wilson.”

“I’ll uh…I’ll wait outside.” Sam’s apologetic face was almost comical as he back peddled out of the room, nervous laughter escaping you when he was finally gone.

“You should…um..put on some clothes. I’ll just…be out in the hall.” Your eyes met his momentarily before you dragged yourself out of his room. You didn’t look or speak to either man the entire way back to quarantine.

1930

“We are out of here!” Bruce brought his hand up to high five a very happy looking god of thunder.

“Well two down, five to go.” You muttered to yourself as Bruce and Thor were given the all clear from Doctor Hooper before she left for the evening, the two men more than elated to break out of there.

“I’ll miss them. They aren’t the problem.” Wanda spoke, you giving her an agreeing nod as they came over to you.

“Y/N you have been the most wonderful caretaker. We owe you a debt.” Thor grasped your hands in his before pulling you into a hug, the air being squashed in your lungs as he tightened his grip, picking you up a few inches off the ground.

“Easy there, you and Banner were the LEAST of my problems. I’ll gladly help you out anytime you fall sick.” You gasped as he set you on the ground, Bruce simply patting you on the back.

“Sorry you’re still stuck with them.” The doctor smiled at you sympathetically, all three of your gazes looming over the fighting Tony and Bucky. Again.

“I don’t CARE what you think, I KNOW what I’m talking about!”

“This coming from the guy who didn’t KNOW Nat wasn’t his wife an hour ago! I don’t believe a damn thing that comes out of your stupid mouth right now Stark!”

“Y/N, please give these idiots some sedatives so I can get rid of this headache.” Sam pleaded with you, Thor chuckling as he and Bruce turned to leave the hall.

“Best of luck Y/N. We’ll be sure to supply you with plenty of alcoholic beverages when this is all over.” Bruce smiled, you waving while the ladies walked them out.

2100

“Y/N would you kindly inform Barnes here that Lion King is far superior to Aladdin.” Tony asked as you began preparing doses of an extra strength equivalent to Nyquil for the remaining men.

“Sorry Stark, I’m prefer Beauty and the Beast.” You giggled at Tony’s hurt expression, a shocked gasp leaving Bucky’s lips and Sam rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“I’ll take that first Y/N, the sooner I down that nasty stuff the sooner I can forget these conversations.” Sam deadpanned, greedily taking the medicine and swallowing it in one gulp, throwing his body dramatically in the opposite direction. He pulled the pillow over his head, you shaking your own as you passed the other two men their shares.

“Here’s lookin at you kid.” Tony winked as he slowly drank the thick liquid, his lip curling in disgust as he laid down, eyes falling shut after a mere ten minutes.

“Damn out for the count, what a baby.” Bucky whispered before drinking his dose.

“Unlike you, some people didn’t sleep most of the day away.” You quipped, him waving you off.

“Details, details. Go give Rogers his. I’ll even sleep on my side to give you two some privacy.” It took everything not to smother him with his own pillow, Bucky waggling his eyebrows at you before being true to his word and turning away.

“Nightcap for Cap?” You shook the bottle as you neared his bed, the blonde only letting out a raspy chuckle. He moved over so you could sit at his side, uncapping the potent concoction while he continued to stare at you. “How ya feeling?”

“Like you’re avoiding me.” His retort was short and curt, causing you to guiltily shuffle your boot along the floor.

“I’m not I just…I needed to process…what almost happened earlier tonight.” You answered honestly, blue eyes softening and sucking you in again. “You’re sick and I almost took advantage of you in this state and I’m sorry for that.”

“Y/N you weren’t taking advantage of me at all.” His hand covered yours as you went to hand him his small cup of medicine.

“You’re killing me Steve.” You groaned, watching as he downed his dose, nostrils flaring at the unpleasant taste and setting the medicine on the table. His hand returned to yours and you sighed at the returning warmth. “I’m never like this.” You confessed slowly, eyes never moving from your joined hands.

“You really have no idea what you do to me Doll. What you’ve been doing to me for weeks now.” Breaking away from your hands your face came back to stare at his intently.

“Really?” You asked, your head tilting to the side, nearly swooning as he bit his lip with a nod.

“Really. Now before I risk making an ass out of myself I suggest we both get some sleep. We can talk about this when I’m not sick. That way you don’t feel like I’m not myself or like you’re taking advantage of me. Which let’s be clear, you just have to say the time and place and I’ll gladly be there for you to take advantage of me any way you want. “ He rubbed your cheek fondly, a sleepy goofy grin on his features.

“Deal. Sleep sweet Steve.” You stood up from the bed, leaning down to place a chaste kiss on his forehead.

“Sweet dreams Y/N.”

For the first time in months you dropped like a sack of potatoes on your bed, sleep coming swiftly, your mind filled with the most wonderful dreams. Mostly about a certain blonde in a towel.

Tag List: @kaytizzle @cuffski @giggleberts

[reivenesque]

Jay Halstead Whump Fic

A seemingly random series of attacks in Chicago targeting men and women of various ages, races and backgrounds ends with one of Intelligence’s own fighting for his life. His co-workers and friends; his family, are forced to confront the fact that one of them might not walk away unscathed this time around – if he manages to walk away at all.

Okay guys, the day no one (including myself) thought would ever come! I’ve finally decided to take the plunge/make the commitment and finally put this story out there for the world to see. Also seeing as I started writing this a couple of seasons ago so some characters who are deceased or have departed are not deceased or have departed in this universe.

--

Mission Objective

Chapter 1: The Case

They had three victims from three completely different backgrounds; three different ethnicities, age and gender and no matter how deep they dug through the trash the only thing they could find linking the victims to each other was the M.O and the fact that at the end of the day it just seemed to be a completely random series of attacks perpetrated by the same person for absolutely no reason.

“All victims were stabbed twice, once in the flank and once in the side. We believe he came up from behind and surprised them; the first stab wasn’t meant to kill, only to incapacitate. They also had bruising around the neck to support that theory. The second was to keep them down. Two of the three victim suffered multiple broken bones, bruises and contusions and internal damage from a beating but all three died as a result of severe blood loss. Whoever this guy is and whatever he wants from them, this guy has got some serious beef with these people.” Antonio finished his assessment and returned back to sit perched on the side of his desk.

“The only thing in common in these cases are the M.O’s,” Jay started, “The victims have nothing in common that we can find that links them to one another. Yvonne Miller: thirty-seven, mother of two. No priors, no record, nothing to indicate that she was anything other than a squeaky clean mom who does carpool on the weekdays. Hubert Harris the Third, fifty-three,” Jay placed special emphasis on the title, “Drill Sergeant in the army for over twenty years, no criminal record, no priors, not even a parking ticket. The fact that he went through life, much less the army and up to the rank of Drill Sergeant with the name Hubert Harris the Third meant that this was definitely not a guy to be messed with. And Javier Herrera, twenty-seven. Just got back from two tours overseas, spotless record on all fronts and an absolutely stand-up guy from what we gathered from the people who knew him. Had no beef with anyone. He was attacked in the alley behind his house; DOA. No witnesses in any of these cases.”

“Well the fact that their faces are pinned up on that board and their bodies lying cold in the morgue meant that they definitely had beef with someone, and I want to know who, where and why,” ordered Voight, his gravelly voice almost rumbling through the walls of the bullpen of the Intelligence headquarters of the CPD. “And I needed that information five minutes ago.”

A chorus of ‘yes, Serge’s rang up as everyone dispersed to return to their own desks.

It was a case they’d been working on ever since the discovery of the first victim, Yvonne Miller, a widowed single mother, in her apartment by her landlord almost three weeks ago. She died as a result of shock from the blood loss at the hospital later that day. The second victim died on the way to the hospital and the third was dead before the first unit was even the scene and neither CPD nor the Intelligence Unit was any close to identifying the killer. The best lead they had was a next door neighbour of the second victim hearing the sound of a male voice yelling what, according to him, sounded like Arabic, in the apartment the evening before the victim’s body was found. They’d found nothing to indicate that it was a racially motivated crime however. And there were no cameras at any of the exits or on the street and no one saw anyone coming or leaving the crime scene at any point before or after the attack, so they found themselves up against a brick wall in regards to that lead.

Essentially, they had bupkis.

So getting the call that another victim had been found beaten in his apartment later that morning did nothing to ease the tweaked up nerves of everyone working the case, only the fact that he was still alive and was on route to Med kept most of them from wanting to punch a wall.

“Troy Hargreaves,” said Will Halstead who was waiting for their arrival at the entrance of the hospital, starting his assessment without waiting for the go ahead, “Thirty-two; stabbed once in the lumbar area and once in the lower right abdomen, multiple contusions to the torso, broken ribs, ruptured spleen. He’s up in surgery as we speak. His injuries look severe but I’m optimistic about his chances. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that this definitely fits the same pattern as the other victims.”

Voight scrubbed his face with his hand almost like a nervous habit, but anyone who knew him knew that Voight didn’t get nervous. Most likely it was out of frustration and anger. They weren’t any closer to catching the guy and from what little they could deduce, it didn’t seem like he was likely to stop until he got whatever it was he wanted or whoever it was he wanted.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of sitting around with my thumb up my ass watching this guy get one up on us again,” said Voight, the frustration obvious on his face, not acknowledging Olinsky coming up behind him and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

“It’s late, we’re all fired up from this asshole giving us the run around. I’ll wait for the vic to come out of surgery and update you on what I can get from him, the rest of you – go home, rest up and come back fresh faced in the morning,” said Olinsky, “Well, as fresh faced as you ugly lot can get,” he added with a wisp of a smile; his voice soft and his characteristic as of calmness extending to the rest of the team.

“Al’s right,” said Voight after a beat, exhaling tiredly. “Go home.”

“You sure, boss?” Ruzek asked, looking around at the rest of the group. It was obvious that the offer was the most tempting to him though all of them looked equally dead on their feet after almost going almost forty-eight hours without sleep trying to find the perp before he struck again only to have found themselves left in the bloodied dust trail once again.

