#i also didn’t put enough effort into straightening my knee because i just flat out assumed i couldn’t do it

[fingertipsmp3]

I was really sitting here like “2023 is the best year I’ve had in a long time in terms of ‘not trying to kill me’, I haven’t gotten sick once” and then I remembered the fucking catastrophic knee dislocation that’s had me limping since May

[arrowflier]

prompt, if you have the time: ian and mickey talking about ian's bipolar in a really chill manner. like they are married and their convo after securing business made me think about how many other convos we missed 😔❤️

Disclaimer: I don’t know what it’s like to actually live with bipolar. That makes me nervous because I want to do right by it, so if I miss the mark on prompts like this, please do let me know. Also, this starts out a bit dramatic because when aren't they, but I promise they chill out.

Take Off Your Mask (don’t compensate for me)

Mickey is at the bathroom sink, getting ready to brush his teeth, when Ian comes in behind him. He watches the reflection of that messy red hair get closer as he squeezes minty toothpaste onto his brush—well, onto a brush, he’s not totally sure whose is whose at this point. Ian’s arms wrap easily around his waist, hands dipping just a little too low for common decency, and Mickey leans back into him as Ian bends to breathe against his neck.

“Mmm, again?” Mickey murmurs as Ian licks that sensitive patch of skin just behind his ear, those broad, warm palms heavy on his hips. “Didn’t I just take care of that?” he adds, pushing his hips back.

But Ian shifts so they don’t make contact, their lower halves stubbornly separated even as he plasters his chest to Mickey’s back, and Mickey knows something is wrong.

“You uh…” he starts, suppressing the sudden fluttering feeling in his chest, the one you get when you stand up too fast. He swallows. “You feelin’ good, man?”

Ian pauses behind him, and Mickey can feel him breathing. In and out, in and out, but just a touch too fast. He knows despite his efforts, the words came out cautious, came out concerned. And Ian had definitely noticed.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Ian tries casually, bringing sharp teeth to nibble at Mickey’s ear. “Can’t I just be turned on by my husband?”

“Yeah,” Mickey agrees, “sure you can.” He pulls away though, just enough to get Ian looking in the mirror, and meets his eyes through their reflections in the glass.

“But you’re not, though,” Mickey says, and Ian shoves away from him with a heavy sigh.

“Never mind,” he mutters, looking at the floor. He starts to leave, but Mickey’s having none of that, and sets his unused toothbrush down with a clatter to make a grab for Ian’s arm.

“Hey, wait,” he gets out before Ian is spinning on him again, pushing his hand away.

“I just wanted to do something for you,” Ian growls, leaving Mickey stunned with the sudden shift in attitude. “I know that wasn’t enough, earlier, I know I haven’t been enough. Not since they upped my fucking meds.”

“The fuck are you on about?” Mickey asks, completely mystified. “When did I say any of that?”

“Just now!” Ian bellows, and Mickey’s not having that, either.

“Yo,” he states firmly. “Knock that the fuck off.”

And Ian does. His eyes go wide at the iron in Mickey’s voice, and then he’s deflating. Like a balloon animal from the fair that you leave in your room for too long, he goes from overfilled and pressurized to a limp, wrinkled mess in no time flat.

“Sorry,” Ian manages softly. “I’ll just…” And then he’s leaving the room, leaving Mickey staring at the space where he had been, wishing he was better at all of this shit.

Mickey rubs his face with tired hands, then follows.

He finds Ian in their room, huddled on his side of the bed. The blankets are still kicked to the bottom of the mattress where they had left them, Ian’s toes tucked underneath as he sits with his knees to his chest.

Mickey sits on the edge next to him, facing him. Pokes at his leg until Ian looks up.

“Hey,” he says simply. “What’s goin’ on?”

Ian bites his lip, so Mickey reaches out and pokes that, too.

“You gotta talk to me, man,” he presses. “We’re married now, you can’t just run off on me.”

Mentioning their recent commitment is always a surefire way to get Ian smiling, and Mickey counts it as a victory when his husband’s lips can’t help but twitch upward. Ian doesn’t seem any closer to speaking, but Mickey can be patient. They have the time, now.

He doesn’t have to wait very long before Ian relaxes, letting his legs straighten on the bed and folding his hands loosely in his lap. Ian twists his wedding ring on his finger, stares at it, then reaches over and takes Mickey’s hand where it lies against the sheets.

“Been feeling off again,” he starts quietly, stroking the back of Mickey’s hand with his thumb.

Mickey raises an eyebrow, even though Ian can’t see it with his gaze fixed on the clasped hands.

“You think?” he offers dryly, and there’s that hint of a smile again.

“Yeah,” Ian admits. “I know. It’s just…” he hesitates, then pushes on. “I’m happy, you know? I am.”

Mickey nods.

“I am,” Ian repeats with emphasis, and Mickey just snorts.

“Didn’t say you weren’t, Ian, what the fuck?” He pulls his hand away and places it on Ian’s cheek, turning his face so he can look him in the eye.

“Just tell me what’s happenin’ here,” he asks. “You were fine earlier, so what got into that brain of yours to make you think somethin’ was wrong? That you had to make somethin’ up to me?”

Ian shrugs. “Don’t know,” he answers. “I never fucking know, that’s the problem." He laughs humorlessly. "And I can't even keep you from noticing."

Mickey can work with that.

“Alright,” he says casually. “Just the usual shit, then, huh?” He can see Ian’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t let him say anything, or turn away.

“Thought you might be on an upswing,” Mickey continues, “comin’ at me less than an hour after the last time and all. But that’s not it, obviously.”

Ian shakes his head, to the extent that he can with his chin in Mickey’s grasp.

“Downswing, then,” Mickey decides, and nods to himself. “You feel like shit, and that asshole brain of yours is tellin’ you you’re shit, too. Tellin’ you you’re not enough again, or that you’re too much?”

Ian doesn’t try to argue. “Not enough,” he admits, then, “maybe both,” a second later.

“Alright,” Mickey says again. Then he drops his hand from Ian’s face, straightens his back, and stares him in the eye.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Mickey orders. “You’re gonna go take your meds—” he holds up a hand to stop Ian’s protest, “I know you didn’t do it yet, you moron, I was in the bathroom the whole time. So you’re gonna go take ‘em,” he repeats, “and I’m gonna call your doctor. I know they said to give it a couple weeks, but you shouldn’t be havin’ to deal with this.”

“Okay,” Ian agrees softly.

“Then,” Mickey continues, “you’re gonna get a shower and put on something clean, because I can’t make you feel better, but I can damn well make you comfortable.”

Ian sighs. “Mickey…” he starts, and Mickey think he knows what’s coming: the usual diatribe of you shouldn’t have to, this is my problem, just leave me alone.

But it never comes. Instead, Ian leans over, kisses him lightly on frowning lips.

“Thanks,” he whispers, and Mickey cracks a smile.

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” he mutters, but he knows Ian can tell that he’s pleased. “Go take your pills, bitch.”

He moves to let Ian off the bed. Before the other man can get through the door, though, he calls out to him again.

“Ian,” he says, and waits for him to turn around with questioning eyes. “Come downstairs when you’re done, yeah? We’ll lay on the sofa, watch some shitty movies or somethin’.”

Ian smiles. “Yeah? Gonna cuddle me better, Mick?”

Mickey bites his lip, but he knows he’s grinning back. “Maybe. You got a problem with that, tough guy?”

“No,” Ian says over his shoulder as he turns and heads back to the bathroom. “Not at all.”

"And Ian?" Mickey calls out one more time before Ian can close the bathroom door.

"No more hidin' this shit, yeah?" he says. "No more puttin' on a mask for me, no more tryin' to compensate for somethin' that ain't even there."

He moves toward the bedroom door, rests a hand on the jamb.

"I'm in this, okay?" he confirms. "So let me be fuckin' in it."

Ian's back tenses, then relaxes again.

"Okay, Mick," he agrees. "Okay."

And it might not be okay right then, but it will be.

They always will be.

[autumnsart22]

First time in College: Suna x reader

College AU with the Haikyuu boys: Suna Rintarou x fem reader 🤤

Let me know if you want part 2 :)

He is literally so fine I--

Art creds go to agatha123naruto

God, you should never have agreed to do this. Your laptop was calling you, Attack on Titan already pulled up and ready to watch...and yet here you were, shifting uncomfortably in a tight crop top and booty shorts your roommate had provided you with. You crossed your arms over your stomach, trying to hide yourself, but you only succeeded in pushing your tits up. 

“Hey, relax, it’s just a party.” Kiyoko smiled softly from her side of the room, applying some chapstick and holding a pair of sneakers. 

“Ugh,” you rolled your eyes. Yes, it was just a party...but it was also the first college party you were going to be attending. And a frat party at that. Ugh. 

The first few months of college had been perfectly well off without them, and you weren’t exactly sure why Kiyoko had been able to convince you to come along this time. Maybe you had felt a little like you were missing out when your roommate would come back giggling and tipsy late into the night every weekend, and maybe you wanted to put a bit more effort into socializing. You had friends, but not a huge group--which was fine. But also, college was a time to try new things...even if that meant frat parties. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll probably know some people. And if not, you can just stick with me.” Kiyoko finished putting on her shoes, heading towards the door. “We’ll get drinks as soon as possible.” 

You sighed, resigning yourself as you followed her out the door. 

The party was just as bad as you expected. It was packed in the house, the lights dimmed, flashing, and confusing as people pushed from all sides. You almost spilled your third drink as you searched for Kiyoko, pretty much impossible in the darkness. You had lost her a little while ago when she had started talking to a guy named Tanaka, and now she seemed to be missing. 

“OI!” You looked up to see a clearly wasted, shirtless guy standing on the table, a bottle of beer in his hand. He had blonde hair with a dark undercut, and you were pretty sure you recognized him as one of the frat guys...maybe Atsumu? You didn’t know him well enough to be sure. “We’re putting on a movie, if you fuckheads want to join,” Asumu yelled, practically falling off the table. 

Maybe Kiyoko was with them watching a movie. 

The crowd swallowed you up again as you headed towards where Atsumu had disappeared, but you managed to push your way into the living room. There were four couches stuffed into the wide space, but every seat was taken, including spots on the floor. 

You scanned the room for Kiyoko’s hair, but yet again, no such luck. The projector was set up to play a horror movie, and your stomach clenched unpleasantly as you realized what it was. You really, really hated horror movies--did they seriously have to pick this to watch?

You bit your lip, but the lights were dimming and you had to stop standing awkwardly off to the side. You spotted the arm of one of the couches that was free, but that same couch was also filled with frat guys with girls in their laps. Would I be weird for taking a spot next to them? Would they be ok with that? 

Shit, calm down. This isn’t high school, and I’m a bad bitch. Also, I’m sexy as fuck. I got this. 

Right. You straightened your shoulders and marched across the room, dodging random girls sprawled across the floor mixed with bongs and beer bottles. You barely even glanced at the occupants of the couch as you settled precariously on the arm, as far from them as possible as the movie began to play. 

Almost immediately, your heart was racing and fingers digging into the cushions, and you wanted to run from the room. Why, why, why had you done this to yourself? You could have just turned and left the living room to begin with. Fuck trying new things. 

You were considering how you’d make a subtle escape when a drunken kid with bright orange hair slammed into your shoulder as he tried to get past, causing you to lose your balance on the arm of the couch and fall directly into the lap of one of the guys to your right. 

For a moment, you were too stunned to move, and you could only stare up at the equally surprised face of one of the frat boys. He had dark brown hair and yellow eyes, the whites tinted red; presumably from the joint in his hand. The smell of weed rolled off him, and you were pretty sure that it wasn’t his first one. 

“Oh-Oh my god I’m so sorry,” you gasped, rolling awkwardly off him onto the floor. “I didn’t mean to--I mean--um--” 

“Look what you’ve done Suna.” You glanced over to see the same shirtless guy from before, the one you assumed was Atsumu. “You scare off all the girls.” 

The lap guy, Suna, just shrugged and took another hit. 

“No, that’s not...” you tried, your halfway drunken brain desperately trying to calm down. “I fell on him.” 

Atsumu grinned at you. “It’s ok, you don’t have to bother with him. He’s a piece of shit anyway.” 

“I didn’t say--”

“What, so you want to sit on his lap?” 

“What????” How was this conversation even happening? You wanted to punch Atsumu in the face, and you also wanted to sprint from the building and never show your face to the light of day again. 

Unfortunately, now Suna was looking at you, as were the other frat boys sitting on the couch and the girls on their laps. “I mean,” you cleared your throat. “I- I guess.” 

Idiot. IDIOT. 

“Ah nice. You see Suna, that’s how you get girls--”

“Fuck off, Atsumu. Stop pressuring her.” Suna glared at him, and you let out a breath...until his yellow eyes turned to you, and your lungs hitched yet again. “You can if you want, but we’re holding up the movie.” 

He was right; someone had paused the movie since Atsumu was standing right in front of the projector, which meant everyone was waiting on you. 

“Are you ok with that?” You asked as you stood up, trying to sound confident and bored. 

Suna’s eyes lazily trailed down and up, and he shrugged. “Whatever.” 

Ouch. “Uh, right.” 

He leaned back on the couch, his legs sprawled wide to give you room between them, and your heart began to pound. Jesus Christ. 

You awkwardly sat down, trying to give him space in the very limited area, but his thighs were still pressed tight up against your ass. 

The movie started again, and almost immediately every muscle in your body tensed up. At the first jump scare, you flinched so hard that you elbowed Suna’s knee, making him grunt in pain. 

“S-sorry,” you whispered, hands shaking a little. 

He shifted, leaning forward so you could feel the heat from his chest inches away. “Hey, are you good?” 

“Um, yeah. I just really hate horror mov--” The serial killer stepped out from behind the door and you gasped, turning your face away. 

Suddenly, you felt Suna’s hands pressing against your ears, blocking out the creepy music and the sound of people getting murdered in front of you. You looked up at him in surprise, and he shrugged, leaning even closer. 

“Horror movies are worse with sound,” he said in your ear so you could hear him. 

“Thanks,” you murmured, and he smirked. 

“You can relax. You’re so tense, it’s freaking me out.” 

You let out a breath, forcing your muscles to unclench. It was more comfortable, but it also meant that you were now flat against Suna’s chest, his hands still on your ears. 

You tried watching like that for a while, and it was better, but in the end you decided that sound or not--horror movies weren’t your thing. You ended up hiding your face in Suna’s shoulder, until you realized what you were doing and quickly jerked back.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to get in your personal space--”

“It’s fine. Be quiet.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, tucking you against his chest so you could easily bury your face in his shoulder. He smelled nice, mostly of pot, but with undertones of mint and almond or something. 

As the movie continued, he turned his head to press his lips against your ear. “Want me to explain what’s going on?” 

“Oh...okay.”

“So basically...ugh what is even happening.” You smiled a little at his annoyance. “So this idiot girl just went into the house when clearly she shouldn’t have, aaaand there’s the murderer. Damn she’s dumb. Honestly he’s kind of dumb too, why is he running with a knife? That’s a safety hazard.” 

You snorted, feeling a large part of your fear drain out of you at his stupid narration. 

“This is literal shit,” he muttered. “How does this scare you?” 

You huffed, annoyed at his condescending tone. “I don’t know, just the jump scares, and the creepy lead up, and the music...I just hate it.” 

“Do you want to leave? You don’t have to watch, you know” 

“I…” I clenched your fists, suddenly determined. “No. I can make it through.” 

“Why…? You’re literally not even watching.” 

“Just shut up. I’m facing my fears.” 

He laughed under his breath, and you felt it in his chest. “How admirable.” 

He patted your head, taking another hit of the joint, which was practically gone. “Want some of this?” He gestured to it. 

“Oh, sure. That’s fine?” 

“I wouldn’t have offered it if it wasn’t.” “Right...” You took the joint from him and took a deep hit, and then another, just needing to relax. It didn’t stop you from almost jumping out of your skin when the murderer suddenly pushed someone down the stairs. 

Suna smirked at your terror, and you glared at him. “This isn’t funny!” 

“Kind of is.” 

It took another twenty minutes, but then finally the film was over, the lights were turned back on, and you were facing Suna again. 

“Thanks for doing that,” you said, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you met his pretty eyes. 

He shrugged. “Sure.” 

“Well, uh. I should probably go. Maybe I’ll see you around.” 

“Wait, hold up--”

You didn’t wait for his response as you rolled off his lap, awkwardly waving, before practically running from the room. 

You found Kiyoko sitting on the couch with your friends Suga and Daichi, and you must have looked pretty panicked because she didn’t protest when you dragged her from the frat house.

“So...how was it for you?” She asked imploringly as we made our way back to our dorm. 

“Um….” You weren’t sure how to answer.

Part 2

[intubatedangel]

Cold Snap: Chapter 8

Sorry for the delay, it’s been a rough couple of weeks but I’m starting to bounce back a little. This probably isn’t my best, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.

Story Index

Cold Snap : Chapter 1 |  Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |  Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

 * * *

Carl couldn't take his eyes off of Anna as they pushed the gurney around a corner. She looked... Amazing. The way she rocked back and forth, compressing their patient’s chest, making her ponytail bounce each time. Her face was a picture of focus, gaze locked on the young woman beneath her as she forced blood through Shona's ice-cold body. Damn, she was so gorgeous. The way she put her entire soul through her interwoven fingers, into those chest compressions that bent in Shona's ribs rhythmically. He could see she was doing what he had suggested. Putting her passion, their shared passion, into her efforts.

He took a moment, just one moment, to let a small thrill of pleasure shoot through him. Images flashed through his mind, memories of last night and ideas for when they got home. All the toys they could play with. He took a deep breath, first things first, get their patient back. He let out the breath as they crashed through the doors into Trauma 4.

They pulled the gurney across, lining it up next to the trauma bed. Carl let Anna maintain compressions, as the rest of the team unclipped the straps of the backboard. It was a small risk, but they couldn't get Shona into the vest that was spread on the bed while she was still strapped down. The vest was capable of keeping her immobilised, the reinforced back and its own means of being secured doing a close enough job.

