#but after hanging out in her office hours a couple times ive realized shes actually pretty chill and knows what shes doing

[lowestechelonabomination]

was freaking out about how I was going to fail this one stupid seminar class that's for SOME REASON a graduation requirement and thinking there's no way I'm getting above a 60 in it because there are only 10 assignments for the whole semester and all of them are weighted equally and all of them SUCK and are exactly the stuff I hate doing and I've been super behind in the class for the past 3 months so basically I'm screwed and then uh. my four missing assignments got put in as zeroes and my grade only dropped to a 58. WHICH IS BAD. but if I turn them in and get 50s on all of them and then get a 90 on the culminating paper (WHICH IS WEIGHTED THE SAME AS THE OTHER ASSIGNMENTS FOR SOME REASON BUT WHATEVERRRRR) I'll have a solid 76. WHICH IS NOT GREAT. BUT IT'S NOT FAILING. GUYS I'M NOT GOING TO FAIL

[godofplumsandthunder]

Twisted Fate

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Cancer, both Bucky and reader have cancer, Major Character death, brief hospital terms mainly reffering to cancer treatment. References to amputation.

A/N: This was written for the lovely @eurynome827​ 2k celebration. I got a lovely quote of lyrics from Hadestown, which I wanted to do something that was based off of the musical, but I couldn’t figure anything out. Then I had a big anniversary come up and this was came out instead. It’s very angsty, I cried a lot, and well I hope you like it.

The low, steady hum of the fan fills the awkward silence. The psychiatrist, newly assigned to the case, still doesn’t feel comfortable. “Case number 32557038” was widely known in the health care center. The whispers and rumors floated their way down the hall, past the copy machine, filling the office with this chilling tale. Some regarded it as a terrible series of bad luck, others thought it was an act of some benevolent God, pouring his rage on this poor couple. Dr. Breynord, after reading the notes on the file, Breynord knew that this case was perhaps the worst case of bad luck she ever saw in her career, and, maybe it was her stubbornness or naive belief in medicine, but Dr. Breynord was going to help this poor man get the peace he so desperately needs.

“James,” Dr. Breynord’s voice breaks the silence of the office, “I’ve read what my colleagues had to say about your case, but, I’d like you to tell me what has happened if you feel comfortable.”

Shifting in his seat, James sighs, with a small nod of the head, he starts at the beginning.

Bucky Barnes was used to change. Granted, it was other people’s change, but it was still change nonetheless. The poor folks that sat next to him each clinic visit changed, his caretakers changed, it seemed as if the whole world changed around him, while he was stuck in some perpetual hell. Every day dragged out in the same dull, and nauseating feeling, and at times, Bucky felt he was in an endless loop, forsaken by some deity he didn’t believe in. But, for however long Bucky has left in this fallen and cruel world, he’ll remember when you walked in, shattering the miserable purgatory he was banished to, he’ll always remember the day you changed his life.

It happened during his first transfusion session after his surgery. His arm, still wrapped in bandage, IV tubing leading straight to his heart, pumped his body full of liquids, as he waited for the toxic poison to enter his body. He always found it ironic, the “medicine” that was supposed to save his life, that was too dangerous for the nurses to touch with their bare hands, was willingly flushed into his body. Hair loss, mouth sores, and muscle aches were the better side effects. He can’t help but think about what is coming, especially as he sees his nurse, Thor, come over with the freshly made batch of poison [STRIKE THROUGH], chemotherapy as his doctor would want him to call it. Hanging the bag on his IV pole, Thor looks over at Bucky, giving him the “I’m going to go on a rant about something you should care about” look. 

“Now James, we’re getting a new patient today. It’s their first transfusion. They’re going to be sitting in the pod next to you. I swear to the gods, I best not hear another complaint about your attitude.”

“Me? An attitude? No, I think you got me confused with someone else. I’m the brightest little ball of sunshine here!” Bucky can’t help but chuckle. It’s not his fault he wasn’t a “warrior”, blasting “Fight Song” 24/7, as he sips on a kale smoothie with coffee suppositories shoved up his ass. T

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Barnes,” Thor shakes his head as he cleans up his station, “don’t think I won’t throw your bald ass out of here. That cancer sob story, won’t work on me.” 

Bucky goes back to his phone, already feeling the effects of the chemo. No matter how many anti-nausea meds they fed him, Cisplatin always makes him sick. So, he had the right to act like a grumpy old grandpa. While he scrolls through his social media feed, seeing all the accomplishments, brags, and just shit of his friends, Bucky hears your sniffles, as you make your way down to the end of the Oncology clinic, taking a seat next to Bucky. Even if Thor hadn’t given him the heads up, he would have known you were fresh meat. One infusion, his mom asked him how he could tell. It was easy for Bucky, it all had to do with the eyes. A cancer diagnosis shatters you. It kills all hope, light, and goodness that’s in you. You turn completely numb to the world, to the point where your own wailing and sobs feel muted. Bucky saw all of that in your eyes. Behind the puffy, redness, saw the shards of hope, the fear of the unknown. Before you could reach your seat, you stumble, spilling your possessions that you carried all over the floor. Bucky watches quietly as you quickly pick up your items, collapsing into the chair next to him. 

“Sorry I couldn’t give you a hand, only have the one,” he wiggles his stump, and he's met with silence. Talk about a rough crowd, he thinks, his nephews love his stumpy jokes. “So,” Bucky continues, “what are you in for? I’m a sarcoma, in the arm.” You sniffle as you turn your body to look at this new man.

“Leukemia,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper. It takes a real effort to say it out loud because then it makes all of this real.

“That’s good then,” the “sarcoma” man says to you, and Bucky can see the confusion, and pain on your face.

“How is that good? How is cancer good?”

Using his arm, Bucky points around the room, giving you a tour of the room.

“See him, that’s Riley, he has an inoperable brain tumor. That young kid, with the Switch? His name is Peter, his body is chemo resistant. So yeah, leukemia is good. If you haven’t learned it yet, not all cancers are made equal.”

“Oh,” you barely make out. What were you supposed to say to that? 

=====

Much to Bucky’s surprise, he actually enjoyed having your company. Your treatments lined up and so you both got to know each other well. Bucky enjoyed having someone close to his age that understood his problems. And it also didn’t hurt that you had such a great personality, you got Bucky’s dark humor (and it went without saying that you understood it was his way of coping), and you looked great. Not many people can rock a bald head. And Bucky has seen his fair share, and he can say with confidence, you rocked it. Not covering it up with caps, scarves, or wigs. Because why should you hide away? For the first time since his diagnosis, Bucky had a purpose. So, while his immune system allowed him to leave the house, he picked up a bouquet of fake flowers (neutropenia life, am I right?) and a box of chocolates to take with him to the next transfusion. When he got to the clinic, Bucky was a bit worried to see that you weren’t next to him. Instead, there sat Barb, 75 years old with breast cancer. 

“Oh sweetie, are those for me?” Barb looks at the flowers in Bucky’s hand. 

“No!” He snaps, as closes the curtain that surrounds his chair. He hears some huffs and complaints from Barb, but frankly, he doesn’t give a damn. Bucky only has one thing on his mind: you. 

“Are you alright? You’re not here at Club Med” Bucky texts as quickly as his one hand would let him. Dropping his phone, Bucky stares at it all while the nurses prep him. And because of damn, HIPAA, none of the nurses can tell him where you’re at. Minutes turn into hours, and by the time Bucky’s infusion ends, you still haven’t responded to him or shown up at the clinic. 

“Hope you’re okay. Call or text me. I'm worried” Bucky sighs, realizing how much you made his chemo treatments more bearable. How your laugh could make him forget of the poison he had to take, or how the light in your eyes could make him forget, even just for a bit, how much his arm stump was hurting. You were a drug, more potent than any he’s had before, and Bucky was becoming addicted. He’s picking at the hamburger he got for dinner, not having much of an appetite when his phone goes off. Seeing it’s from you, he rushes to answer. 

“Y/N! I… Where were you? I missed you today. I had to sit by Barb and…” The sounds of your cries cut Bucky off. 

“Are you okay?”

“No, Buck. I… Got some bad news today.” 

“Where are you?” He asks. He knows you’re alone, and speaking from experience, you never want to be alone when you get bad news. He knows from experience.

“Buck…” you sigh, “It’s fine. Really.” 

“Please, Y/N, I know what it’s like to be alone after getting this kind of news. Please, let me be there for you.” Breaking further down into tears, you cry at Bucky’s actions, actions of love. 

“I’ll send you my address,” Bucky gathers the flowers and chocolates as he rushes to your apartment, breaking a few traffic laws to get there faster. When he gets there, the image of you, opening the door, eyes swollen from crying breaks his heart. 

“Oh, Y/N,” Bucky sweeps you into his arm, as he closes the door behind, “tell me what’s going on hun.” 

You both sit on the couch, the bag with the flowers and chocolate lay at your feet, as you stay in Bucky’s embrace. 

“I’m… I’m dying Buck!” You manage to say in-between odds. “Dr. Fair... gave me three months to live. There’s nothing else they can do.” You break down in his arms, that last straw finally breaking, as you tell your newfound best friend, the person you were supposed to beat cancer with. Bucky tries his best to remain strong, to be the rock, the foundation you need, but you’re not the only one that is losing a friend. You sit in each other's embrace, as you mourn. You cry for all the missed opportunities, laughs, and memories that won’t be made. 

“What am I going to do,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from crying. 

Kissing your head, Bucky pulls you in closer, “we, are going to make these three months, the best three months you’ve ever had.”

Bucky lives up to his promise, spending every hour he isn’t in the hospital with you. The time you spent together changed your relationship. Neither had to officially say the words to make your relationship official. It was just you, and Bucky. Holding each other close, as the tempest waged on, trying to beat you into submission. You go on walks in the park, picnics, and one night when you both had the energy, went skinny dipping. Your logic being, what are the cops going to do? Arrest two cancer patients, with one of them being terminal? You threw caution to the wind and simply lived. Lived, breathed, and loved. Things seemed to be perfect until reality hit.

Your body wasn’t keeping up. Your cancer was spreading faster than they predicted. The doctors couldn’t give you an explanation as to why the cancer was spreading so fast. It shouldn’t have been. Soon, home hospice came, to try to make you more comfortable. And like the good partner he was, Bucky spent every minute by your side. That’s why, when you felt the inevitable coming, you felt your body give in to the tiredness of fighting, you grab Bucky’s hand. 

“I love you, James Bucky Barnes,” you weakly say, giving him one last affirmation, as you went to sleep, for one last time. 

As Bucky wakes up from his nap, feeling your cold body, he tries to ruse you back awake. Once he realizes what has happened, the last bit of humanity inside of Bucky snapped. He lets out a blood-curdling scream, as tears stream down his face. He strikes your face, pleas escape his mouth. Pleas to you, to a God he has long stopped believing in. His body shakes, his tears wetting your hair, as he holds you for one last time. 

=====

“Oh James,” Dr. Breynord grabs herself a tissue before handing Bucky the box of tissues. “I truly am so sorry to hear that. I want you to know that I am here to help you get happy again, and to heal.”

Bucky sighs and turns away from the doctor as he wipes his eyes. “You’re just like the rest of them. You didn’t listen to me.” 

Breynord was surprised that this was Bucky’s complaint. The other doctors had warned her that Bucky could be sarcastic, standoff-ish, and even flat-out rude to them. Breynord thought she did a good job listening to his story, what did she miss.

“I… I don’t think I understand what you mean, James.”

Bucky lets out a heartless, empty laugh, “you want me to be happy again. I’m never going to be. Not only do I have to live with the guilt of surviving, when she died, in my arms, but I’ll also never find another soul like hers. We had a connection, you know. It felt like we met before. When I held her in my arm, and her arms would wrap around me, it felt like I had the whole world in my arms. I didn’t need anything else when I had Y/N.” 

“So tell me doc, what’s the point of carrying on?”

[detectivejay-chuckles-halstead]

Love // Pt 2 // Jay Halstead x Reader

Description: Jay wakes up

Warnings: None

Words: 1511

Pairing: Upton!Reader x Jay Halstead

Part 1

A/N: There will be a Part 3 to this as well!

You hesitated at the ER doors of Med, not sure if you could bring yourself to walk in. Through the glass, you could see at least a dozen officers standing in the waiting room, waiting to hear if their colleague was going to be okay. And here you were, about to walk in to see if your boyfriend was going to be okay. Two separate types of relationships, one man. 

“You want to go in?” Hailey asked you, not sure how long she’d been standing next to you. 

“Not really,” you answered with a sad laugh. “But I guess I probably should, right? I mean, it’s Jay in there.”

“There’s no rush. Will gave us an update not too long ago. He’s in surgery, so it might be a while. You’ve got time,” she assured you. “Why don’t we sit out here for a bit until you're ready?” You nodded, the two of you sitting on the bench next to the entrance. 

“That was the first time he told me he loved me,” you finally said. “And all I want is to get to hear him say it in person. I don’t need him being a ‘what if’ Hailey.” She squeezed your hand, grounding you as tears came to your eyes. 

“He’s not going to be a ‘what if’ because he’s strong. He’s gonna pull through this, and the two of you are going to have the epic story you’ve always wanted. Remember when we were kids and you always talked about how you were going to meet your Prince Charming someday?” You leaned your head on her shoulder.

“You always made fun of me for it, Hails. Like any big sister would.” The memory came to mind, getting you to smile.

“The first time I saw you and Jay together, I realized that’s exactly who he was. He’s your Prince Charming, Y/N.”

“How is it you always know what to say?” you asked her, holding onto her like a lifeline. 

“Because I’m your big sister. We always know what to say,” she reminded you, holding onto you. Jay may have been your partner, but you were the one he loved. 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you had been sitting out on the bench when someone joined the two of you, sitting down in the free spot. When you looked over, you saw it was Will. 

“He’s out of surgery,” he told you softly, yet he didn’t look happy about it. “The bullet went through his vest. They were able to fix most of the damage, but he lost a lot of blood and damaged his lung. We’ll know how bad it is if he wakes up.” You were following along until the word ‘if.’

“If he wakes up?” you asked, needing further clarification. If he was out of surgery, why wouldn’t he wake up. 

“Doctor Abrams is worried about Jay having brain damage from lack of oxygen. A mix of the blood loss and the damaged lung. He’s hoping to start weaning Jay off the ventilator within the next couple of days to give his lung time to heal. Then, we’ll know. I can take you up to see him,” he offered, getting a nod in agreement from you as your sister let you go. 

You’d met Will a few times when you and Jay would go to Molly’s, the red-head stopping by occasionally at Jay’s place to watch a hockey or baseball game. So, it wasn’t that you weren’t familiar with Will, but it was the situation that was unfamiliar. You couldn’t exactly ask him how his day was going, how work was, how the girl he was seeing was doing. Not in this situation with Jay in the ICU. 

“He isn’t going to look like himself, Y/N,” he told you at the double doors leading into the unit. “There’s going to be a bunch of tubes and wires. He’s not breathing on his own yet, so there’s a machine breathing for him. It’s a belief that when people are like this, that they can still hear everything. So, just talk to him...He’s in there somewhere.”

“I’m scared, Will,” you admitted, the older man bringing you in for a tight hug. 

“I am too. But he’s gonna get through this. He always does.” 

You wanted to believe Will’s words, hanging on them with high hopes. He led you to Jay’s room, slowly opening the door. Jay was laying in the bed, head up at a forty-five degree angle. A blue tube snaked from his lips to a machine that hissed with every breath. There was a bag of blood hanging, tubing attached to one of the IVs. He had one in his hand, and then one in each arm giving him different medications that you could only guess on how to pronounce, let alone what they were. What really caught your eye was the stark contrast between all these tubes and wires to the paleness of his skin. 

Once you took it all in from the doorway, you were able to sit next to him, taking his hand in yours. Just a few hours ago, you were kissing him on the way out the door to go to work. Now, you were sitting in the ICU holding a deathly pale, cold hand. You could only imagine what the damage from the bullet looked like, not sure if you ever wanted to know until it was a pale scar marred on his skin. 

“You scared me, Jay,” you told him softly, looking for any indication that he was actually hearing you. “Talking like that was going to be your last chance...You’re going to have a million more chances to tell me you love me, you know. And after this. I’m not going to waste any moment with you, not going to give up any chance to show you I love you. Because I do, Jay. I love you. And I’m sorry it took you getting shot for me to tell you. Because it scared me. All of this scares me, because I’ve never felt like this for anybody before.”

“He’s going to be okay,” Will assured you again, knowing it was the brother side of him saying this and not the doctor side. Especially considering he’d warned you that Dr Abrams wasn’t sure if he’d wake up. 

“I’m going to hold you to that, Will.”

Four days later, you sat next to Jay after work. You hadn’t even stopped by your house, keeping a bag with civilian clothes in your car so that you could go to the hospital right after work. They’d extubated him early in the morning the day before, but he still hadn’t woken up. All the tests came back normal, so they said it was just a matter of time.

“Hailey wants to go on a weekend trip. We haven’t had one in so long, but I told her it would have to be after you were home,” you told him, thumb rubbing across his knuckles gently. 

They’d taken the IV out of his hand, but he still had the two in his arms. His skin was back to a normal color finally as well, looking like the Jay you’d always known. Just asleep. 

“Maybe I could convince you to give up the keys to the cabin for a weekend?”

“Like hell,” he mumbled, head lolling to the side before his eyes fluttered open. His eyelids looked heavy as he looked at you, as if he hadn’t slept in a year. Yet, he’d been asleep for four days. 

“Jay,” you sighed with a smile, bringing his hand up to your lips. “Is anything hurting?”

“No...just.” His voice was scratchy, so you grabbed the glass of water sitting on the table, bringing the straw up to his lips. That seemed to help as he took a small drink. “How long?”

“You’ve been out for four days, Jay. Somehow the bullet made it through your vest. They were talking about the possibility that you wouldn’t wake up because of the blood loss,” you explained softly, the weight on your chest disappearing slowly the longer he kept his eyes open. 

“I’ve been shot before, but it was different this time,” he told you, keeping his eyes on you. “It felt like it was it. And I just...I had to tell you I loved you in case there wasn’t another chance.”

“I love you, Jay. Which means, you’re not allowed to scare me like that again.” That got him to smile. Squeezing your hand. “Go back to sleep for a bit. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He nodded, eyes drifting closed again. 

This was how it went for the next three days, Jay’s moments of consciousness becoming longer and longer. Will had told you it was because his body needed time to recuperate. It didn’t matter why, just as long as he was going to be okay. Which it seemed like he was. Things were going to be okay.

[thejollyroger-writer]

One for the Books (1/1)

SUMMARY:  Killian Jones is a grad student who works for the Storybrooke University Library. He's searching for some lost books, last checked out by the elusive Teaching Assistant Emma Swan -- and when he goes to find them, he finds a lot more than he bargained for.

Rated G // 5.6k // on AO3

Thanks to @shireness-says​ for always cheering me on

Some interested folks: @kmomof4​ @let-it-raines​ @thisonesatellite​ @scientificapricot​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ @pepperspotts​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @teamhook​ @ultraluckycatnd​

-- -- --

to: eswan@storybrookeu.edu

from: kjones@storybrookeu.edu

August 20 10:14am

Dear Miss Swan, 

I hope this email finds you well. My name is Killian Jones, and I am the new records and collections graduate assistant for the Storybrooke University Library. I am writing to you today because, according to our records, there are quite a few volumes from our library that you have borrowed and never returned. You will, of course, not be fined for these items; I am simply reaching out to make sure that they are still in your possession, and to ask that you kindly bring them to the library to return or renew as necessary. The list of items is as follows: 

 Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume I. 

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume IV.

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume VII. 

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume X.

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume XXI. 

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume XXIII. 

Leuven University Press, Sexuality and Psychoanalysis: Philosophical Criticisms, 2010. 

Moore, Burness E. Psychoanalysis: The Major Concepts, 1995. 

 If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to reach out to me in any of the ways listed below. 

Thank you, 

Killian Jones, 

Records and Collections, Storybrooke University 

Gold Library, rm. 120A // 545-1212

to: eswan@storybrookeu.edu

from: kjones@storybrookeu.edu

September 23 2:46 pm

 Dear Miss Swan, 

I hope the first few weeks of the semester have gone well for you. I am following up with my previous email, where I sent a list of volumes from our university library that have been checked out under your name. We now have a graduate student writing on psychoanalysis and he is hoping to utilize a few of the volumes you have checked out over the next few weeks. If you would be able to return these items to the library at your earliest convenience, we would greatly appreciate it; even if they have been misplaced, we would still like for you to come and fill out the paperwork so this student can request them from another library. I am in my office every day from 8-3 for you to do this, or I could send you the form for you to print and return. Again, if you have any questions, please reach out. 

 Thank you, 

Killian Jones

Records and Collections, Storybrooke University 

Gold Library, rm. 120A // 545-1212

to: eswan@storybrookeu.edu

from: kjones@storybrookeu.edu

September 29 8:36 am

 Miss Swan, 

I am writing once again to inquire about the Freud volumes checked out of the library under your name. Since there is a graduate student waiting for them, and since we are unable to request copies from another library until they are officially marked as missing, I would appreciate your response in regards to these items. If it would be easiest for you, I will gladly come to your office to retrieve them. 

 Killian Jones

Records and Collections, Storybrooke University 

Gold Library, rm. 120A // 545-1212

Killian slams his laptop shut with a huff, then runs his fingers through his hair. “This damned psychology professor,” he mumbles, though he realizes when he hears Dr. French’s laugh coming from her office that the door between them is wide open.

Oops. 

“She’s not a professor, you know."

"Pardon?" he asks, mostly because the humming of his mind was much louder than his advisor's comment.

"Emma Swan," Belle says, and Killian leans back in his chair so he can see her. "She's not a professor. She's a TA for Dr. Hopper."

"A TA should still know to respond to emails and return books to the library."

Belle laughs again. "Well, you're not wrong."

"So what do you suggest our next move is?"

Belle pushes her chair away from her desk and steps out into the open area where Killian's desk resides, then leans against the doorframe. "If we didn't have a grad student looking for them, I’d say just let it go. But for the sake of Mr. Mills, might I suggest visiting her office during her posted office hours?” 

This is just about the very last thing Killian wants to do, despite offering to pick the books up in his last email. If she wasn't watching him, if she was still sitting in her office, he would have held his head in his hands, wishing for any other option. Six years in the naval reserve he can handle, but trying to get books from enthusiastic academics? He does a much better job with his head buried behind the computer screen, politely (or, if the case requires, slightly passive-aggressively) asking them to return books or to come talk to Belle.

But he knows he can't get out of this one, not when there's a bright lad like Henry Mills relying on him. “When? It’s been a month since the first email, and almost a week since the second.” 

Belle squints her eyes to look at the calendar hanging behind him. “Today is what, Tuesday? If she doesn’t get back to you by Monday, I would go to her first office hours of the week. Those usually have fewer students.” 

He just nods, but when she returns to her office, he does hide his face in his hands. 

The days pass like calendar pages flying off, cartoonishly, all with no response from the elusive Emma Swan. Every time he hears the ping of his email notification, he hopes it is a response from her, stopping him from the embarrassment he knows will ensue on Monday morning, at her 10:00 office hour. 

But alas, Monday comes with no response from her, and he tries to hold his head high and he knocks on the door to her office. 

He doesn’t know what he expects to find on the other side of her door, but the bright green eyes and high golden ponytail is certainly not it. He had a whole speech in his head, practiced while driving and in the shower, demanding the Freud volumes back for the sake of Mr. Mills — but the face that greets him erases all of his carefully-practiced words in one fell swoop. 

Absolutely speechless. 

A few moments pass without him uttering a word, after which she raises a single, perfect eyebrow at him. “Can I help you?” 

He clears his throat, trying to put some of the confidence back in his posture — and trying to slow the quickening pace of his heart, even as he feels it in his throat. “Yes. Uh, hi. You don't know me, but I’m Killian Jones, from the—” 

She cuts him off with a breath of a laugh and a hand held up between them. “You’re from the library.” It's not a question, but he nods anyway. “You’re here for Freud.” 

His confidence deflates. “Uh, yeah,” he mutters. 

She cocks her head to the side. "You're older than I expected." 

Now he is dumbstruck once again. Absolutely speechless, save the weak "Pardon?" that comes out as barely more than an exhale. 

But she ignores him, turning away from him, though she leaves the door to her office wide open behind her, so he steps through it and into her small space. The entire room is lined with bookshelves save the space that her small desk takes up and the two filing cabinets beside it. 

He realizes in this moment, watching her scan her shelves for the missing items, why he is suddenly so tongue-tied, why his practiced speech flew out the metaphoric window the moment she opened her office door: she's beautiful, without a doubt the most gorgeous woman he's ever seen, from her shining emerald eyes to the confidence that seems to exude from her very being, attractive in ways beyond the physical, ways that he can not even begin to explain. 

"I really appreciate your coming all the way across campus to find these," she says, starting to pull books off one of the higher shelves. "I've been out the past two weeks at a couple conferences, and I forwarded the list of items to a friend of mine in hopes that he could come and pick them up, but it appears he's as bad at doing favors as he is in bed." 

Killian feels the tips of his ears turning red even as she immediately spins on her heel, covering her face with her free hand. 

"Oh my god," she mutters. "I'm — I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to say that out loud." 

Killian does the only thing his body allows him to and laughs, though every neuron in his brain screams at him to stop. 

Thankfully, she joins in, and for a moment, he can swear that her smile actually brightens her dark office, that her laugh brightens his dark life. 

"Neal Cassidy, ladies and gentlemen," she says between laughs, which only causes them to laugh harder. "Altogether grossly incompetent." 

Killian is glad he's never heard of this man before; he's not sure how he would have handled it if he had. 

"Anyway," she says after taking a few deep breaths to try to calm herself. She turns back to the bookshelf to add a few more items to the pile in her arm, but one of them almost falls to the ground. It happens in a flash, really: Killian rushes to try to catch it, though the pile in her arms also begins to topple, and his ankle catches hers as she tries to stop the books from falling — and just like that, they're both on the floor, surrounded by volumes of Freud's Complete Works, Standard Edition. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, reaching towards the book that is closest to him only to find that it's one titled Sexuality and Psychoanalysis. 