“You gonna make me say it twice?” asked Voight with a stern look in Ruzek’s direction.

“No, boss,” said Ruzek immediately, arms raised in front of him.

“Then get the hell out of here.”

None of them struck around to be told a third time.

“I swear to god I’m gonna put two bullets right in the middle his face when we catch this bastard and then go home and sleep like a baby,” said Ruzek as he and the rest of the team made their way down the hospital corridor towards the exit.

Usually it’s be one of them – Ruzek, Kim or Atwater tasked to stay behind because they were the newer members, but Al had insisted and none of them really wanted to be alone with Voight in a closed space while he was in that particular mood.

“I definitely second the suggestion,” said Kim a little too heartily.

“Get in line,” said Hailey. The threat would have come across a lot more menacing had she not been in the middle of a yawn; her arms stretched high above her head like a cat.

“Well I for one would be happy if we managed to even catch the guy and put a stop to all this,” said Atwater. “That’d do my sleep a world of good already.”

Jay had many things to add to the conversation but the strength to say none of them. He was tired, physically and mentally so he just opted for an amused chuckle from where he was walking just a few steps behind the rest of the team

“How about a drink at Molly’s before we turn in?” suggested Ruzek once conversation had begun tapering off. “God knows we could all use a stiff one– or five.”

Atwater was immediately down for the plan though Hailey and Kim both seemed equally undecided.

Jay however wasn’t in the mood for the drink or the company. He was too wired from the lack of sleep and too much caffeine and quite frankly too pissed to be good company. Something about the case, especially the fact that two of the victims were Vets, just struck a chord in him. He always felt a strange sort of camaraderie, whether they were the victims or the perps, when it came to people who’d served. He imagined the victims being someone he knew, someone he served with – a brother. At the same time, the person who’d committed the crime could have just as easily been someone he knew or someone he served with.

Hell, it could have just as easily been him.

If it hadn’t been for Mouse being there for him – if there hadn’t been the thought in the back of his mind when he was at his lowest that he was just as much Mouse’s crutch as he was his; if it hadn’t been for the police force giving him an outlet to channel his silent rage and his trauma and anxiety, he could have just as easily turned out to be one of the people he put away.

Sure he had Will and maybe his dad to some extent, but they didn’t understand. They couldn’t understand. They weren’t there. They didn’t experience what he experienced. They didn’t see what he saw. They didn’t feel what he felt: the fear and helplessness and shame.  

And they definitely couldn’t deal with it – deal with him, the way Mouse had been able to – by just being there, but just understanding without having to be explained; by knowing without having to be told.

Will had the natural instinct to want to fix everything; to find a source of the ailment and apply a treatment and a cure – that’s what made him such a good doctor.

But Jay didn’t need a doctor, he needed a brother and that was something Will was unable to be to him at the time. Their relationship had improved much since then, but still when situations like this arose, the absence of Mouse felt so much more apparent.

Jay knew he wasn’t going to be such good company – he could already feel like anxiety levels getting progressively higher the longer he remained in the vicinity of the hospital. Hospitals all smelled the same and had the same kind of aura pulsating off it. It didn’t matter if it was on home soil or in some run down building in another third world country – it always smelled the same and at that point Jay just wanted to be home.

“Nah, guys,” said Jay. “I think I’m gonna turn in early.”

“You sure, Jay?” asked Ruzek. “You’re gonna miss out. Atwater’s paying. This phenomenon only happens once in a blue moon,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Pigs might even fly!”

Atwater scoffed. “Yeah, Jay. I’ll be doing the paying with money from Ruzek’s pocket. You won’t want to miss the spectacle. I don’t think anyone but flies have ever seen the inside of his raggedy ass wallet.”

“I’ll have you know, Atwater, that I was voted ‘most generous’ by the whole sophomore girls swim team for two years in a row.”

“Yeah,” said Atwater, completely deadpan. “I’m sure teenage you was definitely generous with something.”

“Hey!” objected Ruzek, mock offended.

“Anyway,” said Jay, cutting into the conversation, “Based on this conversation alone I’m sure it’s gonna be a hoot and a half, but I think I’ll pass, You guys have fun though,” he said, which in Jay-speak meant that the conversation was done.

The girls had opted to join in for ‘just one drink’ which was usually code for ‘more than one drink’, but once Jay decided on a course of action, it was very hard to change his mind.

“You’re seriously no fun, Halstead,” said Ruzek teasingly at his retreating back.

“I’m loads of fun,” said Jay from over his shoulder, “Just with better company than you.”

Ruzek’s response was a hearty laugh topped off with a middle finger salute but Jay had already stepped around the corner and out of sight and didn’t see. He felt no need to turn back for a second look at his team; he’d see their ugly mugs in the morning anyway.

He took a detour to find Will on his way out – which was ironically easier in theory than in reality, especially considering it was his brother’s place of work – to take a rain check on their bi-annual game night get together. They hadn’t had one in a while, what with the influx of work on both their parts, and despite their insistence on not cancelling this time no matter what, Jay really just wasn’t in the mood or the headspace to want to be around anyone.

Jay wondered whether they should just cancel it all together because making plans was never something that aligned with their day jobs.

Fortunately Will wasn’t too disappointed by the cancellation, mainly because he’d been on the same train of through, only slightly more hesitant about it. He’d just come off a double shift and like Jay was planning on spending the night in the company of his own bed, which was a completely acceptable reason in Jay’s book.

They shared a hug and a casual insult before Jay finally stepped out of the hospital, into his truck and drove out of the parking lot with a roar of the exhaust.

Nothing else of importance happened the rest of the day.

tbc.

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

His Smile Will Keep You Safe - Chapter Four

Warnings: stalking (?), harassment, angry Dallon (if that counts)

Word Count: 5 101

The following days much resembled the past day. Usually you travelled during the night, which allowed enough time during the day to prepare the venue. While the others helped installing the electronics, taped cables to the stage, or tuned instruments, you sat at your laptop, and dug through heaps and heaps of pictures you had taken. Lucas was fascinated by how many good shots you had taken, and after every concert he made you post three or four of the best ones on social media for the band.

You were unfamiliar with managing a band’s Instagram page, but you quickly learned to imitate the words of whoever had posted the previous tour photos. Sometimes posts appeared that you had not made, and since they were signed off with Dallon, and sometimes Ryan, you assumed the two musicians also had access to the page, and sometimes liked to share experiences on there.

The fourth concert on tour was a festival. The band played in the afternoon, which gave you the rare opportunity of taking pictures in the daylight. Also the stage was so big, that Lucas suggested you should work from the stage, which opened a whole new, and yet unexplored range of angles from which you were able to document the two artists.

Almost a week into the tour, you still had not managed to find a proper explanation for the emotions that had sparked inside your chest when you had first seen Ryan play. It still threw you off every time he as much as smiled at you with his beautiful smile; and your heart grew at the sight.

Between shows and during meals and literally whenever he had a free moment, he came over to where you were, and started talking to you. It was not obtrusive, in the contrary. You enjoyed his company, and he always gave you the feeling of being safe around him. Maybe that was connected to how he had interrupted Lars and you on the very first day of tour, you were not sure, but even if Ryan was not paying you company just so Lars would leave you alone, he was comfortable to be around. He had a way of asking questions and striking up conversations without making it too personal.

In fact, he had never really asked you any personal question since he had asked if Lars and you had history. You appreciated that. It did not feel right to share your heart and soul with anyone on the tour bus yet, and Ryan seemed to understand. And while you got to know each other merely by talking about random things that came to mind, you found yourself admiring the drummer more and more.

It was crazy, because it had just been one week that you knew him, but he drew you in. Of course he was not bad to look at; his dark eyes held warmth you could not explain, his blue hair was soft looking, his smile lit up the darkest rooms.

But it was not just his looks, or his behaviour. It was undeniable that you felt special every time he held a door open for you, or smiled so triumphantly into your camera when he noticed you taking pictures. It was not only that, but what you would have described as the atmosphere around him. It was like the air surrounding him was cleaner, fresher, comfortably warm, and everything felt safe when he was close. He radiated peace, and yet he got so bubbly and cheerful at times that it made you laugh gleefully at his enthusiasm. You two clicked, and it was like both of you had silently agreed on keeping each other close.

While your fondness of Ryan grew from day to day, hell, hour to hour, the same could hardly be said about how you felt about Lars. The technician had left you alone after the first concert, just as you had told him to, and for two blissful days you had hoped it would never change, but it did.

It started out with him standing by your bunk every morning, causing you to almost getting a heart attack of the unpleasant kind as soon as you had sat up. He constantly tried to guilt trip you into spending time with him, or worse, into touching him.

He brought coffee, which in itself would have been nice if you had not told him several times that you had stopped drinking coffee because the caffeine made you jittery.

He constantly tried to get you food, which also would have been nice, but you preferred getting the food yourself.

He asked if you could help him with the electronics, which was in itself bullshit, because no matter how good you were at photographing, you had not the faintest clue about the technology needed to light up a stage.

Every time he got the chance, he tried to trap you in a room with him, and so far you had only escaped by pure luck.

You were thankful for every second Ryan was by your side because Lars did not dare approaching you while Ryan was around.

And while all the physical advances by Lars made you want to scream, the words made you feel not better in the slightest. It started out with the usual pic up lines, which you waved off, ignored, or answered in the most negative ways imaginable.

Then the innuendos started. They made you feel uncomfortable, and the mere thought that you once had shared the bed with a man who was now trying to pressure someone, you, into an intimate relationship like this made you angry beyond words. And it made you feel sick. It was not like you had not told him to leave you alone. You had lost count of how many times you had told him phrases like “I am not interested in you”, “Leave me alone”, “I don’t want you to touch me”, or “I don’t want your attention”.

And by now even the rest of the crew had started to notice that something was going on. You had the definite feeling that Lars hoped to use them indirectly as a weapon against you, as if you would stop speaking up against him if they were around.

But you knew this game.