"Let's get ready to move her, nice and easy now." Carl commanded, watching as his other nurses and the paramedic got in position. The ambubag was disconnected and dropped on the gurney as Dave gets his hands underneath Shona's shoulders, Kirstie gently supporting her head. Others held her arms and legs, kneeling on the bed so they could reach. "Ok, we're all ready Anna, we'll move on your call."

She nodded, her lips moving, as she started to announce her compressions. "43...44...45...46...47...48...49...50!" She finished, pulling her hands away and rising on one knee, un-straddling Shona's ghostly white body. Anna helped with the transfer, her hands beneath Shona's waist and thighs. They moved her over as fast as they safely could placing her on the already warm vest. Everyone could feel the contrast, between the heat of the water filling the ribbed plastic, and the chill of the flesh of the young woman they were trying to save. They all knew it meant they had time, but there was still a primitive part of each of them that was scared by that cold.

As soon as they placed her down Anna stood on a step and placed her hands back on Shona's chest, resuming her barrage, counting in her head once more, to allow Carl to give his orders. "Let's ready the combo pads, A/P positions in case we need to pace her, then we'll get her wrapped up." Anna kept going with her compressions, in the rhythm enough to be able to look around and watch as Trish tore open some sterile packaging and removed a pair of large square electrodes. Trish peeled off the backing of the first pad, revealing the thick layer of electro-conductive gel. Without being asked Anna raised her hands from the ice-cold sternum beneath them and grabbed the other pad. Like a well-oiled machine, Trish placed the first pad, smoothing the edges to make sure the foam stuck well, a split second before the others log rolled the young woman, allowing Anna to slap the other pad onto Shona's back, similarly fixing it well.

Shona was rolled flat, and Anna's hands immediately settled back in their prior position, though the pad was now between her fingers and Shona's flesh. It had little effect on Anna's compressions. While flexible, the gel was thick and viscous enough that it held its shape enough to allow the force of Anna's professional chest compressions to translate straight through to Shona's sternum, forcing it down and simulating a pulse as her heart was squeezed against her spine. Around her hands Trish was folding in the various panels of the vest and clipping them together, tightening the straps to provide a little bit of immobilisation.

Carl continued to run the code. "Roger, grab me the central line, with the temperature catheter. Kirstie get the monitors changed over; did you get anything from upstairs?"

"No luck on the full ECMO, dialysis machine is on it's way though." Kirstie told him, as she pulled the thick lead from the portable monitor, connecting it to the large one that hung above the bed. It instantly began to whine the monotone cry of asystole and was quickly muted. Everyone knew the situation.

Carl didn't reply to Kirstie as she moved onto the other parts of the monitors. He took in the information, then focused on his next task. He moved around to Shona's head, Dave shifting out of the way. Roger placed a sterile wrapped pack on the corner of the bed, then retreated to the side of the room, where a dozen IV bags were being kept warmed. Carl took the large wide needle from the tray, lining it up along Shona's neck. He pressed it against the large jugular vein, barely visible thanks to the girl's blue skin, then in a smooth motion he pushed it in, sliding the length of the needle neatly into the vein. He wasn't finished though.

Also on the tray was a 20cm long tube, with a spiral that seemed to twist around the thin core, and a bunch of connectors at one end. Carl grabbed it, feeding it into the large opening on the central line, easing it forward, into Shona's body, deep down the vein, towards her heart. Her heart that only moved because Anna was still pressing down, rapidly and rhythmically, squeezing the organ that refused to beat on its own.

* * *

 Anna was starting to feel the effect of her compressions on her arms as she crossed the 3-minute mark. She reached 100 in her head, then started over again, going for a fourth round. She could feel the way Shona's chest swelled against her hands as Dave squeezed the ambubag, forcing in air that was promptly forced back out by the actions of her own hands. The thick rubbery temperature vest surrounded the circle left for her hands, Trish having strapped it together, before working on the lower sections until Shona was wrapped up from her neck to her knees.

Anna watched Carl work, seeing his concentration as he slid the catheter into the central line, feeling the way it advanced, making sure it was going in correctly. Eventually the plug where it split into a half dozen connectors nestled into the port that stuck from Shona's neck. Two of the connectors were attached to a small device that began to circulate warmed saline, the device in turn was linked to the monitoring system and, after a few seconds of calibration, Shona's core temperature was displayed for the whole team to see.

"Core temperature of just 19..." Carl said, trailing off slightly with a frown on his face. Anna knew that signified he was thinking hard about a decision. It took a few seconds, then he gave a small nod to himself. Anna was pretty sure it was totally unconscious on his part. "Let's go ahead with the thoracic lavage, Roger, get me 4 chest tubes." Anna cringed internally, but she knew that it was probably Shona's best chance. Carl continued. "Anna, switch off after this round, Kirstie, you take over, Trish go ahead with the NG tube and then place a urinary catheter." It would be needed Anna thought, as warmed saline was being pushed into all of Shona's IV's, including the central line via one of the dangling connectors.

As her internal count approached 100, Anna began to count out loud again. "94...95...96" Kirstie stood up on a step on the opposite side of the bed and shared a nod with Anna as she wove her fingers together and straightened her arms. "...97...98...99...Switch" Anna finished, pulling her arms away. She stepped aside making sure she wasn't in anyone’s way as she shook out her arms, trying to recover quickly. She then set about the task that Carl hadn't spoken out loud.

In the corner of the room were two tall infusers. IV bags could be hung from the top, like a standard drip, but were instead fed into a console that managed the temperature, pressure and flow rate. Anna grabbed them both, one for each side. She placed them by the head of the bed, then headed for a different corner. There, she grabbed two chest drain units, carrying them to the bed, hooking one on each side roughly in the middle of the bed, just next to Kirstie’s legs as she leaned over Shona and delivered compressions.

In the meantime, Carl had almost gotten setup on Shona's other side, the small surgical kit laid out on a small metal trolley. Anna stepped forward, unclipping the straps of the vest and opening one side, revealing Shona's chest. Her skin was still ghostly white, the only visible colour being the soft blues and purples of the bruise forming in the valley between her breasts, caused by the compressions that continued to make her ribs flex inwards.

Roger had been waiting, an iodine-soaked swab on a stick in his hand. A moment after Anna revealed Shona's chest, he smeared the brown disinfectant across it, from up towards her collar bone, down alongside the soft curve of her breast, and over her lower ribs.

"Kirstie, hold compressions." Carl ordered, armed with a gleaming scalpel. As soon as Kirstie lifted her hands Carl lowered the scalpel towards the space between Shona's 2nd and 3rd ribs. He made a few decisive cuts, cutting through the layers of tissue. "Tube." He held out the scalpel, which Anna carefully took, while Roger slapped the chest tube into his other hand. Carl pushed the tube through the hole he had made, sliding it into Shona's chest, between her ribs and the front of her lung. It had taken 10 seconds since compressions stopped to get the tube in.

12 seconds later another tube stuck out, this one lower down between Shona's 5th and 6th ribs, basically on the opposite side of her lung. "Ok, Go." Carl said, prompting Kirstie to resume her barrage. The ends of the two chest tubes swayed and bounced for a few moments but were soon taken in hand by Anna and Carl and connected into what was effectively a loop. From the infuser warmed saline was pumped through the upper tube into Shona's chest cavity, washing over and around her lungs, providing warming throughout her chest, before draining out of the second tube into the sealed container. This container then fed back into the infuser, which would be able to keep the saline warm enough to be effective.

Carl monitored the loop until it was running through fully, ensuring the compressions were causing no problems. He nodded, satisfied. "Right, let's get ready to do the other side, Trish, take over compressions as soon as Anna has arranged the vest." Anna was already folding the vest back over, lining up the tubes to meet gaps and checking that nothing was kinked. As soon as she was done, she slipped around the bed and took position to repeat the entire process on Shona's left-hand side.

* * *

 Lucy had guided Jones through the triage area, gratefully handing the wheel chair off to a nurse who came to assist. Zainab also approached, having just finished an exam on one of the collared patients.

"Hey Lucy, who do you have for me?"

"Zee, this is Matt Jones. Spent 5 minutes in near freezing water. No signs of inhalation or injury, just moderate hypothermia. He's been responsive throughout, but I'd recommend a full exam and observation." Lucy said professionally, despite her weariness. They were guided into an empty cubicle and Jones was assisted onto the bed. Lucy leaned against a pillar relaxing a little as Zainab took a chart and started to note things down. "You might want to give psych a call." Lucy's voice carried a joking tone. "I'm pretty sure charging further into a sinking ship falls under crazy."

Jones smirked a little, leaning back on the bed. "I'd say the crazy one is the one who followed me after being told to get off the boat." He still sounded tired but was definitely recovering.

Lucy shrugged. "Someone had to save your ass. You'd be at the bottom of the river if I hadn't."

"True...True..." Jones smiled faded, his tone becoming a little more subdued. "I just hope it was worth it."

Lucy nodded, looking at the floor. "They'll do their best. Just like you did. You gave her a chance if nothing else."

Jones bit his lip, nodding, but his gaze had drifted away from her, staring at nothing. Lucy knew what he was seeing. A mental image of Shona, pale and lifeless. She felt the same way.

Zainab broke them both out of their solemn contemplation. "We should really get you out of those wet clothes Mr Jones, they won't be helping you to warm up."

Jones nodded, groaning as he leaned forward and started to fumble with his uniform. A nurse moved in to assist him. Lucy glanced at him. "I'll be back." She told him, before nodding to Zainab and the nurse. Lucy left the cubicle, initially planning to get a coffee, but with her mind she drifting she was a little surprised to find herself standing outside Trauma 4. Her eyes were drawn to the table. Tracy was performing chest compressions on the young woman on the table. The vest covered most of her chest, but Lucy could see the tubes running out through slits to the containers.

She could see the doctor tidying away the surgical kit and giving more orders. She could see Dave, still rhythmically squeezing the ambu-bag connected to the breathing tube, stood at the head of the bed. And she could see the monitor, that constant, unbroken line that proclaimed Shona's heart was still completely inactive.

[kilyra]

You Wanted More

Eric Northman (True Blood) One-Shot

A/N:  Well, absolutely no one directly requested this, but I’m carrying on with the Eric Northman arc because...I wanna - so this is following “You Will”, “You Did, Sweetheart”, “You a Fangbanger, now?”, and “You Shouldn’t Have Come”

Training with Jason Stackhouse leaves you pretty banged up, a fact Eric is not happy about when he shows up to find you on heavy drugs for the pain.

Warnings:  Racy bits kinda, bit of gore I guess, alluding to events in the show. But not out and out spoilers. (I myself am only on S3 or 4, so this is an early Eric style fic…also, please don’t send me any spoilers).

If you want to be on my tag lists, (all or just a character) just let me know! (Credit for this amazing gif goes to @bonniebird​​. Thank you SO much!)

The pain meds were strong. Knowing Jason got them from Lafayette, you didn't ask many questions so all you really had were the basics – don't drive and don't mix with alcohol. That, and they were guaranteed to let you breathe a little easier without the throbbing and sometimes stabbing pain shooting down your side.

It wasn't until after taking a couple and immediately being hit with a wall of unstoppable drowsiness that you realized just how strong they were. But at least you weren't in pain. You may not be forced to see a doctor after all.

Focusing was impossible, but you didn't mind staring blankly at the TV and zoning out. It was better than flinching every time you moved. As you sank into the couch, letting the waves of relaxation take over, you eventually became aware that something seemed different. A breeze maybe? Did something shift? Not that it really mattered but...

Slowly, your eyes drifted to the couch beside you and you were vaguely aware there was a set of legs. Which was odd. There wasn't usually legs beside you. With effort, you followed the legs up to see Eric Northman perched on the back of your couch, passively staring down at you.

Apparently, the pills were not only strong, but they had completely knocked you out.

“Huh, well I didn't expect that.” Smiling to yourself, you let out a soft chuckle.

Eric's eyebrows creased at your greeting before swiftly falling back into place. His eyes swept over you like he was trying to figure out what he missed, but his features stayed neutral. “Yes, well, I thought it was time to have a talk about what happened at Fangtasia.”

His velvety voice was flat and unimpressed, but your heart still fluttered as it reached your ears. Although some of your dreams have started with conversations, it was a little surprising that he wanted to talk. “Is that what you thought?”

Pulling his gaze away, he focused on his dark pants, absently picking at something that you couldn't see. To be fair, focusing on something as small as a bit of fluff was next to impossible since everything seemed to have blurred edges anyhow.

“Pam did, actually. And I got tired of arguing with her about it.”

There was something oddly sensual about how he pinched at the loose thread, his nimble fingers making short work of what irritated him. Lightly biting your lip, you suddenly wanted those fingers on your skin, skilfully giving your body the attention he was wasting on fabric.

And why not? It was your dream after all.

Lightly humming a reply, you shifted your weight so you were facing the pale vampire. Taking your time, you let your gaze wander over his body. His shirt clung to him so perfectly that you could see his muscular physique almost as clearly as if he were naked. Almost.

As your eyes floated up to his, you saw he was carefully staring at you with a sidelong glance as though he didn't want to bring too much attention to the fact he was watching you. But his ice-cold eyes were so piercing, it was impossible to not be drawn in. Were they that stunning in real life, or was your mind adding that?

Tilting his head, he studied you more obviously and pulled you from your stupor. Offering a lazy smile, you shrugged playfully. “And why would Pam insist on you talking to me, hmm?”

Sighing, he smoothed his hand over the spot he had been picking at and straightened. He broke your eye contact to stare across the room before he spoke. “According to her, ever since you defended me to your roommate I-”

You hadn't expected him to actually continue talking. Normally, in your dreams, he would have responded by sliding off the back of the couch, smoothly claiming your mouth with his as he wrapped his arms around you in an unyielding embrace. Warmth was already spreading through you at the mere thought of him holding you possessively and pressing himself against you as he eased you back onto the cushions...

But instead, he was talking. Still.

Reaching over, you set your hand on his knee and, to your surprise, his words sputtered to a stop.

Clearing his throat, he tried to continue even though you already missed half of what he said. “...And while I don't exactly agree, she mi-”

Running your tongue over your lip, you circled your fingers over the top of his leg and stared up at him through your eyelashes. You couldn't help your smirk when his words suddenly died out again and his eyes darted to your hand.

The corner of his mouth tugged downward in a faint frown as his eyebrows quickly dipped low before settling back into his usual blank expression. “What...are you doing?”

Your dreams had never had so much lead-up before and you had to admit, it was a little fun to toy with him. Using him for support, you pulled yourself forward, getting your legs under you. Easing yourself closer, you were only mildly surprised when his knees opened wider with very little coaxing. Watching you with curious eyes, he gave in to your touch without resistance. You doubted the real Eric would ever let you direct him so easily, allowing you to sit up on your knees between his legs.

Although to be fair, you'd never do anything like that with the real Eric anyhow...

“I'm listening, is what I'm doing. To what I'm sure will be a lecture that I can't seem to escape even in my dreams," you finally replied with an air of smugness as you sidestepped his question.

“A lecture? In your...dreams?” His words were only slightly hesitant as he forced his stare up from your hands to meet your eyes. You thought you saw a heavy swallow, but he gave no other indication of being caught off-guard.

As you spoke, you started massaging your fingers along his thigh, steadily moving them higher. Your fingertips dug into the fabric of his pants and you distantly wondered if he even really felt the pressure. “You know, about how I can't go to Fangtasia like I did. How it's not safe for me there.”

His eyes dropped to your hands one last time before slowly dragging up your body and finally, the ice in his eyes seemed to melt. The slight change in his gaze sent a spark through your chest and down your limbs as you gripped his leg tighter.

A smile slowly etched its way onto his lips as his moment of confusion seemed to pass. When he spoke, there was an undeniable purr to his tone. “Mmm, well I suppose part of that is true. You can't go there, not like you did.”

“Not like I did? And how should I be going there?” Your breath hitched as he seemed to finally get on the same page as you. Letting your wandering hands settle on his hips, your heart jumped as his fingers traced their way along your arms. If this was like any dream before, it would only be seconds until he stopped with the pretenses and pulled you in close. Your whole body hummed in anticipation.

Instead, his hands came to rest on the sides of your shoulders as his eyes narrowed slightly. Leaning forward, his face was inches from yours as his lips curled back in a wicked grin. With a flick of his wrist, his hand shot up from your shoulder to grip your hair, holding you in place. “As mine.”

A sharp gasp ripped from your throat as a cold rush raced through you. But it only added to the flame in your core. Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you ran your hands up, under his shirt and let your nails graze his skin as you pulled yourself closer.

Quietly, a dull pain that started swimming in from the edges of your mind protested the movement. But you were far too distracted.

With a growl, he brought his face almost close enough to kiss but paused, his eyes scanning your face as though he were looking for answers. Your hand flexed from the torture of denial, digging your nails into his skin. His grip on your hair tightened and you found yourself pressing your thighs together, trying not to squirm under his grasp. Your eyelids fluttered closed as you nodded. “Yes..y-yours.”

His growl grew deeper as he closed the gap, his lips hungrily seeking you. Within seconds, his tongue dominated yours, not that you put up a fight, your lips willingly parted for him. Moaning into his mouth, you easily gave up any false idea of control, letting yourself fall into the haze of his passionate kiss as he held you in place. Under his shirt, your hand ran up his muscled torso, resting against his solid chest. Taking your hint, he pulled away and quickly yanked his shirt over his head, tossing somewhere in the room before finding your lips again.

As your hand traced further up his body, you quickly nestled your fingers in his hair. Your pulse was racing so wildly you were glad you didn't have to try and stand as you kept your balance by tightly clinging to the Adonis in your arms.