The irony of it doesn't stop his embarrassment from reddening his cheeks once more. 

"What the hell is happening in here?" another voice asks, and they both realize there's someone standing in the doorway to her office. "Ems, who is this guy?" 

"Oh my god," Emma mutters, moving onto her knees, and he uses the bookshelf to quickly pull himself up so he can help her to her feet. "What do you want, Neal?" she asks, avoiding his question entirely. 

Neal? Killian wonders if it's the same Neal she mentioned before, but he pushes the thought away when he finds himself wondering just how good in bed this man can be by the looks of him. 

(A bit Freudian? He would say so.)

"I just wanted to bring you some coffee," he says, a hint of anger in his voice as he holds up one of the to-go cups he is holding. "Only to find you on the floor of your office with some guy." 

Killian is suddenly overcome with an unexplainable anger, something he knows he has been trained to repress — but here, he feels incapable. 

Thankfully, Emma speaks first, crossing her arms over her chest, and he takes the time she uses to speak to calm himself, seeing that she is fully capable of handling her own battles. "I've told you so many times, Neal, I don't even drink coffee. And not that I have to explain myself to you, but it was an accident. I dropped some books and…” She falters, realizing she never learned his name, but continues past it:  “... he was just helping me pick them up, which wouldn't have been necessary had you come to my office last week and taken them to the library like I asked." 

(That answers that question, he thinks; then, My God, I have to get out of here.)

"I really should go," Killian mutters, his anger replaced with embarrassment, and he focuses his energy on picking up the books from the floor, trying to wish the obvious signs of embarrassment off of his face. 

"Yeah, you should," Neal spits. 

Killian would swear, looking back on this moment, that he could feel Emma's anger in this moment, swelling like a balloon and filling her small office, almost radiating off of her. 

"No, Neal," she says, crossing the space between herself and the door before pushing her hands against his chest and expelling him into the hallway. "You should leave." 

And then she slams the door in his face. 

A beat passes, Killian focused on the rise and fall of Emma's shoulders, though she is still facing the door. When she turns around, there is a smile plastered across her face, but he also notices the shine of held-back tears in her eyes.  

"Sorry," she mumbles, and Killian struggles to find a way to change the subject to anything except what he just witnessed, but finds himself unable to speak once more. "It's just — he's…" She takes a breath, sitting down on the extra chair opposite the one behind her desk, and she hangs her head. "This whole thing was a mistake, really." For a moment, Killian thinks she's talking about him, his stomach turning violently with the thought that something he did caused this goddess this much pain — but then she continues. "I never should have… when I met him at the bar, I didn't even think that he could work at the university, even if he works for maintenance. I'm usually much smarter than that, I swear, but it was the beginning of summer and most of the students were gone and I finally had some free time to myself, so I just wanted to—" 

She turns her eyes up at him, the moisture that's filled them threatening to run down her cheeks, but he's in the seat across from her in an instant, his own hand reaching out to cover hers. He's terrified, afraid that he's made the wrong move — that he's no different than the asshole she just had to kick out of her office. 

But then she smiles. 

"You don't have to tell me this if you don't want to," he says, the words as soft and honest as he is able to make them. 

He only hopes it's enough. 

She nods, pulling her hand away from his to wipe the bottom of her eyelids, and the last thing he expects is for her to return her hand to his — but that's exactly what she does, and he can swear his heart does a little happy dance against his ribs. "Oh my god, this is so embarrassing," she says softy, smiling down at where their hands are touching on the desk. Killian shakes his head in disagreement, but she doesn't see it, shaking away another soft, embarrassed smile. "And Freud thought the women he saw were crazy." 

For what feels like the millionth time since he knocked on the door to her office mere minutes ago, he has absolutely no clue how to read her. 

"Are you sure you don't want me to go?" he asks, though he immediately regrets it, watching her face fall. 

"If that's what you want…" she says, letting her words fade before finishing the thought. 

No, he realizes, and the thought rejuvenates him; he sits up straighter, he can feel his blood flow faster, can feel his heart pound with a little more confidence. 

(Christ, Jones, heartbeats don't have confidence.) 

"That's not what I want." 

"Good," she whispers, the smile returning to her face. “Because he might — knowing him, he’ll probably come back, and I don’t really want to deal with that quite yet.” 

“Well, I’ll just stay here until you feel comfortable again.” 

“Thanks.” 

A beat passes, and Killian realizes for the first time just how awkward this whole situation is. Thankfully, Emma seems to be much better at small talk than he is: 

“So, tell me something about yourself…” She trails off again, and this time, Killian offers her his name. 

“Killian. Jones.” She nods, a soft smile spreading across her face, and he continues. “But I’m, uh, just starting the lib sci grad program, and I came here since my brother knows Belle pretty well.” 

“If you don’t mind my asking,” she mumbles, looking up from the desk that sits between them. “You look a little old for a first-year grad student.” 

“That’s not technically a question, love,” he jokes. “But yeah, you’re right. I’m not technically what they call a traditional student. I got my bachelor’s all over the world in the naval reserves, but decided to settle down for my masters.” 

She huffs out a laugh. “In Storybrooke?” 

“There’s a base not too far from here where my brother works. I was done with traveling, done with the hustle and bustle of cities, and this just seemed like the perfect place for me to be.” She hums. “What about you, Swan?” 

She shrugs, and for a moment, Killian thinks this is going to be her only response. The silence of the room becomes deafening for one — two — three beats of his heart, but then she opens her mouth to speak. “I never had any roots, and I just wound up in Storybrooke. College was the first time I was able to make decisions for myself, and I just… Stuck around, I guess. I changed my major three times, got two master’s degrees, and I think Archie — I mean, Dr. Hopper’s going to keep me here once I get my PhD.” She sighs. “Sorry, that was a lot.” 

“Well, I mean, we are stuck here.” 

She laughs, but another silence fills the small office. This one lasts longer than the last, Emma even going so far as to chew on the cuticle of her thumb, her gaze traveling around the room instead of looking at him. 

Killian, for some reason, can only think of the man that they’re in this situation because of — Neal. He knows that different people are attracted to different things, and he… Well, with no better way to think of it, he could think of nothing about the man they saw that was even slightly attractive. Sandy brown hair, average build, average… Average everything, really. 

“Can I ask you something?” he says, not even meaning to break the silence around them. 

She hums, though her attention still seems to be outside the small window behind him. 

“Why him?” 

“What?” She sounds angry, but also something else. Killian kind of believes it’s humored. He hopes it’s humored. 

“That guy. Neal? He’s — well, not to be crass, love, but he seems like he’s kind of a bastard.” 

She laughs. Not just a huff, not just a breath, but a real, straight-from-the-belly laugh. And it lasts for a while, longer than Killian feels like it should have, though he’s certainly not complaining. It’s a beautiful sound, a lovely sound, a sound that (almost literally) brings light to his life. Nothing bad can happen when that sound is around him. 

(Christ, Killian, pull yourself together.) 

“Damned if I know.” 

“Well, what do you look for in a guy?” he asks, not even meaning for it to sound as… well, as desperate as he realizes it does. 

“Why?” she laughs. “Are you interested?” 

Shit. He already feels the tips of his ears reddening, his cheeks growing warm with embarrassment that he has no defense against. "Uh, I mean—" he tries, and he could swear that his chest is radiating heat. "That's not — I didn't—" he stammers, and she laughs again. Sure, he's an absolute idiot, no way to hide his embarrassment from the beautiful woman sitting across the desk from him, but just hearing the sound of her laugh again makes him feel better, even if it is at his own expense. 

"Relax," she says, reaching out to touch his hand again, and she offers him a soft smile. "Besides, there really isn't any rhyme or reason to it anyway." He has just started to relax, his heart pounding a little lighter and his body temperature returning to a normal number, when she asks, "Why, what about you, Jones? What do you look for in a woman?"

Beautiful, brilliant blonde goddesses like yourself, he thinks. 

For what he could swear is the longest moment of his life, he's unsure of whether he only thought it or not. 

And then, she's leaning across the desk, her hand wrapping around the back of his neck to pull his lips to meet hers. 

It's far from his first kiss; he's been in the company of enough women to know his way around one. But for some reason, this moment, this woman in particular, catches him off-guard, and he is only able to focus on the soft warmth of her, the feel of her lips against his and her hand on the back of his neck, her fingers sliding up into the longer hair at the base of his neck. He's frozen, unable to respond in any way beyond simply opening his lips slightly to her — 

Until he pulls away, cursing himself even as he does it, especially once he sees the terror in her shining green eyes, so obviously wondering if she has done something wrong. 

"I, uh… thanks," he stutters, running his fingers through his hair as he jumps up from her desk chair. "I, uh, I really have to go." 

As quickly as he is able, he removes himself from her office, though he shows enough self-restraint to not take off down the hallway at a full sprint even though it is what every bone in his body wants him to do. 

It’s not until he’s out of the building that he takes a moment to slow down and really realize what he has just done, ifsting his hair with both of his hands. 

“Oh, Killian, you absolute idiot!” 

He wants to scream, and if he weren’t surrounded by undergrads who he knows are already judging him, he just might. 

An idiot. An absolute dunce. Why did it have to be this week that Liam is training in Rhode Island? Why now, when the thing Killian needs the most is advice from his older brother? 

Okay, not most; the thing he needs most is to go back a mere minute and not run away from the girl who kissed him. 

But he can’t do that. And even just walking back up to her office would be too embarrassing, too much for him. So he does the only thing he can do, and continues down the sidewalk and back to the library. 

(It’s not until he’s back in his office, with Belle eyeing him questionably, that he realizes he came back empty-handed.)

 She spends most of the afternoon wondering what to do. She knows she acted out of turn, knows she made a mistake, but there was just something about him, not an innocence, per se, but something… different. Something that sets him apart from most, if not all, of the men she finds herself in the company of. 

For one, he didn’t seem like a total idiot, unlike the majority of men whose beds she tended to find herself in. Even in the little time she spent with him, she could tell that he was different, and she liked it. She liked that he saw her as a person, with a brain and a personality, and not just as body parts, not just as a vessel that could provide pleasure. Even the men she meets at conferences have all been assholes, men like Walsh ___ who feignd interest in her presentation just to come waltzing up to her afterward and ask her to dinner — which he just talked through, barely giving her a chance to speak. 

But Killian, from what she could tell, is nothing like Walsh. Or like Neal, who keeps ignoring her refusals and turning up at her office. (She’s glad she went back to his apartment and not the other way around, because she fears what he may have done had he known where she lived.) 

Killian, who came all the way across campus to retrieve books from her office, agreed to stay to keep her company, and then she kissed. Like an idiot. She saw the way he got flustered when she started to flirt with him and it got to her. Was it an overreaction? Maybe. But there were definitely alternatives to taking that sort of action against someone whose shyness was apparent all morning. 

She gets nothing done for the rest of the day. The piles of ungraded papers that cover her desk taunt her, but every time she picks up her pen and starts to read, her mind begins to wander immediately — to Killian, to his response to her. Wondering if she made a mistake that she can never fix. Wondering if he is sitting in his office, unable to work, only able to think about her. (Maybe even hoping for this one?) 

The screensaver on her desktop tells  her it’s 2:23. Literal hours have passed since Killian left, and she has accomplished nothing. 

Tapping her password out on the keyboard, she pulls up her university email and types his name in the search box, hoping that one of his previous emails answers her question. She vaguely remembers seeing the hours he’s in his office in one of them, she just needs to figure out which one. 

Bingo. 

“8-3,” she says to her empty office. She should stay, should at least try to accomplish something after being gone for almost two weeks, but she knows it is useless. So she grabs her red leather jacket off the back of her chair, locks her office door behind her, and makes her way out of the building. 

(When she gets to the steps, she realizes she has left the library books behind, just as Killian had when he left earlier that day. With a huff, she turns around, stuffs them in one of her tote bags, and leaves her office once more.) 

Pushing through the library doors, she realizes that she’s been at this university for upwards of ten years, and never learned where the Records and Collections Office is. She knows Killian included his office number in his signature, but finding that would take more time than she wants to spend, so she approaches the desk. 

“Can I help you?” The student who sits behind the desk catches her attention for a moment, a tall male, probably in his mid-20’s, with blond hair with a pink tinge to it, wearing a dark purple satin shirt and matching purple eyeliner in perfect, identical wings. His name tag reads Tyler. 

“Uh, yeah,” she says, hoisting the canvas bag higher on her shoulder. “I’m looking for the Records and Collections Office?” 

He offers her a smile. “Sure! Room 120. Up the stairs, to the left, all the way down.” 

She returns his smile, doing her best not to just run off to find what she came here for. “Thanks.” 

The room that houses the main collection seems much larger than the open area that fills the same space the floor below it, and with every shelf she passes, she feels like three more come into view. But, finally, a row of doors come into view, with the words “RECORDS AND COLLECTIONS” hanging on the wall above them. 

119. 121. 

Didn’t Tyler say 120? 

She tries 121, knocking softly though the door is wide open. She is greeted by a younger girl, most likely an undergrad, with one side of her head shaved and the rest of it pulled into a braid that hangs over her shoulder. “What can I do for you?” 

“Uh, I’m looking for Killian Jones? I thought they said it wa room 120, but—” 

“Yeah, they can’t seem to number rooms in a way that makes sense around here. You have to go through room 119 to find Killian and Dr. French. I don't think Zoe's in her office, so room 119 should be empty." 

"Thanks." 

Room 119 is, in fact, empty, but the door inside, the one with Killian's name on it, is closed. 

She takes a deep breath, hoisting the bag of books up again, and knocks on the door. She wonders if this is how Killian felt knocking on her door that morning, with her heart pounding in her throat. Probably not, she tells herself, breathing out a laugh to try to calm her nerves. 

"Come in!" his voice calls, and she can feel her heartbeat in every cell of her body. 

What the hell, Emma. 

But when she grabs the door knob, she realizes that at least part of her nervousness is valid, because for all the time she spent sitting in her office thinking about their earlier interaction, she has given zero thought to what she's going to say to the man on the other side of the door. 

Too late now. 

Deep breath. 

And she opens the door. 

He looks as flustered as she feels, with his hair standing in all directions, as if he's been tugging at it and running his fingers through it. The thin-framed glasses perched on his nose just add to the ensemble, his bright blue eyes already wide through them, and they only widen more when he sees her standing in the doorway. 

"Hey." 

He blinks. Then again, as if trying to convince himself that she's really there. That may be exactly what he's doing. "Swan," he breathes, one corner of his lips ticking up in a smile. "Hi."

She holds up the bag full of books, offering him a small smile. "I think you're looking for these." 

He returns the smile, but it disappears after just a moment. "Well, I thank you, love, but you didn't have to bring them all this way." 

"It was the least I could do after all the trouble someone went through to pick them up this morning." 

"You could have dropped them off downstairs." 

It's now that she realizes that just because she wanted to see him again, he doesn't necessarily feel the same way, and that could explain his cold responses to her. 

She lets her smile fall. "I could have."

"Why didn't you?" The question is simple enough, straight and to the point. 

"Christ, Killian," she huffs, letting her anger get the best of her. "I didn't come here to return the books."

"Then why did you come?" 

"I wanted to apologize," she says, dropping the bag of books on his desk — and when she opens her mouth to speak again, the words tumble out like a waterfall, unable to be stopped. "I could tell I made you uncomfortable and I've been sitting in my office all day, wishing I did something differently, but since I can't go back, I decided the least I could do to make up for it was to bring you these books and ask you if you wanted to go to dinner with me, but obviously you and I aren't on the same page, so—" She shrugs, throwing her arms in the air, and turns away from his desk. 

There's a shuffle from behind her, but it's not until he says, "Yes! Yes, okay," that she turns back around, realizing that he's stood up. 

"What?" 

"Dinner. With — with you," he stammers. "That's — I want that." 

Again, she just says, "What?" but this time it's paired with the beginnings of a smile. 

"I've been thinking about what happened all day. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, even with everything I was supposed to be doing." 

She takes another step towards him, her smile growing. Finally, he returns it with one of his own. "Yeah?" 

"Aye." 

Rocking back on her heels, she looks down at her watch. "It's only 3:00." 

He laughs, already seeming much more relaxed than he has been since she opened the door to his office. "I suppose it is.” 

Their gazes meet for a moment. She raises her eyebrow. He clicks his tongue. 

“I, uh, didn’t really eat lunch,” she says with a smile. 

“Ah,” he replies, returning her smile as he scratches the back of his ear. “You see, I was also a little distracted, but I am almost off the clock.” 

“Good,” she whispers, setting herself in the seat next to his door. “I’ll just wait.” 

He nods, sitting back down in his office chair. He is able to check her books in, then sends an email to Henry Mills to tell him he can come get the books whenever — but he is more distracted by having her in his office than he was all day when she was just on his mind. After every few words, his attention leaves the computer screen and travels to where she is sitting, scrolling on her cell phone. 

And every time he looks at her, he smiles. 

It’s only a few minutes before he logs off his computer, accidentally startling her when he pushes his chair away from the desk. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, pulling his jacket on over his sweater. “I’m ready now, though.” 

 Their first pizza date quickly becomes a regular occurence, sharing lunches in their offices on days they don’t go off campus. It’s two weeks before Killian is bothered they haven’t been on a “proper date,” and he picks her up from her apartment with flowers, which she keeps in a vase in her office. 

But, most importantly, she never forgets to return a library book again — especially the next year, when she and Killian move into a small house near the campus. 

Together. 

[mca-attack21]

Mystery Bullet Part 3

This is the third and final part to this series, thanks for joining me on the ride! Part 1: Here  Part 2: Here

The phone rung a couple of times before Sherlock answered. “Awh John, you’re missing the fun.”

“She’s okay, just had a bad reaction to the antigens in the blood they gave her during surgery.”

“Did they give her the wrong blood?”

“They claim they didn’t, but that is the only thing that makes sense.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant! The bullets weren’t made of ice, they were made of blood. That explains everything.”

“I’m not sure I follow,”

“Think about it the bullet disappeared. She had a bad reaction to antigens. Ice wasn’t dense enough, but the blood would be perfect. Someone used human blood to create a projectile that when froze with liquid nitrogen and shot by pressurized air would resemble a bullet. It wouldn’t leave an exit wound and would dissolve. It also explains why she said the wound site was cold.” Sherlock explained.

“She’s awake now, you should come and see her. She’s asked about you,” John replied.

“I’m glad she is okay, I will come to visit when I have solved the case” Sherlock replied.

“Sherlock, she is still in critical condition, you do understand that right?”

“The auction is tomorrow, we are running out of time,” Sherlock answered before hanging up.

John wanted to call him back, but he knew that it was no use. He instead went into your room and sent Molly home for the night. When you woke up he explained what had happened and Sherlock’s blood bullet theory.

“Have you found the paintings yet?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

“The real paintings are still in the Museum somewhere. There is too much traffic, extra security, and outside security cameras for them to have been removed. None of the other security cameras were tampered with and no other guards were affected. It had to be an inside job because someone walked in and out of that well-lit room without drawing suspicion and left the same way. They had to be in there well before they actually shot the security guard. Between that and the looping footage, I would assume that the guard was in on the heist and then was double-crossed. Regardless, there is no possible way that the art was removed it is somewhere in that room. I called the art restorator that you met, he said that he would meet with me to check over the paintings. He wanted me to come in that night, but I told him it would have to wait. Oh my god, it was him!” you realized.

“How so?” John asked.

“He knew that I was on to him and he knew you and Sherlock wouldn’t be home. He had access to the facility and no one would question where he was going. He has worked at the gallery for a while and would have had plenty of time to plan everything out.” you explained.

John was laughing and pulling out his phone.

“What?” you asked.

“You are insane, that is what. I need to get normal friends,” he answered. 

“Is everything okay?” Sherlock answered.

“Yes, but you need to go to the museum, I’ll meet you there.”

 “Why?”

“Because Y/n solved the case and we need to go pick up the paintings and culprit. I’ll explain when we get there. Call Mycroft.” he said and hung up.

“Okay now, you are going to lay here and rest. No exceptions. Sherlock and I will come by when it’s over and we will see what we have to do to get you out of here. Is there anyone you’d like me to call?” he asked.

“Nope, I think I’ll take a nap. Be careful,” you answered.

Sherlock and John went to the museum. It didn’t take them long to discover where the real paintings were being hidden. They then went to Dr. Argonza’s office, to no one’s surprise he wasn’t there. They did find a cryogenic dewar which could have easily been used to store the blood bullets. There was an airbrush and pipe that Sherlock was sure could provide enough velocity to cause the injuries. The entire rig would easily fit under a coat and be hidden. Sherlock filled his brother in and together they came up with a plan to switch the duplicates back with the originals and wait for Dr. Argonza at the auction where they would pick him up.

Convinced that not even Mycroft’s men could screw this up, John and Sherlock prepared to leave. John had them stop by the flat to pick you up some spare clothes for your return trip. He was surprised to see that Sherlock had cleaned up the blood and everything from his experiments earlier that day. He was glad that this was almost over and that things would soon be back to normal. 

When they arrived at the hospital they were told visitation hours were over and made some type of excuse using their “badges” to get passed the nurse. John led the way to your room and Sherlock followed. They were surprised to hear talking from your room. That surprised turned to concern when they realized that your door was locked.

Meanwhile:

You were tired and understandably so. But how were you supposed to get any sleep when nurses were constantly coming in and poking and prodding you. This nurse was different, you hadn’t seen him yet. He came over and prepared to inject another medication into your IV. 

“I had my last round of medication an hour ago,” you spoke confused.

“This is a post-op Antibiotic, Doctors’ orders,” he said nonchalantly.

“Which one?” you asked painfully forcing yourself to sit up to get a better look. 

“Carbenicillin? That can’t be right. I have a severe reaction to Beta Lactums.” you explained.

“Hmm, it doesn’t say that in your chart,” he replied before injecting it in.

You immediately tore out your IV and tried to hit the Nurse call button, shouting for help. 

“Shut up! Shut up!” he shouted coming over and placing his hand over your nose and mouth forcefully. You tried to fight against him but your body was too weak and the fear was taking over.

“If you would have just stayed out of it, none of this would have happened. I didn’t want to kill you, but you’re too much of a liability now,” he explained.

You were beyond scared now tears running down your cheeks. You fought against it with everything you had but it was too much. The burning in your chest took over and the black circles grew. 

That is when Sherlock and John burst through the door. Sherlock ripped Dr. Argonza off of you and threw him on the ground. You gasped and struggled to breathe. John had him at gunpoint until security was able to collect him. Even then, he waited with him until Mycroft showed up with his men to take him away. Back in your room, the nurses had kicked Sherlock out so they could thoroughly check you over. You were understandably a mess and demanded AMA forms. You gave them no choice and fought through the pain to remove all of the monitors that were hooked up to you. You sat up sheepishly and started putting on the clothes that John had brought. The nurses tried to reason with you, but you weren’t having it. That is when one of them decided to let Sherlock in to see if he could talk any sense into you.

“What is it that you think you are doing?” he asked concerned.

“I’m leaving. Are you going to help me?” you replied clutching your head.

“Y/n, you can’t leave. You need to stay here and let them take care of you, you’re in no condition to go home” he tried and then he saw something that shook him; you started crying. 

“I can’t stay here, please don’t make me stay here” you cried.

He felt like he was entirely unequipped to handle this situation and wished that John was there.

“It’s okay Y/n, everything is going to be okay. Just lay back down.” he tried.

“I want to go home Sherlock, I’d rather die there than stay here,” you sobbed. 

He went over to your side and did something that was very rare for Sherlock, he gave you a hug. 

“I was so scared” you revealed.

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s over now,” he soothed. 

“I can’t stay here, Sherlock,” you added.

“I know, we’ll figure it out. Just relax,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,”

“You have nothing to be sorry for Y/n, just lay back down until John returns,” Sherlock instructed taking a seat next to you. It wasn’t long before you fell back asleep. And shortly after that both John and Mycroft walked in.

“What is all this?” John asked referring to you sleeping in your clothes and not being hooked up to the machines.  

“She doesn’t want to stay here. She signed AMA’s and tried to leave.” Sherlock informed.

“Well she doesn’t get a choice, she needs to stay and be looked after,” John replied. 

“You know, I have never seen her cry before today.” Sherlock whispered, “She literally said that she rather die at our flat than to stay here.”

“We can’t take care of her in this condition,” John reminded.

“Mycroft, do you think that I can cash in a favor?” Sherlock asked acknowledging his brothers’ presence for the first time.

“You are running low on those, what do you want this time?” Mycroft returned.

“The VIP suite here until Y/n can safely check out,” Sherlock replied still not taking his eyes off of your sleeping form.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said as he exited the room.

“We almost lost her three times today John,” Sherlock realized.

“She’ll be okay though, and that’s what counts,” John reminded.

The next two days were spent in the VIP suite of the hospital. Sherlock refused to leave your side even though you told him it was okay. The Art Gallery covered the entirety of your medical expenses as compensation for you saving the auction. When you were finally allowed to go home, you were ordered to take it easy for a week. Sherlock refused to take any cases during that time, which was quite out of character. This mystery was one of the few which never made it on the blog, and that was okay.

[loudsuitlover]

Doctor Harry IV Dulce introducción al caos

A/N: This is pretty much a story. Like a real one. And there are more than two characters and I love them all and I’m excited about this. Thank you to everyone who reads my shit. You’re great. 

Part I Part II Part III

INDIE’S POV

I have avoided Harry today. That’s so silly, I know; because he probably didn’t give the other night much relevance. I mean we just had a pizza, well he did, and I threw up. I threw up a lot; but he’s a doctor, he’s used to seeing people throwing up every day and I’ve had pizza with professor Gibbins before; that day I stayed with him for practice after lunch. But for some reason, after he saw me like that, it’s embarrassing for me to encounter him.