He had done exactly this before. He had stopped you from ending things with him after you had found out he had cheated the first time, by making you afraid of what the other people might think.

“You don’t want to seem ungrateful for having a boyfriend,” he had said, and you still felt your stomach acid bubble up when you remembered how he had guilt tripped you into staying with him.

And having a mental illness that already made you believe everyone hated you and that you were worth nothing had only made it easier for him.

But not anymore. You were your own person. If the others thought you were being ungrateful, then that was their problem, not yours. It was not your job to please anybody. Your job was to take pictures. And that was all. You had rights, including the right of choosing who was allowed to touch you, and now, years after the terror Lars had put you through, you knew of these rights, and were prepared to make use of them.

But after the first week things escalated.

The show, this night in Washington DC, had ended, and you were sitting backstage on your own. The opening band was at the merch table, signing autographs, and Ryan and Dallon were both in the showers, while Bill and Lucas were packing up the things on stage.

You were sitting on a table in the changing room backstage, legs crossed, elbows resting on your knees while you clicked through the camera, and looked at the pictures you had taken during the day. You had started feeling comfortable round the crew so that you often just took random snaps on the bus or during sound check.

You liked taking pictures of Ryan the most. The way his hair fell into his face, his dark eyes his pink lips, all of these attributes made it addicting to capture him. You loved playing with the light that fell onto his features, how his hair sometimes covered half of his face in shadow, or how golden sunlight made his eyes glow in the warm colour of orange amber.

And when he caught you taking these pictures, he smiled.

He smiled so widely, that you thought it could never fade of his face again. His eyes squeezed together adorably, the skin around them crinkling joyfully while dimples appeared in his cheeks, which made him even cuter.

Not that you said any of these things out loud, you did not even allow yourself thinking them most of the time, but that did not stop you from taking these pictures.

Now, sitting on this table backstage while the chatter of happy fans sounded from outside, and the running water from the showers created a pleasant background noise, you looked through these pictures, realizing you had almost taken fifty in a row of Ryan on the bus today.

Shaking your head with a fond smile, you continued clicking to the next picture as the door to the stage opened. Out of reflex you looked up, and sighed when you saw that it was Lars who had entered. That he closed the door behind him was no good sign.

“Hello my love,” he cooed, making a cold shiver run down your spine.

“Not your love,” you replied immediately before looking back to your camera.

You still hoped that ignoring him would make him realize that you wanted nothing to do with his manipulating ass, but deep inside a part of you knew that it did not work like that.

“Did you take many sweet snaps of me,” he asked, approaching you now.

You felt your heart speed up, and adrenaline started being released into your body, preparing you for defence, which inevitably was going to be necessary. Not answering, you turned your camera off, but kept it in your hands, as suddenly Lars appeared in your line of vision. His fists slammed down on the table on either side of you, caging you, his face mere inches away from yours.

“I don’t like the way you keep ignoring me, doll,” he hissed, grabbing your chin with one hand painfully.

“Don’t touch me,” you screamed, and with all the force you could muster, you pushed him away from you, giving you enough space to jump of the table.

Within a split second he had run forwards again, and was about to either grab you, or hurt you, but you, in complete panic, screamed again.

“Don’t touch me, don’t touch me! Leave me alone,” your voice was so loud that it cracked and it was painful in your ears, and seemingly in his too, because he stopped and held the palms of his hands over his ears. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

The adrenaline that thankfully was already full on flooding through your body, made it possible for you to sprint to the door, and tear it open, just as Dallon, very wet, just holding a towel in front of his body poked his head out of one of the bathrooms.

“What’s going on in here,” he asked, is voice dangerously low, as if he was warning Lars not to move an inch.

You barely noticed the bassist though, because you had already stumbled outside. Your camera, hanging on your side by the strap around your neck and one shoulder, crashing into your back with every second step you took, but you did not care. Your feet carried you away and away from the room where Lars had threatened you, and bursting through a couple of doors, you soon found yourself curled into the tiniest ball in a corner of your bunk bed.

The curtains to your bed were drawn, only a tiny gap allowing you to keep an eye on the door of the department. Shaking terribly you had covered yourself with your blanket so on first glance it would look like it was only your blanket thrown in the corner of the bunk. Your heart was beating so fast that you feared you would faint, and it hurt, feeling it crash against your chest repeatedly.

You knew you should not feel tired, but you did, and tears started welling up in your eyes. So you crawled deeper into the corner, curled tighter together, the camera pressing into your hip uncomfortably, and you tried to sob as quietly as possible, just to make no sound whatsoever.

You heard the voices outside, the trunk got opened and closed, and the door to the bus was used several times, but no one came into the bunk area. You were still shaking, silent tears running over your cheeks, as suddenly the handle of the door moved, and a moment later a thin beam of orange light peeked into the room. Someone, who was taller than you, slipped in, and immediately closed the door again.

Alarmed you held your breath, scared that Lars had found you now, and while all the others were busy, he would take his revenge. Instead the familiar voice of another man quietly called your name. It felt like big chains were falling off your heart as you recognised Ryan’s voice, and quickly you croaked an answer. A second later the curtain at your bed was pushed aside.

“You in here,” he asked.

His voice was very quiet, calm, but sounded relieved, as if he had been looking for you.

“Yes,” you answered; your voice was wet with tears, and raspy from crying.

Reaching his hand for the switch of the small lamp that was installed in all the bunks, Ryan turned on the light. His eyes flickered over the matrass until he spotted your eyes blinking out from underneath the blanket in the corner.

“What happened,” he asked, moving along the bunk, the curtain falling over his back so if anybody entered the room they could not see you.

He was not asking if you were okay, because it was obvious that you were not.

“I-“

You hesitated. No matter how badly you wanted Ryan to understand what was going on, why you were so scared of spending time alone, you did not feel like going through the events back in the venue again.

Ryan seemed to understand, so he nodded, and quickly stepped to the door.

“She’s in here, we can go,” he announced.

Then he closed the door again, and came back to your bed. Once again he slipped under the curtain, his arms resting on the edge of your matrass, and he lay his chin down on his forearms.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, you know,” he finally spoke, “but if you want to, I’m here to listen to you, I promise. And I won’t tell anyone what happened. Okay?”

You nodded, still buried deeply in your blanket.

Carefully Ryan reached out a hand, and pulled a corner of the blanket away, revealing your knee, which he patted gently. The small contact between Ryan’s hand and your trousers made you shiver comfortably, and some of the tension fell away, making you relax finally.

“Are you scared of someone,” he asked.

You knew that while he had refrained from asking too personal questions during the past week, he ached to help you.

Quietly you nodded.

“Someone on the bus?”

Another nod.

For a moment he seemed to be considering something, biting his lip. The motor of the bus turned on, and seconds after the huge vehicle started moving.

“If you need anything, you know you can always talk to me, right,” he finally said, obviously having pushed whatever he had been thinking about earlier, out of his mind.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

Ryan gave you a sweet smile, and dove out from under the curtain. Judging from the sounds that followed he had climbed into his own bed underneath yours and pulled the curtain closed. You had no idea for how long you had been curled into this tiny ball, your eyes still fixed on the door to the living area, before you fell asleep, chased by nightmares.

~*~

Unbeknownst to you, Dallon had had a talk with Lars. He had heard your cries in the room backstage, and when he saw you escape the way you did, he felt a rage bubble up in his stomach he had never felt before. He had immediately guessed that Lars had tried to force something you did not like, and being the father of a girl himself, the mere thought of anyone touching his daughter, even if she would be in her mid-twenties, ignited white burning rage.

Even though he had not been dressed in anything but a towel, he had warned Lars to stay away from you, and by the intimidated expression on the technician’s face, he assumed Lars had understood the warning.

Later he had asked Ryan to check on you, not disclosing the whole truth, only mentioning that you had seemed upset.

After Ryan had crawled into his own bed, he could not stop thinking about what could have happened. He liked you, a lot. He adored the way you always spoke your mind, and how you were so passionate about your work. Seeing you so scared and upset him, made his heart break.

But he knew that pushing you to tell him anything would only cause you to shut yourself off, so he had to wait until you decided to tell him yourself. He wanted to help you so badly, hold you and tell you that he would keep you safe, but he was not sure if you would allow him to, and he was bad at handling rejections. He knew he would cut himself off from everyone should you deny him to help you, so he did not risk it, not yet at least. And so he stayed awake, always keeping his eyes fixed on the gap in his curtain, making sure nobody would approach your bed.

~*~

The following days were hard for you. Every second you were scared you would be left alone and Lars would try to get to you again. Dallon made sure he was always close by, but you did not know that, and even though Ryan did not know who exactly had scared you so much, he too made sure never to be too far away.

During the shows you stayed in the area that was shielded by security, and during the days, when everyone was working, you were always sitting in the bus together with the bands, or you locked yourself in one of the tiny bathrooms until you were sure somebody other than Lars was on the bus with you.

Being in a state of constant alarm was exhausting, and you found yourself waking up in cold sweat from nightmares.

All of this went on for four days without further incidents, and then, all of a sudden, in just one moment of distraction, you found yourself alone on the bus.

You were sitting on one of the sofas, laptop on your knees. It was late at night, one of the nights in which you were traveling, and Bill had stopped at a gas station, where everyone had decided to get dinner. When Ryan had asked you if you wanted to join, you had said that you just wanted to finish going through these pictures real quickly and would join them in a minute. Now this minute had stretched in almost ten minutes, and suddenly the handle of the door toggled.

You did not look up, until the person was standing right in front of you. Their shins were almost touching your knees, and you had to put your head into your neck to be able to see their face. Recognizing Lars, you flinched and automatically leant away from him. Every cell in your body was disgusted at the mere thought of his touch.

“Could you please take a step back, I feel uncomfortable,” you asked as politely as possible, but he only shuffled closer.

You tried to pull your legs away, but he had already leant down, his hands pressing against the back rest on both sides of your shoulders, his face right in front of you.