Subtly he shifted, dancing his free hand along the small of your back as he tugged your hair, forcefully breaking the kiss. Gasping, you didn't have time to mourn the loss before he dropped his head to the crook of your neck. His teeth grazed your skin as you felt him sucking a dark mark into you. Had you been awake, you would have been terrified that he was about to bite you but...since it was just a dream...the thought was shamefully exciting. Letting your face nestle against his neck, you relished the idea that, at any second, his teeth could pierce flesh and he would truly claim you as his.

Drawing the moment out, his bites were firm but not enough to break skin, quickly followed by his tongue swirling along your neck. Burrowing your face against him, you quietly moaned, enjoying the cool woodsy scent that seemed to float up around you.

As he tucked you against him, gently devouring your neck, his hand trailed down your body seeking the bare skin of your leg. A deep throbbing turned into an ache and you desperately wanted your legs wrapped around his waist, letting you grind against him for a breath of relief. Like in so many dreams before.

But as his fingers pressed into your leg, screaming pain shot through you with such force, your stomach lurched and black stars danced across your vision.

Crying out, your body went rigid except for the instinctive flinch of your leg in an attempt to pull away. Dropping your hand, you moved to slap him back but as you wrenched yourself, more agony ripped through your torso, completely stealing your breath.

You suspected before that a rib had slipped out of place, but as you were blinded by white bursts from each breath, you realized it might be broken. And the pain meds were already apparently wearing off with the rush of adrenaline.

It didn't occur to you that dreams weren't ever so painful...

Letting your hair loose, Eric continued to cup your scalp as a deep furrow formed in his forehead.

“I'm fine...it's nothing.” It tumbled out through grit teeth before you could even question why you lied.

The muscles along his cheek popped as his jaw clenched. His nose flared slightly, the only warning you had before his hands clenched around the back of your head, holding you in place again. Hissing, you tried to slip out of his grasp, but it only brought more pain as he drew his hand along your leg, pulling up the bottom of your shorts.

It seemed impossible, but his body tensed even more as he exposed the large, deep bruise that covered most of your upper thigh. Pulling them up until they drew tight, it was obvious the bruise went higher than he could see with the shorts still on. As you grimaced from the pressure, he let the fabric slip from his fingers before grasping the edge of your top.

He was determined to see just how high it went.

As he lifted the back of your shirt with surprising gentleness, you focused on your shallow breathing. The last time you looked in the mirror, you saw the bruises that covered most of your side were almost black and accompanied by a long set of deep scrapes starting near your spine and fanning out to the side of your ribcage. And you doubted it looked any better now.

Straightening, he looked deep in your eyes, not masking the quiet fury that laid deep in his stare. “Who did this?”

“No one,” you said quietly, trying not to shrink away.

“Do not make me glamour you.” His stony expression hadn't changed, but his voice dropped dangerously low.

Swallowing heavily, you fought to keep from snapping your eyes shut. Forcing a hard exhale through your nose, you pushed out each word until it got easier. “No one, alright? Jason Stackhouse was there, but I just fell off an obstacle course and hit pretty much every piece of equipment on the way down.”

For a moment, his eyes silently studied your face as though he were trying to decide if you were lying. Finally, his eyebrow flicked upwards in faint quirk. “And what were you two doing on an obstacle course to begin with?”

Immediately, your pulse spiked and you felt heat rush to your cheeks. You didn't owe him an explanation, but you did throw Jason's name out there and that suddenly felt like a bad move. But it had to be better than what you might say if you were glamoured...right?

“You were right, you know...at Fangtasia? There are things I can do to protect myself and I had heard a bit about Jason's time in Dallas so-”

Eric's sudden scoff cut you off cold. When he spoke, there was a new hardness in his tone and you knew you crossed some invisible line. “Right. And those? Did those come from him too?”

Both his eyebrows lifted, gesturing past you and without looking back, you knew he was talking about the painkillers sitting out on the coffee table. Desperately trying to keep your breathing calm as you looked up at him, you shrugged. You didn't want to give him another name. “I don't...know where he got them.”

“I think we both know it's pretty obvious, sweetheart. But what matters is, you should have come to me with this.” He spoke with a dismissive tone as he freed his grip on you.

His mood swing threw your rush of adrenaline into confusion. The bewilderment that dropped over you was so thick, and likely still drug-ladened, that you didn’t even try to move away from him even though he had set his hand down on his knee. There was simply no desire to put space between you and being tucked between his knees somehow made you feel protected. Even if he did scare you.

“I...I should...come to you for pain meds...or...?”

There was no hint of humour on his face as he continued. "Both. I can better teach you to defend yourself against my kind, more so than Stackhouse ever could. But especially for your injuries. I can't have you walking around like this, it's embarrassing.”

“...Embarrassing?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you echoed him, trying to piece together what he was talking about.

“Yes. Since I had to publicly declare you as mine, there is a certain standard to uphold. And having my human limping around, half-broken is simply unacceptable.” His silky voice contrasted the insulting words as he brought his wrist up to his lips.

Your stomach flipped as he snarled, giving you the perfect view as his fangs dropped. Without hesitation, he bit into his own flesh and you were too stunned to back away. But you should have.

Eric's lips were glittering red as he pulled back and ran his tongue over them. Holding his wrist out to you, his speech was slightly different as he spoke through his fangs. “Drink.”

Horrified, you followed his gaze down to his arm and the blood slowly bubbling from his punctures. Finally flinching back, you felt the dull pain of your side roar to life as your heart thudded against your chest.

Before you could back off the couch, his arms were a blur as he grabbed your hair and forced your head to turn. Your repeated chorus of no, meant nothing as his arm wrapped around you and forced you to spin on your knees until you were facing away from him. Soon, you were trapped between his chest and his wrist that he pressed to your mouth.

Keeping your lips tightly closed, you felt them grow slick with his blood. Jerking away, your head met his collarbone and you had nowhere left to go as his arm pressed against you with more pressure. Whimpering a pitiful cry, your hands dug into his thighs as you tried to push yourself away. But all you did was brace your back against his chest. It was useless. He had you clamped against him, utterly immobilized.

“I'm helping you, don't waste it.” His voice carried the weariness of an exhausted parent dealing with a petulant child. As he sighed, he twisted his wrist enough to force an opening between your bruised lips.

As the copper taste flooded your mouth, your gut clenched and trying to take a breath through your nose didn't help.

You were going to vomit.

But just as the warm blood trickled down the back of your throat, something changed. On a primal level, your disgust turned to need. Squeezing Eric's thighs to brace yourself, you tried to process what was happening, but everything was moving too fast. You needed his blood like you needed air and your body greedily gulped it back. On its own, one hand lifted from his knee to clasp around his wrist as if you could hold him there.

“Good girl,” Eric cooed in your ear as he brushed your hair back from your face. A shiver ran down your spine at his praise and you found yourself writhing, trying to grind against him even though you were in too awkward of a position to be successful.

Staring out into the room, you noticed everything grow sharper as your heartbeat steadied. The fog of the painkillers dissipated as a new energy vibrated its way through your chest and yet the pain didn't return. There was a faint hint of discomfort remaining, but you could feel it recede like the tide. It was a renewal like you had never experienced. And you wanted more.

Gently resting his hand on your forehead, he kept you against his chest as he pulled his wrist away. Another whine escaped your throat and was met with a soft chuckle. “No, now trust me, that's enough.”

Twisting around to face him, you frowned, ready to protest more. Before you could, he silenced you with a fleeting smile before he wiped his fingertip along your chin. Holding up his hand, you saw the wasted blood and, without hesitation, you leaned forward and took his fingers in your mouth. His lips parted slightly as he watched you suck and eagerly sweep your tongue over his skin. Keeping your eyes glued to his, you suddenly didn't care what horror had just taken place...you just wanted to pick up where you had left off. You wanted him.

And then your phone rang.

As the loud ringtone cut through the moment, your floating sensation came crashing down around you. What was going on? What had Eric done to you?

Blinking, you retreated, leaving his clean fingers outstretched for a moment until he gripped the back of the couch. A soft frown touched his lips as his eyes darted to the screen phone.

“It seems Stackhouse at least has a conscious about the damage he's done,” Eric said flatly.

Everything was clear. Too clear. The whole evening flashed before you and a growing realization became too loud to ignore. “This...this isn't a dream, is it?”

His eyebrows faintly arched before his face fell. It was slight, but the muscles twitched around the corners of his mouth and his eyes grew dull as they looked past you to settle on the pill bottle. "A...dream. Right. It seems that Lafayette broke out the good stuff."

Pulling your hands to your chest, you didn't stop him as he swung a leg off the back of the couch. As he stood with ease, you were reminded again of just how big he was as he towered over you, but somehow it didn't scare you this time. Blinking rapidly and trying to ignore the sense of loss of that descended as he moved away, you failed to stop your eyes from trailing over his still-bare chest. His sculpted muscles were pale perfection and you couldn't help your stare as he leaned down and smoothly swiped his shirt from the floor.

Once he tugged it down over his head, he nodded towards the phone on the coffee table. “You'd better answer.  You wouldn't want to keep your hero waiting.”

Although he said it lightly, as though he were cracking a joke, your stomach knotted. You knew if you didn't answer, Jason would turn up at the door and you weren't done trying to sort out what just happened. Pinching your lips together in a tight line as another shrill ring broke the silence, you finally glanced down at the phone.

And by the time you looked back up, Eric was gone.

Taglist:  @foreverfaeries​  @flower-two​  @getlostinyourparadise​   @selfishkiddo​  @angelicshinigami​  @parkersbabey​​ @thatchampagnebitch​ @mysteryoflovve​  @edweirdoddlepot  @divadinag​  @crazy-fandom-girl1​  @givemeabite​ @breanime​​ @shondlenoodle​ @hermionesalvatore84​   @dyingformyships​    @dreamers-wonderland​ @adriellej​  @sherrybaby14​

[yukayjei]

Linked Universe FanFic: No Courage Without Fear

Hi! I’ve been a fan of @jojo56830’s @linkeduniverse for a while, and I’ve been dying to contribute my own fan work to this incredible series! I’ve worked on this fic since July (2019), and it’s finally finished (May 2020), so I really hope you enjoy it! I’ll upload it in separate chapters.

While in hot pursuit of an infected monster, two Heroes face fears they battled long ago.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

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

It was just before midnight, and a luminous full moon shone silver rays through the trees. The Heroes were all sound asleep under a large rocky overhang, save for two who sat keeping watch from a large, flat boulder sticking out of the ground a short distance away.

Today’s weather had been cursed with a brutal downpour. It was just their luck that all the rain drained into the valley they were traveling through, so the group had spent the day trudging against a frigid, unforgiving gale and slogging through knee-deep mud. Understandably, their relief was euphoric when they happened upon their natural shelter perched on a higher ridge, and they built a roaring fire at once.

Once the Heroes were sufficiently dried out and warmed up, the sun had already set, so they settled in. Miraculously, the clouds cleared up, and since Hyrule felt the least tired, he offered to take first watch. After a silent-yet-furious argument exchanged through indignant glares and avoiding eye contact, Sky volunteered to join him, despite being a hair’s breadth away from snoozing off.

Still, the two Heroes managed to keep each other awake through a constant stream of chatter, jokes, and (quiet) songs. Hyrule played a rather soulful tune on his flute; the notes produced were slow, yet smooth. They flowed through the air without haste, almost like a lullaby. Yet when Sky closed his eyes, instead of falling asleep, he felt his heart soar like it had grown wings, and an almost weightless sensation stole into his body.

It reminded him of a time he and Zelda snuck out of Knight Academy in the middle of the night and gone for a flight. The atmosphere was perfect. The quiet stillness in the air, the twinkling of a million stars. No clouds, just a light mist. The moon had been full, just like this night, and cast a beautiful silver glow over them and their Loftwings. He could still picture Zelda, lovelier than all of these elements combined, illuminated in the heavenly light. She looked like the goddess Hylia herself, which he’d later learned she was. The memory ebbed all the day’s stress and soreness from his body, but left a little ache inside his heart.

“That was incredible,” he sighed happily when Hyrule finished. “Where did you learn that song?”

Bashful at the praise, the brown-haired boy looked away. “I’m not sure, actually. It’s an old tune. Some say it’s been around since the dawn of Hyrule.”

“Really?” Sky leaned forward. “I never heard it until just now.”

Hyrule flashed him a quizzical look. “Well, maybe my flute doesn’t convey it as well. Sometimes, I think it sounds better on my recorder.”

Sky cocked his head to one side. “Then why not play the recorder?”

“Because I don’t want to summon a whirlwind in the first six notes!”

Sky blinked, not fully grasping what he just heard. “You don’t want to what?”

“You heard me! It would carry me off to who-knows-where!” Hyrule stood up, gesturing dramatically to the wilderness. Though his tone was serious, it also carried a hint of exaggeration.

“Seeing as you’re prone to getting lost, I’d say it suits you,” Sky joked.

Hyrule faced him now, a jolly glint in his eye. “Oh, but you don’t know half of it! It can also warp me right back where I started! In fact,” The glint turned mischievous, and he began slowly advancing toward Sky. “I could be gone for hours…”

Sky chuckled as he edged away. Exhaustion, combined with the late-night hours, must have caught up with Hyrule; delirium had taken hold, the kind that makes anything and everything downright hilarious, and Sky grinned as he felt it creeping up on himself, too.

“…And then, pop up right when you least expect it! Raaah!” With a yell, Hyrule lunged and shoved Sky off the boulder, only to slip and fall flat on his stomach where the latter just sat. A most undignified “Oooooof!” spluttered from his mouth, like air escaping a balloon. The Heroes erupted into hysterical laughter, Hyrule’s mixed with groans of pain, and Sky, sprawled on the ground with his legs propped against the boulder, clutching his stomach as he cackled like a Cucco.

“Shhh! We’re gonna wake the others!” Sky tried to sound serious and his voice cracked from the effort.

“You shhh!” came Hyrule’s witty retort before he dissolved into another laughing fit.

They laughed until they were literally gasping for breath, and even then, managed to laugh some more. Loud enough to drown out a third voice, cackling softly in the distance.

“Oh geez,” Hyrule finally wheezed out. “I feel like I cracked a rib.”

Sky rolled over onto his side, gulping in air. “You deserve it,” he croaked. A silly giggle hiccupped out. “I hit my shoulder hard when you pushed me! If it swells up, you owe me fifty Rupees.”

The brown-haired boy snorted. “Don’t exaggerate. Besides, I don’t even have fifty Rupees!”

“Then I’ll give you a matching bruise for payment.”

An empty threat, but Hyrule still offered, “How about some ice instead?”

“Deal!”

Hoisting himself up on his arms, he looked down at Sky. The Chosen Hero had already removed his green tunic and pulled down his undershirt’s left shoulder to examine the damage.

“How bad is it?” Hyrule asked, voice devoid of concern.

“The size of Four’s Octorok.”

“So, puny.”

“Feels worse than it looks,” Sky admitted, poking tentatively at the blackening bruise the size of a grape.

“You still want ice?” Even as he posed the question, Hyrule started to get up, only to lean back down. “Hey, that’s a neat scar!”

“Huh?” Sky flinched like he’d been slapped, hastily covering his shoulder with his hand. “I-I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hyrule rolled his eyes at the atrocious lie. “I already saw it. Looks like you fought a hard battle!” As he spoke, he eagerly leaned in closer.

Sky yanked his sleeve back up. “N-no, no I didn’t,” he stuttered, ears bright red. Deliberately turning his left side away from Hyrule, he added, “It’s none of your business.”

Normally, Hyrule might have let him be, but curiosity overtook him (it wasn’t like he had anything else to do). “What happened?” he pressed. “From what I saw, only a sword could have left that mark.”

“It’s nothing!” Sky growled, glaring daggers at his friend.

“Then why are you getting so defensive?” Hyrule straightened up, taken aback by his friend’s uncharacteristic surge of anger.

“Because you won’t leave me alone!”

“Was it an accident?”

“No.”

“Do you simply hate having your skin permanently disfigured?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t understand what the problem is!” Hyrule threw his arms up in exasperation. “Scars are nothing to be ashamed of.”

“This one is!” Sky snapped. The redness in his ears spread like fire to his face as he realized he’d said more than he wanted.

For a minute, he remained completely silent, refusing to meet Hyrule’s gaze. Then he exhaled heavily. “Look, unlike the rest of you guys’ crazy stories, it’s… it’s not my– my proudest moment, okay? I don’t– I don’t want to– to talk about it.”

A muffled giggle. Sky shot Hyrule a bewildered stare, more surprised than offended. Though not above poking fun at his friends, the Hero of Hyrule was the last to laugh at someone if they were genuinely upset.

“What?” Hyrule stared back, eyes wide.

“Why’d you laugh?”

“I didn’t. I thought it was you.”

He was dead serious. The two Heroes continued to stare at each other, silently posing the next question: Then who did?

A high, cold cackle answered. Further away this time, but loud enough for the Heroes to know they weren’t imagining it. Jumping to their feet, they unsheathed their swords. Instinctively, they put their backs together as they fervently scanned their surroundings for the source.

“Do me a favor,” Hyrule muttered. “Wake the old man. It’s his shift now.”

Rushing back to the camp, Sky shook Time as hard as he could, though this would prove in vain. If the old man did not want to be woken, he would not. He’d sooner sleep for seven years if you let him.

“Hey…! Hey! Wake up!” No response. His leader simply grunted and rolled over.

Sky tried the next-closest person. “Twilight? Can you hear me?”

No response. Not even the slightest twitch.

“Wild?” he tried again, voice rising in desperation. Surely the lightest sleeper would rouse. But there was no answer. “Anyone?” Sky couldn’t keep his voice from shaking. “Wake up!”

But no one answered, let alone stirred. He may as well have whispered.

“What’s wrong with them?” Hyrule demanded, hurrying to Sky’s side.

“They’re…they’re not waking up. It’s like they’re—”

“—Under a spell,” Hyrule finished in a hushed voice, as though his worst fears had been confirmed. “Of course… this must be the work of a Wizzrobe.”