I just had to come over for the clinical session before their day starts because I have class afterwards anyway and Harry’s not here so I reckon I won’t see him today. Maybe I don’t ever have to see him again so I can’t stop this stupid desire I have for him. It’s pathetic really but he’s just so attractive. I mean I know he is, not just for me, because I’ve seen the way girls look at him and I know Olivia would gladly take off her undies if he wanted to take her to bed. Jason’s name appears on my screen after I go out of the clinical session.

“Hey, J.”

“Hi.”

We haven’t talked directly since last Friday when I was a jerk to him. He’s talked on the group chat so I know he’s been alright but the fact that he’s calling me is a good sign. I thought he was mad at me. I know he doesn’t like it when I talk about David like that, but I also think someone has to say something. I worry about him and I only tell him because I love him and I don’t want anyone to hurt him.

“Are you busy?” He asks.

“I just came out of the clinical session we have to attend to.”

“Right.” I hear him breathe in. “Was Harry there?”

“No, he wasn’t.”

There’s a pause and I bet he’s nodding.

“Well, how are you?”

“I’m good. I wasn’t calling you for this.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“I should be.” He sighs. No, he shouldn’t. “But I’m fed up with getting mad at you for the exact same thing every single time. You have your opinion and I think you’re a meddlesome but I know you mean well.”

I choose not to answer to that because I know we’re unable of discussing that without fighting and I don’t feel like confronting him at eight thirty in the morning.

“I was just calling to tell you I can’t go to your Mum’s exhibition.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I forgot I had promised David I was going to go with him to his hometown.”

“That’s in two weeks.” I tell him. “Can’t you go to his hometown any other weekend?”

“Well, no, we’ve already talked to his family… You don’t mind, right?”

I’m tired of David’s shit. He probably organize the whole thing so that Jason couldn’t hang out with us especially if he was going to “dangerous territory” because he knows it was my mum’s exhibition. I’m beyond mad. I start walking outside and bump into Harry whose eyebrows raised as he looks at me. I’m about to walk away when Mr Gibbins stops me and tells me to wait for him before he disappears inside his office. I talk to Jason under Harry’s attentive stare.

“What do you mean I don’t mind? Of course I mind! You barely hang out with us anymore and that was going to be a special night. You know it means a lot to me that you guys are there.”

He sighs.

“I’m very sorry, Indie. I just can’t cancel on my family-in-law. I’d go if it was any other weekend but…”

I can hear the regret on his voice and that’s what drives me crazy. He wants to come it’s just fucking David.

“You’re not coming because David doesn’t want you to come.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Listen, J, I know some people forget about their friends when they have a boyfriend because well, you can’t fuck your friends, but I never thought you were going to be one of those people. I thought we were more important to you. You could make some time for us too.”

“Can’t we have a Golden Girls’ day this week?”

“No.”

I want to hang up but for the first time in forever he seems to be listening and I won’t take this opportunity away. Jason is smart and handsome and funny and kind, he could have any partner he wanted to, so I don’t understand why he would settle with such an arrogant controlling toxic prick.

“Tell him to fuck off for once, J. Having a boyfriend doesn’t mean you can’t go out with your friends alone every once in a while.”

“We went out on Friday…”

“Because he had gone out with the team too!” I take a deep breath. “Don’t you want to come with us?”

“Of course I want to go with you. You just don’t get it. He…”

“What? He hits you?”

“WHAT?” He all but yells. “NO! Indie, how can you say that?”

“Well, I don’t know anymore, J. He reminds me too much of Javier.”

“He’s nothing like Javier.”

“He does the exact same things.”

“No, he doesn’t. He loves me.”

“Yeah, Javier used to say he loved me too but that’s a very weird way of showing it.”

There’s complete silence from his end. I start fearing he’s hang up until I hear him take a deep breath. I don’t know whether he’s quiet because he doesn’t want to be rude to me or whether he just doesn’t know how to deny what’s obvious anymore but I can’t keep having this conversation here.

“Listen, J, if you don’t come I just won’t understand it and of course I mind. You know there are two people in a couple and he doesn’t get to decide every little thing. You’re your own person and get to decide your shit too. Just think about it and of course call me if you need anything. You know I love you.”

With that I hang up. I know I have to be on his side no matter what but this topic really gets on my nerves. How they stood by my side when I was with Javier is beyond me but I know he’s gonna need his friends if he’s going to break up with him which I hope he does soon.

“Problems?”

My eyes move up from the floor before me until they meet with Harry’s. He’s staring at me with a worried look on his face. Has he been listening?

“No.”

“Who’s David?” He asks.

“Jason’s boyfriend.”

“And Javier?”

Man, he’s so nosy. My expression is hard but I’m not really mad at him. I’m mad at David and frustrated with Jason but not mad at Harry. I have to remind myself that before I let my anger out on him.

“He’s mine.”

“But you said you didn’t have a boyfriend.” He’s frowning.

When did I say that?

“I don’t.” My eyes hold his and I watch his expression softens. Does he care? “I meant he’s my ex.”

He nods his head.

“Are you always so blunt or is it just with me?”

“I’m not blunt.”

“You didn’t use to be but don’t think I haven’t realized you avoided me today. And yesterday.”

“I didn’t avoid you yesterday.”

“You stayed with Dulce for your practice.”

“Dulce’s a very-”

“You always go with me for practice.”

My mouth opens so I can argue when professor Gibbins stands next to me with a confused expression and a folder on his hand.

“Is everything alright?” He asks having a look at his folder so he doesn’t have to look at Harry or me I suppose.

“Yeah.”

Harry answers for me before he walks away with a frown. I can’t believe he’s actually mad that I didn’t bother him yesterday or this morning? I mean nobody wants to have a student following them around the hospital and asking questions and taking notes. All of sudden he likes teaching?

Professor Gibbins and I walk together to class on a professional silence until he makes conversation asking me about how my study is going. I tell him I like his notes because they’re easy to understand and I appreciate the effort he put at making them and he ends up blushing. Professor Gibbins is very cute. He walks around pretending he’s this cool guy with a big motorbike and a cool leather jacket but you can easily tell deep down he’s like a little boy with a toy. I wonder whether he likes videogames like my brother.

I join Marie as professor Gibbins get the ppt ready for the lecture. There’s no sight of Olivia or Jason obviously because this lecture is not mandatory and on wednesdays we all have hospital practice in the afternoon. Marie tells me they’re both coming to have lunch with us at the restaurant we like. The Chambers is just ten minutes away from the hospital and they have really, really great food at a very affordable price. I reckon the fact that it’s not on a well-known area lowers the prices of the meals but the food is signature cuisine and the staff is great so we love the place.

Professor Gibbins tells us the Surgery and Anesthesia department had decided the hospital practices should end with an essay so that we could actually get a mark on that so all the hours at the hospital would have a more rewarding result. I hate essays but I understand and I think it’s a fair idea.

“I’ll send you the list with your tutors afterwards. I think you all know them but it’s possible that someone has a tutor they’ve never met because we’ve tried not to overload anyone with work.” He states. “Well that’s all guys. See you on Friday.”

Marie and I leave the lectures hall gossiping about Olivia and Mario. Apparently they kissed on Friday night. The girls told me Saturday morning when I woke up at their apartment and Olivia was embarrassed to death. It was funny to see her like that because Olivia is never embarrassed of being sexually free and hooking up with whoever she wants but for some reason she was mortified about this.

Jason and Ollie are already sitting at a table when we get to The Chambers and I set my eyes on Jason’s, trying to get the vibe we stand now, and I can tell he’s sorry. His eyes look at me with regret so I give him a little smile. I still want him to come to my mum’s exhibit but we still have ten days for him to come around. I hold his hand over the table and he gives me a smile back.

“Wait, what’s that?”

Marie’s eyes bulge out of her sockets as she stares at Jason’s neck. I lift my ass off my chair so I can lean over the table and have a look myself.

“That’s a bite clear as day.” Ollie giggles.

Jason blushes.

“It was David…”

“What an animal.”

Marie seems horrified, her green eyes fixed on the bread.

“Did it hurt?” She asks.

“No.” J places a hand on her shoulder as if trying to reassure her. “He did it on purpose.”

“What?”

“I did one on him too.” He shrugs. “So that everyone knows he’s mine and I’m his.”

I’m afraid my eyes are going to fall off from my face.

“You mean he marked you like livestock?”

Jason rolls his eyes but I can tell he’s embarrassed.

“You can twist it as you like, Indigo, but it’s something intimate and romantic.” He defends him. “And if you need to know, it gets me hard as a rock when he does that.”

“Jason!” Marie scolds him.

“It’s completely out of place. The fact that he’s aggressive on bed can be a turn on but he shouldn’t be controlling in your life out of the bedroom and have you marked like a cow. You’re not his property, J. You’re yours.”

“I belong to whoever the fuck I want, Indigo. Why can’t you understand that? And don’t you find it funny that you’re trying to control me by telling me David is controlling?”

I count to ten. I don’t want to punch him in the face.

“I haven’t forbidden you to go to his mum’s exhibition.”

I know he wanted this to stay between us. That’s why he called me instead of saying he couldn’t come on the group chat because we both know the girls would give him some shit for not supporting my mum.

“What?” Marie asks.

“That’s not it at all. I can’t go because we have a commitment to his family.”

“Can’t you have a commitment any other weekend?”

“No.”

“Does it turn you on when he tells you what to do?” I ask him.

“On bed, yes.”

“And out of bed?”

“It’s more complicated than that. Sometimes he gives me orders that ends up on sex and that’s not a bad thing. It’s just another way of understanding sex, Indie. I wish you’d respect that.”

“I would respect that if it was only about sex. You do you in bed, whatever gives you pleasure. I’m just saying you should draw the line. Show him he isn’t in control of your life even though he might be in control during sex. You’re your own person and you should be in control of your own life.”

Jason sighs. I know what I can say isn’t going to solve anything but something tells me, even though he tries to convince me he doesn’t listen to me, that he does. I know I keep him thinking and for now, that’s all I want. I place my hand on his wrist on the table.

“You know I love you.”

His green eyes meet mine and he nods.

“I love you too.”

I know he’s angry at me but that doesn’t change the way we feel about one another.

“Oh my God you won’t believe this.” Marie’s looking down at her phone with her mouth opened in a tiny circle.  

Jason, Ollie and I look at each other without understanding until she looks up from her phone and explains.

“Professor Gibbins sent us the lists as he said he would.”

“Which lists?” Jason asks.

“We have to make an essay for the practice. It’s a couple of clinical cases that a tutor would give us.”

“Do we choose the tutor?” Ollie asks.

“No, that’s what the lists are about. They assign you the tutor.”

“And what’s what we won’t believe?”

“Student Indigo Blue Anderson” I flinch as Marie reads my full name “Tutor Harry Styles.”

My eyes bulge out of my sockets and I choke on my water. Olivia taps on my back as I bring a hand to my throat. What kind of joke is this?

“But that’s not all…” Marie bites on her bottom lip. I’m afraid what she will say next. “Student Olivia Bassot, tutor Mario Matteoti.”

Olivia stops tapping my back to freak out herself and Jason laughs out loud as both Olivia and me look ahead with eyes wide opened.

“There’s no way this was a coincidence.”

“Do you think they got to choose?”

“That or it was professor Gibbins who did the distribution.” Jason laughs. “This should be fun.”

One hour later, after lunch and discussing Mario and Olivia’s fling and the possibility that the same thing happens between Harry and me, I’m making my way towards the Anesthesia doctors’ room where I hope to find Harry. I’m going to tell him he’s my tutor and then I’ll find someone else to do the practice with but I’ll inform him because my friends thought he had the right to get offended when I just disappeared on him without any warning. I still don’t get it but if it’s four against one, they might be right.

I knock on the door and wait for someone to let me in. He’s sitting on the desk typing on his laptop when he sees me. His green eyes set on me as I walk towards him.

“Are you busy?” I ask.

He hums as if considering whether he can give me his attention or not before he points at the chair next to him.

“I just need another minute and then I’m with you.” He smiles.

I take a seat next to him and place my hands on my thighs. It’s crazy I get complete changes of mind every time I’m close to him. This weekend it was easy to decide it wasn’t a good idea to keep up our weird friendship but now I see him and I remember he actually texted me and I feel all sorts of butterflies on my belly. That’s just silly but he smells so good and his skin looks so tight over his muscles and his eyes are so beautiful and he seems so smiley all the time.

There’s another doctor on the room but when she leaves we’re left alone and less than a minute after that Harry turns his body so his corporal language lets me know I have his full attention. He raises his eyebrows as if asking me what I need.

“I just wanted to let you know you’re my tutor for this essay we have to do.”

He smirks.

“I know.”

“Okay.”

My eyes set on his. I want to ask him why he knows, I want to ask him whether it was a coincidence but I would be mortified if he went “of course it was, what were you thinking?” so instead I just shut my mouth and take a deep breath.

“Well I-“

“Wait” he sucks his lips inside his mouth and then he frowns. I know by now that’s his serious expression. “Before you continue, I wanted to apologize.”

I raise my eyebrows. I wasn’t expecting that.

“My reaction this morning was out of line. I don’t want you to feel pressured or like… I mean I’m aware I’m six years older than you, I’m also on a position of… I don’t know how to say this without it sounding bad but.. I guess on a position of power over you in some way so I wouldn’t want you to feel like you have to be nice to me just because I kind of supervise your way around the hospital and… I wanted to apologize if I crossed a line or if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

Why did that sound so sexy? And why do I not want him to say that? He also realized this can’t be and this is not good for either of us but then again that means there is indeed something, isn’t it? I need to tell the Golden Girls this. I feel lots of different ideas colliding in my mind but there are too many for me to focus on any of them and understand what is it exactly what I’m thinking. All I know is I didn’t like him when he said that.

“You didn’t make me feel uncomfortable.” I confess.

I see his green eyes sparkling as they focus on mine and I feel like he’s trying to read me as hard as I’m trying to read him. His shoulders are tensed as if he was ready to run any minute from now.

“So would you stay with me in your practice?” He smiles timidly.

I nod my head, his shyness is contagious.

“We can work on your essay.” He offers.

“Cool.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Aren’t you supposed to give me a clinical case?”

“Yeah” Is he blushing? “But if there’s anything that’s interesting to you, we can work on that. I mean if there’s something you don’t quite understand or something you’d like to know more about, I could search for an interesting clinical case about that.”

That’s very nice of him. I bet most tutors would just give students well-trodden clinical cases or clinical cases they’ve solved themselves so as to work as little as possible but he doesn’t mind working double to make things easier for me.

“I don’t know… Maybe we could do something about anesthesia on an epileptic patient? I think that could be interesting.”

His eyebrows raise and he smiles at me.

“You’re very smart, do you know that?” He tilts his head and I giggle. I can’t believe I just giggled. “Let’s see what I have here.”

With that he begins his search and turns his laptop screen to me so I can see what he’s doing too.

“You don’t have patients now?”

“I’m on consultation today.” He answers without looking at me. “I just made a round before lunch so if no one calls us, we still have half and hour or so before we make another.” He looks at me so he can give me a smile and then turns back to his laptop.

After a few minutes of silence as he opens, reads over and closes documents, he speaks again but he’s not looking at me.

“How are things with your mum?” His question takes me off guard. “Did you work it out?”

“She let it be.” I reply.

His green eyes set on mine for a few seconds and I know he’s holding back for asking more questions. I’m glad he knows when to ask and when not to. Trying to avoid his eyes, mine set on my phone that doesn’t stop vibrating on top of the table.

“You can answer.” He lets me know. “I’m just searching for your case anyway.”

Hoping to avoid more questions, I grab my phone and realize the reason behind all the vibrating is The Golden Girls group chat.

Jason: THEY CHOSE THE STUDENT.

Olivia: What are you talking about?

Jason: THEY DID. Professor Gibbins told me.

Marie: Please tell me you did not ask him directly.

Jason: Oh, please, I’m a ninja. There’s no way he noticed.

Olivia: INDIE DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS?

Jason: Harry Styles wants your pussy on a tray.

Marie: JASON!!!!!!!

Olivia: Give it to him. Everyone knows you want to.

Marie: Ollie, for the love of God, how is she going to do that? He’s her professor.

Olivia: He’s not! And even if he was, so what? They’re both consenting adults.

Marie: I don’t think that’s right…

I block my phone and leave it on the table. I feel so nervous I want to throw up again. Did Harry choose to be my tutor?

“I like this one.” He states before he reads the beginning to me and turns around to check whether I like it too. “Wow, is everything alright?”

I bet my face is a poem. I’m even dizzy and I don’t know why this is affecting me this much. I can’t believe he’s interested in me like that. I mean what does he see in me? He could literally have any woman not only in the hospital but everywhere else. He’s some sort of god and he’s just too much for me. I think I’m going to faint.

“Yes.” I lie.

“I’ll email you the case.” He says. “I think Danny gave me your email with the list and you also have mine” he looks for it on the list “or I could always text you.” He smirks.

My cheeks are set on fire and he chuckles as he sees me. So he apologized for crossing the line just moments ago and now here he is jumping over the line and doing a headstand on the other side.

“Let’s go.”

With that he stands up and waits for me next to the door. I don’t know whether he’s moving too fast or I’m a turtle but I try my best to follow him around and as usual he’s all smiles and puns and jokes and I find myself rolling my eyes at him more than once. We’ve bumped into Peter a few times and he’s picked on him every time.

At seven o’ clock, when it’s time for me to leave, I stop Harry before he enters another patient’s room and take my attendance signatures paper out of the pocket of my white coat. He’s signed all of my practices smiling smugly but this time his smile falters.

“This is your last practice?”

I smile at his disappointment.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it’d make a difference.” I shrug.

“Well, I could have offered you a coffee or something.”

“We’ve been very busy anyway.”

I dismiss his offer with a sincere smile and I see his eyes dropping to my mouth. I raise my eyebrows setting my eyes on the paper he’s holding on his hand for him to sign my paper. Olivia must be waiting for me. She’s taking me home today. Harry nods and presses the paper against the wall so he can sign it. He looks at me once as if he’s considering something and I swear he’s got something to say when he turns back towards the paper and signs. He’s shaking his head. I grab the paper and pull from it but he doesn’t let go so I chuckle and blush and keep pulling until he lets go of it. I’m sad he did.

“You will be missed Sorry.”

I smile. He didn’t say he will miss me, but I know that’s what he meant. I don’t know why I’m not moving but neither is he so I don’t know for how long we stand there just staring at each other.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Is it about practice?” He raises his eyebrows.

I blush and shake my head. He ruined all the courage I manage to gather to ask him that so now there’s no way I can ask him.

“Then” he interrupts me even though I’m not ready to ask him now “since it’s not about practice, how about you ask me outside of here?”

I feel a crease between my eyebrows. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? My heart is beating fast on my throat as Marie’s words resound on my mind. I don’t think this is right either. What would my family think of me?

“Can I take you out sometime?”

I can’t read his expression but he’s looking at me as if he knew I was going to say yes. I don’t know why in the world he would want to take me out. I’m serious, there’s nothing I have that he can’t have in another woman better than me. Probably older and sexier too.

“Why?”

It looks like I gave him the crease to wear between his eyebrows. His green eyes investigate mine.

“What do you mean why?”

“I mean why do you want to take me out?”

He chuckles. I don’t know whether he’s laughing at me, whether he finds me funny or whether he’s just as nervous as I am.

“Why do you think?” He laughs.

“I don’t know. That’s why I asked you.”

“God, Sorry, you’re making this so hard. It’s okay if you don’t want to, just say no.”

“Okay, then no.”

With that I walk away, almost running away from him so that I don’t have to see his face. I have no idea what just happened. Did he just ask me out? Did I just say no? Oh, God, I still have an essay to do with him! That’s going to be so uncomfortable. Just like Frank Sinatra, I want to roll myself up in a big ball and die. I still have to wait for Olivia because to my surprise she’s not here smoking when I walk out as usual. Usually I have to deal with her complaining about my slow ass but today she’s the one making me wait. My phone vibrates on my pocket and I pick up without checking the screen.

“Where are you?”

I hear Harry’s laugh and my breath catches on my throat.

“Miss me already?”

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry.” I can hear his stupid smirk.

“Yeah, but what for?”

“Because I was rude to you. I didn’t want to talk to you like that. You just… It made me nervous that you rejected me.”

“I hadn’t rejected you when you snapped at me.” I correct.

“But you were going to.”

“I wasn’t.”

WHAT?

“What?”

Oh, boy.

“So you’ll go out with me?”

His grin is contagious even through the phone because only that could be the reason I’m grinning too. I’d like to see him now.

“I… Don’t you think it’s inappropriate?

“Why?”

“Because you’re my professor.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re my tutor.”

“Do you want me to tell Danny I can’t be your tutor?”

“No!”

He laughs. What would professor Gibbins think? What would professor Gibbins think anyway? They’re friends. I’m sure he’ll end up knowing and what does that say about me? That my tutor and I went out even before he marked my clinical case.

“It’s just an essay, Indigo.” He reasons. “Danny could always grade it for you. I’m sure he wouldn’t mine. Plus, I’m sure your essay’s gonna be interesting to read so he’d read it anyway.”

I smile at that. I like the compliments he gives me about my work, especially because I know he means them. He’s very honest. If he thinks something I say is silly he’d also tell me so that makes this count more.

“Come on. It’s just going to be you and me. Forget about the hospital. That’s doctor Styles and Sorry but it’ll just be Harry and Indigo.”

“Indie.” I correct him.

“Indie.” I swear the vowels sound different when he smiles. “Harry and Indie.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Why would you want to take me out?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Do I really have to explain it to you?”

“I mean… You could out with anyone-”

“Well I want to go out with you. It’s simple.”

“It’s not. I know you don’t care but I’m still a student.”

“Okay, Indie, stop. You’re on a swirl. Listen to me.” His voice hardens and I feel funny between my legs. “It can’t be that bad. If it goes wrong, I can always tell Danny I don’t have time for your essay and I know he’ll supervise it but that’s not even going to happen. Come on, it can’t be that horrible.”

“I don’t know.”

“Dinner.” He tries.

“I just…”

“Just dinner.”

“Okay.”

What did I just say?

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is Thursday.”

“So?”

“So I have lectures on Friday.”

“But it’s just dinner.” He chuckles and I thank God he can’t see me because I bet my cheeks are bright red.

Ugh, how smug can he be!

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hangs up.

I can’t believe I just agreed on a date with Harry. I try to gather my thoughts as Olivia walks past me with a big smile on her beautiful face. She seems to be on a good mood.

“Harry just called me.” I tell her. “We’re having dinner tomorrow.”

She grins mischievously as she unlocks her car.

“What did you do?”

She shrugs.

“I just talked to him.” She gets inside her car and I open the door and jump on the passenger’s seat.

“WHAT? What did you tell him?”

She laughs like a maniac.

“He stopped me on the hall and asked me if you’re always so hard to get with guys. I said yes.”

“Ollie!”

“I also said it was just a shell and that deep down you love fiercely and with passion.”

“You’re an idiot.”

We both laugh like crazy.

[wienerbarnes]

Whatever It Takes (3/6)

Pairing: Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Word Count: 2,069

Prompt: Doctor AU

Warnings: More medical talk, some ~flirting~

A/N: sorry for the late post! i got home late yesterday and completely forgot but here it is now!!! officially halfway done :) 

SERIES MASTERLIST

“This iodine will help with your thyroid.” Dr. Curtis informs the now awake patient. She hangs the IV bag on the hook and moves away from the bed once it’s attached. You’ve since removed your blazer and shoes, assuming you should get comfortable with the state of John.

“We should celebrate! With a beer,” You begin, pacing around the room.

“I don’t drink.” John croaks from the bed.

“Me thinks he doth protest too much.” You joke from your position on the other side of the hospital room, facing the small window with a view of the outside.

“Why would he lie if he’s deathly ill?” Curtis asks, clearly annoyed with your antics.

“Guilt over killing a man?” You guess.

“We don’t kill people.” John says, head turning to look at you with his tired eyes.

“Right,” You begin as you walk over closer to the bed, “You only, lie to your family and friends, establish fake identities, trick people into betraying their country; he’d never cover up the fact that he drinks!” You exaggerate as you rearrange your legs in a more comfortable position.

“Quick question though, the red lipstick that Ginger used to kill Gilligan. Why didn’t that kill her?” John rolls his eyes at you and Curtis stares at you in disbelief and you look between the two of them, waiting for an answer.

…

A couple of hours pass before Bucky and Dr. Banner meet you and Dr. Curtis in John’s room again. You sit on the cushioned chair beside the bed and Dr. Curtis sits on the couch on the opposite side of the room. Bucky notices you eating from a small container of macaroni and cheese, blazer laid at over the arm rest of the chair, and bare feet folded under you as you’ve obviously gotten comfortable. Your hair is loosely tied back and a few strands fall around your face. He doesn’t realize you’ve caught him staring but quickly clears his throat and looks at Banner, who is flipping through the original chart and looking at John’s current vitals.

“He’s stabilizing.” Banner states, reviewing John’s current vitals with the original vitals listed in the chart from when he was first admitted.

“And the tummy ache is gone.” You add, taking in another spoonful of macaroni.

“Treatment is working.” Dr. Curtis stands, a small, proud grin rising on her face.

Bucky looks at you again to see you giving a weird glance at Dr. Curtis. What does that face mean? Bucky thinks. It’s not a face of guilt, but you definitely look like you’ve been up to something. You meet his gaze again and smile.

“Hey, Sarg, wanna hop on that jet and take a trip down Mexico Way? And I’m not talking about the country or the plane.” You tease, another spoonful of pasta disappearing between your lips. How unchaste, he thinks to himself as he tries his hardest to keep from blushing.

“Do you think flirting like an idiot will get you anywhere with guys?” Bucky asks, playful smile creeping up on his face, indulging in your remarks.

“Well, if it didn’t, the human race probably would’ve died out a long time ago.”

“You’re awfully chipper for someone who’s just had their pancreatitis theory disproved.” Curtis interrupts. The sparkle in your eye that you’ve been giving Bucky disappears and that same look from before returns to your features.