“I think you haven’t understood what it means to be mine,” he whispered.

His breath smelled badly, like rotten meat, and you wondered how you had never noticed before.

“I’m not yours,” you spit, refusing to be intimidated by him, even though his physical presence alone was far more impressive than yours.

You had no clue what the best tactics were to get out of this situation. Play along and then run when least expected? Attack? Argue?

“You were, and you ran away, but only to come back to me once more. We’re destined to be together, how can’t you see that,” he asked, his mouth brushing along your ear, causing you to whimper in disgust.

“Leave me alone,” you begged, but he only shook his head.

“We are one,” he mumbled, “we belong together. You know that. Why can’t you admit it?”

He was looking at you again, his eyes flickering closed as he lowered his head to kiss you. Using the moment, you pushed him off of you, not with your arms as you had done last time, but with your feet which you had pulled up on the sofa. With full force you pressed your feet into his stomach and pushed him off, using the back rest to stabilize yourself. Unluckily he was not as surprised by your attack as you had hoped.

Instead he had you cornered against the wall the same second you had jumped up to run. In a desperate act you tried to punch him but within a split second he had pinned your arms over your head against the wall, holding you so tightly that you were sure it would leave bruises.

Panic washed over you, wave after wave after wave. Your heart was pumping in your chest, screaming and beating against your ribcage, and you did the same against his restraints. You struggled and scream with as much air as you were able to get into your lungs. Blood was rushing in your ears, and you did not know if it was from fear or because you were about to pass out. But either way, you would not go down without a fight.

Still screaming as loud as you could, you prepared to bite whatever came close enough to your face, and you would take no pity, even if it would be his nose.

But before Lars was able to do anything more, the door flew open, crashing into the wall, and he got pulled off of you. Not even looking up at who had come to your rescue, you scrambled away as far as possible from your offender, who got pushed against the wall of the driver’s cabin.

Now, with growing distance, you recognized the mess of hair that belonged to Dallon. He had pinned the shorter male against the door, pressing his lower arm against Lars’ throat to keep him in check. You could not understand what Dallon was saying, too loud was the rushing of blood in your ears.

Walking backwards, you suddenly noticed a voice that brought comfort and a feeling of safety, but the words were hard to make out. Searching for the source of the voice, your eyes met a pair of dark brown ones. Ryan was standing in the door into the bus. His arm was stretched out, as if he was talking to a wounded animal. Recognizing him, and the offer that the arm represented, you quickly pushed away from the counter you had been pressing against, and ran over to where he was. Quickly Ryan wrapped his arms protectively around you as you collided with his chest, burying your face in the fabric of his shirt.

Carefully he guided you outside of the bus, allowing you to take deep breaths of the cool night air. He did not ask what had happened, he had seen enough. You were sobbing into his shirt, and he felt tears dripping from your cheeks, but he just held you as close as possible, rubbing soothing circles into your back, while cooing quietly. After a while your sobs died down, but you kept standing pressed against him, your first curled into the back of his shirt.

He smelled like safety. You could not say what exactly it was, but he was warm, so warm, and he even smelled warm. The steady movement of his chest with every breath and every heartbeat comforted you. He was alive, and you could feel it.

He had wrapped you into his arms, the same way a freezing person got wrapped into blankets. The soft little noises he made calmed you down, and the sound of his voice was the only thing you wanted to hear for the rest of your life.

Eventually your arms lost their strength and your fingers their grip on his shirt. Exhaustion overwhelmed you, and you stepped back. Your eyes were burning terribly as you looked up at Ryan, but he just had a soft smile on his face. Only now you noticed Dallon standing next to the two of you, quietly watching. When you moved, he made a few steps forwards.

“I talked to Lucas. Lars won’t be allowed into the bunk area anymore, so he’ll sleep on the sofa from now on. And the rest of us agreed to always make sure somebody is around, okay,” he explained slowly, with a calm voice.

But in his eyes you could see that Dallon thought Lars deserved a far bigger punishment than this.

You nodded, not sure how to thank them.

“Also he said that you are together, or were,” Dallon added, “and I just wanted to tell you that a relationship, or whatever you two used to have, is not consent by default. Consent never is the default. So if anyone ever tries to make you feel bad about saying no, remember this, okay? Promise?”

Once more tears started stinging in your eyes, and letting go of Ryan, you quickly hugged Dallon, who patted your head.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he finally decided.

You nodded and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. Ryan wrapped an arm around you, and led you back to the bus. Inside the other crew members were sitting, and Lucas had his hands pressed into his sides, staring down on Lars, who looked up once you entered.

At the sight of Lars sitting there you stiffened immediately, even with Ryan’s hand on your shoulder. A mixture of fear and anger washed over you, and you were torn between running away and punching him.

“I wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier and how I treated you during this tour so far,” Lars spoke. It was one of the few times he actually sounded sincere. “I should have respected your wishes, and promise to never approach you again without your permission. Please forgive me.”

The fear you felt was slowly being sucked away, but instead of the mercy he was hoping for, you only felt rage. Staring down at him, you blew air through your nose, and shook your head slightly.

“Yeah, you better,” you replied, and then, without giving him a second look, you walked through the tiny kitchen, and disappeared behind the door to the bunks.

Ryan followed closely after you, and closed the door behind him. You were leaning against the ladder of your bed and rubbed your eyes. Walking over, he stopped a few feet away from you, and waited for you to speak up.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” you finally mumbled.

“Not at all, that’s how,” Ryan replied with a gentle smile on his lips, “any decent person would have done what Dal and I did. There is really nothing to thank us for.”

“Your shirt is all wet now, from me crying into it,” you noticed, and much to his relief, Ryan heard you giggle tiredly.

“It’s just water and salt, it’ll dry,” he answered.

For a while you stood in silence, before you told him you wanted to dress into your pyjama. Ryan left, giving you some privacy, and waited outside the door. Once you had finished dressing, you poked your head outside to call for him. A thought had started creeping into your mind, and you were too tired and exhausted to resist the urge to ask.

“Can you stay with me,” you asked shyly once you had crawled into your bunk, “I mean, would you mind sleeping up here tonight?”

Ryan’s eyes widened, and secretly he was overjoyed that you had asked. Nodding quickly, he climbed up the ladder, and squeezed himself into the bunk next to you. The curtain that was drawn as always allowed the two of you some privacy, and dimmed the bright orange light at the ceiling enough to create a cosy atmosphere.

As soon as Ryan had settled next to you, you felt the tension leaving your body. He had folded one of his arms under his head; the other hand was pushed under his chin. He looked so cosy and peaceful, lying next to you like that.

The peace and feeling of safety he radiated made you shiver comfortably, and you smiled at him sleepily. His heart made a little jump at the gesture, and following an instinct, he reached his hand out to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

Since you did not protest, and instead melted into the touch, he pulled up all of his courage, and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you against him. Immediately you cuddled into him, your nose close to his neck, your lashes fluttering against his chin. You smelled lovely, and Ryan found himself hoping he could protect you from all the evil in the world.

Slowly your breathing calmed down, and after a while Ryan noticed that you had fallen asleep, taking deep, even breaths. Allowing himself to finally let down his guard as well, he too relaxed and closed his eyes, falling asleep with you safely wrapped in his arms.

Chapter Five

[sweetnestor]

You Look Happier | Chapter 11

university au, teamiplier + jack

platonic/romance/angst/smut(only on ao3)

previous chapter

Despite the “driving lessons” I had done with Mark, I still found myself wide awake the night before the trip. I wouldn’t stop being anxious about it until it was actually happening. In a way, the insomnia was almost beneficial because by the time I had to be awake, I wasn’t even the slightest bit tired.

I got out of bed the second my alarm went off. My mind was buzzing with everything I had to get ready, so for a moment, I wasn’t entirely riddled with anxiety from head to toe. I made sure my clothes were packed, my sweaters were in place, and my bathroom necessities were in order. Then I stuck my head out there door and listened for commotion from my roommate. Once I heard footsteps and movements, I went to the bathroom to do my makeup.

Never thought I would make myself up at four in the morning. There’s a first time for everything, I suppose.

Somehow, I was still wide awake by the time I was ready to go. Jack, on the other hand, was quiet and grumpy for the entire ride to Mark’s house.

When we got there, I noticed an unfamiliar SUV parked in the driveway. Figured it was the rental we all pitched in for. Not long after I parked in front of the house, I saw another car creep up from behind. Tyler, Kathryn, and Ethan. More reasons to unintentionally stay awake all night.

“Morning guys,” Tyler greeted when we all got out of the cars.

We mumbled back a greeting. Jack was clearly sleepy, and I was in a bad mindset as always.

Just then, Mark and Amy came out of the house, rolling their luggage behind them. They both looked exhausted. After exchanging greetings, Mark unlocked the SUV and went to open the back compartment. Then, everyone began to load their luggage.

“You mind taking the first round?” Mark asked me after stowing his suitcase away.

“Not at all,” I replied, sounding unusually upbeat.

He noticed this. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Nope! Can I have the keys?” I smiled, holding my hand out.

Mark put the set in my hands with a look of uncertainty. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yes. No offense, but I look and feel more alive than the rest of you guys.” Fake it til you make it, right? Wide awake, but crying inside.

“You’re the pretty one of the group, so it’s no surprise,” added Ethan, who came up from behind me.

Mark scoffed and mumbled, “I’m prettier,” before going to help Amy with her luggage.

My heart rate accelerated for a split second. I looked at Ethan, wanting to scold him for making such a risky comment.

“Dude,” I said quietly. “We agreed.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied just as softly. Then he gestured for me to follow him off to the side. “I know we’re gonna tell everyone when we come back. But I’m really excited about it, and I don’t know if I’ll make it the whole weekend.”

“You have to,” I warned. “If Mark finds out on this trip and he takes it badly, then we’re stuck with him being angry all weekend.”

“I think he’ll take it well,” Ethan told me with a shrug. “But I’ll wait. I’ll stick to the plan.”