“Wizzrobe?”

Another shrill cackle, like lightning splitting a tree. Immediately, the Heroes snapped back on guard; it sounded close. Too close.

“Robed monsters possessing incredibly powerful sorcery,” Hyrule continued, eyes narrowed as he peered into the shadows, trying to spot their unseen foe. “They typically rely on elemental magic, but stronger ones are known to wield dark magic. But to incapacitate seven people at once…there could be more than one, but it’s more likely one alone that’s beyond exceptional.”

Sky gulped. “You mean, infected?”

Face pinched, Hyrule nodded. “Exactly. We need to locate it as quickly as possible.”

“Would up there be a good place to start?” Unblinking, Sky raised a stiff hand and pointed above Hyrule’s head.

The Hero of Hyrule whirled around and gasped, for there atop the highest hill, the very creature he had described gazed down upon them.

Little more than a silhouette outlined by the moon’s full shine, the only features that could be made out were a tall figure draped in a heavy cloak, and two large bloodred eyes. Before either Hero could react, the Wizzrobe raised its hands and fired a tidal wave of black magic.

“Get back!” Hyrule jumped in front of Sky and raised his shield. The wave struck the shield directly, exploding in a blinding flash. But the shield remained unscathed, and the Heroes unharmed.

Undeterred, the Wizzrobe fired again. A blast twice as large as the last screamed towards them at breakneck speed. Yet the Hero of Hyrule remained poised, and quickly chanted something under his breath.

Bright radiance enveloped his shield a split second before impact, yet the dark magic was not blocked. It was reflected straight back at its source.

The wave’s full might slammed into the Wizzrobe. The monster collapsed, doubled over in shock and pain. For a few glorious seconds, the Hero of Hyrule thought he’d won, but the Wizzrobe rose up. He couldn’t read its expression, but those bloodred eyes looked murderous.

It let out a bone-chilling screech so loud it the Heroes’ ears threatened to bleed. The moon swelled to twice its size and took on a sinister crimson tint. Wind whipped around them like a tornado. Just seconds ago, the sky was clear, yet it now filled with ominous red clouds. Lightning flashed. Thunder reverberated high in the heavens and deep under the earth.

A bolt struck the ground right in front of the Heroes. With a yell, they threw their hands up over their faces, struggling not to fall down. Then the wind died down, leaving eerie silence ringing in their ears. Raising their heads, the boys saw that the sky had miraculously cleared. The moon shone stark white again. All seemed well, but the Wizzrobe had vanished.

“Where did it go?” was the first thing out of Sky’s mouth as he checked all around. Had it snuck up behind them in the confusion? Alas, there was no sign of the sorcerer. Their friends still slept peacefully, much to his relief.

“Was that…an illusion?” Hyrule stared blankly up at the hill, trying to comprehend all he’d just seen. “I sensed its magic was beyond ordinary, but I never imagined…”

“I don’t want to think what would have happened if you didn’t have your shield,” Sky murmured. “Sorry, but how’d you repel it like that? I didn’t see you move an inch!”

“A spell I picked up in my travels,” Hyrule explained shortly. Sweeping his gaze over the camp, he muttered, “No one’s stirring.”

“They aren’t awake?” Sky shot him a worried glance.

“The Wizzrobe only retreated. Temporarily, I’m sure.”

Sky sheathed his sword. “What should we do, then? Prepare for its return?”

“No,” came the Hero of Hyrule’s decisive response. “We’ll pursue it.”

“Hold on a second!” Sky held up his hands. “I’m not against hunting it down, but what about the others?” He gestured to their friends, who still showed no signs of waking up. “We can’t just leave them here, defenseless! Suppose the Wizzrobe doubles back?”

“It won’t,” Hyrule responded forcefully. When Sky stared blankly, he elaborated, “I’m not sure why, but I get the feeling it won’t continue its plan— whatever it is— unless it traps all of us where and how it wants.”

Sky bit his lip, choosing his next words carefully. “Look, I–I trust you. I just don’t trust the Wizzrobe. Maybe one– maybe one of us could find it—”

“No! It’s too dangerous to go alone. We need to confront it together, especially if it’s like all other monsters we’ve fought!”

“But—”

The Hero of the Winds cried out in his sleep. Hyrule and Sky whirled around to see the youngest Hero tossing and turning, his face twisted in pain. His hand stretched out, like he was reaching for something.

Hyrule and Sky rushed to his side, falling to their knees. A desperate, fragile hope clung to them. “Wind? Wind, can you hear me?” Sky called, his voice hoarse.

Wind’s reaching hand seized Sky’s arm. In his feverish state, the young Hero mumbled, “Got you… just… hold on… don’t let go!”

With his free hand, Sky grasped Wind’s. “Everything’s going to be okay, Wind. It’s just a bad dream! Wake up!”

But the youngest Hero only tightened his grip. “Please…hang on…” he whispered. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

The sight was too much to bear. Hyrule felt a huge lump forming in his throat. A choked gasp escaped from his lips and he fought to stifle it. He turned away, but he could not escape the horror that enveloped the rest of the sleeping Heroes. There lay Wild, twitching and shaking like a frightened rabbit. Warriors, curled up into the fetal position and muttering nonstop. Legend, shouting incoherently into the night, each tormented cry more agonizing than the last. Twilight, hands balled into fists and growling “no” through clenched teeth over and over. Time, whose whole body shuddered every few seconds. Four, who lay so still they couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

The Hero of Hyrule was at a loss for what to do. What to say. Their friends’ condition had evolved into something far worse than imagined. Could he and Sky, who were just two people, even consider confronting the Wizzrobe, which he was starting to see more as a demon? Despair welled up inside his heart, weighing down his entire body like heavy iron chains.

As quickly as it had set in, he shook off the invisible shackles. How dare he think like that? Their friends were depending on them! A spark of determination flickered in his heart, spurring him to action.

Standing tall again, Hyrule approached Sky, who still knelt beside Wind, cradling him and clutching the smaller boy’s hand. Hyrule rested his own hand on Sky’s shoulder. “Listen,” he murmured softly, “I don’t want to leave them, either. But even if we wait for it to return, we’re at the bottom of a valley. With the range Wizzrobes have, we’d be at a tremendous disadvantage.”

Sky didn’t meet his gaze, but after a few moments’ silence, he sighed. “You’re right. The only way we can help is if we find and put an end to what’s threatening them.”

As gently as possible, he lay the Hero of Winds down and tucked his blanket over his shoulders. Letting go of his hand earned Sky a heart wrenching sob from the boy, but he managed to push past it and stand up. The same spark glinted in his eyes, too. “Let’s go.”

[quickspinner]

Finding Harmony - Ch 3 Falling Flat

The episode Ladybug takes place right before this chapter.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Luka was worried when he texted Marinette. You still want me to come by today? Juleka said you had a rough couple of days.

Her reply didn’t make him feel any better. I did, and I need to not think about it, so I might as well get something productive done. And then a slightly less worrying, Please come.

Luka grilled Juleka, but the story only seemed more confused the more questions he asked. He’d been shocked when Juleka told him Marinette had been expelled—less so when Juleka said she was back at school and whatever weird accusations had been made against her dropped. Somehow, he didn’t think Marinette was as over it as Juleka made it seem. 

So when he got to the bakery that afternoon, he came up the hatch into Marinette’s room cautiously. “Marinette?”

“I’m over here,” came the flat reply. He found her on her knees next to her mannequin, pinning the hem of what looked like a party dress.

“Hey,” he said, crouching beside her. “We don’t have to do this today if you don’t want to. Juleka told me what happened.”

Marinette snorted. “I’ll bet she did.”

Luka rocked back on his heels slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” she replied, the flat tone back. “She told you it was all a big misunderstanding, right?”

“Yeah,” Luka scratched his head. “The story didn’t make all that much sense, actually, but I just figured it was because I wasn’t there.”

“It didn’t make sense to me and I was there,” Marinette grumbled. 

“Marinette,” Luka put his hand on her shoulder. “Take a break and come tell me from the beginning. If you want to?”

“What’s the point? No one believes me.”

“Do you think I won’t believe you?” The silence that answered him hurt. “Marinette, you couldn’t lie to me if your life depended on it.”

That finally got her to look at him. Luka gazed back steadily. “I mean it, Marinette. I’m hard to lie to and I’ve never met anyone as sincere as you. Your lies are terrible.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’d be surprised,” she said dryly, and he looked away and coughed to hide the temptation to laugh. 

“No, I really wouldn’t,” he muttered as he got to his feet. “Okay, if you don’t want to talk—”

“No, wait,” Marinette sighed, standing up and pulling her pincushion off her wrist. “I’m sorry, Luka, you didn’t deserve that. I shouldn’t take out my frustration on you. I don’t really want to talk about what happened, though.” She went to her desk where a blue shirt trimmed in red was laid out. “Come on over and put this on. Please,” she added belatedly.

Luka complied, watching her as he shed his jacket and shirt. Her brow was creased and her mouth firm, and she looked like her mind was a million miles away. As soon as his torso was bare she went to work mechanically, not even blushing as she helped slide the pinned fabric carefully over his bare shoulders. Despite her distraction, she was careful to keep the pins away from his skin. He watched her in the mirror as she worked, focused and efficient but without any of her usual bubbling enthusiasm. It hurt to see her like this, and he didn’t know how to fix it. He wanted to hold her and beg her to let out whatever was hurting her, but he didn’t dare, and he didn’t have any right. If she didn’t want his comfort, he had to respect that, even if it was breaking his heart to see her so...lifeless.

She brought him a second shirt and then a denim jacket, and still said nothing other than giving him basic instructions. Luka barely saw the garments and moved mechanically when she asked him to. Finally, when she finished and he got dressed again, he decided on one last-ditch effort, an offering of himself in the hopes she might return one of her own. She might not, but he had to try.

Honestly, he’d been wanting to have this conversation for a long time and there just hadn’t seemed to be a right moment...or he hadn’t had the courage. But it was maybe a way to get her to talk without pushing her boundaries too hard. “Before I go,” Luka said slowly, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about. I know you’ll be honest with me and there’s not really anyone else I can talk to about this.”

That got her attention as nothing else had, as he’d hoped it would, and for the first time that day Marinette looked at him as if she really saw him. “Of course.”

“At the TV studio that day…” He saw Marinette pale slightly and hurried on. “You were there when I…” He paused and swallowed, trying to find the right words. “I don’t...I don’t remember anything and maybe I should be relieved about that, but honestly it just makes it worse, and there’s no one else who can tell me what I did.”

Her expression cleared and then set, her mouth a firm line and her chin stubborn. “Luka,” Marinette said, sternly. “That wasn’t you.”

Luka shook his head. “It was me, though. I was so angry and I felt so powerless at the same time, and then that jerk threatened you, and that look on your face—” That look haunted his dreams. He couldn’t remember what else he had done that day, but he remembered with perfect clarity that moment when her strong front had crumbled and she had looked scared and vulnerable. “I was...” He sat down on her chaise, propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head to run his hands through his hair, tugging lightly like he could open his brain and get that image out. “I think I would’ve done anything in that moment if it meant getting him away from you. It all gets confused after that but knowing how I felt in that moment, I’m sure I didn’t even hesitate.”

When he peeked up at her silence, compassion on her face hurt, but it was miles better than the sullen blankness that she’d been projecting before. “Luka, do you have any idea how many akumas I’ve seen created for selfish, petty reasons? Just the fact that it took that much provocation to get you in a place where Hawkmoth could use you is—is amazing.”

Luka straightened his back, but his eyes went back to the floor. Marinette grabbed his hands, sitting down next to him. “Luka, what is it? Just tell me.“

“Were you scared?” he asked softly, his gaze going to her small hands around his. “Did I scare you that day?”

She blinked for a moment, processing the quiet question. “Yes. And no. I was terrified,” Marinette said, squeezing his hands. “But I was scared for you, not of you.” She let go of one hand to lay her hand on his cheek and force him to face her. “You said I was safe.” Luka’s eyes snapped to hers in surprise, and she nodded. “It was the first thing Silencer said. ‘You’re safe, Marinette. I won’t hurt you.’”

He sucked in a deep breath, heart pounding as she continued, taking both his hands in hers again. “You said you would never let anyone cause me harm. Maybe you’re right, there was some of you left in Silencer, because you promised to protect me. Just like you protected me from Captain Hard Rock the first day we met, just like you protect Juleka and Rose all the time. Hawkmoth couldn’t change that, he just twisted your frustration and your desire for justice into a need for vengeance. But Silencer never touched me, never threatened me, and he—you, however you want to think of it—made sure I was okay before you went after Bob Roth. I’ve never been afraid of you, Luka. So, even if you insist on believing that was somehow your fault, you were also responsible for the good in Silencer.”

She bit her lip for a moment, hesitating, and then went on. “Ladybug told me once that the butterfly miraculous was meant to create champions for the greater good. Silencer was probably one of the few Akumas who came close to that ideal. I know that came from you, because you always protect the people you—” She stopped and blushed hotly. 

“The people I love?” he finished softly, gaze still fixed on her. “Yeah.” His shoulders slowly relaxed. “I would, you know. Protect you.” Luka hesitated, but this was the opening he’d been hoping for and he didn’t want to waste it. “Marinette, if someone’s been hurting you, if there’s anything I can do, even if you just need somebody to listen or take your mind off things, or just—even if I can just take you out and show you a good time, make you feel special...“ He made a frustrated sound. “I’m not saying this right, or maybe I’m just not the right person to offer because we both know I—but you seemed like you were doing better, finding your pitch, and now it’s like you’re falling flat again, and I—I want to help, however I can. Not just because I have feelings for you, but because you’re my friend and I care about you.”

“You do,” Marinette told him earnestly. “You do help me, Luka, so much. Even just being someone I can talk to who has some distance helps, you know? You’re not mixed up in all the classroom drama. And you...you always make me feel special, Luka.” She blushed again. 

“Can I hold you for a minute? I think we both could use a hug.”

The way she lunged into his arms, burrowed her face into his chest, the thrum in her song that said she felt safe with him, made everything worth it. He enfolded her in his arms, curling around her, trying to be the shield, the safe place she needed.

“It feels like no one has any faith in me anymore,” she mumbled against his collarbone. “I don’t think even my parents really believed me this time. Sometimes I think you’re the only one left on my side and that it’s only because she hasn’t gotten to you yet.” She took a shaky breath. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I trusted them too but they still believe her lies. I just don’t understand it at all. She said that she just tells people what they want to hear, and apparently that’s enough.”

“Well,” he said slowly, “Like I said...I’m pretty hard to lie to.”

This time her tremble was a chuckle. “I guess you would be.”

“I don’t hear everyone’s heart as easily as yours,” he murmured. “But I can usually tell. And if it came down to a question of believing you or someone else...” He chuckled. “I believe in you regardless, but I’ll say it again, you couldn’t lie to me if your life depended on it.”

Marinette snorted. “I feel like I should be offended.”

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t change that about you for the world, even to take all your pain away. You wouldn’t be Marinette anymore. And I...I really like Marinette.” He hesitated and added softly, “You’re still in my head every day.”

“How can you still say things like that to me, after all I’ve put you through?” she sighed. “Even just now, you just wanted to help and I was so cold to you.”

Luka took a moment to consider before he answered her. 

“A lot of people think the person they love is perfect,” he began. “And—well, I’m not going to say that’s not real love, because I’m seventeen and what do I know? There’s all kinds of love and it looks different for different people. But it’s not how I was taught to love. My mom is straight-up crazy and I love her to death. Juleka sometimes makes me want to tear my hair out and I still love her more than anything in the world.” He took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. “You’re not perfect, Marinette, and I know that. I accept that and it doesn’t change my feelings one bit. Your flaws are part of who you are, and they’re...they’re good flaws, if that makes any kind of sense. Because they come from a good place. When you fail, most of the time it’s because you acted on your feelings without thinking things through. You cared too much, or got too excited, or loved too hard, and that’s beautiful in itself. You’re not perfect, but if the price of a perfect Marinette is a Marinette who doesn’t care as much and doesn’t get so excited and loves cautiously, forget it. I don’t want that for you.” He started to put his hand on her shoulder, and then hesitated and took her hand instead. “So please believe me when I say all that stuff you keep worrying about? Totally forgiven. Let’s just move on, okay? I trust you when you say you’re trying to do better, and I believe you can do it. And I hope that when I hurt you, you’ll do the same for me.”

“You’ve never hurt me,” she snorted lightly, turning her head to lay her cheek against him instead of hiding in his shirt. 

Luka raised his eyebrows and leaned back slightly to look down at her. “Marinette, literally the first thing I ever said to you, hurt you.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “I’d forgotten about that.”

He chuckled. “You would.” Luka lifted his hand and brushed it along her cheek. “Are you feeling a little better now?”

“Some. This is nice,” she sighed. “Can you stay a little longer?”

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

She took a deep, unsteady breath. He could feel the tension in her and he guessed what was coming.

“Luka, about what you said, about your feelings, I…” She faltered and swallowed. “I um..” 

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “Don’t worry about that right now. I wanted to say it, I want you to know that you’re special and important, and...well, it feels dishonest to me, if I’m trying to be there for you and holding you like this and you don’t know how I feel. I don’t want any misunderstandings between us. I’d never want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t seem fair to you though…”

“You need someone and I’m happy it can be me. I trust you to be careful with me and I won’t try to make anything we have into more than you mean it to be.” 

“But—“

“No, wait, let me finish. What I don’t want is for you to do anything because you think you owe it to me. That would hurt. You don’t owe me anything. Not a date, not a kiss, not even being here like this. If a friend is all I ever get to be, then that’s fine. I like spending time with you, I like being your friend, and I just want to be a good one. My feelings are mine to deal with, not yours. Okay?”

“I don’t know how you can be satisfied with that.”

Luka smiled, remembering her encouraging Adrien at the ice rink. “Yes, you do. That’s what friends are for, right?”