“Actually, I’m awfully chipper for someone who’s being proved right.” Banner looks up at you when you say this, a puzzled look on his face.

“John hasn’t vomited in six hours.” Banner argues.

“What is there to vomit? I’m eating his lunch.” You hold up the container of nearly finished macaroni and cheese and place it on the nightstand next to where you’re sitting before standing up.

“Withholding nutrients is the treatment for pancreatitis. That, and the antibiotics I put him on when you went to the bathroom.” You explain, gesturing to Dr. Curtis.

“You’re unbelievable!” Dr. Curtis exclaims.

“Well, why don’t you ask John if he’d rather die honestly or be cured dishonestly?” You reply.

“John?” Banner asks, noticing how John’s body seems a little more slumped than before.

Banner moves forward to lift John’s eyelids and shine a small flashlight into them, checking for any response. The heart monitor is still beeping, meaning he’s still alive, but he’s unmoving.

“Any chance he’s just overwhelmed with gratitude?” You ask.

…

“You should be brought up on charges!” Curtis accuses you.

“Okay, okay, I’ll take your book from under my piano.”

John is now awake after being fed a shot of adrenaline. And Dr. Curtis is not happy with you. But was she ever?

“He is dying of radiation poisoning!” She bursts.

“Why are you yelling?” You ask calmly, walking up to John’s bed.

“All of this could’ve been avoided if you hadn’t interfered with-“ Curtis is cut off by John’s yelp as you pull harshly on his hair. Bucky even stops his pacing at the sound and looks at you for explanation.

“What are you doing?!” Curtis yells.

“Radiation sickness kills different cells at different times. Meaning his hair should be falling out in clumps before his body starts writhing in pain. And since it’s not,” You explain, holding up your empty palm.

You glance at Bucky and then to Dr. Banner, who no longer looks so worried about whether or not you might be absolutely mad.

“It’s blood cancer. Waldenstrom’s.” You diagnose.

“Unless you can tell me if he’s been involved in any foul play, like torturing Bolivians…” You trail off and send a hopeful look towards Bucky. “Can’t you treat for both?” Bucky asks, a defeated look on his face. His brain is exhausted from hearing different diagnosis after diagnosis, and he doesn’t even understand any of the medical talk that comes out of anyone’s mouth.

Truth be told, Stark and Banner had only asked him to track you down and retrieve you for your help in fixing John. He could go back to his regular playing around with Sam, but you’ve caught his attention. At first he was a bit annoyed at you; he couldn’t believe that someone so goofy could be a doctor. But your interesting personality has grown on him over the past couple of hours that you’ve been here.

“Unless you’re the one that’s trying to poison him.” You reply.

Bucky looks to Dr. Banner for help. “I’ll arrange for Plasmapheresis and Chemotherapy.” He finally spits out before walking out of the room.

Bucky goes to follow but Dr. Curtis stops him, “You’re really going to trust her after what she did?” She asks, shock evident in her voice. Bucky meets your eyes.

“I don’t have to trust her to agree with her.” Bucky replies before finally exiting the room.

…

It’s deep into the evening when John is finally put on his new treatment. Dr. Curtis has stepped out to grab some food and Dr. Banner has returned to his office, still checking in every once in a while. You and Bucky are the ones that remain while John is asleep from the drowsiness caused by the medicine. Bucky watches from the end of the bed as you attach a new bag to the IV hook and press a few buttons on a machine next to the bed.

“So, now that all the medical mumbo-jumbo is over with,” You begin as you turn around to face him. “What do you say we head back to your place and you show me a few enhanced interrogation techniques?” You offer while slowly striding towards him; Bucky’s right eyebrow lifting at your implication.

He smirks as you continue, “My safe word is ‘Help, please, please, stop.’ That’s two ‘please’s, otherwise you keep going.” You inform with a wink.

“Maybe if you cure this guy, I’ll show you my private water board.” He teases back. An almost animalistic grin spreads across your face at his teasing as you move even closer, chests almost touching as Bucky looks down into your eyes.

“You know I have a position available. At my hospital. My personal assistant.” You whisper, breath fanning Bucky’s face and the hair on the back of his neck raise.

“You offering me a job?”

“I can bet you the pay’s better.” You lie, as if you have the funds to pay him higher than whatever an Avengers paycheck consists of, fingers slowly tracing up his right forearm. “And there’s less bad guys to fight.”

“I like it here.” Bucky chuckles, hands raising to rest themselves on either side of your upper arms

You bite your lip and Bucky’s eyes immediately move to fix on your plump, pink lips. You open your mouth to continue and a beeping noise from Bucky’s front left pocket interrupts you as Bucky pulls one arm away to pull out his phone.

“Duty calls.” He says softly, before backing away from you and exiting the room.

…

Bucky finally finds Sam in the smaller common room after running around the entire compound looking for him.

“What’s the emergency?” Bucky asks, not understanding why Sam would be sitting in the common room with his feet propped up if there was actually something wrong.

“I know what you’ve been up to, you sly, sly dog.” Sam accuses, teasing smile on his face.

“What?” Bucky asks; he’s seriously confused now.

“You’re trying to sauce it up with the doctor lady!” Sam stands and shoves a finger in Bucky chest and the blush begins to creep up his neck.

“What?! N-no I’m not, what are you talking about?” Bucky denies.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., why don’t show Tin-Man over here what you showed me when I asked you where he was at.” Sam commands.

Projected on the screen is you and Bucky from about five minutes ago. Faces close together, your arms trailing up from his wrists to rest on his shoulders before trailing back down again. He sees how his hands twitch at his side in the video, God, how he wanted to wrap his arms around you so badly.

“Man, are you blushing? God damn, get a hold of yourself!” Sam snaps him out of his trance of thinking about what all your curves feel like underneath his hands.

“Nothing’s going on, alright? Just lay off.” Bucky says before leaving the room again.

He storms back to the elevators to go back to his room for a while. Maybe he’ll be able to get his head in order with some time away from you? He hasn’t felt this way about a girl in he doesn’t even know how long. A part of him didn’t think he’d ever find someone he actually likes like that - he didn’t even think he was capable of feeling that kind of emotion anymore.

Bucky knows he’s different. Bucky knows he’s not Bucky. Bucky died when he fell from that train. He doesn’t really know who he is now. He’s missed out on so much in his life, watching his sisters grow up, getting a long career, taking care of his mother, getting married and having kids, so many inventions and societal changes; sometimes he’s just lost. And there’s not too many people around willing to explain things to him. Sure, he has no problem figuring things out on his own, but every once in a while he just wishes he knew things from the beginning. Like his feelings.

His last girlfriend is probably dead now and it’s not like he’s had any practice recently.

When he’s around you, he feels - light. Airy. Freer. Like he can do anything he wants. And he feels like he wants to do things with you. Take you places. Do things for you, even though you don’t seem to need anybody for anything. He wants to see what you look like on a date. What you look like when you get a nice surprise. What you look like when you wake up in the morning. Or when you get out of the shower. Or when your shopping for something. He likes seeing that smirk on your face when you throw some witty insult at Dr. Curtis. He likes seeing the flirty sparkle in your eye when you tease him and make him blush; he’ll let you make him blush forever if it means he gets to see that face on you.

That’s all gotta mean something, right?

TAG LIST: @gagmebucky @thefvcker-tucker @hannie-writes-marvel @angel-fire @jaamesbbarnes @sgtjbuccky @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @creepylittlemarvelgirl @spiderrpcrker @mywinterwolf

[psalloacappella]

Sirens - Ch 4

Title: Sirens Pairing: SasuSaku obv Chapter:  IV / Ao3 | FF Additional Details: AU verse; Sakura isn’t here to be saved, but she also has a lot of secrets; Sasuke has daddy issues; always hot mess express

.

.

“I assumed you would be picking me up from a station one day,” he says. Hates himself for the heat in his face that seems to crop up only in conversation with her.

With a wry smile, she responds, “So we’re both very lucky little delinquents.”

.

.

On the 28th day after they’ve met, she calls him from a police station.

On an unassuming Friday evening in which the bar is quite busy and all three of them are running ragged — well, Shikamaru is in the back office plodding through routine tasks even though Sasuke bestows his signature, smoldering, get your smoking lazy ass in the front look, pointed and serious, which does nothing to ward off the women lingering and coiling like clingy plant tendrils, hoping for a second of his time. By mere virtue of his pretty face, he’s left to the night wolves.

Naruto, sidetracked and distracted from bartending by a loquacious brunette with hair in two buns and blunt-cut bangs, hears it first.

Completing her drink full of gin as sharp as the flashy knives she’s rolled in with, he places an orange peel in it with a flourish and gives her a nervous, dangling half-smile. Cute, but her hobby is definitely one for someone more adventurous and decidedly not for him. Still, her grin suggests a gentler side and as he slides the cocktail to her, he reflects perhaps it’s something he can overlook.

“Thanks,” she says. “And keep it open; my friends and I just arrived.”

“No problem,” he responds, preparing to move on to the next.

“Ah, one thing . . .” Her eyes, a color in between hazy shades of silver and hazel, beckon him closer. Naruto inclines his head and leans in to hear her against the noise.

“I have to ask, who is he?”

Nods her chin at Sasuke, who hands off the next drink with the most minute, fleeting smile he can bestow, more of a movement of the head than any actual friendliness. There’s always an easy grace about him and frankly, paired with his looks, it’s infuriating to Naruto how a person can be given such tall, dark, and handsome sexuality and miserably fail to wield it.

A quiet chuckle, and he whispers, “A bastard, honestly.”

Interpreting it as a joke, she giggles.

“Seriously, he’s just complicated. You’re welcome to try, though.”

Lifting the cocktail and pinning a napkin to the perspiring glass with her fingernails, she winks and disappears into the crowd.

Naruto then hears what he thought he had before but shook off as his imagination — the ringing of a phone sounding not like the stock default tone of a mobile but the staid ring of importance, belonging to a lawyer’s desk or doctor’s office. Not the one in his pocket, but the one on the wall that hardly ever makes a sound and overall, hasn’t been used in any useful capacity since a month ago.

It rings longer than it should; he wonders if they have voicemail. That’s definitely a Sasuke question. He’s drawn to the unusual event and though he’s unable to put a finger on it, there’s an air of happenstance and fate. Put that way, it sounds like he’s crazy or clairvoyant.

Frowning, he puts up a finger to the next patron crowding the bar and says, “Be right with ya.”

Sasuke of course hears it too, though he’s currently drowning in a deluge of women who likely already have drinks in their hands but are eager to talk to him longer than necessary. If the bland expressions of disinterest, slivers between each interaction, aren’t enough indication, perhaps the kind but firm manner in which he ignores the flirting and lingering touches as they connect to exchange liquor and money is; the inquiries glossed with a breezy veneer but trying to gain a foothold on what he considers inappropriate topics and details. Glaring at Naruto over his shoulder, who’s treating this unanticipated phone call with more solemnity than he’s ever offered anything else in his life, he savagely wishes he had picked it up instead if only to get away.

They meet one another’s eyes. He’s known him long enough that it betrays its importance.

Extricating himself from a woman with blue hair and a sparkling silver chin labret, he leans in close and waits for details. Naruto covers the receiver and says, “It’s her. Your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my—”

“Maybe go to the office. Sounds important.”

A sensation in his gut, dripping dread. “Transfer it,” he says impatiently.

“Ah, I don’t think I— oh!” Naruto puts the phone back to his ear, listening to Sakura speak. Realizing it’s upside-down, he fumbles it. Nodding, he says, “Sure, he’s here. Jus’ let me . . .”

Jabbing a button on it, triumphant, he’s energetic and proud like a puppy as he slaps the phone back onto the wall with gusto. Grins.

A beat. Another.

“You fucking idiot,” he snaps, yanking it back off the wall. Pointing at the correct button, Sasuke’s eyes dance with what looks like the casual threat of homicide. Slams it back so hard his friend flinches. “If you hang up on her again—”

The ring echoes in stark contrast to his fury, and he snatches it up as Naruto opens his mouth. “Yes?”

“Not how your mom taught you to answer a phone,” Naruto whispers, shaking his head. Pivoting to show him an irritated shoulder, it’s the closest equivalent to a fuck off that Sasuke can give in full view of the bar. He strains to hear her over the din.

And then, there she is sounding so close. Echoes of the way her whispers curl and settle in his ear when she slips out of his bed, reverberating in the silent days that follow when she disappears on a schedule all her own, known only to one. Twenty-eight days can caricature a lifetime, a narrative he can clearly see in his mind’s eye, even if she’s weaving in and out of his life and their reality for most of it. It doesn’t bother him so much as long as she returns.

The strain of her lovely voice is noticeable, tensed twine. The way people speak in crowded rooms on terse topics and desperately carve a bubble of personal space for private, intimate words.

“I’m always speaking to you in unconventional ways. Always odd and in the dead of night.” Humor painted over the tightness of her vocal cords and wavering at the end, the tremolo of an instrument approaching repose.

“Are you all right?” Sasuke brings the receiver closer. No sounds from others on her end, just a gloomy quiet and possibly shuffling paper.

“Sure,” she says, laughing a little. A nervous skittering. “I always end up in police stations on my off nights.”

The beat that follows skips, stalls, as if there’s a space ballooning between each begging to be filled.

“Which one? I’m coming.”

“Sasuke—”

“Are you hurt?” The way he asks this is a gentleness defying his usual prickliness, so soft. Enough that Naruto glances at him over his shoulder as he manages the throng, piqued by the whispers.

“No! No, not really. I’m not sure what’s going on. They brought me here and I was sure I’d be arrested—”

“Sakura—”

“—but I don’t think so. No handcuffs, no fingerprinting. But this officer’s definitely not sure what to do with me.”

“Don’t talk to them. Just wait.”

Before she can protest, he hangs up abruptly. To Naruto: “I have to go. She needs help.”

“Is she okay?” Naruto sends another customer off, trying to hide his worried eyes. A mark of the short catalysts required for the fascinating chemistry of bonding, of friendship. She becomes a fixture for two wandering men with the inevitably and grace of astronomic orbits crossing paths.

“Police station,” he mutters.

Sasuke heads for the back office, not seeing Naruto’s eyes wilt even more as he goes.

Whipping open the door, he ignores the fact that Shikamaru was absolutely asleep a moment before all over a scattering of ledgers and rouses him with his classic abrasion. “Get out front. I need to handle something.” To drive home the point, pulls his jacket off the hook and swings it on quickly.

“Ah, right,” Shikamaru rasps, rubbing the indented depressions and ink off his face. “Emergency?”

“Sort of,” Sasuke mumbles. Reaches into his jacket pocket and casts about, in his mind, on who he can ask to dig into a situation that hasn’t yet yielded an arrest.

He always knows someone, though. The curse of the name.

“It’s that girl, isn’t it?”

Sasuke surveys him from the threshold, already aiming to leave. He wonders what he must look like when he thinks of her, when she’s in a room and has her beautiful hands on him, because the expression Shikamaru’s giving him is inscrutable and poignant all in one. She has the uncanny ability to splay his heart as a cadaver, pinned and primed for inspection. And it always feels that everyone understands something beyond him.

“Go,” Shikamaru says. “We’re here too, if you need us.”

He nods in response, and doesn’t bother with the zipper as he jogs down the hall to swing open the back door and depart into the night.

.

.

.

A well-placed phone call later, he’s at the police station front desk in an unfamiliar trendy neighborhood, asking after a girl with pink hair whose last name he doesn’t have.

“Pink, you said?” An austere expression creeps into the desk manager’s brows, sinks into her jowls; sharpness in her eyes. Clearly regarding him, and this, as ludicrous.

“Probably fake,” he volunteers. “She was brought in a couple hours ago.”

“‘Probably fake,’” the woman echoes, setting down her pen.

Anxiety flits about in his chest, a moth stuck in a dangerous, fated tryst with lamplight.

A door opens to the right of the front desk and an officer leans over the threshold. Serious and composed in contrast, badges gleaming. “Uchiha Sasuke?”

“Yes.” It’s a reflex, something about the way he speaks reminding him of another imposing, authoritarian presence that still lingers at the edge of his nightmares. Never quite sure if he’s relieved or regretful that he’s gone. Growing up, everything was suffused with it, the power and the name.

“She’s back here. Oh, he’s with me, no need for that,” he says to the woman. Waves a hand, blithe, sweeping away the very notion of procedure.

Sasuke follows him down a hallway expecting to be taken to holding cells, and the creeping familiar feeling settles into his shoulders. Instead, the officer sighs, yawns. They stop outside of a closed office door.

“Listen, this Sakura, your girlfriend? She’s fine. I’m apt to believe what happened, but the scene got — well, it was disorderly, let’s say that. We talked a little and the little lady she was defending is with her, too. Once she mentioned your name, well,” and here he puts what’s intended as a fatherly hand on Sasuke’s shoulder, who glances at it surreptitiously, “I knew and respected your father. Head of your family, very helpful to us over the years.”

Unable to express the fleeting, frenzied analysis that takes place as he’s speaking, the myriad implications, defending someone, little lady, girlfriend, my father, helpful, and the swift undercurrent of distaste at the remembrance of his family name, how his father was a pillar rather than any sort of parent or individual, and how reputation always came first:  Sasuke nods a few times and swallows everything he wants to say, instead responding, “I . . . appreciate this.”

Nodding once, satisfied presumably at staying in a dead man’s good graces by way of assisting his son, he smiles broadly. Such a contrast to the way his father ever did, who perpetually seemed sour. Still, many men can commandeer space whether with a jovial smile or the most straightforward intimidation.

They both startle as the door clicks open:  Sakura in the left chair and a woman with long, luscious dark hair on the right. They exist as another illustration of contrasts — hair colors on opposite sides of spectrums saturating the drab, taupe-beige space, one’s eyes green and sharp and the other’s, soft and mottled, cream.

There’s a spark of recognition when he glances at the unknown girl, a feminine personage and assumed offspring of a family he’s met before, perhaps as a child. Now though, nothing resonates. Instead he watches Sakura, who tucks a strand of pink hair behind her ear and meets his eyes, lips tugging into a smile despite the circumstances.

Does she know she could get away with anything with a face like that? Sasuke’s heart skips uncomfortably, the sensation of missing a step in some stairs.

When she sits up from the chair and sways, it’s the other woman who catches her first. By the forearm, and with a butterfly-delicate touch.

“Hah, I forgot,” Sakura mutters, more to herself than them. With a weak grin at her companion, she explains, “My ankle.”

“What happened to you?” Sasuke asks. Frowning, he passes the pad of his thumb across her cheek to sweep away what he assumes is cosmetic. It smears and fades but stubbornly stays.

And he knows that color more than he’s ever wanted to.

Sakura winces. “You should see the other guy.”

“I can explain,” the officer offers. Taking a seat behind his desk with another dismal yawn, Sasuke stands behind Sakura’s chair. Heat dashes across the back of his neck in irritation, confusion; she uses his arm as leverage to lower herself into the chair, intensifying the cloying atmosphere. The other woman keeps her head down, bowed. A familiar gesture.

“The ladies here were at a popular lounge downtown, separately. From their statements, they arrived at different times and did not know one another before tonight.” Pausing, his eyes sweep between the two, offering space for contradiction or comment. He continues. “Neither were unreasonably intoxicated. Over the course of the night, miss Hyuuga here,” and that name sparks something in Sasuke’s mind, neurons seeking details, “was dealing with the unwanted attentions of an intoxicated young man. At some point, miss . . . oh, the ink is smudged. Sakura, here, approached her,” here he flips an upturned palm to indicate her —

“Hinata,” she says quietly, inclining her head to Sasuke.

“— concerned for her well-being around this man. He apparently had friends as well, and the situation escalated to alleged harassment. Heated words were exchanged, bystanders becoming involved, and unfortunately it progressed to this man grabbing miss Hyuuga, and, well—”

“He received a face full of gimlet,” Sakura interrupts, folding her arms. “And then my fist.”

“You punched him?” Sharp, inquiring, but bewildered.

“No, with a palm to the nose. I didn’t want a broken hand.”

Sasuke’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. The officer winces and glances at Sasuke, under the assumption perhaps that he’s already aware of her tart retorts and lives lovingly with them.

There’s a pause, and Hinata yearns to fill the gap. “If she hadn’t been there to intervene, I don’t know how it would have gone. I truly, really appreciate what she did, even if it was, ah, unorthodox?” She smiles at Sakura, then the officer, and finally Sasuke. “Her form is quite good,” she adds, blushing furiously.

“Look, I don’t think we’re in the business of charging anyone tonight.” The officer has both palms up now in a show of calm.

“I asked you before, I’m not sure why you’re just letting me go,” Sakura says, sounding accusing. Folds her arms across her chest. “I understand why I’m here. I don’t know if that’s right, for nothing to be written up.”

“There’s much to be said for defense.” The tiniest air of condescending patience, a parent refusing to elaborate for a child. Redirecting his attention, he says to Hinata, “Your father will be here soon.”

The way Hinata bows her head again, bent as grass in the wind as if ready to bear difficulty, resonates with Sasuke deeply. A father whose existence was imposing and a relationship fraught with the inability to measure up.

Sakura pulls her phone out of her shimmering shirt with two fingers, plucking it from the magical ether with a certain polite grace in front of the men, and hands it to the woman next to her. Blushing, Hinata fumbles with the latch on a small clutch in her haste to exchange numbers.

Upon finishing, Sakura asks if there’s anything for her to sign.

“No no,” he says, again with that wave. A brushing away of rules and regulations by the mere implication of his authority. “Let your boyfriend take you home, rest that ankle.”

Pink eyebrows could brush the ceiling with how high they rise; Hinata steals a glance but doesn’t make a sound. As if relenting to the chain of events, the circumstances weaving far from the controlled loom of her own hands, Sakura’s shoulders sag and accepting Sasuke’s arm plays out as the next movement in a piece of music, an obvious outcome.

They stand apart on the sidewalk:  Him in all black from the work he hastily left, her in a shimmering shirt, barefoot, sandals in her hand. The bruised knot on her ankle matches the navy of her skirt. For a few moments, they don’t speak.

She doesn’t cry, doesn’t unravel, simply stands on the chilled sidewalk and idly swings her fingers with the sandal straps woven in them in time to an unheard rhythm. Noticing her shivering, his coat becomes hers once more, draped over her shoulders and covering the spatters of red and an abundance of glitter inherited from the lounge that will take days to erase, months to lose in the fibers of his carpet.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she says softly. “Got me off the hook.”

“I didn’t.”

A noise of disbelief, settling in the throat. Constrained.

“He said he knew and respected my father. That happens often.”

Musing on this, she turns and raises her eyes to his. “It must be interesting, to have people grant that to you wherever you go.”

She’s quite short without her shoes. Wilting and exhausted, withdrawing in a way that could leave her as mere wisps as clouds on a cold night.. Even in this tension and the aftermath of another surreal chapter in a chaotic narrative, the urge to sweep glitter off her cheeks and lift her, carrying her off to another planet, is strong and vivid.

“I assumed you would be picking me up from a station one day,” he says. Hates himself for the heat in his face that seems to crop up only in conversation with her.

With a wry smile, she responds, “So we’re both very lucky little delinquents.”

But her face falls, humor dissipating. When she falls against him, only then do her fears take shape between them. “This is why I leave.” Arms around him and fingers in the fabric of his shirt to stay upright. “Because strange things always happen and it always feels like I can’t stop any of it. Like fate.”

Taking on her weight, his fingers find strands of her hair dancing aloft from the wind; they slip through like silk. When he speaks, it’s a quiet murmur. “Sounds like that girl needed your help.”

“Both of them made it sound much more noble than it was.”

Untangling from him, she passes the back of her hand over her eyes, green and glimmering even in the wan, washed out glow of streetlights. Continues, letting weight off her bruised ankle. “The truth is, I was dancing and tipsy and full of false bravado, and spoiling for a fight. He just happened to trip into my orbit, stupidly bothering someone in front of me. The perfect storm of circumstances.”

Following the movements of her lips, an ache radiating in his chest; how can she tell him not to fall in love with her?

“Isn’t that everything?”

His words seem to take the wind out of her sails. Breath stolen, strength gone. She concedes his point with a small smile and nothing more.

Wincing as she readjusts her weight, he’s about to tell her he’ll find a car when she steps forward to the curb, albeit wobbly, and firmly thrusts an arm out, reaching into the blank night. Leaving him always wondering on her earthly origins as she summons one from the dead street with the enchantment of nothing other than her will.

They fall in against the seats, drunk on nothing but novelty.

As she pulls him close by his lapels and dips her tongue into his mouth

— skin humming and warm, as if she’s still moving and undulating underneath hot lounge lights; music in her bones, the echoes of beats hours before; a tang of tartness and botanics, the tastes on her lips that she shares with his; the sharp inhale that tumbles out when she pulls away and nips his bottom lip —

he’s apt to wonder which cabs they haven’t kissed in yet.

.

.

.

Damp locks fanned beneath her head, pink waves splayed wide as if dropped from above with the luck to land and lie tenderly in a field, cradled by earth. But it’s just her on the couch, chin crushed to her chest and face partially obscured, half of it pressed into the cushion as if burrowing for sleep.

“So I know I’ve asked you for enough already.”

It’s a tentative beginning, leaving a question unasked. Sasuke moves his thumb in light and repetitive movements against her ankle, skimming the fabric of the wrapping. She opens one jade eye, brilliant even in the twilight. He makes some noise of assent, and she continues.

“I have this work event,” she says. “It’s stupid, really, but I think it’s somewhat of a formal thing. I tried to get out of it, I did, but one evening the owner of the company — the actual company, not the manager of our subsidiary media branch or whatever — was around listening to my show and he spoke to me afterward.” She frowns, the expression of a sour conversation in her mind. “Anyway, he strongly implied it was an event that you wear something nice, and bring someone with. All above my usual social standing.

She pauses to blow a strand of hair from her face, then looks askance, eyes concentrating hard on the cushion.

“I need someone who’s good at these things. Navigating events like this, all those important people with wealth and to know what they’re actually saying, not just what comes out of their mouths.”

Her meaning is plain: Who better than you?