I nodded once. “Good.”

Before either of us could say anything else, someone joined the conversation. I jumped when a hand landed on my shoulder, fearing for a split second that we had been caught. But it was only Jack, who barely batted an eye at my physical reaction.

“We’re all ready to go,” he told us.

I shot one last look at Ethan before going to the vehicle.

I was driving for the first few hours. Mark was the passenger seat. Tyler, Amy, and Jack were in the backseat/middle row. Ethan and Kathryn sat in the very back, the third row. Eight hours with all of them. I took a deep breath and prayed to some higher entity that this would go well.

~

“Hey, can you pull over?” asked Tyler. “I’m feeling sick.”

“Oh, are you?” I replied, turning on the hazard lights and pulling to the side of the road.

It was a good three hours of silent driving. I had my music playing quietly so as not to disturb the sleeping team. The unfamiliar road had kept me distracted, as well as make me think of every Final Destination-related disaster scenario. But for the most part, my nerves weren’t too bothersome.

Once Tyler got out of the car, the rest of the group seemed to come back to life. Jack and Ethan stretched their arms upwards while Kathryn and Amy shifted in their seats.

“I’m getting coffee from the back,” Mark announced. “Anyone want anything?”

“I’ll go with you,” Jack said as he took off his seatbelt.

That prompted for all of us to get out of the car. I opened my door and extended my legs, making my knees pop. It felt good, but now that I wasn’t driving, the lack of sleep was hitting me.

“Baller, you want anything?” called Jack from the back of the car.

Coffee would be good. But if Mark took over and started driving, then coffee would be bad. I also definitely could not fall asleep while someone else was driving, though. I was fucked either way.

I got onto my feet and started to pace, trying to wake myself up. I blinked back the heaviness in my eyes and went to the trunk of the car.

“Water?” I asked, resisting the urge to yawn or rub my eyes.

Jack reached into the mini cooler and pulled out a water bottle. “You okay?”

“I’m on fire,” I replied.

“You want me to take over?” asked Mark.

I shook my head. “I can keep going.”

“You haven’t slept, though.”

“And I won’t until we get there.”

He looked at me for a second. “Yeah, I’m taking the next round. And Tyler’s gonna sit in the front since he’s sick.”

Suddenly, I wished this water was patron. Suddenly, I wanted to teleport to the Grand Canyon so I could fling myself off the edge. Here we fucking go.

“We’re gonna have a rowdy time in the back seat,” Ethan sarcastically said as he placed his hands on my shoulders.

“Yeah, we’re gonna party!” Jack added, bouncing on his feet.

Now everyone was more awake and alive than I was. It was daunting. I was starting to feel the dark storm cloud form above my head. It was getting out of my control.

After a few minutes of stretching and waking up, we all got back in the car. I was in the second row, in the window seat behind the driver. Everything started to feel like it was going in slow motion. I breathed rapidly, but not loudly, through my nose. I tensed visibly when the car started to move. I was also fighting off tears, and my heart was palpitating. I kind of wanted to die.

“Drink your water,” Jack gently reminded me.

I was petrified, though. I was too scared to move. My eyes just stayed glued to the crack between the side of the vehicle and the driver’s headrest, watching the road. Everything sounded muffled, but I did catch Ethan saying something to Jack. Then, I felt a hand go over mine, squeezing gently. I took Jack’s fingers and returned the pressure.

“Should we stop?” asked Mark, who had probably seen the gesture through the mirror.

I lightly shook my head. I didn't want to inconvenience anyone. I drove with Mark one-on-one for this very reason. I had to be capable. I had to control this in whatever way I could.

“What do you need?” Jack asked me.

I sighed heavily, thinking about what was bothering me. The constant sound of the wind hitting the car was particularly stressful.

“My headphones,” I said at last. “I left them in the glove department.”

He reached over and tapped Tyler on the shoulder. Then, he was passing over my black, sleek headphones.

“Anything else?” Jack prompted again.

I shook my head as I plugged the cord into my phone. Finally, I had music to distract me. I decided to make a playlist.

~

My appetite had gone as well. The next stop was at a McDonald’s in Needles, California. It was around ten in the morning by now, and everyone was tired of the granola bars from the back. I, on the other hand, could have lived off of those for the whole weekend. I just had to find my way around every meal.

“Are you getting anything?” asked Ethan when we were inside the establishment.

“Nah, I don’t really eat breakfast,” I replied. “I’m good on just coffee.”

“You sure?” he pressed, his voice slowing down, like he was carefully choosing his words.

He’s tiptoeing. I couldn’t blame him, but it still rubbed me the wrong way. I was perfectly capable.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine. I’ll be in the bathroom,” I said coldly before walking off.

As soon as I was alone, a wave of guilt went over me. I sighed and looked in the mirror. Then I distracted myself by touching up my makeup. I dug through my purse for my powder, but quickly grew frustrated and winded up dumping the contents onto the counter between the two sinks. Once I found what I was looking for, I heard one of the toilets flush and out came Amy from a stall. Great.

She didn’t pay any mind until she saw the mess I made. “Oh…”

“Sorry, my bag is an endless void,” I said as I gathered my stuff to one side.

“Relatable.” Amy chuckled as she turned on one sink. “Are you doing okay?”

Here we go again.

“I’m more okay when people don’t ask if I’m okay,” I replied, but then I felt bad. “Sorry, nothing against you. It’s just tiring when people treat you like a time bomb.”

“Gotcha. It’s just… your hands are shaking.”

I hadn’t noticed until she said it. I had to show that I was fine. “They always shake. Comes with the combination of mental illness and caffeine.”

“I thought you didn’t have any coffee, though.”

Shit.

I stayed quiet as I powdered the oily parts of my face.

~

I drove the rest of the way over there, and I chugged a coffee in order to stay awake. While I was jittery and hyperaware of my surroundings and the noise in my brain, my new car anxiety playlist helped diffuse it. Basically, I sang my freaking heart out for the last four hours.

After paying for parking and finding a space, we all went out into the bitter cold. Although, once I was outside, my legs ached with chills. I crossed my arms and joined the group at the trunk, where they were packing their backpacks with snacks and water.

“Forty degrees!” exclaimed Kathryn.

“Shit,” I breathed out.

“You good, Baller?” Jack asked, amused as he put his arm around me.

“Shouldn’t have worn leggings,” I replied, unconsciously huddling into his side.

“I have sweatpants, do you wanna borrow them?” Ethan offered. “You can wear them over your leggings.”

Oh god, he really wants to expose us, doesn’t he?

“Yeah, you’re not going to survive with one layer on your legs,” Mark added.

“I’m getting them,” Ethan concluded as he dug through the trunk for his suitcase.

“Fine,” I sighed.

Jack kept me in his embrace, and neither of us paid any mind until it was brought to attention.

“You guys dating?” Tyler asked as he put bottles of water into his backpack.

“No, we’re just close,” I replied.

“Um, sweetheart,” Jack said, sounding mock offended. “How long more are we going to hide our undying love for each other from our friends?”

I chuckled, but decided to play along. “Okay fine.” I turned to the group and took Jack’s hand. “We’ve eloped. We’re helplessly in love and we have three kids. The secret’s out, my legal name is now Bella Santiago-McLoughlin.”

“Oh, I hadn’t realized you were going to hyphenate,” Jack went on, still not sounding happy.

“Wow, congratulations,” Mark said with a laugh, but he didn’t seem too amused.

“Sweatpants!” announced Ethan, holding the article of clothing in the air. Then he handed them over to me.

I detached from my loving husband and took the pants from my boyfriend. When I put them on, I felt instantly better, from both the warmth and the fact that it was the first time wearing his clothes.

After that, we all ventured towards the Visitor Center, where there was a series of shuttle stops. Shuttles. To take us to various parts of the canyon. Public transportation. With other people. I looked down at my water bottle, hoping I could pull a Jesus and turn it into wine, or something stronger. Obviously, I couldn’t make the whole team walk around everywhere, I had no choice but to get on with them. Somehow I survived.

It wasn’t until after a first stop at one edge did I realize how high we were. We were dropped off at a ledge with very little people. There was a sign that explained some history on this section of the Grand Canyon, and a small barrier.

I pretended to focus on the sign while everyone else went to the fence. Ethan, Kathryn, and Tyler immediately started taking pictures with their phones. Mark, Amy, and Jack were just taking in the view. I took a picture of all of them, their backs to the camera, and posted it on Snapchat. “When you’re too scared to look over the edge.”

I wonder how many people killed themselves here. Okay, edgelord. Come back to earth. And leap over that fence. Oh, fuck off.

By the time I worked up the courage to approach, the boys went further down the area, near some trees. So it was just me, Kathryn, and Amy. I was more focused on the view.

The Grand Canyon looked like a painting. The other end looked like a mural against a giant wall. I couldn’t really comprehend how huge this place was, nor how big the drop was. Somehow, it was less scary that way.

“I feel so small,” Kathryn commented, looking out at the view.

“Let’s take a selfie!” Amy suggested as she pulled out her phone. “I actually bought a selfie stick, and I gotta use it! Over here!”

She led us over to where the fence ended. Concrete turned to stone, and my heart rate spiked. I suddenly slowed my steps, hesitating while my mind got louder.

“Come on,” Kathryn coaxed as she took my wrist. “We’re all shitting our pants here. Let’s do this quickly.”

Amy put her phone on her selfie stick and then put on her sunglasses. “Smile!”

We were facing the sun with the canyon behind us. I shut my eyes, smiled wide, and held onto Kathryn’s arm for dear life. As soon as the picture was taken, we ran away from the edge like a bunch of maniacs.

It was a small thing, and a lot of people had the same fear of heights as I did, but I felt the slightest bit of pride once I had calmed down. I was very far from home, and I stood on the edge of one of the world’s biggest drops. I was experiencing a bad case of nerves, yes, but I hadn’t spiraled into a full blown panic attack. I was okay.