He knew she got it when she groaned and buried her face in his shirt again. He huffed a laugh through his nose. “So, movie or Mecha Strike?”

At that she sat straight up and the determined look on her face, coupled with the teary eyes and red cheeks, almost stopped his heart, because it felt like Marinette was back from whatever dark place she’d gone to. “I say we go downstairs and challenge my parents to a Mecha Strike war. It might be the closest I get to payback for the last few days.” Before he could even answer, she leapt to her feet and was halfway down the stairs, screaming “Papa! Maman! Get ready, because you’re going down!” at the top of her lungs.

“Good to have you back,” he chuckled to the empty room, and got to his feet to follow her.

Her vengeance wasn’t as thorough as maybe she would have preferred, because Sabine and Tom were both better players than him, but Marinette was on fire and Luka managed to at least hold his own well enough to keep them from totally ganging up on Marinette. And when it was over there were hugs and maybe a few hidden tears wiped away, and he heard music in his mind as he watched, even as he felt like he was intruding. But Marinette turned and beamed at him and the song swelled to include him as Tom’s hand fell on his shoulder and Sabine complimented his efforts. 

As he wandered toward home that night, carrying that warmth in his heart and once again smiling like an idiot, Luka wondered if he was really just a coward at heart; if he kept giving her an out, not because he didn’t want her to feel pressured, but because he didn’t want to hear what she would say if he backed her into a corner.

At the same time, it wasn’t as if he didn’t already know. Would it be any worse hearing it from her mouth than her eyes? 

He sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. He always felt like he walked a fine line with Marinette, between being a friend who could keep his more than friendly feelings under control, and being the creep who supported a girl while secretly hoping she would someday see how much better he was for her.

Only Luka wasn’t better. In every objective way, Adrien Agreste was a much better choice for Marinette. Rich, well-connected, traditional, and on top of all that, Adrien was a good guy that would treat her well, and Marinette would be good for him. On paper, they were perfect. If Adrien fell for Marinette, Luka would be happy for them even in the midst of his own pain because Adrien would make her happy.

Except that Luka loved her, and Adrien...well Luka really wasn’t sure, honestly. Adrien hid his feelings under about sixty layers of denial, which made him harder to read than someone like Marinette, who was almost painfully honest. If Luka had to put a label on it, he’d say Adrien’s heart was divided over something, and Adrien chose to deal with it by not dealing with it at all, and remaining willfully blind to anyone else’s feelings. 

Which, really, maybe meant Luka wasn’t the coward here.

He shook those thoughts free, and contemplated instead the song he wanted to play when he got home, the song that was family and love and forgiveness and the mending of broken things.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #342

“in this farewell, there’s no blood, there’s no alibi  /  ‘cuz i’ve drawn regret from the truth of a thousand lies”

What’s your all-time favourite cartoon? Does anime count? In which case I'd say Fullmetal Alchemist, or the original Pokemon. If we're not including anime, then uhhhh Avatar: The Last Airbender, even though I have much more to go in the series. Have you ever taken dance lessons? What kind? Yeah, I've done a few for many years: jazz, clogging, modern, and hip hop. When did you last run and why? I literally couldn't tell you. I don't even know if I can run with the current state of my legs. My knees would probably crumple. Does your house/flat/whatever the hell you live in need cleaning? Not necessarily cleaning, but sorting. I still have boxes outside and inside my room of my stuff I need to put up somewhere... but whenever I prepare to do it, I just get so overwhelmed and shy away from it. Then there's the spare room, that's a total mess loaded with boxes and the like. Mom and I have just avoided it like the plague. Was your last relationship with a man or a woman? Woman. What do you think your next achievement will be? HOPEFULLY getting a job... Do you like mushrooms? NOOOOOOO. What dream do you remember most vividly? I'm not talking about it. Favorite kind of bread? Pumpernickel. Rabbits or hamsters? Rabbits. I've never met a nice hamster, and I just think rabbits are cuter. A movie you’ve never seen that it seems like every one else has? Harry Potter films. Favorite dog breed? I'm biased towards beagles. When was the last time you climbed a tree? Never, actually. Where I live, there aren't really many weighty trees with low branches. Just pine trees. Most common lie you tell? That I'm "fine" when I'm not. Ever seen your parents make out? Jc no, I'll take a hard pass there. Do you put your hair up a lot or down? It's too short to put up. Most of the time do you straighten or curl your hair? Neither. What piercing do you hate? I'm not a fan of cheek dermals at all, but you do you 100%. Were you raised in a religious house? Yes; I was raised Roman Catholic. Do your parents get mad when you're on the computer for hours? Mom used to for many years until I became an adult and she just realized it was in vain. I haven't lived with Dad since I was a teenager, but when my parents were together, he usually didn't say anything. Have you ever been asked for a nude picture? No, thankfully. I'd stop talking to the person immediately. What would you do if your parent hit you? I honestly feel like I'd slap them back and get the fuck out. Or just freeze in shock and cry. What's your most common mood? Stressed but distracted. Do you like poems? Yeah, usually. Ever kissed someone half-naked? Uh yeah. Have you ever been in a parade? No. Do you still play Pokémon? I play Pokemon GO, and I've actually been tempted to get out my DS and play one of the games I have (I can't remember which). I do find Pokemon games to be VERY grind-ey, though, so I can't play them for too long without getting bored. What is your favorite Pokémon? Ninetales. I also really love Espeon, though, and Charmander will always have my heart. Is there an animal you like that most people don't? Bats! :') Is there an animal that you think is overrated in terms of how it's liked? No animal is overrated. Have you ever "quit" a site and came back to it more than once? Uhhhh I don't think so. Do you have an "odd" fascination with anything? Most would probably consider "vulture culture" to be pretty weird, being drawn to dead animals and all... What's the hardest thing you've been through, & what did you learn from it? The breakup with Jason. I learned that some people make promises they aren't afraid to break, that someone can promise "forever" and not mean it, that the most unexpected can just snap their fingers and forget about you... I learned a lot. And most things, not positive. What are three "unrealistic" things you want most? 1.) To be able to financially support myself by just freelance nature photography; 2.) sooo many different kinds of pets; and 3.) to be totally rid of my mental illnesses. Do you take any daily vitamins? No, but I would if I was the one who bought groceries and stuff. I do however take Vitamin D once a week for my legs. Who are three of your favorite fictional characters of all time? JUST THREE??????? FUCK MAN idk. Uhhh well there's of course Darkiplier and Wilford Warfstache, then uhhh probably Pyramid Head. If you had to give the world a pre-existing mythological/fictional being, what would it be? Idk, I'd really need to be more educated on their lore before I made that decision. Do you have any desire to learn (a) foreign language(s)? Which? I both do and don't want to resume learning German. I got very good at it and could have basic conversations, but lack of application has slaughtered my vocabulary. Now it's like, it'd be nice to try again, but for what purpose? I don't think I'll ever actually apply it to my life, so it just seems like it'd be a load of wasted effort. But then on the other hand, I also feel that doing something you simply want to do isn't a waste of time. Idk. What is one of your firmest beliefs? Equality for all. No race, religion, whatthefuckever makes you more or less valuable than someone else. Do you have anything that keeps you from doing something you'd truly enjoy? Oh yes. Depression and anxiety, mostly. Do you work to fix your faults? Or at least, admit to them? I definitely try, and I'll certainly admit to them. How do you hope the world will change, if at all? I just want more compassion, less violence, more understanding... What is/are your view(s) on god, religion, spirituality, or relations to? In short, I believe that something sentient created the universe, and it/they/he/she/what-have-you just... let life play out from there, I think. I like to believe there's a plane of consciousness like an afterlife that exists, but if not, I don't really care. I hope the evil get what was coming to them, and the good get back what they gave, but maybe we're all better off without life after death. We'll all find out one day. Are you arachnophobic or scared of spiders in the least? Some, yes; others, not so much. This is very situational. Do you play WoW? What do you think of it either way? Haha, you're asking an avid player. I enjoy it, but not as much as I used to. At one point I was a Heroic raider, sometimes dabbling in Mythic, but now I'm just mostly a casual mount collector that likes chatting with my guildies and just doing dailies 'n shit. I owe a lot to the game, honestly; it helped me stay occupied throughout the breakup, and still today gives me something to do. What kind of computer do you have? Windows 7/Vista/XP/Other? I have an Acer Nitro with Windows 10. Are you taking any interesting classes in school/do you not attend? I'm no longer in school. If you don't attend, are you taking any "lessons" for anything? No, but I would like to join a photography course somewhere. A book/piece that has had an exceptional impact on your life? Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo just made me hate war more than I innately did. What genres of music are your favorite? Just metal as an umbrella term. Some heavy stuff, some less, some in the middle, some leaning towards other genres... but I just like metal. Do you think that fate plays a part in people's lives? No. Wouldn't "fate" just make it all... worthless? Like we're just storybook characters with a predetermined ending? What are your opinions on the media? One word: manipulative. What's a piece of technology you'd like to own? I REALLY want a PS4, especially lately. There's just a lot of games I REALLY want to play. Are you afraid of technology developing to where we're too reliant on it? We're already *too* reliant on it, which I do believe is a bad thing. I know, absolutely hysterical for me to be talking. What's your favorite odd ice cream flavor? I don't think I've ever had a truly odd ice cream flavor. There's this local place though that makes a kind that tastes JUST like s'mores, and I can fucking murder a cup of that. What's your opinion on stereotypes/labels? They're limiting and devalue uniqueness, imo. I know very, very few people who totally fit a certain stereotype, so why even bother. Like I don't care if you use them as adjectives to some extent, just don't put too much weight on them. Just be you. Do you believe that history repeats itself? It's not necessarily doomed to, but it happens sometimes, obviously. Would you rather learn from your mistakes or just undo them? Depends on the mistake. What was the most interesting class you had in school? Probably Mythology in high school. Do you write? If so, what? Yeah, meerkat role-play. And every now and again, poetry. Do you have a favorite culture? No; I'm not educated on nearly enough to pick one. Do you believe in global warming? Have you researched it? Lol no shit I do. I don't exactly think it takes much research to see with your own two eyes that it's factual. Do you prefer piercings or tattoos? Tattoos, if I had to pick. What comedy movie is your favorite? White Chicks. Have you ever meditated? Yes. Doesn't work for me. What comes to mind when you think of a great moment in your life? Realizing it was my choice to liberate myself and my happiness from my ex. He didn't and never should've carried it, because that's my right. What do you like about springtime? Aaaaall the flowers. <3 How have you handled having to stay in? It's not really different from my average day, so... How would your friends describe you? Quiet and overthinks literally everything. Have you ever hallucinated? When I was coming off a certain med in middle school, I saw black moving shadows. What (or who) is the best thing that ever happened to you? The partial hospitalization program I attended for two months following my suicide attempt. It's where I met my psychiatrist, who set my medication straight. Medicine besides though, I learned so many coping techniques and just how to deconstruct my trauma. As well as possible, anyway. What is the worst decision you ever made? Handing over the ability to make happiness for myself to another person. What is your favorite arcade game? Don't have one. Do you feel neglected? No. What school subject(s) are/were your best? English, Arts, Science. Are you allergic to pollen? Yep. What style of wedding dress do you like best? Probably ballgown. Are you over your first love? I probably never will be in complete totality. Do you always answer your phone? No. I only ever do if I recognize the number. Who was the last person you know to have a birthday? Today is actually my sister's birthday. What song is currently stuck in your head? I have Halocene's cover of "What I've Done" on a loop right now. It has me absolutely covered in goosebumps. Do you ever use coloring books? Not really anymore. Do you personally know anyone who is an author? Not to my knowledge, no. What’s your favorite kind of salsa/dip to go with tortilla chips? Just your normal, mildly hot salsa. Do you wash your car by hand or drive through a car wash? Mom's car hasn't been washed in... well, years, given its bumper. Mom worries that in a car wash, it'll be broken off (it is literally held on with a lot of zip ties and duct tape), and we ourselves don't want to wash it, so... Do you have any uncommon kitchen appliances, such as espresso machines, waffle irons, etc? I know we have one or two, but idk what they're called. What did your parents major/minor in in college, if they went? Dad never went to college. Mom changed her major a few times, but her latest was social work, I believe. Has either of their careers influenced what career you chose or want to pursue? Not at all. What kind of natural disaster is most common where you live? Hurricanes. Why is your least favorite season your least favorite? Because it's hot as fuck and humid. Have you ever had an animal get into your attic? No. When was the last time you started a “new chapter” of your life? I don't know. Hopefully I'll start one soon when I leave PHP and pursue a job... What room in your home do you spend the least amount of time in? I'm always in my room. Do you do anything to reduce the amount of electricity you use? I feel awful admitting I do quite the opposite... Being in the dark during the day affects my depression, so I'll have my lamp (or both) on even if it's just sort of shaded inside. Are you usually open to trying a new food that you aren’t familiar with? Eh, it depends on the food. I'm not very adventurous with foods though. Do you listen to Panic! At The Disco? I do. Have you ever had a kinky dream about a celebrity? ... It wasn't "kinky," but it was a dream lmao. Has anyone ever told you that they loved you, and you couldn’t say it back? That's how I ended the whole Joel childishness. Which friend do you confide in most? My mom. Do you wear a cross? No. What is your favorite doughnut? That's so hard. :( Krispy Kreme's normal glazed though probably takes the cake. I also love chocolate frosted and just totally plain, though. Do you have a hot tub? If so, where is it located? No. Did you read the Twilight series, or jump on the bandwagon after the movie? Neither. Do you or your parents rake your yard? Dad did growing up. Now nobody does or needs to. Who did you last go to the movies with? Dad, I think? What color was the last vehicle you were in? White. Do you have any family members in the military right now? No. Is there a ceiling fan in the room you’re in? Yeah. Have you ever heard voices? No. If you’re not straight, who was the first person you came out to? Sara. Do you remember the first time your first crush ever said hi to you? No. Do you ever go places with wet hair? Yeah, idc. Who is your favorite little girl? My nieces. What do you want the most in life? To feel like I made a difference, even a tiny one. If you could have anyone’s singing voice, whose would you choose? OBVIOUSLY Amy Lee's. What’s the most expensive thing you’ve bought that turned out to be a waste of money? *shrug* What’s something you’ve bought that turned out to be way more useful than you anticipated? Hm. Have you ever been on a ship? No. Would you ever date a disabled person? (Be honest) Yes. Would you rather adopt or have your own child? IF I wanted kids, which I absolutely do not, I'd rather have my own. I know I'd feel a deeper connection. What would you class as cheating on someone? As soon as you do/say something you don't want your s/o to know about, you're cheating. As far as earrings go, would you rather wear hoops or studs? Studs. Do you recycle? Yes. If someone dislikes you, what is most likely to be the reason? People have thought I don't try hard enough before. Do you put a line through your "7"s? Yes. ^ What about your "Z"s? Yes. What are you most known for? My art "skill," at least irl. How do you feel about shameless self-promoting? Depends on when, where, and how. As someone who's trying to be a freelance photographer, I get that it's sadly necessary, but there are some places it's just uncalled for.

[sprnklersplashes]

dead swan walking

Cursed!CS smut (but not very detailed) set in an alternate season 7. Rogers refers to cursed OG Killian and Jenny refers to cursed Emma Swan.

AO3

“Swan!” Killian runs up beside her, his voice shaking and desperate, a far cry from the smooth talking, innuendo swinging man she met on the beanstalk. Back then she had raised eyebrows at him open arms and fought the urge to sigh when he slipped his hook around her arm and drew her close to check her cut hand.

She grabs that arm now and pulls it across her body, her eyes not once leaving the black clouds spreading across the still morning sky, taking over the red hue painted by the rising sun.

Red sky at morning, shepherd’s warning, isn’t that the expression?

Hope and Henry are deep in the forest, running to find the wardrobe to take them out of the curse. It’s only half-finished; Lady Tremaine’s curse came earlier than they could have anticipated and they’re working on an awful lot of hope, but it’s all they have. She wouldn’t have called her daughter Hope if she didn’t believe in it.

“You’re shaking,” she comments with an empty smirk. “Hope it’s not because of me.” He huffs a laugh and kisses the back of her head, pulling her tighter against his chest like he can ward the curse off her himself. Maybe he can, he’s done more for her in the past.

She turns around in his arms, harder than you’d think when he’s practically squeezing the air out of her, and tilts her chin up to look at him, green eyes meeting blue. She puts her hand on the side of his face, memorising the curve of his cheek, his long eyelashes and stupid elf ears she likes to make fun of.

“I love you.” It’s a formality at this point, but she says it anyway.

“I know,” he jokes weakly. He doesn’t even know what he’s quoting.

She wants to kiss him. She wants to pull those lips against hers and forget everything, but in about ninety seconds that’ll be her reality anyway. So instead she buries herself in his chest, familiarising herself with the beat of his heart and the curve of his chest and the way his hair feels between her fingers.

She crosses those fingers now, for luck. Everything relies on Henry and Hope getting to the wardrobe in time.

Sometimes she wishes she wasn’t such a damn realist.

“Buying over?” Jenny asks, her voice so high it’s a wonder it doesn’t shatter the glasses hanging overhead. Belfry raises a smug eyebrow at her, leaning back in her barstool and flicking her golden-brown hair back. Jenny clenches her fist and presses it into the counter in an attempt to expel her anger. “What do you mean… buying over.”

“I mean I’m buying your bar over,” she says, talking slowly as though she was a child. It takes every ounce of self-control Jenny has not to reach across the bar and smack the self-righteous smirk off her face. “I’ve liked this little spot you’ve bagged here and thought I could make something of it. More than you are.”

“You can’t do this,” she says in a low voice. “You can’t. I have the right to this business!”

“Yes, you do. What you don’t have the right to is the building. I do. Every building along this street is owned by me and I have the right to use them in any way I want. You rented this place from me, Miss Bird. And as of now I’m terminating your contract.” She takes another pristine page out of her bag and slides it over the bar. “Take a look.”