Not speaking just yet, he instead places a hand on her thigh; hours later her skin still hums, pliant and warm and dashed with glitter missed from her wash.

She shifts beneath his touch, nudging his fingers in an unconscious request. Staring at him fully with open eyes which survey each atom of his face in incisive and keen patterns, memorizing. The sensation, again, of the precipice and the twinge in his stomach and swift wind in his ears, obscuring hearing, drowning out any rational thought. Testing the notion, his hand skims the hem of her skirt; the tug of her lips which stifles a sharp inhale isn’t enough to go on, but the way her eyes brighten as he maneuvers her body easily, considerately, and he’s feeling like the desired target at the barrel end of a poised rifle —

she, eager and him, obsessed.

She trembles like aftershocks — hips caged in by his arms and his handsome chin so close and the fleeting thought of yanking him by his beautiful dark hair and making a mess of that gorgeous face is only to be postponed for another thirty seconds, maybe.

“So,” she exhales, “Will you be my date?”

He responds simply, “Yes.”

An amused smile on her face, eyes alight. “Sometimes, you’re a man of few words.”

Shifting again, her hips sinking into a softer dip in the cushion with a little satisfied sigh. Prompting him to continue the charged venture between her thighs, where his fingers from before are replaced by his lips and the catch of air in her throat is enough to rouse him. Vulnerable things, stupid things, rise to his lips and he swallows them whole, and she senses them; he’s defenseless enough to cough them into her waiting, shaking hands. Instead he whispers against the hot skin of her thigh:

“Do you trust me?”

Sakura reflects it’s a trite question to ask, much less to answer, with him between her legs. Fingers plucking at the edge of her skirt, she says, “Yes.”

And the rest is a whisper lost in her gasp, because despite her caution she’s a failure at any rational thought like this, so dizzy and losing the concept of what’s real and what’s bliss, and it’s possible it was never voiced at all.

But only just.

.

.

.

Bringing him to life with her soft hands on each side of his face and the fruity scent of her shampoo, she whispers, “I’m starving.”

On the floor, both sprawled out on his luxuriant living room rug, verdant like lush jungle and comfortable enough to serve as the night’s chaise. Neither’s slept for much time, the sun’s aurora crowning the horizon with a prophetic red crescent. Again, waking up next to her has the unmooring sensation of devastation and they’re scattered as debris.

They pull the previous night together in languid movements:  Refolding blankets, resetting pillows. Quick face rinses. She limps around on her own despite his quiet protests, intent on breakfast — food this time.

“I’m okay,” she laughs, running her hands over counters and underneath couch cushions. Likely her phone.

Sasuke finds it facedown on the floor, and flips it over. Immediately it lights up and reveals messages upon messages, and as another comes in they flash again, regroup as they hit a limit. Blinding in the dark. All of them from the same number, unsaved, tender and worried and beseeching in a way that doesn’t strike him as a lover and his heart rate falls but the way Naruto has messaged him after disappearing without preamble in a seedy bar or out a back alley, intent on a scuffle with someone to make him feel alive. A best friend who’s rescued another one from numerous poor decisions and choices when they’re feeling low like a layer beneath dirt.

The sound of her nails clicking against the case and scraping his skin startles him as it’s snatched from his hands; it’s a rough motion, jarring. Eyes jejune and dismayed. Emotional whiplash from the previous second as she swallows hard and clutches it to her chest and a sense of an animal cornered.

“Don’t,” she hisses.

“Sakura—”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Are you all right?”

Sliding it into her pocket, she pivots away; he takes her forearm and she shakes him off with the same ferocity with which she usually pulls him close. “Fine.”

“Would you be honest if you weren’t?”

Lips twitching, a response he can see her holding in. Instead, she swings her purse onto her shoulder in a wide arc that keeps him at arm’s length and makes an attempt to limp out the door with her chin high. She’s moving too fast on that sprain and he knows that she knows, pre-med and all, (and from the way she’s discussed it, close to finishing.)

He heads out the front door after her, snatching up his jacket and keys as he goes.

Frustration mounts as she punches the door close button with a loud smack so he has to take the next one. Head spinning at the shift in it all and the horrible weariness that surfaced in her eyes; and everyone has something like that, the trigger to the shutdown and a signal to bar the doors. Taps his foot impatiently at the elevator ride that seems to last for years.

Lobby, out the doors. She’s crossing the street against the lights, and he calls after her.

“Sakura!”

“Leave me alone!”

Bewildered, he plunges forward into the crosswalk—

The screech and hiss and smell of overworked brake pads; at the loud thumping sound Sakura pivots with a small scream mingling with cursing and raised voices—

Sasuke waves the driver’s screaming and his near-fatal experience away with the same annoyance of flicking away an insect, and it seems to bring him to an aggressive and lethal sort of calm. Something in his shoulders and jaw that lifts him, comprises control. And now she’s loath to move, feeling rooted to the spot by his glimmering dark eyes and the aberrant brush with catastrophe that intertwines their souls delicate as lace. Thinking perhaps he can survive even me, knowing as he advances that she could fall into his arms and he would break bones and move the world to remain in her space; he would lay it all at her feet.

Raises a hand to him, reaching as he safely makes it onto the sidewalk—

A thin arm causes her to pull up short, a horizontal barrier swung firmly into her path. Stumbling a little, she follows the long blonde hair with her eyes and drinks in the stance of this woman with her back to her.

Something breaks, a ballpoint hammer to a vulnerable crack in her decrepit heart.

“You better back off!” A voice Sakura knows in every fiber of her being, rattling her bones. Sasuke stops in his tracks at the sight of this blonde woman in his path, and shows his palms in conciliation and confusion.

With a toss of her hair, the woman turns to Sakura and holds her at arm’s length like she’s sprung from the grave, reborn and she’s unable to believe it. Fingering her long hair and her eyes so blue, ocean and skies, beg for recognition. “It’s me. It’s Ino!”

Mouth falling open, Ino takes her lack of response as shock and shakes her head in a rapid motion, back and forth. “Shit, Sakura. I’ve been looking — I found you.” Laughs in a light trailing way, stunned. Voice revealing a lightheadedness, a lovely giddiness.

Without warning she tackles her in a violent hug, the vehement and frenzied embrace of someone whose whole of her soul was lost and then found. Fingers clutching at hair and fabric and then Sakura obliges, relents and their behavior’s the same, scrabbling and wavering voices.

Sasuke watches as Sakura lets her chin rest, heavy and weary, on Ino’s shoulder. The reunification of two who have traveled on significant roads alongside one another, the mortar and brick of what he recognizes as found family.

Tears cutting salty paths down Sakura’s cheeks as Ino says again,

“I found you.”

[mmmhowaboutno]

ive barely talked about this to anyone, i thought i got over it but you dont just get over stuff like this. i just wanna write it somewhere. a few days ago was august 3rd. three years ago on that day i was drugged and sexually assaulted in my own home by someone who i thought was my friend. i was friends with him for five years prior, so it came as a shock to me when this happened, not just because of what happened but because i realized trusting people is something i may do too easily. 

my parents went away for the weekend with my brother, and my “friend” was in town, so i thought i would invite him over so we could drink and play video games. we had been planning to hang out for a while and i thought it was just a chill thing to do with someone youve been friends with for so long. i still think that. i had two shots of vodka and after that started to feel more drunk than normal. i remember him constantly stuffing his water bottle in my face telling me to drink. at first he casually asked if i just wanted some water, so i didnt think anything of it. when things started getting fuzzy he would say “drink this, its just water, youre so drunk youll feel better.” he never drank from it though. guess where the drugs were. 

i remember bits and pieces of what happened and the stuff he did to me. i remember “across the universe” was playing in the background as i drifted in and out of consciousness. i wanted to watch that movie since high school and always put it off, but now ill never be able to watch it. i remember that while i was on the floor and couldnt move or speak he would make me drink water and tell me that i would feel better soon, all while he was rubbing my thighs or reaching up my shorts. i remember being unconscious for a long time, and when i woke up, he was in the bathroom. i could barely hold up my phone, but i called my boyfriend first. it was 4am for him and his phone was on silent, but he said that he woke up right as i was calling for some reason, like he felt something bad was happening. i couldnt talk. its like i was in one of those dreams where you try to run away but cant, except i couldnt get words out of my mouth at all. all i managed to say was “drugged me.” my boyfriend told me to call the police, so i did. 

when he came out of the bathroom, he acted like everything was normal. i can still see and hear him standing over me and asking “you okay?” while i was drooling on the floor and couldnt lift my head from the drugs that he gave me. i cant remember what happened until the police came. i only remember the knocking at the door and them telling me to open it. the knocking was so fucking loud. he kept looking at me and asking why i called the police, to which i couldnt answer anything. he started panicking and went in and out of the rooms upstairs in my house. he didnt answer the door, and they kept knocking. i somehow managed to get up, tripped and crawled down half of the stairs, and opened the door for them. i remember my dog barking and an officer placing me on a stretcher and so many questions being tossed around. they asked me how old i was and had me call my boyfriend so they could talk to him. they asked my “friend” if he knew that i had a boyfriend, like that would make a difference in him wanting to drug me or being responsible for it. 

he told the officers that i had had a lot to drink before he got to my house, that i was already drunk off my ass before he got there. they let him go. i told them where the drugs were. i pointed at the water bottle that was in his hand and i told them that the drugs were there, in whatever broken words i could get out, and they let him leave. they didnt test the water bottle for anything or look around my house or ask me if i was okay. they didnt ask what he did to me or even ask if he did anything, they just let him leave and took me to the hospital. they didnt even question the fact that he was buying a minor alcohol, they just let him fucking leave. 

when i was at the hospital, they tested me for my alcohol levels, which they said were normal. so there was physical evidence that i was not, in fact, drunk, like he said. when i started to come to after waiting at the hospital for hours, i told the doctors where the drugs were. i told them to test the water bottle, i begged and pleaded for them to get in touch with police and tell them that i didnt have any alcohol in my system, that it was drugs that he had given me. there was fucking proof, but they didnt do anything.

they asked me if i wanted to call my mom, and i almost did, but then i remembered that it was her birthday. so, i spent those three hours alone in the room thinking about all the reasons i was a fuck up and how this was all my fault. no one seemed to believe me, so maybe i did make it all up and i was actually drunk. but no, there wasnt any alcohol in my system. i only had two shots. after a while, the doctors told me i could go home. i was confused because i didnt have a way to get home, so they told me get an uber or something. they didnt really care at this point. i called an uber, and went outside to meet the car. once my feet hit the ground outside i realized that i didnt have any shoes on. i dont know why but i thought it was strange. i kinda hyper-focused on that as i waited for the uber. everything around me was so loud. all of a sudden, a young-ish nurse came outside and stood next to me. he said he would wait with me. i saw him pass my room a couple times while i cried silently for those few hours i was in the hospital. he stood outside with me and walked me to my uber, asked the uber driver for his name and number, and told me i would be okay. i remember what he looked like and ill genuinely never forget him. he made me feel safe just by doing that little thing, i knew i could trust him when i didnt even trust myself in that moment. 

the car ride home felt like it took forever. i was scared of the uber driver and the road and the fact that it was dark outside and most of all of what my mom would think and say when i finally told her what happened. i got home and walked up to my house to see that the main lights were on. my dog was waiting for me on the stairs and ran up to me as i walked inside. he kept licking me and didnt leave my side, but after a while of my dog being attentive and moving around, i realized how quiet it was inside my house. his car wasnt outside anymore, so i knew he had left, but this sudden wave of inexplicable fear washed over me. i started very anxiously searching every room, looking behind doors and in cabinets for some stupid fucking reason. i looked under every bed and turned on every light in my house. i dont know why but i thought he would still be there, waiting for me. i was looking for any trace of him still being in the house and waiting to do it to me all over again. i went upstairs and looked in my brothers closet only to find the vodka that my “friend” had brought for us to drink hidden in a corner. in the room next to mine was the bag with the receipt for the vodka that he bought. in the room where it all happened was the pizza we had gotten to eat and the cushions that he put under my head when i kept flopping over and drooling. that room was like a war zone to me. i couldnt look at it or be in it, i couldnt for almost a year. there were remnants of what happened all over my house and i felt like i couldnt escape it. it happened in the place where i was supposed to feel the most safe, and now i felt trapped in it.

i went into my room and got into bed with my dog. it was 4am, i couldnt sleep, and i didnt know what to do. every noise made me jump. every noise outside made me peek through the blinds to make sure that it wasnt his car pulling back up to my house. i found myself more awake than exhausted, as i should have been. im sure he slept fine that night. im sure he was okay and that he went home knowing that i was in the hospital and my mind was going 1000 miles an hour trying to remember every little detail of what happened so i could convince the cops that he had drugged me. because evidence wasnt enough. words werent enough for them to even try to dig into the fact that maybe i was possibly telling the truth. the cops didnt care, the doctors didnt care. they let him go. 

i dont know why i decided to write about this now, because for the most part, im “over it.” i do still think about what happened occasionally. it keeps me up at night sometimes, but not as much as in the first year after it happened. what i think about the most is the fact that no one believed me. i wasnt drugged and sexually assaulted and then reported it a few days later. the cops came and picked me up in the house where it all happened. they stood next to the person that did it. they looked him in the eye and they looked at the water bottle with drugs in it and at me barely conscious and unable to speak. they let him go. so unfortunately it doesnt surprise me when no one fucking cares if someone remembers and speaks out about their trauma years later because thats the moment they feel comfortable enough to finally talk about it. if cops didnt care in the very moment it was happening to me, it doesnt surprise me that they dont care at all. ever. 

he never tried to text or reach out to me again. why would he? i blocked him the next day anyway and i havent heard anything since. ive been silently dealing with it by myself for years. i went to a therapist about it. she told me that it was my fault for inviting him over in the first place. thats what my parents told me too. 

and the thing is, im not even the “worst” of it at all. this happens all the fucking time. theres very substantial evidence and cops and doctors will stare at it and think about how much work itll be going through the motions to do their fucking jobs and protect the people being assaulted. its too much work for them, but not for the person having trouble falling asleep every night for years because all they can think about is the moment they were unable to protect themselves and were taken advantage of. i always compare what happened to me to what happened to other people. i think less of it because so much worse has happened to other people. i wasnt raped, people are every day but i wasnt. it could have been worse, and ive always pushed the whole thing out of my mind because of that, but i dont think i should. i dont think it wasnt a big deal, and i dont think it will ever be not a big deal. i think that this shit happened to me and happens to people every day and no one fucking cares because its too much work for them to care. this isnt a metoo post, i just needed to put it into writing somewhere because im tired of keeping it inside. i dont want pity, i never have, i think a lot of people think that when something like this happens and someone speaks out about it that thats what they want. i just wanna say it. sometimes its just fucking good to say it. so for the people who do think that i want pity or that dont believe me or that support cops or that dont think this was a big deal: fuck you and have a horrible day.

thats it sorry

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien Drabble: Nachtmusik Chapter Six

A Little Night Music (Eine Kleine Nachtmusik) Chapter Six: Compromised Compromises

Luka’s eyes reluctantly slid open as the phone rang for a third time, vibrating loudly on the nightstand. He let out a venomous, basilisk hiss, and his hand shot out from under the covers to seize the hated device.

His anger disintegrated into fear when he saw the name on the readout, and he nearly fumbled the phone in his haste to answer.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Luka demanded, holding his breath to hear Adrien’s voice.

“…Uh…nothing,” Adrien responded haltingly, slightly startled at the vehemence in Luka’s voice. “I mean, I’m fine. Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

With a leaden sigh, Luka collapsed back down onto the bed. “Ariel, if you’re not dying or in trouble or something, why did you feel the need to call me three times in a row at—” He pulled away to check the time. “—freaking nine o’clock on a bloody Saturday morning after you know I’ve been out late at a gig—…that you were also at until late. Adrien, what the hell are you doing up?”

“Sorry,” Adrien chuckled sheepishly. “I mean, at least I waited until nine o’clock, right?”

Luka tried to process that statement, but his brain was running a little slowly. “Adrien, how long have you been up?”

“Oh, a while,” Adrien replied with factitious nonchalance. “Not too long.”

“What’s wrong?” Luka repeated, more calmly this time.

“Why would you think something was wrong?” Adrien laughed…only it was more the idea of laughing than the actual thing itself.

“Adrien,” Luka sighed knowingly.

“I’m calling because you should come over.” False cheerfulness. It was almost as if Adrien thought that Luka couldn’t read him like an eye exam chart.

“That would involve getting out of bed and getting dressed,” Luka grumbled, trying to keep his eyes open.

“Tell you what,” Adrien snickered. “You put some clothes on and come over…and then I’ll take my clothes off when you get here…”

Suddenly Luka was wide awake.

“…and change into swimming trunks so we can make use of the pool,” Adrien finished impishly.

Luka rolled over onto his stomach, held the phone out at arms’ length, and proceeded to scream into his pillow.

“…shame that I have an Olympic swimming pool” Adrien was saying when Luka put the phone back to his ear. “in my basement that never gets used? It’s just going to waste, so today I thought, ‘I should invite a friend over and go swimming’. So I called you.”

“Ariel, don’t you have a specific friend that you swim with?” Luka sighed at the obvious presence of an ulterior motive.

“Kim is with Ondine,” Adrien pouted. “They swim every Saturday from eight to noon and then go on a date. Part of me is glad that Kim is over my ex, Marie, and actually in a healthy relationship with someone whom he really clicks with…but another part of me resents the fact that he’s busy when the whim to swim has struck me.”

Luka took a minute to decide whether he wanted to comment on any of that. “…Where’s Nino?”

“With Alya,” Adrien muttered. “He’s off duty. They spent the night together after your show, so…yeah. They’re either asleep or they’re not asleep, and I don’t want to interrupt in either case.”

“But it’s okay to wake me up?” Luka wondered. The last time he checked, he and Nino fulfilled similar roles in Adrien’s life. What if Luka had been with Marinette? Had that thought even crossed Adrien’s mind? To the best of Luka’s knowledge, Adrien didn’t know that nothing physical was really happening between Luka and Marinette.

“Chloé?” Luka mentally went down the list of Adrien’s friends.

“She’s at the spa.”

“Kagami?”

“On Saturdays she has to spend the morning meditating and doing kendo and Yamato Nadeshiko training,” Adrien responded flatly. “Her mom is really serious about making sure Kagami has a well-rounded education—traditional and modern.”

“Oookay. How about that model girl you hang out with? Your ex?” Luka was running out of viable options. It was looking like he was going to have to resist the temptation of Adrien in swimming trunks on very little sleep.

God help him.

“Photoshoot,” Adrien grumbled.

“That one fanboy guy?” Luka tried.

Adrien cleared his throat. “Uh…his significant other isn’t comfortable with the idea of Wayem and me alone together wearing so little clothing.”

“I see,” Luka hummed. “Probably a smart idea.”

“I’d invite Marc or Nathaniel, but you can’t just invite one and not the other, but if you invite both, they’re all couple-y, and I just…don’t need to be around couple-y right now, honestly.”

There was a shifting of fabric, and it almost sounded like Adrien had laid down on his bed. “Please come over,” Adrien entreated in a breathy whisper.

Luka grimaced. “Oh, Angel…. Angel, Angel, Angel.”

“Ariel, you and Rose are practically joined at the hip again, aren’t you? Why don’t you see if she wants to swim?”

Boundaries. There had to be boundaries, limits. Luka was not a cheater. He wasn’t…. He didn’t want to be.

Adrien didn’t reply.

Luka could feel a cold glare in the silence. “Ariel?”

“No points for guessing whom Rose is in bed with right now,” Adrien snorted. “I mean, you did see them making out last night, didn’t you?”

“Yeeeeah. Yeah. Sorry.” Luka bit his lip, out of options.

“…Fine. I’m not going to beg. If you don’t want to come over, that’s fine,” Adrien informed conversationally, carefully keeping any hint of emotion out of his voice. “You don’t have to. I can swim by myself. I don’t even really feel like swimming, to tell you the truth, but, if I did, I wouldn’t need anyone to swim with because I’m totally okay by myself. Only not in a petulant, self-deluding way but for real because my therapist says that I’m making really amazing progress, and she has an ethical responsibility not to lie to me about things like that…despite the fact that my father paid the hospital a lot of money, but…”

Luka tried to wring a suitable response out of his sluggish brain.

Adrien beat him to the punch with a frustrated grumble. “I am fine…fine enough. I just…didn’t want to be alone. I did call a lot of people before you because I did realize how early it was for the morning after a show, but…everyone else has their boyfriend or their girlfriend, so…”

Luka’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Adrien…so do I. I have Marinette.”

Instantaneously, Luka realized that that had not been the right answer, and he cursed his sleep-deprived brain and the mouth attached to it. “Wait. I’m sorry. I—”

“—Sorry-wrong-number,” Adrien squeaked out before cutting the connection.

Luka sat up in bed cursing.

Adrien did not pick up any of the four times Luka attempted to call him back.

Calls failing, Luka tried text: “P5 i am so sorry plz call me back”. “Adrien”. “Angel talk to me”. “i swear i was not implying anything”. “i am just f-ing tired”. “Adrien”. “P5”. “Angel”.

When not even the old nicknames worked, Luka got desperate.

“Monsieur Couffaine,” Gabriel’s dry voice emanated from the receiver. “To what do I owe—”

“—Where’s your son, please?” Luka cut to the chase. There was no love lost between himself and Gabriel Agreste and, therefore, no need for pleasantries. Luka only behaved civilly towards Gabriel for Adrien’s sake, and Luka suspected that Gabriel did the same.

There was the clacking of fingers on a keyboard and then, “The tracking data from his phone says that he’s in his bedroom. I imagine he’s asleep. I understand that you all got home late—or, rather, early—last night.”

Luka pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please go check. I was just talking to him, and I may have accidentally said something that may have felt like ‘let’s break up’ or ‘I don’t need you’ or ‘I’m not your boyfriend’ or something equally horrible that I in no way intended.”

To Gabriel’s credit, he was on his feet and leaving his office in seconds without saving the document he had been working on, hurrying to Adrien’s room. “May I ask how the bloody hell you managed that?” Gabriel snorted indignantly. “You’re still officially dating Miss Dupain-Cheng, are you not?”

“Yeah,” Luka sighed. “It’s…complicated. I went to bed, like, three hours ago, so I’m not really at the top of my game. Adrien said something about being lonely because it seemed like everyone else had a romantic partner except me and him…or maybe he was implying that everyone else had a romantic partner like he had me, so…but I totally missed the important part about him being lonely and reminded him that I have a girlfriend.”

“…I am not impressed with you,” Gabriel reported.

“I’m not impressed with me either right now, actually,” Luka groaned. “He hung up on me, and he’s not answering when I try to call him back to apologize and explain. That’s why I called the number you gave me in the event of an emergency. I can only hope that because neither Plagg nor Nooroo has come to find you yet, things aren’t that bad, but I really need you to make sure he’s okay and convince him to return my call. Please?”

In the background, Luka heard a knock on, presumably, Adrien’s bedroom door and Gabriel’s voice informing Adrien that he was coming in.

“He’s here,” Gabriel spoke into the receiver. “I will talk to him, and he will either call you back or he will not. Good day, Monsieur Couffaine.”

“Thank you,” Luka sighed as the call ended.

He switched his phone off of silent and got out of bed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep until he knew Adrien was all right. He got dressed and brushed his teeth, reapplied his makeup, and was just about to head to the kitchen to see about breakfast when his phone rang.

Luka pounced. “Adrien?!”

“…Perhaps I overreacted to being reminded that you have a girlfriend.”

“Whom I want to be my girlfriend” and “who isn’t me” were left unsaid but highly suspected.

“Angel, I’m sorry. I’ve gotten, like, three hours of sleep,” Luka groveled. “If you’re lonely, I’ll be right over, but I’m going to need an IV drip filled with caffeine.”

“You must be sorry if you’re trotting out your old pet names for me,” Adrien chuckled, and there was the rustling of sheets as he rolled over on his bed. “But seriously. I’m sorry. I know that you’re not…that we’re…Marinette,” he sighed. “Okay. For-real-honesty time. You asked what was wrong? The reason I called you? I’ve been up for hours. I haven’t gone to sleep.”

“Adrien.”

“I called pretty much everyone while I was waiting for it to be at least a half-decent time to call you, but…” Adrien laughed ironically.

Luka sat back down on his bed. “Adrien, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“Last night…it was just something that someone said.” Adrien shook his head futilely. “It’s stupid. I should just shake it off.”

“Who said what to you?” Luka demanded, a hiss of fury building in the back of his throat. “I will personally rearrange their face.”

“You can’t,” Adrien chuckled. “Because she didn’t do anything wrong. Mylène was talking to Juleka, and I just happened to overhear because…well…you know. Cat hearing. She didn’t know I could hear her. Mylène’s a big teddy bear. She may be on Marinette’s side of this whole…kerfuffle, but she would never hurt me on purpose like that.”

“What did she say?” Luka ran a hand through his hair and down his face.

“‘Adrien sure is getting close with Marinette’s boyfriend’.”

Luka frowned. “And that upset you? Did she say it in a nasty tone of voice or something?”

“No, and that’s why you can’t confront her about it,” Adrien whined in frustration.

“Okay. Ariel, I’m confused. I’m sorry, but why did that upset you so much that you couldn’t sleep? I’m not saying your feelings are invalid, but…walk me through this, please.”

“It’s not the way she said it or what she said but what she felt when she said it,” Adrien whispered.

“…You were using Nooroo’s empathic abilities last night, weren’t you?” Luka realized. He tried to keep his desire to shake Adrien out of his voice.

Adrien remained silent.

“Adrien, you know that’s dangerous for you,” Luka sighed. “Please explain what you were thinking.”