The three of us met up with the four boys in the roundabout. Then we went on another shuttle to a more isolated part of the area. There wasn’t a fence or railing of any kind here, which only made my intrusive thoughts louder.

“Oh, there’s a path we can take back to the Visitor Center,” said Tyler, who was reading a map. “It’s two miles.”

“Let’s go ‘splorin’!” Amy said excitedly.

So we did. We stayed in a group, with Mark and Tyler mostly leading the way. I stayed towards the back, just like at uni. The view was nice, there were red rocks and bluebirds everywhere. I wasn’t as cold anymore, now that I had been moving. My mind was less noisy as long as I didn’t look directly at the canyon.

“Whoa, there’s underground caves we can explore too!” Jack exclaimed. He was reading a pamphlet he got when we first arrived to the national park.

“Yikes,” I said in response.

That was enough for everyone to scrap the idea. Thank god.

Every now and again, we would stop at a particularly exciting ledge. Mark, Tyler, and Jack would stand at the very edge of the cliff for the thrill of it. Again, my mind was at full volume. Please don’t jump off. Or do. That would be fun. Shut up!

It was worse when Ethan decided to join them. He stepped through the mud, over to the wide open terrain. If I reacted, would I end up exposing us? I mean, he was a hair away from life and death, after all. It made sense, right?

“Mark, be careful!” Amy called.

Could I do that?

Ethan quickly turned and got away from the edge after a minute or so. “Nope!”

He was the only one to notice my sigh of relief, and I gave him a look. He responded by quickly squeezing my hand. What I needed was to hug him tight, but that couldn’t happen until later.

~

After the hike, we took another shuttle to one of the restaurants at the park. Now, I was hungry. I was starving, and it hurt. And I was very fucking tired.

Thankfully, it wasn’t busy when we got there. It was still a little too early for dinner. Once we were seated, I looked around for the bathroom. Then I looked for an emergency exit. They were right next to each other, towards the back of the restaurant. The tables surrounding those two doors were empty for now, so I had an easy getaway.

However, as time went on, the vicinity started to fill up. Things slowly started to get more and more hectic, and there was less and less space, making me feel cramped. I started to feel how I did in the car. The tables by the bathroom were getting occupied. Okay, I stood at the edge of a cliff today, yet a crowded restaurant was going to be the thing to break me.

I blacked out through dinner, so surely I didn’t burst into tears and ruin everything. Next thing I knew, we were on a shuttle back to the Visitor Center. I felt like I was a million miles away. I felt pins and needles in my hands and feet. The only time I made a coherent sentence was when I asked if I could drive to the hotel.

It was a shorter ride than I had anticipated. We checked in and got to our rooms, which were coincidentally on the same floor… right next door and across from each other. Jack and I roomed together. Ethan and Tyler were on the room to our left, Kathryn was across from us, and Mark and Amy were on our right. What a happy coincidence.

I knocked out almost as soon as I hit the bed. Being awake for thirty two consecutive hours had finally hit me. It was like my anxiety attack disappeared, and sleep took over.

When I woke up, there was someone next to me. Even in my groggy state, it startled me. I jumped and gasped, only to discover Ethan lying asleep next to me. Or… his eyes were half open, so I couldn’t really tell. I sat up on my elbows, looking at his face in thought. Suddenly, the picture he sent from PAX South made sense. I waved my hand in front of his face, which made him stir.

“Sorry,” I said gently. So he was asleep. Weird.

He groaned as he stretched his limbs, and then he swiftly rolled over and climbed over half my body. He lied his head on my chest and sleepily mumbled, “Titties…”

I chuckled and then quickly scanned the room. The other bed was empty, but I did hear the water running. “Is Jack here?”

“Showering,” Ethan replied, his cheek pressed rather painfully on my breast. Thankfully, he sat up. “I came to see you after we settled in, but you were asleep. So I decided to nap with you. Nap date!”

“Best date ever,” I said as I stroked the side of his face. “Good napping! Where does your roommate think you are?”

“Editing videos in the lobby,” he said, somewhat guilty. “But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Anyway...” He moved a strand of hair from my face, his eyes trailing down my face. Then, he planted a soft kiss on my lips. “I wanted to do that all day.”

My face heated up at that. And all I wanted to do all day was pass out. What a good girlfriend I am.

Just then, we heard the bathroom door open. Ethan quickly rolled off of me right as Jack came around the corner. He caught wind of the tension though, like he had caught us doing something scandalous.

“Don't worry, I'm on my way out,” he told us as went to his suitcase on his bed.

“You don't have to leave,” I said.

“WiFi’s better in the lobby,” he replied. “I have some stuff to take care of.”

“Cool, have fun!” Ethan exclaimed.

Jack chuckled as he grabbed his laptop and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “All I ask is that you kids stay off my bed! And use protection!”

I groaned and rolled onto my front to hide how red my face had gone.

“Understood, Mr. Bella’s Dad, sir,” Ethan said.

I kept my face hidden until I heard Jack’s laughter go out the door. When I looked up, I found Ethan on his side, looking down at me. I smiled and reached for his hand.

“Thanks for letting me use your sweats today,” I told him. “You’ll never get them back.”

He chuckled. “I figured. Take care of them, they’re super comfortable.”

We hadn’t had a moment like this since Valentine’s Day. Even when we finally had a weekend off, we were still busy and had little time for each other. I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax here, knowing that we could get caught at any moment, but I did enjoy the time alone.

“How many layers are you wearing?” Ethan asked as he took the end of my sweater. “Aren’t you warm?”

He started to unzip me, and it felt a lot more intimate than it should have been. Then, he placed his hand inside my sweater, and leaning in to kiss my jaw. Of course, that all added to the angry bout of nerves tangled in my stomach. I was so anxious it actually hurt my lower abdomen.

Wait…

“Ethan,” I said, tapping his arm.

“Hmm?”

“I have to use the bathroom.”

He leaned back, a confused look on his face. But he let me go anyway. “Okay…”

I got up and dashed off to the small bathroom. Just as I had suspected, Mother Nature left me a present, and it made me groan in annoyance. Mildly embarrassed, I went back to the door and opened it a crack, peering my head out. “Ethan? Can you do me a favor?”

“What do you need?” he called back.

“There’s a bag in my suitcase,” I explained, internally cowering. “It’s black and has cats on it. Can you bring it?”

He did it without question. Surely he would know what was inside the bag just by looking at the design, right? I couldn’t help but feel mildly embarrassed regardless, despite that this was a way to test him. He passed, he didn’t get squeamish or weird when I returned to bed curled up in a fetal position.

“Aww, is someone getting menstrual cramps?” he cooed as he came around to spoon me.

I groaned in response, wanting to sink into the mattress.

“Are you in a lot of pain? Do you need anything?” he asked, more concerned now.

“No,” I mumbled, turning over so I could curl into his chest. I felt really gross and uncomfortable now that the symptoms were kicking in. “I’m fine.”

My phone suddenly dinged, and I debated ignoring it this time. Ethan was stroking my hair and kissing the top of my head, and it was distracting. But it dinged a second time, and it made me turn to reach for it on the bedside table. Fuck, was I glad to read the texts from Jack.

“Idk how crazy you guys are getting, but Tyler’s looking for the blue boi!”

“We’re going up there now! Put your clothes on! :p”

Panic struck my chest. I quickly sat up and told Ethan what was going on, so we acted fast. I mean, I knew we weren’t doing anything of what Jack was poking fun at, but we still didn’t want to get caught cuddling alone on the bed. I had an idea, so I grabbed my skin care products and rushed him into the bathroom.

By the time Jack came back to the room with Tyler on his tail, they found me applying some black goop onto Ethan’s face.

“What are you doing here?” Tyler asked him.

“Face masks,” he replied simply. “Bella brought some stuff. You want in?”

I offered a smile as I evened out the stuff on his face with a brush. I would have put a mask on myself, but I didn’t have enough time to wash off my makeup. I could only hope it didn’t seem inconspicuous.

“No thank you,” Tyler replied. “I was gonna go get food and see if you wanted to come, but uh, I’ll go ask Kathryn.”

“Bring me something!” Ethan called after him as he left the room.

Jack waited until he heard the door shut. “Guys, I don’t like lying!”

“One more day!” I promised.

“Or, we could have told Tyler now and made him not tell anyone,” Ethan suggested.

“You really think he’d keep it from Mark?” Jack asked in disbelief. “He’s more loyal to him. And anyway, I don’t think Mark would really care that you guys are together.”

“That’s what I keep saying!” Ethan gave me a look.

“One more day!” I repeated.

______

next chapter

[hold-my-hair-back]

K1 for Mark

Finally getting another OC story written. The prompt was “my stomach is killing me”. Mark isn’t usually vocal about illness (or anything for that matter) so it was interesting squeezing this dialogue in there. Thanks for the prompt, love. I enjoy experimenting with my OCs. :)

For the fifth day in a row, Mark woke up to the sound of Karlee vomiting in the bathroom. And for the fifth day in a row, Mark had to make a beeline for the kitchen sink which was, in his mind, the next best thing. Since Karlee hit the six week mark in her pregnancy, the two of them had been throwing up practically non-stop. For Karlee, it was obviously morning sickness, but Mark had no clue what was going on with him. Five days was a little long for a bug, and not to mention, nausea was his only symptom. Mark had been telling himself that he was just nervous about the whole ordeal; after all, he wasn’t exactly the parental type. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Mark?” Karlee’s voice came from behind him as he continued to violently retch into the sink. A soft burp brought up a bit of water. “You’re getting sick again.” Despite the fact that his back was turned to her, Mark could tell that Karlee was doing that thing with her hand when she wasn’t sure to keep it at her side or to put it on his back.

“Yeah,” Mark muttered, shrugging his shoulders as he spit into the sink again, a long line of saliva dangling from his lips as he coughed. “My stomach is killing me,” he mumbled softly, the confession taking him off guard. He felt Karlee’s hand finally reach his back, finally realizing that he wasn’t going to be upset by the physical contact. “You puked this morning too, though.”