Jenny’s knees buckle as she reads it, black print standing out starkly and mocking her. Every word is the truth, no matter how unfair it is. Belfry goes on about how come Monday the place is hers and Jenny has the weekend to clear out all her things and find a new job, but its white noise to her. All she can hear is her thudding heart in her ears and the memories of past rejections and her parents’ sighs of disappointment.

“I’ll see you on Monday to exchange the keys,” Belfry tells her, boredom evident in her tone. She gets up but walks away slowly, savouring the moment, eyeing every corner of the little bar Jenny’s called her own since… she can’t even remember. “I think I’ll turn it into a take away place. A healthy one. All that falafel and salad malarkey my Anna’s been on really got me thinking.” She doesn’t turn back for a response. If she did, Jenny’s pretty sure it would have been ‘go to hell’. Instead she strides out, pushing the door open and leaving her alone. The overhead light flickers and the tap at the bar drips incessantly despite her best efforts. She guesses that’s not her problem any more.

The streets are deserted when she walks home. Of course they would be; it’s so early in the morning that even the Seattle club scene has died down. The only people insane enough to be up right now are the drunk and the hopeless. She’s the latter, despite the shots she did in the bar after Belfry left.

And she’s mad. Holy fuck is she mad. Mad at Belfry mostly, but also mad at the world. Belfry’s just a product of it. Doesn’t excuse her, of course it doesn’t, but she knows how the world works. They’re all built into the woodworks of the capitalist system and despite what they’re led to believe in grade school, her name is carved into the lower rung of the ladder and Belfry’s at the top. She’s not pleading poverty at least. But she’s not living like Belfry and her daughters are either. She sells bits to make ends meet and they buy shoes they’ll wear once. She decides which bills can wait; they decide which car to drive that morning. It’s not fair and she knows it, so she’s not crying over it, despite the droplets on her face.

She presses her fist into her hand, biting the inside of her cheek in a bid to dispel the anger inside of her. That bar is hers. Belfry owns the building but never cared once for it, not even after it fell into Jenny’s hands. She is the one who lay on her back, sweat on her skin and sawdust in her mouth, screwing countertops on and who broke her back carrying kegs and taps inside. She is the one whose eyes were burning at 2am because she was writing down what she needed and how much. She is the one whose shoulders were aching after she carried crates of drink into that building and whose arms trembled after she set them all out. She is the one who spent her budget on placards and drink menus and the stained glass window claiming the place as hers.

Belfry could break that in one movement. It’s legal after all.

She slams her fist into the wall, desperate to feel something and to blame the tears on something other than her own stupid problems. She cradles it in her hand, setting her options out in front of her. She can go home, chug a bottle of whiskey and sprawl out on her bed. She can keep wandering the streets for the next twelve hours as if something’s going to come out that’s going to turn her shitty situation around. She can go back to the bar and actually get a head start on clearing up-

A light above her catches her eye; standing outside an apartment block, she sees a light switched on in a window. And not just any window. The same window she was on the other side of a while back, answering questions for a certain detective, the silhouette of whom she can see now, pulling on a t-shirt, his hair no doubt dishevelled and unruly after him having to keep it neat all day.

Her tongue darts out to the corner of her mouth as she realises another option; spend these eight hours getting freaky.

In the blink of an eye she’s pulling herself up over the low wall that surrounds the apartment block and her feet land on the solid soil on the other side, scattered with short blades of grass. She crosses the garden in double quick time, partially to escape the cold Seattle air. She cranes her neck, frowning. He’s on the third floor. And it’s not as though she can walk in the front door and use the elevator.

She takes a step back, shaking out her cold hands. She’s probably a hair’s length away from insane, looking around to make sure no one can see her (as if anyone would be out this late) and takes a few steps back, shaking out her hands. Just like fifth grade gymnastics, right? She won the bronze for that.

His window is closed and locked, as any sane man’s would be. Behind the curtain, she sees his shadow freeze, the outline of his shoulders tense and in the midst of everything, she’s sorry for the scare she’s giving him. Almost sorry enough to stop. Not sorry enough not to snap off his window lock.

Normally she’d knock but she doesn’t have the time.

“Miss Bird?” he asks as she stumbles over his window frame and lands in an unladylike heap on his carpet. She’s never seen his room, or his flat before, and wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting. Maybe stark white walls and black carpet, matching the no-nonsense, dedicated detective the town knows. Not flower patterned wallpaper and green carpeting in any case.

The man himself is half-standing and clad in pyjamas caught between pushing her out the window himself or calling the cops. Which would be him, she guesses.

“Miss… Jenny?” he begins, his shaking voice betraying his authority. Jenny pulls herself to her feet, yanking on her shirt to straighten it and tossing her hair out of her eyes. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Shh, shh, shh, shut up!” she replies sharply, waving her hand wildly in front of him. It’s his face, his eyes wide and his mouth half-open, that makes her remember herself. She flips her hair over her shoulder and strolls towards him, the grace and poise remembered from her old days, just starting out as a bartender, sweet talking tips out of older gentlemen. “Had to see you. Thing is, I decided I must ride you ‘til I break you.”

“Oh,” he squeaks, his cheeks pink. “Any um… any particular reason?”

“Well,” she sighs. She bites her lip, his comfort far, far too tempting. She could collapse in his arms and sob her heart out and tell him everything if she were here for comfort. But she’s not. So she falls back on an old habit and closes that door in her mind, the one that makes her think she might matter to someone. “Belfry. She says me and my bar have to go which makes you-” She pokes his chest firmly. “My last meal on death row. Now shut your mouth and lose the pyjama pants.”

“Why me?”

“What?”

“You could have any guy in town,” he points out. “Any man you like. Why pick me out of all of them?”

Crap, she thinks. She could give any reason; he was awake, he was there, he was close. Instead, before she even knows what she’s doing, her hands are on his shoulders, her touch gentle, their foreheads a breath apart. She has no right to be as scared as she is. Her mouth has no right being as dry as it is.

“Because… because you’re beautiful,” she says after what feels like an eternity. “And I know you have that lone wolf cop type thing going on but I think it’s an act. And the world is stupid and unfair and you know that and I know that and I want to lock it out there and pretend it doesn’t exist. I want to pretend that it’s beautiful.” She shrugs off her jacket and tosses it to the side. Her next sentence is both a demand and a question. “Let’s make this beautiful.”

“That works for me.”

And that’s all she needs.

She throws him onto the bed and pounces on top of him, kissing him hard while tangling her fingers in his hair. She allows him to sit up just enough to take that t-shirt off so she can drag her nails down his back, hoping she leaves a mark. If that doesn’t manage it, the way she’s sucking on his neck most definitely will. She uses all of her old tricks, some she thought she’d forgotten, some she can’t even remember learning. She kisses his neck slowly and his lips fast, digs her nails into his hips and pinning his hands above his head, being sure to always hold a little back, leaving him smiling and panting and wanting and begging.

He’s not half-bad himself, despite what she believes is lack o experience. He’s more than happy to follow her lead and obey every instruction, slapping her when he’s told to and pulling her hair on command, but he’s not totally submissive to her. He kisses her breast, then her neck, then the underside of her jaw. Even when she guides his hand he surprises her, massaging the skin gently or trailing his fingers to make her shiver. She picked a good one.

“Think we can break your bed?” she whispers in his ear, feeling herself close to finishing. She’s a little disappointed if she’s honest. She wasn’t quite ready for this to end.

“Think you already did that to my mattress, love,” he says.

“Rock this girl, then,” she commands. “Hope you weren’t counting on sleeping tonight.” She grabs the headboard with one hand and him with the other, kissing him with everything she can, a jolt of heat flashing between their lips as he keeps his hips rolling beneath her. She gasps a little, something hot rolling down her cheek. Could be sweat and she tells herself it is, because she won’t be the woman who cries during sex. “Make this whole town disappear.”

“As you wish,” he says, gasping a little between the words.  “Emma.”

A low moan she barely recognises escapes her lips, her body shuddering as the rolling of their bodies slows and nearly stops altogether. There’s a name on her lips that she can’t quite place, an image of wild dark hair and blue eyes.

She pushes herself off him and stares at the ceiling, breathless. Rogers lays beside her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. They sit in silence, or as much silence as they can allow, their bodies warm and sticky, her hair clinging to her shoulders. Common sense begins to come back to her, having taken its sweet time, and she flushes red, this time not from warmth or exertion.

“Wow,” he says after a while, his voice high. She doesn’t bother hiding her laugh as he coughs and tries to lower it. “That was….”

“Not bad,” she says.

“Is that my rating?” he teases. Even flat on her back, she can feel his smirk, normally hidden behind the mask of the strait laced detective with a too-big shirt.

“I don’t give ratings,” she tells him, daring to turn her head to look at him. “Whatever you might have heard.”

“I’ve heard nothing,” he replies. He swallows and bites his lip. A sarcastic remark enters her mind but he interrupts her before she can say it. “So Belfry…”

“I don’t want to talk about Belfry,” she says suddenly, looking back up at the ceiling. That’s what she came here for, to forget her, to forget everything.

“Indeed. Apologies.” She hums in acknowledgement, needing a change in conversation.

“Was that your first?”

“Jenny!” he squeaks. “Hardly an appropriate question.”

“What?” she laughs. “You’ll let a girl break into your house and ride you like a pony but you’ll draw the line at her asking about your sexual past.”

“Well it’s not a very sexual past,” he says. “Yes, Miss Bird, you were my first. Happy?”

“I’ll wear it like a badge of honour,” she promises. “But you know, for future reference most people don’t like being called a different name during sex.” She turns onto her side and finds him doing the same, frowning in puppy-like confusion. She raises an eyebrow. Not like she cares. Not like it meant anything. “Who’s Emma?”

“Emma?” he repeats. It’s a pretty name, and it sounds pretty with his voice. “I don’t know an Emma.”

“You clearly do,” she says. “I said ‘make this whole town disappear’. You said, ‘As you wish, Emma’.” She shrugs, her shoulder dragging against his mattress. “I’m not mad. Just curious. Who is she? An ex?”

“I have no idea,” he says softly. “I know I said it, but I’ve never met an Emma in my life.” She snorts and flips onto her back.

“You sound like my ex,” she says. “Exes. Never met an Emma, never met a Caroline, never met a Jennifer. You men are all the same.”

“I swear to you, love,” he says. “I have no idea who Emma is.”

He’s a good actor. Really good. His voice small and confused, his eyes moving around as he pretends to look through his mind, feigning innocence. It’s kind of cute, she guesses.

“I almost believe you,” she says. She presses her cheek further into the pillow, the adrenaline wearing off and the night catching up with her. “Now shut it, I’m tired and I need sleep.”

“As you wish.” She huffs a laughs as she closes her eyes, the weight of the blanket covering over her. “Jenny.”

[dvp95]

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 13 (now complete)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, deeper than anticipated but still not that deep y'all this is primarily silly, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 6,375 for this chapter (59,473 total) (damn, i was really hoping to hit 60k)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"Do you need to do some laundry before bed?" Phil asks, stirring vegetables with the kind of dubious intensity that Dan recognises from setting one too many meals on fire himself. "Or is all your stuff dry-clean only?"

"Very funny," says Dan. He's keeping an eye on the rice, but it requires much less effort. "Yeah, I could do a load tomorrow."

Phil looks up from his skillet for the first time since he turned the heat on. "Tomorrow? Dan, you leave tomorrow."

"Not til like two," Dan says with a little shrug.

The way Phil is looking at him makes him laugh. He's never seen the man's eyes so wide and anxious, so like a deer in headlights. Dan gently nudges him away from the hob by the hip and takes over vegetable watch.

"Dan," Phil says again, "that's not very much time. You don't want to pack tonight?"

"It sounds like you probably want me to pack tonight, Phil," says Dan. "I'm good at throwing things together last minute, though. I'm not worried about being late."

"I'm worried about you being late," says Phil. "Wouldn't it be easier to pack tonight and just hang out tomorrow?"

Dan smirks and tosses the rice in with the vegetables and sauce, just to get it all stirred together. One of Phil's hands is settled on the small of his back as he needles Dan about this, and it all feels so disgustingly domestic that Dan almost can't handle it.

"Uh huh," he says, trying not to let the fondness seep too much into his tone. "So, what you're saying is, you want me to do my laundry tonight so you can keep me in bed all morning?"

"Yes, but also, I've got time anxiety," Phil chuckles. He presses a kiss to the back of Dan's neck, which makes him shiver.

"You've got anxiety about the concept of time? Honestly, same."

"Stupid," says Phil. He isn't trying to hide the fondness the way Dan is, the affection coming off him in waves as he presses himself into Dan's side, drops a kiss to Dan's shoulder. "That too, I suppose, but I mean about being late. I always have my stuff packed like, two days in advance."

"Absolutely cannot relate," Dan says, biting his lip to try and hide a smile. "But yeah. I can do a load so you're not anxious about my unpacked suitcase all night."

That's not something he would normally offer, because Dan is almost never actually late and he's just fine with his current method of timekeeping, thanks, but he'd rather keep Phil in the best possible mood. And, okay, maybe it does sound kind of nice to just have a lie-in without running around to try and grab all the things he's somehow strewn across the flat in these short days.

It's strange, actually. Dan has spent a lot of his adult life on other people's couches and in hotel rooms, and he's good at keeping his stuff compartmentalized because of that. Something about how comfortable he feels here has him treating it like it's his own home. He's absolutely certain that Phil doesn't mind, if he even notices - it's not exactly obvious that Dan's chargers and straighteners and toothbrush haven't found their way back to his bags when Phil's junk is strewn across every possible surface.

Dan bumps his hip into Phil's and turns off the hob. "You ready to eat?"

"Literally always," says Phil. His hand leaves Dan's back, and Dan feels a bit bereft for it.

Still, he supposes, joining Phil on the sofa to watch some MasterChef while Thor acts like he isn't quietly begging for scraps isn't the worst way to spend an evening. In fact, if that's the only way Dan wants to spend all his dinners from here on out, nobody has to know.

--

Dan takes a shower while Phil goes on a walk with the dog, and he spends more time zoning out than he does actually washing himself. His phone is blaring a playlist he doesn't even remember making, and while it has some real bangers on it, he keeps getting distracted trying to track down the memory of it in his brain. Then, of course, his mind just drifts from there.

He thinks about his family, about the emails he still hasn't checked, about Adrian spouting bullshit profoundness down a phone line. He thinks about Heatwave, and his role in the whole mess of it, and what Amy will say when he tells her that he doesn't want to be a part of it going forward. He thinks about London, about the way the city has felt like an eventuality before but not quite like this, about how Phil is really what makes it feel like a place Dan can settle down and build a life for himself.

Most of all, Dan thinks about how much it is going to suck to be away from Phil for however long they have to be.

Long distance relationships aren't exactly Dan's forte. Which, okay, to be fair, relationships generally are not exactly Dan's forte, but he understands how this part works. He understands sex and cuddling and kissing, even if it all feels like the dial has been turned up to eleven with Phil, but he's not a hundred percent sure how to keep this sort of energy when they're an entire ocean apart. Dan is kind of a jealous person with a yo-yo of self esteem, and Phil is a very handsome and charming man who surely has far better prospects than talking to Dan on Skype until he falls asleep.

And that thought process isn't one Dan really needs to go down, is it.

He decides to try and trace back an inside joke to its inception while he washes his hair, because surely that's a better use of his time than heading down a rabbit hole of insecurity. He's still pondering that when there's a knock at the bathroom door and it opens.

"Hey, Dan?" Phil's voice comes, just loud enough to be heard over the shower and the music. Dan's eyes are closed so he doesn't get any fucking shampoo in them, and he has no idea if Phil is looking at him through the glass screen or not. He makes a noise to indicate he's heard Phil and tilts his head forward to start rinsing his hair. "You want me to throw your clothes in for you now? I can leave you something of mine to wear."

"I'd take something of yours anyway," Dan says, dry. He keeps his eyes closed. If he doesn't look, then he can live in a world where his boyfriend is checking him out just for the hell of it. Dan doesn't mind being watched by the right eyes.

"Of course you would. Anything that can't go in the wash?"

Dan grins and shrugs, even though Phil might not be looking at him. "I mean, read the fucking labels, mate. But yeah, none of my dress shirts."

"Got it." There's a beat of relative silence for so long that Dan starts to wonder if Phil has managed to leave the room without making noise - not Phil's strong suit at the best of times - but then he speaks again, low and amused. "If I were a murderer, Dan, you'd be so dead right now. Why are you facing the tap, you absolute freak?"

Water goes up Dan's nose when he laughs, and he's sure the sound of him cough-laughing isn't exactly attractive. He turns around and cracks an eye open to check if Phil is laughing at him or not.

Phil is resting against the bathroom counter with his arms crossed and a smirk playing around his pretty lips. If Dan were not acutely aware of the injuries it would cause, he'd whinge until Phil joined him under the spray.

"I'm just having a face the tap kind of day," he informs Phil, making sure his hair is completely devoid of any shampoo that might sneak-attack his eyes and make him look even more hilariously incompetent than he already does. "You just gonna stand there and look at me?"

"Tempting," says Phil. He leans over and picks up the pile of clothes that Dan had discarded beside the bath mat. "But one of us needs to get this done."

"Oi, I said I'd do it."

The grin Phil sends his way makes Dan's knees feel a bit wobbly, like he's a teenager all over again. "I know. I didn't believe you."

Honestly, that's fair. Dan is better at putting things off than he is getting off his ass to do it right away. He pretends to be offended, anyway, because it's more fun than conceding defeat. "Excuse me? I'm a man of my word, Philip."

"I believe you'd do it eventually," says Phil. "But if I do it now, then you can be naked in my bed once you're done wasting all my hot water. See? I think ahead."

"Go away," Dan laughs.