“I was really nervous to be hanging out with everyone last night. I mean, no one’s mean to me, no one hates me or even dislikes me, but Juleka, Rose, Mylène, Ivan, Alya, Nino, Marinette, and you is not the most hospitable environment for me, and I’ve mentioned before that I feel weird being the only one without a date. I was nervous, so I thought if I dialed up Nooroo’s empathic abilities, I would be able to concentrate on everyone else’s emotions and drown out my own. Kind of like a mood stabilizer. I figured everyone else would be having fun, and then I’d be able to have fun and just…be normal for the first time in…in, like…all year. It’s really draining to be the depressed, obsessive, emotionally unstable friend all the time, so I thought…”

“Adrien, you’re not like that,” Luka stressed, voice gentle and comforting. “That’s not you at all.”

“Not when I’m with you,” Adrien chuckled. “When I’m with you, I’m a mess, but I’m the normal kind of fixable, not-that-big-a-deal mess. Is it any wonder I want to be with you all the time?”

“Adrien…” Luka breathed, his heart constricting.

“Luka,” Adrien echoed with a self-deprecating laugh. “…It was fine until Mylène said that to Juleka. It was working. I was having a good time, but then…Luka, just the disgusted contempt she felt…and then Juleka was anxious and angry, and I felt it. I felt it as if the anger and contempt and disgust were mine, but they were feeling those things towards me, so I started feeling those things towards me, and I started thinking…what the hell am I doing? Like, what am I even doing here with you guys? I should go away. I should spend a year abroad in New York or London or somewhere where I can’t get myself into these ridiculous situations. No one wants me here anyway.”

“Adrien,” Luka pleaded. “Stop.”

“But then you came over,” Adrien continued. “And I kind of just latched on to how you were feeling—and I’m really sorry because it now occurs to me that that’s a kind of invasion of privacy—but it’s so easy to get lost in your emotions. It feels safe…. The way you feel about me is…”

Luka winced, feeling like he’d been caught red-handed.

“I love the way you feel about me. It makes me feel drunk without any of the consequences. It feels so good…until you start feeling guilty. Then I start feeling doubly guilty. I felt really guilty last night after I got home. And panicky. And lonely. I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t, and Plagg said I wasn’t allowed to take allergy meds to knock myself out because apparently it really scares my family when I do that.”

Adrien paused reflectively before asking, “Is this too much for nine o’clock in the morning? I’m sorry. I’m just ranting at you, aren’t I? Did I mention I haven’t slept? Maybe that has something to do with it. Chloé says I get ridiculous when I’m tired. Please say something and make me stop talking now.”

“I love you.”

Adrien blinked in bewilderment.

“Are you still there, or did I break you?”

“…I’m waiting for the ‘but’,” Adrien muttered. “‘I love you, but…’. Where’s the condition or the limitation?”

Luka shook his head. “There is no ‘but’. I just love you.”

“…And yet I don’t see you breaking up with your girlfriend,” Adrien mumbled.

“No. Because I’m in a committed relationship right now, and I love her too. You can love more than one person simultaneously, Adrien. You know that. Besides, you don’t need a boyfriend right now. You need to focus on you without having to worry about anybody else.”

“What if I want a boyfriend?” Adrien challenged petulantly.

“Okay. Maybe you want the perks of a boyfriend, but you don’t want the hard work and the disappointments and the sacrifices that come with a relationship,” Luka countered.

Adrien was silent for a moment. “…How do you know what I want?”

“I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it.” Luka shrugged. “You know what it’s like to be an empath now. I don’t suppose I’m anywhere near as sharp as Nooroo, but…I can feel that you just want affection and support. Life has been beating up on you all year, and you want someone to take care of you, not someone who’s going hurt you even more.”

“…Which one are you?” Adrien hummed.

“Don’t know yet,” Luka confessed. “I don’t want to be part of the problem, but…”

Adrien laughed. “There’s the ‘but’.”

“I’m coming over,” Luka decided. “I’m coming over, and we’re going to take a nap for a few hours. Then, we’re going to get up and eat something before promptly returning to bed for another hour or two. After that, we’ll see how we’re feeling and maybe go swimming. How does that sound?”

“Will there be snuggling involved, or do I have to keep my hands to myself?” Adrien asked tentatively.

“Platonic snuggling only,” Luka warned.

“Perfect,” Adrien chuckled, sounding genuinely happy for the first time the entire conversation.

“I’ll be over in, like, half an hour. I don’t think I trust myself on a motorcycle on three hours of sleep, so I’ll just walk,” Luka informed, hopping down from his bed.

“I actually already sent a car for you. My driver Victor should be out front by now.” Luka could hear the sheepish grin in Adrien’s voice.

He shook his head. “Thank you, Ariel.”

“Orpheus?”

“Hm?”

“Why do you put up with me?” Adrien wondered. “I only make your life complicated.”

Because I love you. Because you need me. Because you make me feel valued, appreciated, desirable, significant, strong…

“Because you’re worth it, Adrien. See you soon.”

[grapesodatozier]

elstan as professors!! this is in hc format but it’s basically a fic lol so most of it is under the cut

okay so stan is obviously a math professor bc he’s a huge nerd (and an accountant in the book lol)

el is a gender studies professor

els class meets after stans in the same room

stan is a very timely man, so they don’t run into each other for the first few weeks of class

but then his material becomes more challenging and so students have questions after class. so he’s running late to his office hours and can’t erase the boards

he’s gone by the time el gets there, but all the equations and problems are still on the board, and she makes a playfully disgusted face at the few early students in the room before erasing all the math

but then she spots a small note on the bottom corner of the board

in beautiful script is written “running late, my apologies. SU”

el smiles to herself. it was nice of the previous professor to leave an apology note, and she found it especially endearing given the boards had been immaculately clean coming into all of her previous classes

one day she finds a folder full of lesson plans (and more equations) left on the desk. the syllabus claims to have been constructed by a Professor Stanley Uris

she keeps it in a safe place and makes a mental note to look up where his office is after class so she can drop it off for him

however, as it turns out, there’s no need, bc as soon as her class lets out a man about her age glides into the room

a frazzled man in a suit jacket with neat, dark brown curls and the greenest eyes el has ever seen... lips so deep a pink they’re nearly red... and a jawline so strong-

“Hello, I’m stan uris, I teach in this room the period before you”

right. el snaps out of her trance

“I think I may have left my lesson plans behind”

“oh, yeah! I’ve got them right here” she retrieves them from her bag and hands them to him as the last of her students trickle out the door. “I was gonna drop them off at your office. I’m sorry, I should’ve emailed you at the start of class, saved you the trip.”

“No, i wouldn’t wanna make you go to the trouble” stan smiles. “Thank you though, Professor...?”

“Professor Ives, but just El is fine”

“Well, thank you, El. Have a nice day”

“Yeah, you too!”

Els still watching him leave when she realizes there’s a student waiting to speak to her - a student who fails miserably at hiding her knowing grin

El blushes. But she soldiers on.

A week later, stans class goes a few minutes over - lots of questions were asked and answered, but there was still material they had to cover. It happens rarely to stan, but he’s only human

El walks in while he’s still gathering his things, weaving through the students rushing out the door

“You’re making these people sit through math lessons five minutes longer than thy need to?” she asks playfully. “that’s just cruel.”

stan looks a bit harried, but he smiles when he sees her. el thinks it’s a good look on him; his eyes are wide and shiny, and a single perfect curl hangs in his face

“not a math fan?” he grins as he fixes his hair

“can’t say I am, but I admire anyone who can understand it, let alone teach it”

stan blushes, which el also thinks is a good look on him. “it’s really not that impressive if you’re inclined toward it.” he then looks up and notices the boards, as if it snuck up on him

“I’ll handle the boards” el offers, her tone casual yet insistent

“are you sure? I feel awful leaving it for you, but I’m meeting a student-”

“go” el giggles. “I like getting rid of math”

stan gives her a grateful smile and slings his bag over his shoulder. “well, I won’t keep you from your fun then” they share a quiet laugh, and as he heads out he throws a “thank you again!” over his shoulder

els students help her erase the boards

the next time el gets to class she finds a note written on the (clean) chalkboard in neat script: “have a good class, Professor Ives”

it’s small, just in the corner of the board, but it makes her smile, makes her heart flutter. her heart sinks a bit when she has to erase it

the class after that she arrives to find stan still there

all of his students are gone and his bag is packed, and el thinks he’s pretending to check his emails. it’s cute.

“oh, sorry professor ives, I didn’t notice the time”

el smirks to herself. “it’s el” she reminds him “and I don’t mind. feel free to stick around, we’re covering feminist economics today”

“I’m afraid I’ve got to get to my office hours, but I genuinely would love to hear all about it some other time if you’re offering”

el raises her eyebrows and smiles. “some other time?”

stan gives her a charming grin, and oh man, yeah, she could happily fall for that

“do you like Italian food?”

they’re officially together after two dates

stan always leaves sweet notes in her desk, and sometimes little treats as well, like brownies or fancy fountain pens

they mostly keep their relationship to their personal lives outside of work, but if they hook up in their offices every now and then, well, the administration doesn’t need to know

they find that, outside of their professional fields, they have very similar tastes. in humor, food, music, drinks, hobbies

they’re super compatible and adorably nerdy together

and even if el will never understand math, she loves to hear stan talk about it

she also really appreciates how stan actually thoroughly listens to her talk about her field and conferences she attends, even if the theory bit loses him now and then

they’re both incredibly smart and impressive and supportive and in love!!

they’re honestly a gorgeous academic power couple and I love that for them

[ecessive-dreamer]

Title.

​He sees her passing, bags of chanel in each hand, yet her head is still wrapped in a book as she walks, glancing up to the street every two minutes. He froze when he thought she saw him, walking straight toward him. Her head was still in the books, “Oh my, I’m so sorry” Luna says as she bumps with him head to head,her book landing flat on the ground.

Luna mutters,“Donovan?”

he takes a deep breath, she looks so beautiful, her skin as pale as winter snow, almond green eyes,and black luscious hair. Recounting every moment spent with her, tracing the outline of her lips, memorizing her face, and yet here she is standing in front of me and i'm still in awe of her.

“what are you doing here?” i ask her as nonchalant as possible while i pick up the bags that landed on the floor.

“Oh you know how i am on weekend sales..wow i haven't seen you in ages” she says as she eyes him, looking at his slightly crooked nose, ocean blue eyes and disheveled dirty blonde hair. Same old Donovan she thought.

“Well yeah of course how could i forget” I say as she turns away, blushing. Recounting just like him all the days they would walk hand in hand, at each and every single store and just like that the sharp pain returns, and the haunting memories come back. He destroyed her. It's been five years, but five years isn't enough. She manages to grab all her bags, as he hands her the book.

“Ah, you still read british literature huh? I guess some things don't change” I say. Her smile fades as fast as it appeared. I look at her with such intensity in my eyes

“My reason for life. Not living, but life. That was the touch. And she was his reason for life, and why he must survive” her breath catches

“ I’m sorry i have to go.”

“Luna, wait. It's from your book, atonement!” I yell as she crosses the street, away from him. He takes out the pack of cigarette that's been itching to be smoked all day. She brings that out of him, after all this time, seeing her face, smelling her scent, hearing her voice. He needed her again, and he was going to have her.

*Beep beep beep* i roll over my bed, it's 5:00a.m. i sit up “shit” as my feet hit the cold wooden floor. I forgot to turn on the heater last night. I put on my socks and roll on my hoodie as I walk to the thermostat and turn it from 50 to 70 in my small studio apartment. I walk to the kitchen and start my routine. I turn on my coffee while simultaneously brush my teeth. I hop in the shower as my coffee is getting ready. As soon as I stepped out of the shower I wipe away the fog on the mirror and look at myself. Ive lived here for years and still haven’t made any progress. Still the same apartment same job same remorse. Hell even the same coffee, as I realize the coffee is still on and rush to my kitchen. Pour a cup, black. I put my work clothes on and head out the door with my coffee.

​It gets me everytime, everytime I walk out of the front door of my building that im actually living in new York city. I cant imagine anywhere else I want to be. Way better than my town back home. Yeah sure I miss my family and what not but being on my own is what ive always wanted. I walk my 6 blocks to work thinking about yesterday; I actually saw her. Its been months of almost nothing. The only time ive seen her was in pictures and memories that would be occasionally sparked by an object that reminded me of her.

​I walked into the building of my job. I do journalism for a small time newspaper company. Same job for 7 months and still no raise. Its nothing to complain about I make enough for me to live comfortable but yet I still feel like my time is more valuable.

As I make it to the 4th floor, my floor my boss is always the first to greet me as his office is right by the elevator door. “morning don” he says, “morning murphy, hows it going this morning” I return. He replies with a big sigh, “ sales haven’t been so well so its causing us to do alittle remodling of who we have here.” “oh?’ I replied with a nervous voice hoping I wasn’t being given the talk about being let go. He laughs “don you have nothing to worry about, though im glad I keep you on your toes this early in the morning.” “I need you to show around the new intern, shes a possibility at a new columnist here and I want you to take close attention to her to see if she is going to be an asset to this company”, he asks. I reply with a uncertain tone,” I don’t know murphy I have this article ive been working on and I don’t know if I can afford the extra baggage.” He replied to me with a stern face,” it wasn’t a question” and as soon as I noticed his face I quickly replied with a smile on my face “no problem boss.” He looks back with a artificial smile on his face,” great shes in your office. Her name is tiffiany. You know like the diamond.”

I walk to my office which is completely on the opposite side of the floor. As I walk into my office I knock on the door. She turns and looks at me with a grin. The first thing I notice was he hair. Golden not like a dumb blonde kind of look but almost a los angles kind of blonde where he hair is almost as bright as the sun. she was short but not to short maybe around 5’3 which is short for my abnormally tall figure. I reach my hand out to greet her as she does the same. “hi im tiffany. Ive heard allot about you.” As my hand meets her hand I realize how soft her skin is which causes me to gently squeeze her hand. “heeee” I reply. She looks back at me with a puzzled face. I have no idea why words wouldn’t come out of my mouth.“ hi im Donovan but you can call me don. Im sorry for coming across as an idiot I have no idea why my mouth wouldn’t work.” She laughed, “its okay I have that affect on people sometimes” she said with a joking tone. I grin” wow a since of humor that’s something your gonna lose working here” she laughed. Her laugh was cute. “so im gonna be working with you?” I asked her. “yeah I guess your stuck with me but its only a month so your gonna have to bare with me.” “a month? Oh no I don’t know if im going to be able to do it” I said. Her smile went away. “oh im sorry I just was joking” I said. She started to laugh, “ wow cute and sensitive, maybe ill have to stay longer than a month.” We both looked at eachother and smiled knowing that there would be no problem working together.

After a week of work I head home on a Saturday night. On my walk home I get a call from my buddy david I haven’t spoke to him in weeks hes been busy with his schooling. “hey man whats up?” saying answering the phone. “hey you still live on the upper east side right?” he asks. “yeah” I reply “well im in town and wondering if you wanted to get some drinks or something?” he asks. “hell yeah, where at?” I ask him. “meet me a napoleons bar? Ill order you a beer” he says. “alright man see you in a few” i say as I hang up the phone.

I walk into napoleons and see dave. He raises his beer up to get my attention. I walk over and we embrace eachother in a hug. “whats going on man” he asks. “same shit just a Saturday” I reply. He laughs, I ask him the same “ whats going on man”. “well for starters im a month away from graduation” he says. “congrats man im proud of you, next round is on me” I tell him in an exciting voice.

Weve been sitting catching up for hours and have had enough beer and bar food for me to be sick for months. He asks,” hey man I know it’s a touchy subject but what ever happened with you and luna?” I look and reply with the most honest answer I could think of,” things just didn’t work out. He looks at me and says,” he man that’s too bad I know you really liked the girl but shit happens, hell look at me im not even done with college and already divorced.” I look at him and he looks at me and we both laugh, “yeah but I started working with this new girl and I don’t know I shes kind of funny” I tell him. “oh yeah? Tell me about her” he asks. I tell him ”well shes kind of an asshole but she has a sence of humor, she has nice hair and big blue eyes. Hell she can even write too.” “you like her?” he asks. “ no man I just work with her” I say. He looks at me with a face that says “really?” he says “ come on man you wouldn’t have brought her up if you didn’t ask her out man” he does have a point but im not sure maybe I just need to focus on work plus I don’t think im quite sure for anything yet. The conversation dies down after a couple more beers and we both say our farewells and part ways.

Its Monday all over again. I wake up make the coffee take a shower but something is urging me. Im actually excited to go to work. Im putting on clothes that give me confidence. I leave out of my apartment and make it to work 15 min early. I walk past murphys office saying ,”morning boss.” He replies with “good morning” but I walk past him and am almost on a mission to my office. “hey don” she says, I reply “ good morning tiff.” She looked great this morning. I don’t know what it was about her. The way she smelled the way her hair was tied up in a bun or maybe it was just the way her hair shined back at me as the new York gloomy day approached. “hey tiff?” I ask. She replys with a speedly “yes?” “ would you want to go out with me sometime?” she looks at me with a puzzled face. I realize what I just asked and I say “ im sorry im not sure what came over me. I don’t know its just a new week and” she cuts me off in the middle of my rant, “what time would you like to pick me up?” I look in shock, surpisingly I got this far. “um after work maybe we could grab a bite to eat?” I ask“ id love that” she replies.

After the work day we both leave together and I take her to this little Italian place a couple blocks from work. All I can think to myself is how well it went. How well it was kept going. After dinner I called a cab for her and payed him to take her to her house. Before she got in the cab she kissed me. Just a peck, I was caught almost by surprise. She says “ thank you I loved tonight and hope it can happen again” I replied “ me too, and id love too. Was that you asking me out?” she laughs “ yes but you cant tell anybody” she gets into the cab and we both say goodnight.

I walk into my office. Its tiffs last day, but I have a pitt in my stomach cause im not quite sure where this leaves us. Her and I have been going out more frequently and it seems to get more serious. Im not sure what to think of all of it but I guess I might just have to find out. I get out of the elevator and walk to my office. Tiff turns around and sees me, “hey hun she runs up and hugs me, you know what today is right?” of course how could I forget” I reply as I walk past her and sit on my desk. “hey? You okay?” she asks. I respond shrugging my shoulders “ yeah im alright” she sees the worry in my eyes. “is this about us?” she asks me. I look at her as she looks at me. “yes it is” she says. “talk to me” she says. I look at her “ what are we going to do? Like tiff honestly I have feelings for you and im not quite sure how were going to go with you leaving” she looks at me and smiles “ hun just because im leaving this job doesn’t mean I plan on leaving anywhere out of your life” I look back at her and smile as she looks at me. She walks over and sits on my lap and says “ lets go out tonight and celebrate, a new chapter of things”. I smile “ I have to decline I have to finish this article for tomorrows paper but ill tell you what, tomorrow night sounds excellent. Only if your free?” she looks at me and says “of course im free, sounds like a plan”.

I get off of work late, its raining. I look at the time and its almost 1am. I start my walk home. On my walk home I cant think about how much im grateful for how things are turning out in my life. I mean hey just a couple months ago I felt like I had no direction in life but now I feel like I might be moving forward. I

I walk into my apartment with my soaking coat and hang it up on the hook. I turn my heater up and start to change into my sleep wear. Right as I hit my bed I hear a knock on my door. “ who could be here this late?” I think to myself. I walk to my door peep hole and peer through all I see is a women with her hood up. I open the door and as soon as I opened it I can feel me stomach in my shoes. “luna?” I say in a muttered voice. “hi Donny” she replies. “what are you doing here?” I ask. She looks at me “I was out and just happened to stop by I figured you would still be up. The late sleeper I remember you as” She says to me. “yeah I just got off work and was getting ready to hit the sack” I tell her “ oh im sorry I was just looking for someone to talk to I can go if youd like.” She responds. “ no come in ill make some coffee” I respond. She comes in and sits down I stand in the kitchen and start to make coffee. “Nothing has changed about this place huh?” she says over the coffee being brewed. “nope not much, I barely spend time in here anymore” I tell her. She looks in a surprised look,” oh out with your girlfriend all the time?” she said in a sarcastic but serious manner. “actually yes well I mean you could call it that, and work” I told her. “oh?” she says,”hows work going?” I knew she was beating around the bush but who was I to call it out. “ works great actually ive been moving up in the chain and really enjoying my work” I told her. “enjoying work who are you? Is this even Donovan?” she says in a joking way. I laugh as I hand her the coffe,”yeah you can say I guess im moving in some kind of direction but who knows if its right or wrong.” She laughs,” and there he is Same old downer Donny I remember.” She says laughing. “how about you, whats miss luna doing with her life?” I ask. “well ive finally become a published writer and im actually on my way to getting my doctorate in british literature.” She tells me in such detail but I start to unvoluntarely ignore as I start to get lost in her brown eyes. We continue catching up throughout coffee and end up staying up all night.

My alarm for 6 am goes off and I realize that I have work. As I go to turn it off I walk back into the room and lune is standing by the sink rinsing her cup. I cant help but remember every morning waking up and seeing her standing there making our coffee in on of my oversized shirts of mine. After all this was our first place. I look at her the way I used to look at her and she turns back and looks at me. I walk to her and she walks towards me and there seems to almost be a silence in the city of new York. All I can pay attention to is her. We walk so close to eachother that I can feel her breathe on my neck. We both move in slowly and interlock lips. We kiss, for the first time in almost a year of not talking and it feels like the first time I ever layed my lips on hers. It felt like nothing else mattered. Like everything was oblivious to this moment. We move to the bedroom and without a word being said our clothes seem to disappear and both move slowly into the bed that we picked out together. Everything became nothing and nothing became everything. The way she looked at me was the way I was staring at her. A year soon collapsed into nothing. Hours felt like minutes and the day soon fell to night.

The next day I woke up and she was laying on my arm. I had this overwhelming guilt. It clouded over me. I notice my phone on the table. I pick it up and have new messages. They are from tiff,” hey haven’t heard from you all day. Hope your okay? Lemme know about dinner.” I hit my hand to my face “shit I had dinner with her last night and I missed it” I thought to myself. Im sitting on my couch and feel a hand reach over my shoulder to my chest and kiss my neck. “goodmorning” luna said. I stand up and look at her breathing heavily. “ why?” I ask her. She looks at me with a questioned face. “why does everytime I feel like things are moving in a direction that I like I take 10 steps back with you” I tell her. She looks at me “Donny I miss you” she says. “you didn’t miss me. You didn’t miss me when I saw you in the street and ran away from me. You didn’t miss me when I woke up one morning and you were gone for reasons I still don’t know. Why did you have to come back?” I yell. She looks at me with a tear rolling down her face and says “im gonna go” I immediately realize what I say and regret every word that came out of my mouth. Its too late to take it back I know who luna is and she wont forget that ever. I stand back as I watch her leave for the last time. As she walks out of the door I fall to the ground in tears realizing that the only person ive truly loved I pushed away.

Tiffinay and I are moving all of my stuff from one apartment to our next. Its been 6 months since she left and tiff still doesn’t know she exsists. As im finishing cleaning out my bedroom I notice a book laying in my drawer in my room im never seen before. Theres a sticker on it that says “for you, love luna.” I look at the book and realize there is a writing on the inside that says “our story.” I turn back and take one final look at the apartment as I close the door to that chapter of my life.

[wiener-soldiers]

hallelujah (part ii) - steve trevor

summary: After being a recent thief-turned-spy, you find yourself working side by side with a certain American air force captain. However, the workplace romance trope was getting really old, but it was hard not to fall far your spy partner, Steve Trevor.

words: 2,155 (i didn’t intend for it to be this long)

warnings: more angsty than i originally intended mY BAD

taglist: @sebastianstanfoundmymixtape​ @httpmcrvel​ @lionheo04​ @stupendoussciencenaturepanda​

a/n: so i was originally going to discontinue this series but ive been getting a lot of positive support for it and i found the inspo to write this again!

Your faith was strong, you needed proof. You saw her bathing on the roof,

 the beauty and the moonlight over-through ya. 

She tied you to your kitchen chair, she broke your throne and she cut your hair.

And from your lips, she drew a Hallelujah.

As the months progressed, you and Steve got closer. As promised, he gave your family security and your brother Jack was attending fifth grade at a private school in London. You saw your family often, given your job. Whenever you had a spare moment, you traveled as fast as you could to your home, often offering to bring Steve along with you and drop him off wherever his family lived before you took the taxi home.

“You need to see family too, Steve,” you would always tell him when he refused. The both of you were standing in the lobby of the office that you and Steve used as a base of sorts.

“Nah, I don’t have any family in the city. My folks still live in the US, and my fiancée lives in Paris.”

“Fiancée?” you ask, confused. Steve never talked about being in a relationship, or engaged for that matter. As the two of you continued to work together, gathering intel and infiltrating secret meetings of the Germans, you had began harboring a (not so) small crush on the blond haired-blue eyed man. You admired his dedication for his work and his country, but also his compassion. Really, it was hard not to fall for him. So your heart wavered slightly when you asked him about his ‘fiancée’.

“Her name is Sarah. I--uh, don’t talk about her often. She used to live in London, but moved to Paris for her modeling career,” he responds shyly, casting his gaze downwards as his cheeks begin to heat up.

“Oh,” was your only reply.

“I just don’t want her getting caught up in this whole ‘spy’ business, you know? She know I’m in the army, but she thinks I’m just stationed in London, not a spy,” he explains once he realizes your lack of responses. “If she found out that I shake hands with Germans and steal their information, she’d flip and basically put me on house arrest,” he jokes, trying to resolve the awkward air.

But you can’t find it in yourself to laugh, “I see.”

You and Steve stare at each other uncomfortably for a few seconds before he clears his throat, “So I’ll see you back in a few days? I heard you were taking a few days off for your mother’s birthday.”

“Actually,” Etta calls from behind Steve (you swear that woman can teleport), “the two of you just got orders to go undercover at a weapons dealer’s party. They suspect he is selling experimental weapons to the Germans. The party starts at seven at a high end hotel downtown.”

You audibly sigh, “So much for my vacation.”

Etta gives you a sympathetic look, “Sorry, darling.”

“It’s alright Etta, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Send us the details of the party and our covers and alibis,” you tell her before walking away, the heel of your boots clicking on the floor.

“Where are you going?” Steve calls after you.