Karlee sighed as she tore off a piece of paper towel and handed it to him so he could wipe his mouth. “I’m pregnant,” she pointed out. The water was turned on in front of him and his sick was washed down the drain. “It’s morning sickness for me. I don’t know why you’ve been throwing up so much lately. Maybe–”

Mark turned around when Karlee stopped mid-sentence. Confused, he turned around and faced her, his green eyes narrowed in confusion. “What?” he asked. Karlee put a hand over her mouth and it became apparent that she wasn’t going to be able to finish her sentence at the current moment. Mark quickly stepped out of the way and Karlee began to gag over the sink, one hand resting on her middle. Mark felt as though the right thing to do would be to console her, but his own stomach had other plans. The sight, smell, and just general idea of Karlee vomiting made his own stomach turn. It was strange because this had never bothered him before. With a short apology, Mark hurried for the bathroom down the hall. He didn’t even make it halfway before his he was vomiting onto the floor.

Mark knew he needed to figure out what was wrong with him before this became a problem. The only reason he was so worried about it himself was because he knew he needed to be taking care of Karlee. Everyone knew he wasn’t good with this sort of thing, but if there was ever a time to try and improve that, this was it. Karlee was pregnant and as scared as he was, he knew she must be even more terrified.

On his hands and knees, Mark coughed up another small mouthful of puke before the his stomach settled enough for him to hurry to the toilet. He dropped to his knees hard and began to have, feeling his entire body arch as he did so. He wished he could be by Karlee’s side in silent comfort as always, but instead, he was stuck here with his head in the toilet. A small trickle of bile was viciously forced up by his stomach and he spat it out into the toilet with a shudder. He was exhausted; he hadn’t been able to keep down much of anything just like Karlee.

Just like Karlee…

As crazy as this was, Mark was starting to believe there had to be a connection between Karlee’s morning sickness and his own battle. It was too strange of a coincidence for their not to be. Besides, the lack of any other symptom was an indication as well. Mark wiped his mouth and flushed everything down the toilet before standing up and walking over to the sink with shaky legs. He turned on the water and splashed his face as he thought about what the connection could be. The kitchen sink faucet was heard in the distance, meaning Karlee was probably finished as well. Quickly, Mark finished up in the bathroom and walked out to the kitchen, frowning when he saw Karlee sitting at the table, looking exhausted.

“You okay?” he asked before sitting at the table next to her.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” she replied with a scoff. “The worst thing about being pregnant, is the fact that I can’t even drink caffeine to make myself feel better.”

Mark shrugged his shoulders, making a mental note to quit the caffeine so she wouldn’t have to deal with the exhaustion alone. “I’m sure that’s not the worst thing.”

Karlee nodded slowly and looked away. She was quiet for a moment and Mark knew she was about to bring up the very topic they had been avoiding. “Are we keeping it?” she asked quietly. Her lips pressed together and her fingers started drumming on the table. Mark knew this meant she was keeping something to herself, and he had an idea as to what that might be.

“You want to,” he stated, not asked. Karlee nodded anyway and Mark sighed. “Well, Karlee, this is more up to you, I think.”

Karlee finally looked at him, and Mark could tell she was angry. “Why can’t it be up to us?” she demanded. “We’re supposed to be in this together. You told me we would be.”

Mark was quiet for a moment before he reached across the table and took her hand in his. “Look, we are a team, I promise. I’m just not entirely sure I would be the best dad in the world. I’m terrified of the idea. Then again, I know if the baby was born and I held it, I would probably not want to give it away. We’ve both got good jobs, and despite our past, we’ve both got our shit together.”

Karlee smiled a little and squeezed his hand. “I think that’s the most I’ve heard you say at once since meeting you.”

“Well, I’m a man of few words,” Mark said with a small smile. “This isn’t something we can decide overnight. We’ve got time. I think now we have something else to focus on.” Mark stood up from the table and headed toward the couch in the living room, Karlee following him silently. He grabbed the computer off the coffee table and immediately began to do some research.

“What are you–” Karlee began, but Mark cut her off as a page popped up. “This,” Mark answered, handing over the computer. “I knew it…”

Karlee was quiet for a moment as she looked over the page. Couvade syndrome, also known as a “sympathetic pregnancy”. It wasn’t common, but it happened. The male experiences the same symptoms as the female during pregnancy, including but not limited to, morning sickness. “Huh,” Karlee began, and Mark didn’t miss the humor in her tone. “Guess we really are in this together.”

[benevolenterrancy]

GENYATTA EVEN THOUGH THEY'RE ROBOTS ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

THEROBOTS NEED LOVE OKAY ;-; THIS IS A GOOD AND PURE PROMPT THANK YOU

who hogs the duvet

Theyare both a grade-A fucking mess trying to sleep.  It's been literalyears since Genji has shareda bed with anyone, and Zenyatta being, as previously state, arobot normally sleeps upright,hovering while recharging.  So once they start sharing a bed it's onebig mess of how??? exactly do we do this???  But hey, as far asGenji's concerned Zenyatta has helped him learn so much and he ismore than happy toteach Zenyatta how to sleep together.

Thatbeing said Genji is a terrible teacher because he is 100% the one whohogs the duvet – don't do what Genji does kids you'll get kickedout of any bed you're sharing.  He always has, ever since he was ayoung; Hanzo would never share a bed with him when they were kidsbecause Genji would always end up with all the covers by the end ofthe night.  He'll start out sleeping normally, but by the morninghe's curled up in a ball, ever limb locked like a vice around theblankets so there is zero chance of ever getting them back. Fortunately Zenyatta doesn't need them except for the mentality ofcoziness, so this works out surprisingly well.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going

Genji,definitely.  He's the sort to daydream during mission debriefsbecause he's thinking about how absolutely amazing his boyfriend isand then call him at random because he just really!! missed talkingto Zenyatta!!!  He'll call for any little reason.  What does Zenyattathink Genji should bring home for dinner?  It was really hot today,is Zenyatta okay?  He hasn't been overheating?  Genji saw an adorabledog and he took pictures, look, Zen, I'll message them to you. Babe I know I just left twenty minutes ago but I miss you tell meabout what you've been doing.  Genji just really really reallyloves his boyfriend and is very clingy about it.  (Zenyatta does notmind at all)

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts

They make a good team when it comes togift-giving.  Zenyatta is like... unnervingly good when it comes tothinking up really meaningful gifts, little things that will havesome greater significance for the recipient and that will almostcertainly result in hugs and/or tears.

...That being said, Genji is arguablythe more “creative” one though.  He is a white elephant champion. He comes up with the most ridiculous gifts and loves an opportunityto get silly, fun things for his friends.

who gets up first in the morning

Zenyatta for sure.  Despite the world'sbest efforts to instill that sort of virtue in Genji it has neverstuck.  His parents, instructors, Hanzo... all wanted him to be anearly riser for training as a child, but despite it he was still thatperson who was usually stumbling into class late more often than hewasn't.  He would wake up for early Overwatch missions, but only withplenty of alarms, caffeine, and grumbling.  He half-heartedly triedto break himself of the habit while he was in Nepal, trying to wakeup and meditate with the monks in the early mornings but that wasjust never going to happen and he graciously gave that up.  SoZenyatta wakes up first (he literally has an internal alarm) and hascoffee ready for Genji when he finally stumbles out of bed.

who suggests new things in bed

To be perfectly honest, I cheerfullyheadcanon Zenyatta as asexual and I've never quite gone down therobo-dick path that some people enjoy so I personally don't headcanonthem doing any “things” in bed at all.  (Though Genji does teachZenyatta the glory of cuddling under warm covers and watching moviesfor hours on end, so in that case... Genji does!)

who cries at movies

Neither of them are really big criersduring movies, least of all because Zenyatta literally cannot.  ButZenyatta does Feel Lots OfThings during movies.  Out of the two, he definitely emphasizes themost with the poor, hapless movie characters (and like, not justprotagonists, he's the sort to get distressed because the villaincould so easily be guided to a better path by the right hand but isinstead slaughtered for Plot Reasons, or is moved by some littleinjustice suffered by a side character).  Genji's much more likely tolaugh at sad movies than cry (though he does have his small handfulof films that make him cry every time– not that he'll admit it, he's wearing a mask, no one can proveanything).

who gives unprompted massages

Zenyatta (I mean... it'd be tricky totry to massage an omnic).  Zenyatta knows the sort of physical painGenji can still experience just from living with his scars and thestrain his body experiences from how it's integrated with hiscybernetics – it can lead to anything from stiffness, to aches, togenuine pain depending on the day, so Zenyatta's always around tooffer a massage when he can tell it's acting up.  It feels nice notonly on his organic flesh, but also his synthetic muscles since it'sgiving them very deliberate sensory input.  (And the day Genjifinally worked up the nerve to take off all the removable parts ofhis armour and allow Zenyatta to massage him was one of the bestdecision of his life – Zenyatta is a fantasticmasseuse.)  Zenyatta also just enjoys giving Genji's massages becauseof how loose and content Genji gets after being massaged, like atranquil noodle.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick

Obviously between the two of themGenji's much more likely to be sick and Zenyatta is Good at takingcare of him.  He's not great at making food but will bring simplethings to help settle Genji's stomach, he picks up medicine, fillshot water bottles, listens to all of Genji's moaning about how he'sdying and is perfectly content to be doing so, he loves being able tohelp.  Plus Zenyatta can still cuddle a sick Genji without needing toworry about getting a sick himself, which is a big fucking plus inGenji's eyes.