"I'm doing a nice thing!" Phil protests, but he's laughing too. He lets his gaze drift over Dan's body again, unapologetic about checking him out in a way that makes Dan's heart beat a bit faster, and then he's gone. The door closes behind him, and Dan covers his face with both hands to hide his blush from the empty bathroom and Frank Ocean's crooning.

God, he's so far gone for this guy. It's genuinely fucking ridiculous.

He doesn't spend too much more time in the shower, because his boyfriend is waiting for him. And, fuck, that still feels so goddamn weird to think. Boyfriend. Dan has a boyfriend. It's actually surreal.

Dan dries himself off and wraps the towel around his hips, because Phil hasn't come back to give him pyjamas. He turns off his mystery playlist and pushes wet curls off his forehead before he leaves the fogged-up bathroom.

"He emerges," Phil jokes, barely looking up from his phone. "Clothes are in the dresser if you want to put them on."

"If I want to?" Dan repeats with a big grin. He likes looking at Phil's long legs spread over his colourful bedsheets, glasses perched on his nose and his hair sticking up a bit at the back. He looks comfortable and soft, and Dan truly considers throwing on something soft and curling up for another nap. Or sleep, at this point, if Phil lets him sleep through the night. But he's leaving so soon, he wants more than that. "Yeah. I don't really want to."

The way Phil's lips twitch make Dan feel certain that Phil didn't really want him to, either. He puts his phone aside and raises his eyebrows at Dan. "C'mere, then."

As tempting as it is to just collapse into Phil's lap right away, Dan is getting the hang of this 'sharing a small space with a dog' thing. He has to use treats and toys to lure Thor out of the room this time, gamely ignoring Phil's snickers at his attempts. Thor is so dubious at this point, not particularly enjoying being put away, but he eventually does follow Dan into the bathroom and curl up with his rope and a reproachful look at Dan. It's very distracting, but Dan manages to remember to grab a couple of condoms. The lube is still on one of the nightstands, on the side Dan has been trying pretty hard not to think of as his own.

"You know," Dan says as he hangs his towel on a hook, closes the bathroom door behind him. "When I get a place in London, it's going to have more than two rooms. So even if you do bring Thor over, we can shut a door without him getting mad at me."

"I think he'd get mad anyway," says Phil. He sounds distracted, looking Dan over again, and Dan preens a bit under the attention.

It's not that Dan doesn't know what he looks like. He's not going to win any awards for his face or body or whatever, but he's not exactly a bridge troll. He's seen himself on screen and heard enough people talk about him in complimentary ways that he knows, more or less, the way people tend to react when they look at him, but.

Just like everything else, it feels like so much more with Phil. Normally, Dan feels anywhere from gratified to indifferent by people finding him attractive, but when Phil looks at him like that, he just feels... wanted. In a really, really good way.

"Probably," Dan says, putting a hand on his hip. His pulse jumps at the way Phil's eyes track the movement, how they linger on Dan's dick. So what if he's getting a bit hard just from being looked at? Dan doesn't mind being watched by the right eyes, and Phil's are definitely the right eyes. He can't find it in himself to be embarrassed about it, not when Phil doesn't seem to find it funny in the slightest.

"Come here," Phil says again, more firmly.

Dan does as he's told, straddling Phil's thighs and grinning at him. He takes Phil's glasses off his face, puts them and the condoms on the nightstand for safekeeping. Phil blinks a bunch and grins back at him.

"You're wearing a lot of clothes," Dan notes, toying with the collar of Phil's shirt. He hasn't changed all day, and as much as Dan likes looking at him in this tacky print, he'd much prefer to see the pale skin and downy hair and shock of metal beneath it. "That's gonna be a problem."

"Oh, is it?" Phil teases, running his cool hands over Dan's thighs, his flank, his ass. It's like he can't decide where to settle them, not that Dan is complaining about the exploration.

"Yeah, but don't worry, I can fix it." Dan flicks the buttons of Phil's shirt open, pressing his lips to Phil's collarbone as soon as the bright fabric is out of the way. He feels Phil exhale as one of his hands tangles loosely in Dan's hair.

The texture of Phil's jeans feels weird against Dan's bare inner thighs. He leans forward a bit so less of his skin is touching denim before doing something he hasn't done since he was a literal teenager. He bites down rather gently on Phil's pale collarbone and soothes it with his tongue, giving Phil plenty of opportunity to protest before he goes in properly to leave a mark.

Dan finishes unbuttoning Phil's shirt while he sucks and nips at Phil's clavicle, and he lets his large hands map out the rest of Phil's torso while he darkens the bruise to his satisfaction.

Little sighs keep escaping Phil's lips as he runs his fingers through Dan's damp hair, and Dan is sure that he would have been tugged away by now if this wasn't good for Phil, too. Dan brushes his fingertips over Phil's ribs and bites down harder, just to see where the line is.

Phil's breath hitches. Otherwise, he doesn't really react.

"You're like a vampire," he comments, his voice low and dry and very, very attractive to Dan. "Do you bite all the boys?"

"Nah," Dan murmurs, nosing at the small, blossoming bruises. He likes the way they look, hopes that Phil will send him photos later with them on display. "Just you. Want you to think about me while I'm gone."

"Trust me," says Phil. "That was never going to be a problem. D'you like getting them, too, or do you just like giving them?"

What a perfect set up to a shitty joke. Dan's favourite. He grins wide and winks up at Phil, tweaking Phil's nipple ring as he does. "Oh, I'm versatile."

Even with his shirt pushed open, his cheeks pinked, his eyes dark and intense despite not being able to see much of anything, Phil manages to roll his eyes. "Yeah, alright. D'you want a hickey or not?"

"Yes, please," Dan says cheerfully. "Nowhere I might accidentally flash to a camera."

Phil hums and looks Dan over, thoughtful. Dan feels his dick twitch at the attention and resists the ridiculous urge to cover himself.

"Okay," says Phil, patting Dan's thighs decisively. "Lie down."

"Sounds good to me, my dude," says Dan. He laughs as he rolls off of Phil and onto his back, suddenly remembering something he'd said to Phil on what he now knows was their first date. "Never sit when you can lie down, am I right?"

"You are right," Phil says dryly. He shrugs off his shirt and lets it fall to the floor. "You are also very annoying."

"Is this because I dude-zoned you?"

Phil's lips twitch, and he smacks at the general direction of Dan's thigh. He misses, hits the mattress instead, and Dan can't hold back a snort. Phil's depth perception is shot without his glasses, and Dan is so endeared by his confused blinking.

"Where are you?" Phil murmurs, mostly to himself, and stretches his hand out to connect with Dan's hip. "Aha. There you are. Got you."

"I literally was not moving." This time, the slap does connect with Dan's thigh. He doesn't really mind, but he makes a big show of sulking about it anyway. "Ow, rude."

"As if that hurt," Phil says dismissively. He trails his hand over Dan's hip and lower stomach before he moves to settle between Dan's legs, as if he's using his palm to map out where he needs to be.

Okay, yeah, Dan can work with this. He wiggles to get more comfortable and arches a bit into Phil's touch.

This always makes Dan feel so vulnerable. He knows that Phil can't see him clearly, but that doesn't seem to matter to that sense of shame that Dan still hasn't managed to eradicate. Phil presses his lips to Dan's thigh and Dan spreads his legs wider in response, blushing furiously and thanking his lucky stars that Phil probably won't notice it.

Dan knows what he wants, and normally he'd have no trouble asking for it, but he's nervous. It's hard to focus completely on the wet suction of Phil's mouth on his inner thigh when all Dan can think about is how terrifying this is to him. He can't figure out the source of the anxiety at first, mind drifting down various paths the way it had in the shower, but he's jolted back into the present when the sharp edge of Phil's teeth press against his skin.

Suddenly, it's obvious. Of course this is nerve-wracking. Everything that he's felt with Phil has been more intense than anything he's felt before, from such simple things as holding hands to the feeling of Phil's cock in his mouth, and Dan already knows how much he likes being fucked. He's nervous about, like, blacking out or doing something else stupidly embarrassing like that.

Phil pulls back to look at the mark he's left on Dan's inner thigh as best as he can without perfect vision, and Dan tries his best to ignore whatever notions of shame and fear still try to make him feel like less for enjoying something like this.

"Hey," he says, reaching for the bottle of lube before he can lose his nerve. "While you're down there, might as well make yourself useful."

It takes a bit of squinting, but Phil snorts a laugh when he figures out what Dan is holding out to him. "I thought I was already being useful," Phil says, "but sure, whatever you say."

"Don't act like it's a hardship," Dan huffs. He shifts down a bit, getting his hips in a more comfortable position. He can see a red flush all over his chest, and he bets his face looks even worse. He needs to keep fighting back that embarrassment, that shame. That fear of it being so good he won't know how to act. He doesn't want to tell Phil everything, but he wants to somewhat explain himself in case Phil can tell he's acting weird. "Though, like, guess you should know that it's been a while."

"How long we talking?" Phil hums as he brushes his thumb over Dan's dick, teasing.

"Uh," says Dan. "Like, uni."

That makes Phil sit up a bit and furrow his brow in the general direction of Dan's face. "Dan, that's almost -"

"I know," Dan groans, covering his red face with both hands. "I know it's been almost ten fucking years, Phil, but I'm not going to fucking - break, or freak out, or whatever. I do fuck myself, okay, it's just been since uni that another person's done it for me."

"Okay," Phil says, his voice soft and soothing. He squeezes Dan's thighs and leans in to press a chaste kiss to the pudge of Dan's tummy.

"Okay?" Dan repeats, his heart beating way too fast to match Phil's serenity.

"Yeah, okay," says Phil. He smiles. "You say you're okay, I believe you. Just keep talking to me, okay? And you can change your mind whenever."

Dan swallows around a sudden lump in his throat. Fuck, he shouldn't be getting so emotional just because someone about to fuck him is treating him gently, but he might have more issues around this than he'd thought he did. He reaches down to tangle his fingers with Phil's, squeezing both of his hands.

"Oh, so now you want me to talk?" he teases.

His voice doesn't come out nearly as conversational as he wants it to, but Phil is kind enough not to draw attention to it. Instead, he just asks, "You want me to suck you off? Give you something else to focus on?"

"Are you that coordinated?" Dan asks, trying his best to get the light atmosphere back. He can't deal with the weight of emotion right this second, not when he's leaving so fucking soon. He's got enough emotions to deal with about that, he doesn't need to add more onto his plate. He isn't exactly 'good' with 'emotion'.

Thankfully, Phil laughs. He pinches Dan's thigh, close to where he'd left a bruise but not quite on it. "Hey, fuck you."

"That's what I'm saying," Dan laughs too, wiggling his hips. "Fuck me."

Phil still isn't looking directly at Dan's face, but his reassuring little grin still hits Dan as hard as it would have if they were staring into each other's eyes. He settles back down between Dan's spread legs and taps at Dan's thigh.

"Lift," he instructs, and Dan knows he's blushing even deeper as he hooks a leg over Phil's bare shoulder, making things a bit easier on both of them. God, but the vulnerability is so much worse like this. Dan likes being looked at by the right eyes, but the feeling of being on display like this makes him squirmy somewhere in his gut. Phil hums against Dan's thigh, presses soft kisses over it until the muscle relaxes. "Be easier if you put the condom on for me, yeah?"

All too happy to have something to focus on that isn't the feeling of Phil's fingers brushing over his balls, Dan does as he's told.

It's easier like this, it really is. Phil is working by touch more than sight, and that becomes doubly true when Dan's dick is in his mouth and he's got his pretty, unfocused eyes closed. Dan fights back the panic threatening to overtake him, because this is just Phil.

It's just Phil. And more than anyone else he's ever met, Dan thinks that he probably trusts this man the most. He tangles his fingers in Phil's soft bedding, breathing deeply and doing his best to relax when Phil goes ahead and rubs his fingers over Dan, presses a tiny bit inside him, makes a questioning sort of noise around Dan's cock.

"Yeah," Dan breathes, letting his own eyes fall closed so he can just think about how good this feels. "It's good, you can keep going."

And it is. It's really, really good. Dan already knows he likes this, knows that a finger inside him while a hot mouth is wrapped around his cock is one of the better things for him in bed, but Phil sure does turn this up to eleven, too.

Phil isn't even trying to get him off right now, is the thing. He's sucking Dan lazily, keeping his cock warm more than actually blowing him, and his finger - fingers, after a minute, and that slight stretch makes Dan bite back a truly mortifying noise - aren't seeking out Dan's prostate, but none of that makes this any less good for Dan.

He doesn't treat Dan like he's made of glass, and Dan appreciates that almost as much as he appreciates the steady thrum of pleasure coursing through him as Phil gets him ready. He had been a bit wary that admitting the length of time would make Phil gentle and nervous, as if Dan were a bloody virgin or something, but he should really stop projecting so many of his own anxieties on a man who is clearly more well-adjusted than Dan.

The only thing Phil does is slow down when Dan has been quiet for too long, make some prompting noises, pull off him to remind Dan to breathe with him. It's considerate in a way that doesn't make Dan feel embarrassed and smothered, and Dan could fucking kiss him for that. In fact, he will, as soon as Phil comes back into kissing distance. Dan could never articulate any of this to Phil, of course, but he can kiss him until he gets the general idea.

Dan babbles. Of course he does, he's been given explicit permission to do so. It's all a jumble of affirmations and curses, not exactly sensical, but he doesn't think Phil expects him to be talking in proper sentences right this second.

Eventually, though, Dan groans and reaches for Phil's hair, pulling him off. "Okay, okay, fuck. I'm good, need you now."

He opens his eyes and has to swallow another noise at how good Phil looks right now, all reddened mouth and darkened eyes. He surely can't see the way Dan is gawping at him, but the way he smirks makes Dan think that maybe he can sense it. "What exactly do you need?" Phil asks, playing dumb. Dan would kick him if he was physically able to.

"I'm going to kick you," Dan informs him.

"Wow, abuse of the boyfriend," says Phil. He nips at Dan's stomach and sits up with a little roll of his neck, stretching it. "I'm just asking for some clarity, Daniel, you already have me."

"You're terrible," says Dan. "This is terrible. If you don't have your dick inside me in the next ten seconds, you're sleeping on the sofa."

Phil's fake-innocent mask breaks as he giggles, tongue poking out from between his teeth. "This is my bed!" he protests.

Honestly, Dan doesn't care whose bed it is. This is a ridiculous argument to be having when Phil's got three of his fingers in Dan's ass.

"Ten," Dan threatens like he would with a small child, and Phil laughs even harder at him. Dan can feel giggles threatening to bubble up from his own chest, and he tries to hold back a very unsexy snort. "Shut up, oh my god, you're the absolute worst."

"I'm not the one whining about not getting my way," Phil points out.

"Hi, have we met? I'm Dan."

Phil rolls his eyes to the ceiling and shakes his head. The loss of his fingers makes Dan whine involuntarily, and he whines even louder when Phil stands up.

Thankfully, Phil only stays off the bed long enough to shuck his jeans and pants off. Dan reaches for him, wraps a hand around Phil's cock and revels in the soft, surprised 'oh' of a noise that falls from Phil's lips. He's hard and heavy and Dan has to know if that Prince Albert will do anything for him when Phil is inside him. He gives Phil a couple strokes and tears open another condom. Maybe if Dan were a less lazy person, he'd take his own off now that it isn't needed, but - hey, it's already there, clean-up's going to be a lot easier. Whatever.

He doesn't think he can stay on his back. He isn't entirely convinced that he won't get teary if this feels at all like this 'making love' thing people keep talking about, first of all, but Dan also has far more practical excuses for rolling onto his front. His thighs are starting to cramp up, and the other people who live in this building would surely appreciate Dan's loud mouth being pressed into a pillow. Dan has so many things he could say to Phil if he asks about the change of position, but Phil doesn't ask.

A cool palm runs over Dan's lower back and rests on his hip, squeezing. Dan sighs and buries his nose further into the pillowcase. It smells like Phil's fruity shampoo, and that's comforting. This isn't as scary now that Dan remembers exactly how at ease Phil puts him, has been able to since they met.

Phil working mostly by touch gives Dan enough warning that he doesn't quite gasp when he feels the head of Phil's cock pressing against him, but he does groan into Phil's pillow.

He definitely forgot to warn Phil about his volume control issues. It would be fairly redundant to do it now, Dan thinks, because the barely-muffled sound he makes when Phil starts to sink into him is already the loudest one he's made in Phil's presence.

Phil pauses, squeezing Dan's hip again. "Hey. Good or bad?"

Dan turns his face just enough to laugh breathlessly, stretching his arms out to hold onto the pillow. "Uh, fucking incredible."

"Yeah," Phil agrees, voice so low that Dan can practically feel it vibrating down his spine. He rolls his hips carefully and makes a choked-off laugh of a noise when Dan outright moans, only able to hide the tail end of it in the pillow. "Christ. You weren't kidding, yeah? You really like this?"

Eyes closed, practically suffocating himself, Dan does his best to nod.

He does. He really likes this.

The thing is, he still isn't really sure that he's able to vocalize that, at least not right this second. Dan rocks his hips back instead of trying to articulate some kind of response, heat sparking through him at the motion. God, but it really has been a long time since Dan has gotten fucked. Phil lets his hips snap forward to meet Dan's little thrusts, and, yeah. Fuck.

Dan was right. This feels so much better than any other cock he's ever had, and it isn't because the ball of Phil's piercing keeps nudging against Dan's prostate just right or because he's thick enough to stretch Dan just the way he likes - or, okay, it isn't solely because of those things. They do help.

It's just because this is Phil rocking into him, pressing kisses over his shoulders, making little breathy noises whenever Dan clenches around him.

Honestly, Dan had no idea that liking someone so much and trusting them with his body would make sex this much better. Sure, yeah, it makes logical sense or whatever, but it isn't something he could have ever guessed he'd get to experience.

He’s still overthinking when a particularly hard thrust has him rushing to the edge faster than he has in a long time, making his entire mind short-circuit.