“You think I’m going to a party dressed like this? Pick me up at my apartment at seven, Trevor. Don’t be late,” you call as you turn around and walk backwards to look at him while adding, “And be sure to wear a red bow-tie or a pocket square of something. I want us to match.”

Sure, you had a crush on your partner. But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t get the job done in style.

You and Steve walk hand in up the stairs to the hotel the party was located at. The weapons dealer had put out that the party was a “party to celebrate the successes of science,” but in reality it was a cover up for the dealing of weapons.

Your mission was to gather as much intelligence about the new weapons and positively identify the weapons dealer, the German buyer, and any other potential buyer. 

Tonight, you and Steve were not Y/N Y/L/N and Steve Trevor, you were Mrs. and Dr. Barrow, and potential buyers of these weapons.You had flown in from France a few nights before and were currently looking for new weapons to buy as representatives of a French private security company. Your deep red night gown sashayed as you walked up the steps leading to the grand entrance of the hotel, arms linked with Steve. As you neared the entrance, you said a small greeting to the young man at the door before you fixed your audacious curls. Steve began to step inside before you stopped him mid-step and pulled him back through the open door, bringing him to the side.

“What?” he asks, glancing around the entrance and fixing his fake glasses.

Your reached forward and straightened his matching deep red pocket square, “We have to make this look believable, Dr. Steve Barrow. Nothing screams ‘married couple’ like a wife straightening her husband’s pocket square. And you should’ve went with the bow tie,” you note after you glance down at Steve’s bare collar, the top two buttons undone.

“I thought it looked tacky.”

“Fair point. Bow ties are more of a mathematician thing.”

The two of gave each other one more comforting glance, getting lost in each other’s eyes before Steve clears his throat, offering you his arm to link.

“Alors ma cher, vient avec moi s’il vous plaît. On a une grande challenge pour complètera,” he smiles softly at you, reverting to his French accent as part of your cover story. You had always wondered where he learned such believable French, but you now figured it was because he spent so much time with his soon to be wife in Paris.

“D’accord, Monsieur Barrow. Allons y,” you reply, your red-stained lips mirroring the smirk on his, though yours had more weight behind them. Despite your crush on the handsome man, you couldn’t help but feel like you were betraying his fiancée, despite never meeting her, by pretending to play Steve’s wife. However your feelings needed to be pushed aside as you had a job to do, so the two of you trek into the luxurious hotel and the recon mission began.

The party dragged on for another hour or so and you and Steve were busy as ever collecting intel from unsuspecting party-goers and using sly movements to figure out if the person was friend or foe.

Around eleven when most people were inebriated, the party shifted to the roof of the hotel, where a bar had been set up and the soft jazz played from the live band cut through the cool night air.

You were clutched on to Steve’s arm as he strolled around the rooftop, trying to shield yourself from the cool London breeze. Goosebumps run up your arms as you let out a shiver. Maybe such a revealing dress was not the wisest choice on a cool evening. However your shiver did not go unnoticed by Steve.

“Est-ce que tu es froide, ma belle?”

“No,” you replied, almost too quickly. Steve stopped in front of the roof ledge to look at you, eyebrows raised. You succumbed to his confrontation, “Alright! Maybe a little...”

He chuckles before sliding the blazer off his shoulders and placing it onto yours. Though it may be caused by the ridiculous amounts of champagne or the cool night breeze, but you were certain the pink blush that started up your neck was caused by Steve’s chivalrous gesture.

“Thanks,” you whisper before turning to look out at the skyline. Most of the city was asleep, but the usual car did roll by or the sound of laughter in the distance made the city seem lively.

“It’s sort of beautiful, isn’t it?” you ask out loud, not really expecting an answer from the man next to you.

“Yeah, yeah it is,” he hums softly. With your gaze locked on the city below, you didn’t notice Steve’s gaze locked on you. The wind blew your hair sideways, making some of your curls dance above your face. The moonlight reflected a soft glow onto your skin, as your eyes reflected the yellow street lights down below. Steve could’ve sworn that he could stare at you forever as you bathed in the moonlight, with his jacket loosely hanging off your shoulders. How he wishes that the jacket around your shoulders was him, pulling you close and resting his chin on the top of your head.

A loud high pitched fit of female laughter broke Steve’s trance, turning to look for the source. What he saw made him freeze in his tracks.

Your fucking kidding me, was his only thought.

There she was. The tall, green-eyed blonde, with short tight curls, blood-red lips, and a tight, revealing black dress with a slit so high it left very little to the imagination. She was pressed up against a man, her leg seductively crossed in between his, one hand curled on his chest with the other holding a glass of champagne. The man had one hand wrapped around her waist, the other nursing a cigar in between his fingers.

Steve’s blood boiled. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The man leaned in, whispering something in the woman’s ear to which she responded by pressing a hard kiss to the side of his mouth, leaving a lipstick stain behind.

Steve felt betrayed and broken. The woman he thought he loved, who he proposed to, was kissing another man.

“Patricia?” he utters quietly in disbelief.

“Who?” you ask, turning to him. You notice his rigid stance and his pale face, “Steve, what’s going on? Are you alright?”

He nods towards the man and the woman snuggled up together across the roof, expression absolutely livid, “That’s...my fiancée, that’s Patricia. She said she was in Paris and she would visit next week--”

“Steve...”

“I don’t understand, why is she here? How did she get here?”

“Steve.”

“Oh my god, does she know I’m a spy? Is she here to blow my cover?!”

“Steven!” you snap at him. He whips his head towards yours, fury ridden all over his face.

“What?!”

“The man she’s with...that’s the man we positively ID-ed as the German buyer of the weapons,” you answer bleakly, gulping as you continue. “She’s affiliated with the Germans, Steve.”

“No...” he whispers in disbelief. You look up in his blue eyes, which are threatening to fill with tears.

You gently tug his arm, “Come on. Let’s go to my place. We have enough intel for one night.”

Steve is silent the entire way back to your apartment, tears softly falling on his cheeks.

It’s about one in the morning when you come back into the living room of your apartment. The minute you unlocked the front door, Steve walked in a robot-like trance to the couch in the middle of your living room. He just sat there, crying and contemplating while you placed his blazer that was still on your shoulder on the arm of the couch before you prepared yourself for bed.

Your feet padded on the cold floors as you made your way back to where Steve was sitting. In silence, you sit down beside him and stare ahead.

You sit like that for another ten minutes or so before Steve is the first to break the silence, “I didn’t know.”

You inhale, “No one could have.”

“I could have,” he insists in a monotone voice, “This is entire time I dedicated my life and my love to a woman who is sleeping with a German.”

“You and I both know that we can’t know for sure.”

He scoffs, “I know her. She always had a plan. I was her plan. She knows I’m in the military and she knows I can get her what she wants. She just needed to know where those damn Germans are.”

You open your mouth to interrupt but he continues, “And the worst part is, I don’t even know when she started seeing him. Before we started dating, or during our relationship?” When you shoot him a sympathetic look, he adds, “I guess it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

You softly place a hand on his knee, letting him know that he is not alone. He quickly takes hold of your hand and laces his fingers with yours.

“Steve,” you start, “you can’t beat yourself up over this. You didn’t know, you couldn’t have.”

“I thought I really loved her, Y/N. We were supposed to be married, and have children, and grow old together.”

You didn’t know what to say. So you stayed silent. The only comfort you could offer him was your presence, so you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and he turned into your chest and cried.

[snbazanina]

Modern au. But azazel is still a demon and nina a dragon just in modern time since they live long. I am curious about how their life would be

Hello!! Mod Dokie here \o/

I think this AU could reply to both ask! I worked with mod Gensou in this and we followed Virgin Soul’s route but with Nina keeping her voice. We work a lot to see how SnB verse could fix in a modern age, so we hope you like it!

Modern AU

After a couple years in which each of her friendshad started to drift away and eventually move on, Nina realized she stayed thesame and that Charioce would never be able to crown her as queen and would atbest become a mistress to bear him heirs, so she decided to leave Anateanfinally asking Bacchus for a real bounty hunter bracelet and traveling aroundthe world; she sporadically visited her mother in her village but she stoppedaltogether after she passed away. She occasionally found Favaro and Rita attimes but she never dared to try meet with Jeanne and Azazel again due toshame, centuries have passed since that then and she has witnessed the worldchanging around her.

Azazel, in exchange, returned with Lucifer torebuild Cocytus and help the demons to recover their past life. He used tovisit Mugaro’s grave and Jeanne/Sofiel when they were in human’s land. WhenJeanne died, she was buried besides Mugaro so every time Azazel visits him, hemakes sure to take a present for Jeanne too since she won his respect aftertheir war against Charioce. Even if Sofiel is a god, Azazel and she actuallyhave a kind of good relationship even if sometimes they have their smallarguments.

Nowadays there are no more Anatae or Cocytus, theland of the gods has descended from heavens, the more humans, gods and demonsalike started to stray away from the old ways, settling down away from theircapitals and founding cities that thrived on their own, eventually had theirown governments and there was lots of mixing between then, so unless theirseats of power were threatened once more 250 years after the Bahamut’sincident, there was a meeting with all the leaders of independent settlementsand cities with Lucifer, Gabriel and Viktor IV (one of the kings after Charioce’s reign) were as exchange for keeping theirauthority and the new leaders their independency, the absolute monarchies andkingdoms were abolished, parliaments were founded and the Council was formedwith the three of them as overseers rather than rulers.

After this, people were free to pursue economy,technology, industry, magic and education was slowly available to everyone allaround the world, entertainment industries and academies were founded too. Butthere are few places where time stopped running and are now in danger ordisappearing. Nina’s village is one of them.

When the old woman that was the leader of the villagedied and Nina realized it, she returned to her home to see if she can dosomething for her people. Since her people see her as a heroine after Bahamut’sincident, they turned her into the new leader of the village.

Nina noticed that her village would disappear ifthey keep living outside the modern cities, so she decided as the new leaderthat is time to introduce the modern times to her old home. So, after makingthe necessary preparations, Nina travelled to the city where the main councilof the three races was located.

When Azazel is called on Council duty one morningand upon entering the office he encountered none other than Sofiel next toGabriel, who simply nods at him, and when he asks what’s so important for themto reunite with the gods, Lucifer points at a letter opened on top of the tableand asks Azazel if he knows about shape shifter dragons; when he attempts togive a non-committal answer is Gabriel this time who presses and asks: “Then, what about Nina Drango? Doesthat name ring a bell to you?” By that moment Azazel gives anaccusatory glance at Sofiel who simply shrugs.

After Azazel tells them everything about whathappened during the war against Charioce’s reign and notes the role Nina had inthe fight against Bahamut and how he assumed she had remained at his sideafterwards, Lucifer and Gabriel seem to reach an agreement and they reveal bothto him and Sofiel the reason behind Nina’s letter: a request to make hervillage join one of the factions of the Council, given that in the bare mostdefinition of the word, dragons do qualify as demon kin, and the gods are stillindebted to the old lady for after them during the first attack of Bahamut, butAzazel statement makes them think that it’s more convenient to have the villageon their side since there’s a good possibility that Aurora, the human queenfavours Nina’s request if only for parentage reasons.

When Azazel is alone with Nina for the first time,as he’s been growing increasingly annoyed with her remembering with Sofiel andher apparent nonchalance at the whole thing; he makes a jab about why not gobegging for help to her “grand-grand-granddaughter” the queen; Ninajust looks at him for a whole minute and then laughs which doesn’t help withhis mood until she says that she left Anatean a two years after the Bahamutincident, before he can say anything, her expression grows sad tells an“history lesson” to Azazel that since he never bothered to find out,Charioce XVII was the last king of his royal house because he never hadchildren and he had killed off all the competitors for the throne before beingcrowned himself; he realizes that Nina truly had no other leverage to hold onto help her people and seriously considers to tell Lucifer about this… but hedoesn’t.

Since it’s going to take a few days of deliberationbefore Lucifer and Gabriel come to an agreement, Nina gets to stay as a guestin the city; but after a day she grows bored and hunts down Azazel claimingthat he oughts to show her around town, he tries to get out of it by pointingout that she had been into the city before, but she counters by clarifying thatshe was here before things like electricity or cars were invented and that shehardly recognizes it anymore, so he’s left with no choice. Of course when Ninacomments on his new wardrobe (asking is his job for Lucifer is handling music business)he regrets it already.

Close to the end of the day, Nina tells him thatshe’s sorry about everything what happened in the past, that she was a naive girland now she regrets what she did. He replies with “It’s been centuries since those days, they all amount to aninsignificant amount of my life, and I barely think about it anymore.” ButNina gives him a sad smile and says “…Thenwhy do still not look at me in the eye? Or call me by my name?” She stops totalk about the issue after that.

Azazel stay in silence for a little after that, butin the end he thinks it’s time to move forward so he asks her to tell him “Thehuman’s history that she knows”. Nina, who had some love experiences in thepast, notices the trick and answers with a “The human’s history or my story?”with an amused smile. Azazel gets a little embarrassed after being caught byher and was close to yell to her and retract, but she interrupts him with a “Ican tell you the ‘human’s history’ that I know if you tell me the ‘demon’sstory’ that you know” with a big smile. In the end, they spent a big part ofthe night talking about what they did all of those centuries.

The next day Nina hangs out with both Sofiel andAzazel, and when Sofiel asks what did the two did the day before and delightson Azazel’s awkwardness and reticence to answer while Nina very happily justsays he gave her a tour; for the remainder of Nina’s stay in the city she keepsmaking non too subtle comments about it and whenever Azazel tells her to cut itor to stick on her own business she says: “But Azazel, this is my business, don’t you remember? I’m theSeraph of Love.”

When Nina finallyprepares herself to hear the Council’s decision and entered the hall, Luciferand Gabriel both have poker faces as usual, just like Azazel but at leastSofiel smile gives her reassurance, but all the resolve she had turned to dustwhen she saw the new face; Aurora, the human queen, whom she’d never seen andonly recognized because of the emblem on her clothes. They both stared at eachother for what felt like hours, the shape of the face, the lips, framed byshort lavender hair, and big round eyes… Nina tried to say somethingappropriate and respectful but her mouth felt dry and her eyes posed on Azazelon their own, and the sideway look he gave her made everything click and nowbesides her nerves her face was red probably confusing with her hair; the queenon the other hand got over her puzzlement quickly and just remained poised,composed and simply said: “Oh my.” and smiled at her.

After the moment of bewildermentand Nina calm down, the council gave their decision to her; her request hadbeen accepted and they’re going to help her village to join to the moderntimes. For that, she’ll be accompanied by Azazel and Sofiel, who will takenotes about the village’s state and see what it needs to begin theirdevelopment.

A few days after, Ninaturns into a dragon to take Azazel and Sofiel to her village, since the woodsaround her home grow and it’s hard to reach in a normal way. When they arriveNina’s village to see how much help they need, Azazel is quickly surrounded bylittle dragons that never saw a demon before, so they are curious about hisnature. A few old people of the village are worried about Azazel being close tothe children, but Nina and Sofiel tell them there isn’t any reason to worryabout that.

With Azazel busy dealingwith all the children, Nina starts talking about how different things got forher after she realized the full weight of her longevity when she intended tovisit Favaro after a “short” trip just to come back and find himfirst as a middle aged and the second time as an old man; Sofiel notices Ninais rambling and knows there’s something she wants to talk about, and Sofielmentions as casually as she can that she also has troubles with keeping up withhuman affairs after Jeanne perished; at that moment Nina freezes in place.“…I never realized when time started to slow down for me. I alwaysthought I had time to apologize… I found nothing but a memorial for her whenI finally made my mind”.

When Sofiel asked whatthere was to apologize for, Nina answers: “Because… troublesome,annoying, selfish and full of childish thoughts… for being that type ofperson…” Sofiel can’t argue with her, but reassures her than the fewtimes Jeanne wondered about Nina’s whereabouts she never blamed or hated herfor what happened. Nina smiles with some relief, but still feels that she stillhas things to do with it.

When Nina offers both ofthem to teach them some of the traditions and history from the village Sofielexcuses herself claiming that she needs to survey the state of the village forher report, of course that Azazel and Nina realize it’s a ruse. While they walkto Nina’s house (the one she inherited from de old granny) Azazel groans whenhe sees more children running up to them; but this time rather than try to messwith his person they stare up at the two of them and one of them asks if he’sone of Nina’s “boyfriends” and they’re both trying to deny it, Azazelyells that his only business with this “pint of a girl” is for hisjob, Nina gets angry pointing out that she has no need for more suitors, andthen Azazel gets angrier demanding to know what that’s supposed to mean, beforethe argument heated up more, a lady starts to round up the kids and mentionswith a smile that this brings her memories of when Nina’s parents met: with herMom stumbled into the village and her Dad wanted to kick her out.

After a week, Azazel andSofiel finished with their job they had to return to their city to communicateto the council the results; Nina had to stay in her village and wait for theresult, so they don’t see again for a while. Eventually, Azazel came back tothe village thanks to Lucifer’s order to help there so he usually meets withNina. She also has to visit sometimes the city because some dragons decided tomove and live there, so she has to go there to see how they are doing everything.

Every time Nina andAzazel meet for ‘business things’ they end up to spend time together as ‘friends’after finishing their business’ things. Azazel always bothers her with her oldtraditions calling her an ‘old woman’ and returns his ‘attacks’ bothering himwith his ‘rock star clothes and his fan’s club’.  They always end up arguing even if they’re inthe middle of a restaurant, walking in the streets or in a cinema (because Ninais so curious about technology and enjoys it).

Eventually, they developenough confidence in each other to go and visit together Mugaro and Jeanne’sgrave. They try to don’t speak too much about what happened in the past andjust focuses in move forward.

Sofiel always joke sayingthat even if Azazel and Nina are ‘friends’, they relationship is more than that but theyneed time to approach each other after all that happened in the past, especiallybecause there’s still a few emotional wounds they didn’t close yet. But she’ssure that eventually, they’ll accept what they have and stop to denying things.

Hope you enjoy this!

[glowstickhaloboy]

klance roommates au

usual disclaimer: its long as hell

keith is the newly hired, up-and-coming sales rep of his office job. hes fresh out of college, determined, and as awkward as he is in real life, he knows how to make a sale because its all scripted. his boss, doris, a wrinkly old lady who brings in cookies for the office at the end of every month, adores this strapping young man with a real work ethic.

his brother, shiro, is an ethics professor at the local university, Bullshit University (BU). while shiro is glad that keith is doing really well in life for this age, he has this annoying habit of constantly asking keith if hes alright, or if he needs anything, or if theres anything he feels like he wants to do to make himself better. keith always says no.

BU has a bs program called Apprenticeship, wherein a student will be mentored/sponsored by a professor, and the ethics department is head of the program, so shiro also hand picks his own apprentice and its a Big Deal and there are so many kids who apply for it not only because professor shirogane is hot as balls, but because this program gives out credits like candy. this semester’s lucky apprentice is none other than lance mcclain.

lance, if you ask him, will say that this all went completely according to plan and he never once doubted that shiro would pick him. on the inside, he is in an eternal state of wtf wtf wtf wtf how did i do this??!?!?!!!

keith knows that this is something shiro does because shiro likes to update keith on his life, so he’ll call and they’ll chat for a while and usually there will be some mention of an apprentice and whats going on with their studies. as the school year comes to an end, keith obligingly asks shiro who his chosen apprentice is for the upcoming year.

the line goes quiet.

“shiro? did i lose you?”

“no, im still here.”

more silence.

keith says, “what is it.”

“i have a small favor to ask of you.”

lance, if you asked him, would say that his interview with shiro went very well. he would say that he had shiro eating out of the palm of his hand. in reality, there was a lot more crying about money and family matters and anxiety for the future, and when shiro offered lance a tissue lance mistakenly grabbed shiro’s tie and blew his nose into it. two weeks later, he was asked to submit a final letter of intent, which he almost didn’t do because he was too embarrassed, then stayed up all night before the deadline because he couldnt not take a shot at it.

the problem with an apprenticeship position was that it was not like a residency staff position, wherein lance could live on campus without being charged a room & board fee, and he could not be both a part of residency staff and an apprentice. (the residency staff made his decision easy by rejecting his application, but still, it was a bummer.) that being said, lance had absolutely no money to stay on campus next year, and he could not commute because he lived four hours away from the school.

keiths apartment, shiro had not failed to notice, was a convenient 32 and a half minutes from the campus.

“you want me to what?” keith asks shiro, paling, staring into his categorized fridge. he knows where everything is. he decides where everything is. he is not sharing his living space with some kid.

“hes not some kid,” says shiro. “hes 20 years old and he needs this. i really want to make this opportunity work for him, but the school wont let him stay with me. please, keith. i think this would be good for both of you.”

“what is that supposed to mean?”

“can you honestly tell me that you arent lonely all by yourself?”

“no, im not. im comfortable and in control of my own life. i dont want one of your projects from the projects ruining everything ive worked to get, and i think its bull-headed of you to assume that you know whats best for me, like you always try to do, and i think its rude of you to invite someone to live in my apartment.” 

“he likes mus-”

keith hangs up on shiro mid-word, fumes for a few hours as he gets some work done and eats dinner, then goes to sleep.

the next day, keith feels guilty, sure, but he stands by what he said. shiro would call him in a few days and initiate the apology, and they would both put it behind them without mentioning it again. until then, he would throw himself into his work and pretend that everything was fine.

at 6pm, doris knocks on the side of his cubicle, smiling down on him in all her wrinkly glory. shes 60 going on 80 with graying hair and a cozy southern drawl. “darling, why are you still sitting at that desk? its a friday night. youre young, youre cute, you must have a sweetheart you wanna spend it with, or some friends at least.”

keith smiles politely. “thats alright, doris. id rather work, honestly.”

“you sure, honey? i admire a good worker, but if youre working good for the wrong reasons, thats nothing to be proud of. dont you have a nice girl to go home to?”

keith isnt even going to touch the last part of that statement because he doesnt know doris’s political views and doesnt have the time nor patience for a lecture from her in case her warm hospitality is all a condition of keiths being a Model Young Man. he grimaces and says, “no, i dont. and if i did have someone to go home to, it wouldnt be the start of a night going out on the town, it would be someone to have a relaxing night in with.”

“that sounds nice,” says doris, with a minor suggestion behind it that keith should get his coat and get the hell out of here.

“but id really prefer to work,” insists keith. doris clicks her tongue and tells him to suit himself.

meanwhile, lance is panicking. here he has this amazing opportunity, and no way to make it happen. hunk, allura, and pidge all live on campus, apartments nearby are way too expensive, and nobody on the forums is responding to his roommate pleas. he has made it clear that he will take literally anything, and still, no bites.

“im sorry,” shiro says at the start of their meeting. “i tried to set something up, but it fell through. there are a couple of scholarships you can try applying for, but their awards arent given out until december, so youd have to find a way to make ends meet until then.”

“and i cant be a part time student working,” says lance, “because part time students arent eligible for the internship.”

shiro sighs grimly. “thats right.” for a moment, he does nothing but frown at the wall, and lance has nothing to say so he doesnt interrupt. slowly, without explanation, shiro picks up his desk phone and dials. after a moment of patience, he sets it back down and pinches the bridge of his nose. “i want to figure something out for you, lance. do you have any ideas?”

lance shakes his head, shrugging. “i asked a couple of my friends to get an apartment with me, but two of them are residency staff, and the other one takes too many classes a semester to be able to work enough to afford an apartment.

shiro is about to say something, but the phone rings. he snatches it up. “keith? i thought you were ignoring me. oh. no, thats not it. actually, um, i have him sitting in my office with me. i was hoping you had reconsidered.” there was a very long pause. “i understand that,” says shiro. lance’s organs are all mixed up. his heart is beating in his throat and his stomach is somewhere near his feet. “i understand that,” he says again. “im sorry for what i said. you know i didnt mean it that way. i worry about you, thats all, because im a worrier. im not trying to influence your life at all, i really am just asking for a favor. ive exhausted all my other options. keith, youre all ive got.”

he covers the speaker with his mouth and looks at lance. “are you comfortable talking to him?”

lance balks. “who is it?”

“my brother, keith, the person im trying to get to let you stay with him. he wants to talk to you.”

lance holds his hand out for the phone, and shiro passes it over. lance says, “hello?”

“give me one reason why i should let you stay with me,” says a voice that is not exactly what lance is expecting, but still intimidating. “its not a trick question or a test, but it is pass-fail.”

lance’s mouth is so dry, he isnt sure he’ll be able to speak. “i,” he starts, then decides that he cant, then realizes that he has to. “i dont know what im doing. everyones trying to tell me what i should do, or what i have to do, but your brother--um, professor shirogane--is the only person whos asking me what i want to do. that means a lot to me, and so does the fact that he chose me to be his apprentice. so i want to give this my honest to god best shot to repay him, and because i need to know for myself what im capable of. so, um, sir, if you can give me my foot in the door, i promise i would be grateful for that, and if it doesnt work out, then you can kick me out, and i’ll still be grateful that you gave me the chance. um, thanks for giving me the chance to talk.”

there was a long beat of silence. shiro’s mouth was covered with his hand, so lance couldnt tell if he was smiling, but his eyes were definitely shining.

keith said, “shiro always does make people want to be the best version of themselves. dont tell him i said that. put him back on the line.”

lance shakily handed the phone back. shiro put it to his ear. “keith? uh huh.” he chuckled. “i know.” he closed his eyes, the tension seeping out of his shoulders, and lance couldnt help but feel his hopes soar. “thank you, keith. i promise i’ll pay you back for this, and you wont regret it.” he hangs up. “lance, you have a place to live next year.”

come the end of august, keiths career is running itself. he clears out the storage room in preparation for a temporary guest with the help of shiro, whose job it is not only to set up the room, but to pay lance’s half of the rent if lance should default.

two days after the bed and desk are built, lance mcclain moves in. hes weighed down by bags when keith answers the door, looking boyish and disheveled. “whoa,” he says, and stumbles back, almost loses his balance, then manages to catch himself.

keith prickles. “what?”

lance’s eyes swoop up and down keith a clean once.