That being said Genji is absolutelythe one more likely to fuss if Zenyatta shows any sign of being sick. Zenyatta's very chill, matter of fact, and calming when Genji'ssick.  Genji freaks out if Zenyatta seems like he's caught some sortof virus or if his system isn't running optimally because he isconstantly terrified of Zenyatta getting damaged in some unrepairableway that Genji can't help.  People normally don't die from a cold,but Genji remembers what the God Programs did to omnics.  (Ithonestly doesn't matter how many times Zenyatta reassures him that hejust needs to run a quick diagnostics or get a system update and takeit easy or something, Genji will still hover and fret like it'snobody's business until Zenyatta is acting entirely like his normalself again.)

who gets jealous easiest

I honestly don't think either of themget very jealous.  Genji probably would have when he was younger, butat this point in his life he is much more confident about himself andhis relationship with those close to him.  He trusts Zenyatta enoughto know he has nothing to get jealous about. Same goes for Zenyatta, he appreciates Genji and his very social,outgoing nature but doesn't, for a minute, consider himself to be incompetition for Genji's affection.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music

150% Genji.  Except he's not actuallyembarrassed, he's shameless when it comes to his music choices.  Hewill listen to so much crapit will drive literally everyone else NUTSand he just has no fucks to give.  As far as he's concerned, hismusic is fun and bright and makes you want to dance and that's whathe's looking for in music.  Zenyatta doesn't listen to all that muchmusic, but he does enjoy “ancient” (in Genji's words – it'sfrom the around 1980s) rock music purely because Mondatta liked itand it makes Zenyatta think of him.  Either way, Lúcio sighs deeplywhenever either one of them gets to chose the music.

who collects something unusual

Depends on how you define “unusual”. Genji didn't start out with much in the way of worldly goods, sincehe left most of what he had back at the Watchpoint when he left (andbefore that, in Hanamura when he was “killed”) and only had whathe could carry, but he starts to collect more things once he settlesin somewhere.  He collects things like video game merch and comicbooks and things like that, nothing all that weird, though he can bea bit of a packrat about it.  Zenyatta collects less, but it tends tobe things like... pressed flowers and pretty stones and cheapfigurines he bought in a market while he was traveling and a cheapplastic necklace a child made him after he helped her mother, thatsort of thing.

who takes the longest to get ready

Neither take that long, tbh.  I mean,Genji's a nudist both of them are varying degrees ofrobotic, so it's not like they have hair to do or make-up to put on,and neither of them are too fussed about clothes.  Zenyatta's themost likely to take a while to get ready but that's purely because hehas a tendency to get distracted by everythingand moves really really slowlyeven when he is actively getting ready.

who is the most tidy and organised

Zenyatta.  Genji is tidy only by thevirtue of not having many physical possessions to his name.  As soonas he begins planting roots again, gets a space of his own, andbegins amassing possessions again then he is easily the slob of thetwo.  He will leave shit lying anywhere and then get frustrated whenhe can't find it – Hanzo can attest that his ability to keep hisspace clean has not improved from childhood.

who gets most excited about the holidays

See, I would normally be inclined tosay it's Genji because I can just see him getting super giddy andexcited about holidays, but after we've experienced both a Halloweenand Winter event I think we have to accept the fact that apparentlyit's Zenyatta.  He had an elaborate skin for both holiday, heobviously gets so into it. “Paint me like a skeleton, Genji” “Master, you're an omnic, youdon't even have a skeleton...” “That's why it's a costume,my student, and besides it'sHalloween.  Help me reach my back.”  Or: “Zen... what is that?” “A walnut.”  “Yes, I see that, I was more interested in whythere are giant walnuts all around the room.”  “Well, I'm gladyou asked...”  As opposed to Genji's “My Halloween costume? Cyborg ninja” – what a cop-out you little shit.  Genji absolutelyforgets about holidays are happening until like the day before.

Zenyattais just super enthralled by all big celebrations and can't wait toparticipate with everyone and drags Genji into them whether he likesit or not.

who is the big spoon/little spoon

Genji: “Everyone likes to be thelittle spoon, it makes you feel safe!”

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports

Genji gets the most outwardlycompetitive, and will cheerfully trash talk both the people on theother team and on his ownteam.  He is a very loud player of just about anything, who'llhappily crow about his victories.  Look, he spent his childhoodgrowing up training with Hanzo, so he has learnt to A) take anythingvaguely competitive very seriouslybut to also B) be chill when he loses because Hanzo was alwaysobsessed with winning and Genji refused to give him the satisfaction.

Zenyatta,however, gets stealthily competitive.  He stays looking and talkingtotally calmly and peacefully, preaches sportsmanship and generosityto fellow players but then he'll just... say something very casuallythat most people might not even realize is petty andcompetitive unless they're paying attention.  (“To hold a grudge isunhealthy... for you”, “The master still has a few tricks” –Zenyatta is secretly savage af and Genji totally knows it, especiallyafter the first time he and Zenyatta sparred and he was landed on hisass in no time flat.  No one believes him though, they all think Zenis a complete sweetheart.)

who starts the most arguments

I honestly don't think they have a lotof full-scale arguments.  If nothing else, their relationship isbuilt on like... aggressive levels of open and healthy communication. So if either has an issue, they might have disagreements – evenlong, extended, debates – but it's something they talk about atlength until they're able to work something else.  If anything Genjiprobably brings the most up, but they recognize that an argument is amutual thing, in which two people are meeting an impasse, not one orthe other's problem.

who suggests that they buy a pet

GENJI WANTS A DOG, LET'S GET A DOG,ZEN

what couple traditions they have

I normally think of them as a prettyyoung couple, and one that hasn't spent their whole time in oneanother's presence (Genji going back to Hanamura to confront Hanzo,and I imagine Zenyatta was off doing things as well, and the twointended to meet up again later) so I think they're still in theprocess of making traditions. They enjoy meditating together, especially in the evening aroundsunset.  It's a nice way to wind down from the day.  They're also inthe habit of chatting in the evenings, which started because theywere separated for long periods of time.  Genji calls in the evenings(since Zenyatta is less bothered about being awake at odd hours thanGenji is – an omnic doesn't get jetlag) and that's something thatcontinued even after they met back up again, they'll often try to puteverything else down and just cuddle and talk before going to sleep.

what tv shows they watch together

I feel like they'd enjoy watchingsitcoms together the most.  They both have a terrible sense ofhumour, and it's a nice way to unwind, sitting around together andlaughing along with some stupid show with a ridiculous laugh trackand a guaranteed good ending.  If it existed at the time, they'd likeBrooklyn-99, I'm sure of it.  Long series are nice because then theycan pick something and just watch an episode or two night afternight, whenever they have a chance.

what other couple they hang out with

I imagine they're both pretty social sothey probably hang out with plenty, simply by the virtue that theyboth enjoy spending time with friends.  (I'm not going to botherlisting because it totally depends on who you headcanon as a couple.)

how they spend time together as a couple

Honestly they're best friends, they'llhappily do just about anything together.  Meditation is obviously abig one for them, since that was what originally brought themtogether, but they sleep together, fight together, travel together –hell, Zenyatta will happily float along with Genji through asupermarket while he's buying groceries and they'll both enjoythemselves because they just like getting to spend time together. They enjoy simple domesticity because it feels like a luxury neitherwas sure they'd ever get to experience (Zenyatta because of the stateof omnics' rights, Genji because for a long time he felt like afterbecoming a cyborg those sorts of options were closed off to him).

who made the first move

I could see it going either waydepending on the hc/fic but listen, listen, my favourite isaboslutely Genji doing it by accident. I like to think that it's in Nepal, Genji's been there for quite awhile now, him and Zenyatta have become very close friends at thispoint and then it suddenly strikes Genji that, oh shit, hehas major feelings for Zenyatta. And he is mentally freaking outbecause would Zenyatta even be interested??  Sure he's seen omnics inromantic relationships but Zenyatta's never really expressed aninterest one way or another... and would he be interested in someonewho isn't an omnic?  Or in a man?  Or just... in Genji as a whole,given that Zenyatta has seen every rough edge that Genji has at thispoint?  And then what if Zenyatta doesn't wantthat and Genji ruins their friendship?  What if Zenyatta getsuncomfortable and wants him to leave the monastery – this is theonly place Genji has truly felt he belonged since The Incident, hedoesn't want to lose that–!!! and basically he freaks out forapproximately four hours, it completely consumes him because this isway higher stakes than any of the playful flings he had as ateenager, he doesn't want to break something, but now that he'sstarted thinking about it he can't stopthinking about how much he wants to fucking kiss ZenyattagodDAMMIT.

Andthen the evening comes and he and Zenyatta are meditating andZenyatta is asking him about his day and, look, at this point Genjihas gotten very used to just talking to Zenyatta about any emotionalissues he's having.  Before he can stop himself it just... pops out. And all of a sudden Genji realizes he's confessing that hehas feelings for Zenyatta and all the misgivings he has to go alongwith it and he's FREAKING OUT EVEN MORE NOW BECAUSE THIS ISN'T WHATHE MEANT TO DO IT WAS AN ACCIDENT butZenyatta is just/// so flattered/// and so excited and so willing totry this and everything works out beautifully and it's fluffy andperfect The End

who brings flowers home

Zenyatta is the most likely to bringflowers home, by that's more in the interest of having flowers athome than anything necessarilyromantic.  He tends to see flowers, wild or otherwise, and getenraptured by them and decide to decorate their space with them. Genji gets flowers less often, but will often get Zenyatta flowers asa gift on an anniversary or something.  (He likes to bring home live,potted flowers for Zenyatta, since he tends to get melancholy whenthey finally dry up and die.  Although with the sort of lifestylethey live the flowers still have a bad tendency to die.)

who is the best cook

They both suck at cooking. Zenyatta doesn't need to eat, and the Shimada family had people tocook when Genji was young, and then Overwatch had a cafeteria when hewas there.  Genji is the best cook simply by the virtue of beinghuman and having, on the rare occasioned, needed to make food forhimself so as to not die.  Fortunately, neither of them really need“good” food.  As previously state, Zenyatta doesn't eat, andGenji can't actually taste food anymore so it doesn't really matterhow disgusting he makes it, he's not going to know the difference. God help anyone that comes to their place for dinner though.

so... anyone else wanna send me a ship? help ease the painful sting of a new semester with silly inbox games?