“youre shiro’s younger brother,” he says, blinking in surprise. “i didnt expect you to be so... you sounded older and mea-- um, on the phone. i thought i was going to be living with a forty year old dude or something, but you’re. um. hi, im lance mcclain.”

he sticks out his hand, strapped down by bags. keith shakes it.

“keith kogane. your room is down the hall and to the left. the bathroom is the first one on the right. my bedroom is the door at the end of the hall, the one thats always shut.”

lance nods. “right,” he says, sounding choked. “i’ll just put this stuff away then...”

he gets inside his room and calls hunk, freaking out about how the guy he has to live with is a lunatic and might also be a serial killer. how else did one explain his bathroom being so freakishly clean? hunk tells lance to calm down and that its just first-day jitters. everything will feel normal once lance gets the routine down.

but lance does not get the routine down. if keith isnt telling lance not to move the milk in the fridge (lance needed somewhere for his blueberries), then he was shouting through the bathroom door to shut up (lance sang in the shower! big deal!). lance was positive that keith hated him, which, between getting his ass kicked at school and feeling like a burden at the apartment, made for a hellish first month on lance’s part. he and keith never talked to each other, because keith was always leaving for work in the mornings before lance woke up, and lance would get back sometimes at 9pm or later, when keith was already showering and getting ready for bed. on weekends, lance booked it out of there to hang out with hunk and pidge, but keith was usually still awake when lance got back, either reading or watching something on TV.

the best way to describe the tension was frigid. keith didnt acknowledge lance so long as lance kept to himself. and the biggest mistake lance made was to break that tension while keith was home.

of course, lance didnt know at the time. he was pretty sure that keith was out, but too scared to check because the door at the end of the hall was daunting, and lance was pretty sure that keith was the only one who could pass through it without damaging his soul permanently.

lance had assignments, okay? he was a music major. that involved some instruments being played from time to time. usually, he was able to work around keith’s schedule, or quiet enough that he could do it when keith was sleeping, but when he wasnt worried about it, he wasnt worried about it. which led to a high pitched scream from a certain college student as keith banged on his bedroom door.

collecting himself, lance went to open it. “sorry, i-”

“what the hell are you doing?”

lance sighed. “look, keith, im grateful that youre letting me live here, but that means letting me live here. i have assignments, and music relaxes me. so if i can put up with your alphabetical cereal boxes, i think its fair that you let me get some work done.”

“im trying to get my work done.”

“youre not even at work!”

keith pinched the bridge of his nose, a very shiro thing to do. “i dont have a problem with the music,” he said at last. “but we better not get any noise complaints from the neighbors.”

lance saluted him and shut the door, breathing a sigh of relief.

after that, tension melted a little more every day. lance’s outburst seemed to have triggered a chain reaction wherein keith and lance actually learned how to live with each other. after respectfully asking lance to remember to take his beauty products out of the bathroom when finished with them, he realized that what lance really needed was his own shelf, so he adjusted. when lance left on saturday mornings and saw keith taking his usual post at the coffee table with his stack of files, lance would ask if keith wanted anything from mcdonalds before coming home. slowly, surely, they became roommates.

until one day lance came home and saw keith watching his favorite show. it was a tidal wave of loud that keith had never had to experience before. youre only on the first season okay scoot over can i put my feet up im going to who do you like best so far what do you think of the villain isnt the actor who plays jack so hot-

they both freeze a little, lances face going red. “um,” he said. “its not like im going to be bringing any guys home, so we dont have to-”

“im gay,” keith says bluntly, because it looks like lance is about to have a heart attack. he feels a little like doris in that moment, although he doesnt know why. “yeah, hes hot.”

lance melts into the couch. “that makes that easy then,” he says. “that makes this the gay-partment. actually, we cant call it that, because im bi for real, and gay-partment doesnt sound good anyway, but you get what im-”

“i get it,” says keith, a mercy killing. he presses play with finality.

shiro checks up on keith frequently enough, but he never asks about lance any more than “is everything okay between you guys?” keith suspects that shiro does not want to push, and is waiting for keith to be the person who actually brings it up.

keith doesnt. even when he waits for lance to get home from classes so they can watch an episode together before keith goes to bed (because the last time keith watched it without him lance threw a fit), or when lance’s awful car craps out on him so they have to share for a week while the mechanic handles it, which involves a lot of carpooling and, as lance calls them “jam sessions” where he blares his horrible music and sings along (but isnt actually so bad because sometimes he improvises lines to the songs and he can be funny when he wants to be). 

keith realizes over the six days that lance is gone for thanksgiving break, not even a full week, that the apartment feels too quiet without him, and at the ripe old age of 23, he might have found his first genuine friend.

after thanksgiving, the barrier melts more. keith is cool with lance having friends over as long as he gets a heads up, and lance invites keith to his occasional open mic night performances at BU.

one day, lance comes home and sees keith hunched over some files on the kitchen table, tie loose on his neck, a half-finished bowl of leftover pasta abandoned near him. lance realizes that he has no idea what keiths job is.

“sales,” keith informs him. “i convince people that they need to buy eco-friendly plastic cups in bulk for their business or school.”

“sounds boring.”

“its not.”

“do you supply cups to my school?”

“theyre not one of my clients, no.”

“if you cant sell cups to your own brother’s school, how good of a salesman can you be?”

keith rolls his eyes and--hey, finally--looks up. “im the best in the department,” he says. “because i take my job seriously, lance. as seriously as you take your apprenticeship to shiro, which is the only reason i agreed to let you stay here.”

“wow,” says lance. “thats harsh. all work and no play makes keith revert back to his old angry self, i see.” he leaves. keith sighs, decides he can no longer focus, and packs up his files. he cleans up his wasted dinner and knocks on lance’s door. lance doesnt answer, so keith persists. when hes ignored again, he grits his teeth and says, “oh, real mature.”

he turns to go back to the living room and sees the bathroom door open. lance steps out, shirtless. “who are you talking to?” he asks, shirtless. he scratches the back of his head, shirtless.

“are you hungry?” asks keith. “i was thinking we could order a pizza and watch an episode or two.”

lance considers keith for a moment, shirtless, then rolls his eyes, still shirtless. “if thats the best you can do for apologies, mullet, then you have a lot to learn. i was going to take a shower.” he reaches around keith, shirtless, and pulls a towel off the inside of his bedroom wall. “call and order, i’ll be fast.” before he shuts the bathroom door again, he says, “i don’t are what else is on it as long as there are green peppers.” and then he’s gone, shirtless.

keith wakes up and wonders why he blacked out for a second.

the pizza arrives, and lance gets out of the shower, clothed, and one or two episodes become six or seven, with keith continuously having to pause because lance is talking and getting carried away because hes getting so excited. its thursday and keith has work tomorrow, he knows, and yet hes denying it. his stomach is full of warm pizza and lance has just stopped talking about the way it rained when they filmed this scene, but keith hasnt reached over to his play yet.

“you would be a good salesman,” he tells lance. “youve got the charisma for it.”

“keith, that is literally the meanest thing youve ever said to me. no offense, but to suggest i would spend my life sitting in a cubicle is unforgivable. to each their own, though. when all the little kids in your third grade class were saying, i want to be a firefighter! and, i want to be a princess! what made you snap up your suspenders and say, i want to sell eco-friendly plastic cups!”

“i dont wear suspenders.”

“thats not the question i was asking.”

keith shrugs. hes laying down more than hes sitting up, which as a rule, is frowned upon when using couches in this apartment. lance has been a bad influence in this regard. “its practical.”

“did you have to take business classes and everything?”

“i took them, yeah.”

lance throws his head back and groans, pokes keith’s thigh teasingly with his big toe. “man, i cant imagine going to school to actually learn a useful life skill. whats job security like?”

staring up at the ceiling, keith is unsettled to find that he knows the answer. “boring.”

lance sits up. “huh?”

“its too easy,” says keith. “every day, its just selling cups. a moron could do it. and my boss doris is a peach, but this morning she stood at karen’s cubicle across from mine for a straight hour talking about plants.”

“plants are so practical,” says lance. “you have a house plant in the corner.” he points at herman.

“his name is herman.”

lance’s eyes blow wide. “dude! no way! you named your plant! i didnt think you were the type!”

“ive never said his name out loud with another person in the room before.”

lance covers his face with both hands and wheezes. “you talk to herman when no one else is in the room.”

lance does not say that he had been calling herman shelby.

“theres a smaller one on my desk at the office named sherman,” says keith.

“not judging, dude, but why would you give so much of yourself to this job if it isnt what you want to do?”

keith shrugs again. “its practical.”

“im a music major and i dont buy that shit. why dont you do what you love? like, how does the time that you spend not doing whatever it is you love not a giant waste?”

“because...” keith feels like a robot. “its practical.”

“if practicality didnt matter, what would you do?”

keith considers lance, considers himself. he finds the answer but decides that its too scary right now. 

“i’d sell cups on the moon.”

lance busts a gut. the seriousness of the topic derailed, keith presses play, and they go back to watching the episode. lance doesnt interrupt for the remainder of the episode, and when keith looks over, he realizes its because lance has fallen asleep. with his legs spread over keith’s lap. when had they gotten there? keith couldnt move now. he had work in the morning.

he was also already in his pajamas. and the sofa was warm enough, and the heating was on in preparation for winter. and keith was already up later than he normally stayed awake...

he woke up with sunlight streaming peacefully on his eyelids. that was usually a luxury saved for the weekends. SUNLIGHT? keith’s eyes popped open, and he remembered all at once talking with lance, falling asleep, lance. last night had been a lance-heavy night. his toes were underneath keith’s shirt, his face smushed into the cushions.

keith clawed his phone out of his pocket as he extracted himself from the couch, from lance. 9:08. shit shit shit shit. 2 missed calls from doris. he ran into his room, where his alarm clock had been screaming for two and a half hours now, and threw on a dress shirt, pants, and shoes, then he rocketed out the door, his phone already pressed to his ear. hi doris sorry sorry sorry i overslept im leaving now i’ll be right here this wont happen again.

his coworkers dont let him live it down. all day its, how ya doing, keith? hows that perfect punctuality youre always harping about? crazy hook up with your take-home pile, was it? doris is the only one who is understanding, and, luckily, her opinion of the situation is all that matters.

“whatever kept you,” she says, “i hope you had fun.”

keith is exhausted by the time he gets home. he unknots his tie on the way to his room, and as he passes lance’s door, he hears the soft tones of music from inside. he pauses. knocks. lance calls, “come in.”

keith pokes his head inside. theres lance, several instruments sprawled across his floor, and him in the center of them, a ukulele in his hands. keith smiles. “sounds good,” he says.

lance gives him a sympathetic eyebrow raise. “you look like shit.”

“thanks.”

“come sit down.”

grateful for the invitation, keith obeys, unraveling his tie all the way. he likes that lance doesnt make him say anything. he goes back to playing music, singing, a soft song that has keiths eyelids fluttering shut and his shoulders relaxing before they can help it.

the next week, lance’s semester ends. he heads home to swap the old year for a new model, see his family, catch up with neighborhood friends. theres the weirdest disconnect he gets where he turns to make a comment to someone, expecting them to be someone else, and gets frustrated.

keith, meanwhile, has resorted to calling shiro at night to somehow break this god awful silence. they get together on christmas, which helps. hes ready to spend new years alone with the LGBT section of Netflix when, at 10:14 PM, his phone rings in a way it doesnt usually. He presses accept, and suddenly Lance is grinning at him in a room full of shouting Cubans.

“Keith! My man! How’s it hanging! No, shut up Marcia, I’m busy. Hey, what’s up!”

Keith is a little bewildered. “Um. Hey.”

“hold on, its super loud in here. let me get to my room so i can actually hear you.”

“why did you call?” asks keith.

lance gives him a look as he enters a much more quiet space. “because my spidey senses told me that you were sitting alone on your couch like a loser right now.”

keith frowns down at his comfortable pajamas. “i am not a loser.”

“of course not,” lance agrees. “thats thanks to me, by the way, and my amazing ability to be in two places at once, thanks to facetime.”

“hows home?” keith asks, aware that suddenly they were chatting, and that the frown he’d been carrying around for days had magically lifted itself off his face. lance is as excitable as ever, even when hes miles and miles away, and keith wonders at the idea of all this distance theyve lived with between them suddenly closed. its an interesting thought.

he doesnt realize how long lance has kept him talking until 11:59, when lance brings his attention to the countdown clock. the inside of keith’s chest feels warm and calm knowing that lance didnt want keith to be alone on new years, and that he cared enough to sit in his room for two hours talking at a screen, and that he was choosing to spend the passover to midnight with keith.

at midnight, keith clinks a glass of champagne against his phone, as does lance, and they drink together. then, lance sombers.

“hey, um. i wanted to thank you for everything you did for me last semester,” says lance. “im still trying to put things together for the spring, but if you want, i could let you know how it goes. i mean, i dont want to stop talking to you, or knowing you.”

keith is utterly lost. “what are you talking about?”

now lance looks confused. “the end of the semester,” he says.

“what about it?”

“my apprenticeship.”

Apprenticeships only lasted a semester!

keith actually slapped his forehead. “lance!” he said, sitting up and clutching his burning phone tighter. He’d had to plug it in an hour ago. “why didn’t you remind me? are you trying to tell me you left? that you literally left to go back home without saying goodbye?”

“you didnt say goodbye!” lance defends, voice getting shrill. “i thought you werent the type!”

“i thought you werent leaving! or, i mean, i thought you were coming back right after!”

“I literally packed out my whole room, keith.”

“people need things when they go home.”

lance shook his head, dumbfounded. “i cant believe we’re having this conversation. what are you going to do without me? yes, keith, im back home and scouring the forums for a new roommate next semester. im trying to have a bonding moment where i thank you for everything youve done for me, but youre ruining it by being an idiot.”

“damn it, lance. you dont have to move out. youre more than welcome to keep living here. lance? did you freeze?”

“what? no. i just. i kind of thought you hated me.”

hate? the literal opposite. keith had to fight not to be sarcastic. “i dont hate you. i want you to stay here. not as a favor, but because this place feels weird without you here now. its as much yours as it is mine. we can put you on the lease if you want.”

“keith, that is the grossest, most adult thing youve ever said to me. of course i will legally sign a binding contract with my name next to yours.”

did lance just... keith’s smaller face went red next to lance’s bigger face. keith sat up a little straighter. “um, cool. cool. when you get back, then. so, you are coming back?”

“yes,” said lance. “and thank god it means i dont have to live with smelly jeremy and his flea-ridden dogs. just your flea-ridden mullet.”

keith narrowed his eyes and hung up.

he got a text from lance saying, see yr flea-tastic self on january 25th, then marked the day down in his phone. afterward, he opened the door to lance’s room, which was indeed empty. keith’s heart went a little spastic at the thought that january 25th could have come and gone, and he would have had no idea that lance had not been planning to return. he called shiro and berated him for not talking about the apprenticeship more often, so keith would have been prepared.

lance comes back and brings the sun with him. keith, who has been this close to quitting his job every time he walks into work, could not be happier. they move lance’s things in together, which involves a lot of stopping and making fun of lance’s possessions on keith’s part. lance grins and goes for the mullet, and somehow they end up wrestling on the floor.

keith thinks, i cant not kiss him.

and then his phone vibrates against his leg. he remembers that lance is living here because he has nowhere else to go, and that putting him in this position if he doesnt feel the same way about keith is a horrible thing to do. he untangles himself, guilty.

“where are you going?” demands lance. “i was winning!”

“its doris,” says keith. “gotta take it.”

speaking of doris, she notices. at 6pm the next day, she stops by keiths cubicle. “been a while since we last met here, sugarcake. trouble at home?”

theres no one else in the office, and keith is close to a meltdown. he swivels to face doris, hangs his head, and says, “i think im in love with my roommate lance.”

her face doesnt betray an ounce of shock, but rather, shes giving him the same look shiro used to when keith would talk about nightmares. keiths heart shatters from being touched by kindness. he doesnt leave the office for another hour, not because he was working, but because that night doris lets him tell her everything.

lance is still in class when keith gets home, eats, showers, and gets ready for bed. he almost doesnt know what to do with himself now that theres a whole other conscious entity living in this house--his fucking emotions. he has his hair pulled back, his pajamas on, and hes just getting ready to call it a night when the front door opens and lance tosses his bag in its usual spot under the window.

“hey,” he says, surprised to see keith up. “dont want to miss the early bird special tomorrow. what’re you doing up?”

“can we play?” asks keith.

lance is clearly doubly surprised, but he guides keith into his room. its as blissfully messy as it was before lance left for break. “you said we. do you play?”

keith picks up a lap-sized keyboard. “i used to.”

“i didnt know that. why didnt you say?”

“because you wouldve asked me to play with you.”

“thats true.” lance picks his ukulele, and they start to improvise together, each learning how the other plays, adjusting. “you werent kidding, you really play.”

“i wasnt kidding,” says keith.

suddenly, lance stops. “hey, is everything alright? youre acting weird. dont tell me youre regretting asking me to move back in.”

“no,” keith says immediately. “no, im just wondering if maybe... are you happy here? or is this just a roommate situation?”

“what do you mean, is this just a roommate situation?”

“you know what i mean.”

“no,” says lance. “i dont.”

“i mean,” says keith, “do you actually like living here, or do you live here because im your only option?”

lance sets down his ukulele. “i like living here because the bathroom tiles are cold when i get out of the shower so i hop to the rug by the door and pray to god i dont slip and break my neck. and because the sunset turns the kitchen wall purple while i make pasta. and because im the only one who can put my feet up on the coffee table. and because the cereal is arranged in alphabetical order and the plant’s name is herman. i like living here. here feels like home.”

keith kisses him. he stands up and backs away just as quickly, guilty, unable to believe he had just crossed the line like that. god, he’s going to have to tell doris about this. she would rip his head off so politely.

“what the fuck?” says lance, blunt and surprised. keith winces, about to apologize, when suddenly he’s being crowded up against the wall of his storage room, of lance’s bedroom, and kissed like his lips leaked chocolate. he melts. lance snakes one hand behind keith’s neck and the other around his waist, and keith tugs lance closer by the hips. the hand at keith’s neck digs into his hair and pulls out the hair tie. the hair tie disappears. keith pulls lance closer. 

lance pulls back. “finally.”

“you had the option to make the first move, you know.”

“nah, not me, i’m a coward.”

“yeah, right.”

they kissed again, with keith holding tighter and lance staying longer. keith thinks, doris isnt going to believe this one.

that night, the taboo on keith’s bedroom door breaks when keith invites lance to sleep on a queen sized mattress. it takes lance a full five minutes to stop laughing at the clear cowboy paraphernalia keith inherited growing up in texas, but he doesnt mind curling up to sleep by the potted cactus on the nightstand, whose name he politely asks for.

keith stops killing himself working to sell eco-friendly plastic cups, and with all his spare time, he and lance start writing songs together. shiro, in a display of good sportsmanship, never points out that he was right.

[tonykoester-blog]

Welcome to my Mid-Life (non) Crisis!

Who knew that this day would come!.  On November 2nd I turned 55 years old! This one is hitting me particularly hard.. maybe hard isn’t the right word, but it’s having a profound effect on me, much more so than 50, 40 or even 30.. and perhaps it’s because at the beginning of this year, I wasn’t sure I’d make it to here.  At the risk of being redundant, (most of my friends are tired of hearing this story), in February of this year, while on a ship in the Caribbean, on the very last night of a lovely cruise I suffered a minor stroke.  I wasn’t sure at the time that it was a stroke, but indeed it was, along with being diagnosed with Influenza B, and Diabetes.  It’s not lost on me how fortunate I am.  This life-changing event happened on Friday night, in the middle of the Caribbean, I didn’t seek/get medical attention until Sunday afternoon.  Actually, let me rephrase that.. I didn’t get appropriate medical attention until Sunday, I’m very happy to be sitting here able to type this.

The day this happened was our last day of a 7 night / 8 day Caribbean cruise on MSC’s newest ship The Seaside, and while worthy of a stellar review, I’ll put that off for the time being, this is about me dammit! :) 

 Mikey and I had been holding court on the Yacht Club pool deck, drinking martinis, smokin’ cigarettes and laughing it up with our newly found cruise friends.  

The above picture was taken no more than 6 hours before I had my stroke.  

While I had been having a good time, I did notice I had developed a cough a day or so before, but didn’t think much of it, at the time I was smoking a pack a day, so a cough was not surprising.. but as the day went on, I started feeling worse, to the point that I ended up leaving our group and went back to our stateroom to lay down, an hour or so later, Mikey came into our suite, and said “we’re having dinner with Rosemary, c’mon..get up”.  Rosemary was this retired RN turned Real Estate Agent from Palm Beach Florida, (a wacky woman, who should absolutely be a character in my one man show) and Mike and Lori, a fun , and oddly enough, republican couple from Chicago. 

Dinner was fine, we had not been disappointed with the food for the entire trip, but as we ate, and time went on, I remember continuing to feel crappier and crappier, after dinner, Mikey and I headed back to the suite to pack up our weeks worth of beachwear and souvenirs.  It was then that I really began to feel worse and told Mikey that I needed to lay down. Mikey assumed I was just trying to get out of helping pack our bags, and stomped around the cabin, “anger-packing”.. and then my left arm went numb, I remember telling Mikey that I felt like I needed medical attention, so he called the concierge and was connected to the ships hospital.  A nurse came to the cabin and did a set of vitals, I told her my left arm was numb, so she and mikey loaded me into a wheelchair and wheeled me down into the bowels of the ship. 

It looked similar to the one above, but not so well lit and a bit more dismal.

 Oh, Did I mention she was, I”m assuming Russian? So not only did she and I have a language barrier, but the Ship’s Doctor was also Russian making the next few hours frustrating at best.  I was really starting to tank at this point.  I remember every time I told the Doctor that my arm was numb, she’d look at me and in a heavy Russian accent, would say “You Has Numbs?”  If I wasn’t as ill as I was it would have been funnier.  They did an EKG, which oddly came back fine, and gave me IV cortisol for the numbness.. I know, I didn’t get it either. No “you should seek immediate medical attention” when we get to Miami, or anything, after the IV was done, Mikey and I made our way back to the cabin, I laid down and Mikey continued to get us packed and ready to debark the ship, and for the record, it was about the time that the nurse did my vitals, that he realized I wasn’t trying to get out of packing.  Neither one of us realized at the time that I was having a stroke, as I mentioned I also had influenza B, which was wreaking havoc with me as well.

Fast Forward, we debark the ship, make it to Miami Airport, have about 5 hours to wait, we were both exhausted, I was deathly ill, and we both knew it was going to suck for the next several hours.   By now, my chest hurt like a mo-fo, yet, I continued to “try” to smoke.  Nicotine addiction is real folks!.  I was titering on delirium by the time we boarded the first leg of our journey home.  The flight from Miami to Newark was at capacity, complete with screaming babies and obnoxious passengers.  I did my best to shut my eyes and rest, not successfully.

We got to Newark, got to our gate, attempted to eat something, and got on our final flight to Seattle.  It was as if the universe said “let’s give these guys a break!!”  This flight was less than half full, such a relief!.  I was able to lay down in a row all to myself for the entire flight home.

We arrived in Seattle around 11:30 pm, deboarded and in our sleep deprived state, and just plain not realizing yet the severity of my medical situation, we decided to Uber home, in hindsight we should have headed directly to an emergency room.  But we don’t, we head home, Mikey gets me to bed, and crashes on the couch, we both didn’t wake until noon the next day.  We get up, and realize that I need to be seen, and for some odd reason, instead of just going to the Urgent Care (This was a Sunday), I called my Primary Care Doctor’s office, and left a message for the on-call Provider.  So for the record, I’ve not had the typical symptoms of a stroke, no paralysis, no droopy face, so just thought I had a really bad infection of some sort.  

10 minutes go by, and the on-call Doc calls me back,I answer the phone, and apparently by this time, my speech was slurred and I wasn’t making complete sentences, he directed me to hang up and get to the nearest Emergency Room immediately.  We get dressed, and go to the closest hospital, which also happened to be one of Seattle’s premier Neuroscience Centers fortunately!

Got to the hospital, got checked in, and they bring me back and,get me into a bed,the Doc’s and Nurses start working on me, all the typical tests, MRI’s, etc, and at the end of it all, they came to the conclusion that I suffered a mild stroke, and Influenza “B” and Diabetes, and would be admitted.

 It was a couple of days of poking and prodding and being woken up every 2 hours, I swear I tried, but I may have gotten a little cranky here and there, especially when they decided 2am would be a good time to wake me up for a 45 minute MRI.  

I went home after a couple of days, and 10 days after the “incident” I returned to work, that was a poor decision.  I was totally unaware of the after-effects of a stroke, extreme fatigue!. I lasted about 4 hours before I was exhausted to the point of slurring my words and literally shaking.  My Doctors and my husband both made sure I slowed that down, and I cut back to 4 hour work days, taking my time to recover.  It took a few months, but I gradually got back to an 8 hour work day, and now I feel pretty much normal where fatigue is concerned.

I looked at this as a huge wake up call, I was 54 at the time, I smoked a pack a day, I was about 60 lbs over-weight, didn’t exercise, and was slowly killing myself.  

Today, I’ve lost about 30 lbs of my 60, I’ve quit smoking, which, by the way was the hardest part of all of this.  I smoked for 35 years!. But with the help of the patch and Buproprion (Welbutrin) I’m pretty much smoke free, every so often I think I want one, and if I do, they taste like crap!.  it’s amazing to have that monkey off my back. 

I still have numbness in my left hand, and the left side of my face.  But I have full use of my hand, and the facial numbness is just annoying.  

As a result of this, I also lost my sense of smell and taste, which for a foodie is devastating!, but even that is starting to return, I can taste much more, and my sense of smell is returning slowly.  I’m confident I’ll have a full recovery!.

Today, it’s exciting that I get to dream, that I get to make plans, and be fearless (that’s a process).  My desire to see the world is possible,  I strive to be too busy LIVING to worry about dying!

The world is my Oyster, and I’m gettin’ a whole pearl necklace!