"Oh," he moans, curling his hands into fists in Phil’s pillow and nodding into the fabric. "Oh, fuck, s-sorry, close -"

Phil's laugh turns into a groan, and Dan thinks that's the hottest thing he's ever heard. "The fuck are you sorry for, Dan?" He slides one of his hands around to play with Dan's cock, tight enough that Dan doesn't even fucking care about the latex barrier keeping him from the texture of Phil's palm. Phil presses more of his weight onto Dan, kisses the side of his neck, murmurs directly into his ear. "I want you to come."

Yeah. Okay. Dan might be a bit suggestible. He bites down on Phil’s pillow as his orgasm hits, embarrassingly quickly. Maybe he does black out for a second, because he feels heat through his entire body one moment and absolutely boneless the next.

Phil is still kissing over his feverish skin when Dan comes back to himself, and the feeling of him grinding slow into Dan is hovering right on the knife edge of too-much.

"Fuck," Dan gasps, turning his head so he can breathe again. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and he isn't sure that his arms will ever not be jelly again. He feels Phil stop moving, probably planning to pull out, and he whines a bit. "No, s'okay. You can finish, baby."

If Dan were more present, he might care that he's called someone baby unironically. As it is, he just wiggles back into Phil and revels in the moan he gets in response.

"You sure?" Phil checks, voice trembling the tiniest bit. It's like he's holding himself back. He doesn't have to do that, not with Dan.

"Very sure," says Dan. He closes his eyes, lets the too-much turn back into a low level thrum of pleasure. He's not nineteen anymore, he definitely can't go again tonight, but it still feels good to be making Phil feel good. He hums and reaches a hand back to hold onto Phil's, both of them pressed against Dan's hip. He feels loose-limbed, happy, and he doesn't second guess himself at all when he adds, "I like the way it feels. You can keep going."

"God," Phil breathes. He gives Dan a couple of slow, careful thrusts, testing the waters, but when Dan only makes a contented noise in response, Phil starts really fucking him again.

Dan holds tight to Phil's hand and lets Phil use him for his own end, murmuring absolute nonsense to help him along. Just, "Yeah, that's it, doesn't it feel good, you feel good", that sort of thing.

Still, Phil does get there before Dan stops enjoying the oversensitive feeling. His rhythm falters a couple of times and his blunt nails dig into Dan's skin, hopefully leaving more physical reminders of the best sex Dan's ever had, before he's groaning something that sounds like Dan's name and coming. Dan whimpers at the feeling of Phil losing control inside him.

They're both panting and sweaty and have gross condoms to dispose of, but when Phil pulls out of him and pulls him into a cuddle, Dan feels more at peace than he thinks he ever has in his goddamn life.

"I don't want to leave," Dan whispers into the quiet, because he isn't sure if he's told Phil as much.

"I don't want you to leave," Phil says, pressing a kiss to Dan's damp curls. His arms feel so steady around Dan, not at all jelly like Dan's are. "But you'll be back when you can, right? And I go to Florida every year with my family, I can totally road trip to you."

With any luck, that won't be necessary. Dan is too fucked-out and sleepy to turn this into a Conversation, though, so he just makes an affirmative sort of noise and nuzzles into Phil's chest.

They can clean up in a minute.

--

"Sorry, sorry, I know I was almost late, but I promise I have a good reason for it -"

"You can't be almost late," Phil says, rather patiently for the time of morning it is in London. He looks tired, glasses on and hair an absolute mess, but he'd woken up just because Dan had asked him to. Dan can see Thor's nose, resting on Phil's thigh, and everything inside him wants to crawl through the screen to join them both.

Dan settles in the hotel bed with his phone, grinning at how cute they both look even through shitty FaceTime quality. "Still, I'm sorry. I know it's early."

"Yeah," Phil says, unable to stop himself from yawning. He gives Dan a sheepish little smile. "But I wanted to see you. How's L.A. going? Has anyone tried to lick you yet?"

"For the last time, you're the only person who has multiple stories of strangers trying to lick you," says Dan. He winks. "Not that I blame them."

The grin Phil gives him makes his stomach swoop. Dan wonders if it's ever going to stop doing that.

"Shut up," Phil says, fond. He shifts around on his sofa, getting comfortable, and Thor gives him a disappointed sort of look for the temporary displacement. "Sorry, buddy. But I'm serious, Dan, what's up? You've been stupidly vague."

"Yeah, I guess I have," says Dan. He lifts a shoulder in a lazy sort of shrug and puts his hand in front of his mouth to try and hide the ridiculously happy grin on his face. "I've been talking to producers all day, and it's been a fucking nightmare. Just got back to the hotel, I really did think I'd be back earlier than this and I could try to be early for once, but."

Phil blinks at him. "I thought you were on vacation."

"Don't you think I'd go to your place if I were on vacation?" Dan laughs. "No, I - I didn't want to get your hopes up. But like, here's the thing. I've got news."

Even Thor seems to perk up. Dan grins at his screen, wishes he could watch Phil's eyes go from their carefully guarded neutrality into something that's softer, more hopeful. Just for Dan.

"You've got news," Phil repeats. He bites his lip. "What kind of news?"

Dan had this whole plan to drag it out, make it all dramatic, but now that he's faced with the cautious optimism in Phil's face, he can't bring himself to do it. He laughs, rolls onto his side to get more comfortable. "Well, you can tell your mum I'm coming round for Christmas, for one."

[occasionalfics]

worth my while // p. 7

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ko-fi | p. 6 | p. 8 

Summary: After being banished from his home, Thor Odinson has stopped at nothing to prove himself worthy of his throne, title, and power.

After losing the love of your life, you turned to a power you didn’t understand.You know you shouldn’t get involved.

But how could you not?

Pairing: Thor x Reader (Hercules au…kind of…)

A/N: Oh, you know, just more not very subtle references to Hercules here ;) 

Also there’s a reference to Parker Robbins, who’s not in the MCU but he’s a Marvel comic villain. I basically just chose him because he fits in with the other, more recognizable Marvel villains Hades wants to work with but, ultimately, he’s not on screen. I just also knew he was kind of an obscure choice for a Thor fanfic XD

Warnings: Violence, lots of angst, borderline abuse and definite manipulation, eventual smut, way too many feels, major character death (eventually). Hades is still a huge creep.

Words: 3,126

Hades is putting a board together. He has a square in the center of the board, four names spread out - one at each corner - and a mess of a diagram throughout the center of the square. It only worries you marginally that the names are: Von Doom, Fisk, Osborn, and Robbins.

You’d asked him who the last one was.

“Some...I don’t know, some mob boss’er something,” he’d said.

You still can’t figure out what he needs these men for. All four are rich, white, and have a stake in the destruction of the Avengers. But the closer you look at the diagram, the less it looks like Hades actually wants to destroy them. He hasn’t written down his actual plan, but it doesn’t seem to involve allowing the souls of the heroes into his domain.

Each of the men on the board have two or three names of Avengers around them. You already know Hades wants to split them up, but the order doesn’t make sense.

Remarkably, Thor is missing from the board entirely. Something inside of you is relieved, but something more suspicious is suddenly on edge.

Hades won’t let you meet these men. Won’t even send you to give Von Doom messages or updates or anything anymore. Apparently, the failure of the first meeting has left its mark. You’re not of much use to him, but you know he won’t just let you go.

Actually, as you look closer, you realize that you’re not even on the board at all. Neither is Hades.

If the three of you are missing, you can only imagine what Hades has planned. Nothing good comes to mind. Your stomach sinks at all of the possibilities.

You hear the flat heels of his dress shoes as they patter against his marble floors. Hades comes into the room as you step away from the board, pulling out your phone to attempt to make it look like you weren’t studying his plan.

He’s ancient. He’s smart. He knows better.

“You worry too much, you know that?” he asks you, stepping around you to push the board against the window of the den.

“Just trying to figure out what you’re gonna do if you were willing to throw me off a building,” you shoot back.

At that, he rolls his eyes. “Get over it already, would you?” he asks, turning around to take a seat on the couch. All three Cerberuses fall into the room, one at a time. Your favorite one - which you can only distinguish because of his behavior - immediately sits at your heels. One sits with Hades, and the third lays on the floor between the two of you.

“‘S not like you can die while you’re under my jurisdiction.”

You stare at him. That’s a detail he hasn’t given you before. Not even when you were negotiating the terms of bringing Rick back to life.

Gods you were naive then, to think that Hades had your best interest at heart. To think someone so cunning, so world-weary would care about one petty mortal life.

You’re not sure what that means for Thor. He’s different, but he’s still a God, still on a level of existence closer to Hades than you.

When you don’t have anything else to verbally throw back at him, Hades smirks. He tips his head back pompously and asks, “How’s the God of Thunder doing?”

At that, you cock an eyebrow at him. “Why do you wanna know?”

Your Cerberus whines beside you, turning his face up toward you with an inky sadness deep in his eyes. It’s like he can see inside of you and reflects your true emotions back at you. And given how little Hades has told you about his world, you might not doubt it.

“Am I not allowed to have vested interest in my servants’ love life?” he asks, feigning absolute innocence.

You cross your arms. “No,” is all you say. You don’t feel the need to justify your relationship with Thor (your head tells you it’s not a relationship), even though some part of you is screaming to tell Hades that you don’t love Thor, and that, by omission of that declaration alone, he will assume that you do.

Do you?

You can’t, that’s for sure.

You do... adore him, though.

But you stop your thoughts there, because going any further here, in Hades’ home, is dangerous for both you and Thor and who even knows who else.

“You are absolutely no fun, you know that?” he asks as his face falls into unamused boredom.

“You’re the king of the dead,” you spit back. “You should be used to it.”

At that, he laughs. He really must think you’re being comical, or else he just wants to believe you are. Either way, he laughs, then straightens up and pats the spot on the couch next to him.

You sigh. As much as you want to ignore Hades, you know you can’t. He owns you.

Every time you think about that, you hate yourself a little more.

Cerberus follows you to the couch, curling under your arm as you sit on the seat beside Hades. The third one comes over and turns in a circle between your right heel and Hades’ left before making himself truly comfortable on the floor.

“I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with the Asgardian,” Hades says. He pets his Cerberus slowly, and you find yourself doing the same to yours. You know they’re irresistible; that’s why he has them in the first place, you think. “You don’t spend time with anyone, and yet, you keep going back to him.”

“He’s the first person to treat me like a decent human in years, so,” you say, shrugging and looking at your Cerberus, because even this feels like being over-the-top vulnerable with Hades.

“So you must know a lot about him, then,” he says. “Intimate details. Things he might not even tell his teammates.”

“I doubt that,” you mutter. And you do - doubt that Thor has told you anything he hasn’t shared with his friends already. The Avengers have to trust one another to work as a cohesive unit - the fiasco over the Accords proved that much already. Hades’ plan is never going to work because of it. You’re absolutely sure of that.

But Hades chuckles anyway. “C’mon, (Y/N),” he calls. “You gotta know something! Something good, something useful!”

You think about what Thor told you out on that balcony. Heat creeps into your face, despite your best efforts to tame it, because you just remember being so close to him, physically and emotionally, and you know you’ve gotten yourself into more trouble than you bargained for already. But maybe you can cover your tracks, maybe you can lessen the inevitable blow you know is coming just by virtue of sitting next to Hades, having this very conversation, by just giving him...a little peek. Nothing big. Not the whole story that Thor’s trusted you with.

You sigh, at least to make it seem like you’re giving into the temptation to gossip. “He was banished here because he mucked up some...political conflict back home. He didn’t just show up, like all the news outlets want us to believe.”

Hades absolutely eats it up. He sits forward, eyebrow cocked, smile positively gleaming. His navy eyes burn with intensity that scares you.

“So he does have weaknesses,” he mutters. “They’re just not like the others’.”

“I mean, dude’s pretty close to perfect,” you start. And then you find that you can’t really stop. “I don’t...think he was when he got here, but now he’s really...wonderful.” You bite your lip, but really, it’s just coming out of you now. You haven’t shared your inner feelings like this in so long that it’s forcing its way out almost violently. “He cares, so much. And, sure, he wants to prove himself worthy of going home, but he really loves it here, too. He loves the people. He’s stayed with the team this long for them.”

You’re somehow able to keep this to yourself, but you think that, even if it hadn’t you that fell from that building, Thor still would’ve stopped his fight to save whoever it was. He didn’t know that your presence was more than just a coincidence.

Hades is shaking his head, a mad look in his eyes. He stands up to tower over you, and you’re suddenly frozen to your spot.

You’ve said too much. You can feel it in your gut.

“I know how to get him,” he mutters. It’s the first breath of a sign to you about this whole plan, which immediately shakes you.

Hades hasn’t told you anything that you’re not directly involved in. But this…

You shake your head. “I won’t help you hurt him,” you say, forcing your face into a scowl despite the trembling of your hands and knees. Your Cerberus cries beside you.

But Hades doesn’t care. He comes closer to you, reaches out and dares to cup your cheek. You can’t move to do anything about it. Your whole body feels cold - you’ve felt this before, and you know it’s because Hades is using magic on you. No matter how much you struggle, you can’t control your body anymore.

“The funny thing about our little arrangement, babe,” he says, stroking your jaw with his thumb, “is that I own your soul. You’ll do whatever I tell you to do. You signed on the dotted line.”

You glare at him, eyes closing into little squints because they’re the only things you can move.

“But I know you, (Y/N). I know you well enough that, if you truly believe something isn’t right, you’ll fight it.” He chuckles. “I’ve always liked that about you, believe it or not. But right now, it’ll only get in my way. So.” He lets go of your face, but not the control over your body. “How about I make you a deal you can’t refuse?”

All you can do is wait to hear him out. Exactly as he wants.

“How about, in return for finding out just one of Thor’s concrete weaknesses - anything that’ll get him out of the way - I give you the one thing that no one else can. The one thing that I know you’ve been craving since that creep Rick left.”

You don’t have to ask to know what it is.

“You get me a weakness, and you’re free.”

--

Everything about this feels wrong.

You know it’s because you’ve asked Thor out with an ulterior motive. That doesn’t make knowing that it all feels wrong any different.

Maybe he’ll understand, you think. Maybe he can identify with your plight. It’s not like he doesn’t have one of his own, you know?

It’s not like he doesn’t understand what being out of control of your own destiny, even for a single moment, is like.

You’re desperate. He can understand. Maybe. One day.

For now, he’s content holding your hand, walking around the city like a pair of tourists. He looks at everything with such joy and unadulterated light that it’s easy to forget why you’re out with him. Why you’re really out with him.

After lunch, you amble around in the warm sun, God of Thunder attached to your side and you wonder, for a second, how you got so fortunate. How you are the lucky one he decides to spend his days off with.

Although, you wouldn’t say it’s so much his day off as it is an afternoon in which he’s out of the tower without means of communicating with the team, as he doesn’t have a phone that he carries with him on a regular basis. You figure they probably just have some kind of tracker on him, anyway, so if the world were truly in danger, Thor’d be easy to find.

So back to you being fortunate - because, really, it’s not fortune. At least this time, it’s by design.

And you haven’t been working toward that design much. Thor’s laughing at something you’d said, and you’ve already forgotten what it was and exactly what your aim is here.

He laughs with his whole body. He’s never ashamed to show how he feels. You wonder what his secret is.

You come down to a set of stairs that spread into a park, Thor leading you down them still laughing and filling you with warmth and guilt that he doesn’t even know exists. You know you need to get a move on. You sigh, then cover it by clearing your throat. And as you come to the last step, you intentionally fall forward, pretending to have tripped.

“Oh!” you exclaim, in just enough time for Thor to catch you from falling to the ground. When he’s got you standing, you lift one leg and say, “Sorry. Weak ankles.”

“Well then,” he says, pulling you closer to him. He has all of your weight resting in his arms, doesn’t even look away from you before he pulls you out of the way of most of the people moving around you. “Maybe we should sit for a little while.” He brings you to the bottom stair and sets you down easily, then sits beside you.

You instinctively rest on his shoulder. Everything in you calls to everything in him. It hurts to acknowledge.

You give a small laugh and ask, “So, do you...ever have to deal with something like this?” You throw one leg out in front of you and wiggle your toes. “Weak ankles?”

It seems like such a preposterous question to ask someone so immensely huge. Thor must think so, too, because he laughs and shakes his head. “No, not really.”

You hum. “No...trick knees?” In an entirely not subtle move, you put your hand on his knee and draw circles over his jeans. In a low voice, you ask “Ruptured...discs?”

Thor leans in toward you, and you meet his gaze. He’s giving you a look you’ve only seen in the privacy of his bedroom before - the openness about it here scares you a little bit, but you can’t pull away now. You’re so close, and the closer you get, the quicker this can all be over. The sooner you can start begging Thor for forgiveness.

His hand envelopes yours on his knee before he tells you, “I believe the saying Stark uses often is fit as a fiddle. Nothing out of place. Yet.” He winks, and you feel your whole body warm up, even more than the temperature around you.

The breath you let out is shaky at best. The fact that half of his hair is tied back, keeping his front bits out of his face, isn’t helping you or hurting him.

You want to kiss him, to claim him. You want the tabloids to be talking all about the Avenger and his little plaything while you and Thor know the truth - but the truth, the real truth, is not something you even want people to guessing at. The truth fucking sucks.

So you force yourself to sit back, and you let out, “Thunderboy, you are perfect.”

He must think that’s really a compliment, because he chuckles and says, “Why, thank you.” But then his eyes close, and his face angles toward his lap. “You know that’s not the truth, though. And yet, you still choose to spend your days with me.”

You hesitate to tell him that you were only just thinking the same thing.

And in your hesitance, he goes on. “That’s why I love humans. You’re all so…”

“Petty and dishonest?” you ask before you think.

His eyes open and he looks at you in that curious way - the same way he’d looked at you when you’d asked him to get coffee all those weeks ago.

“I was going to say forgiving,” he tells you. “Not everyone is like that.”

“Yes they are,” you refute, managing to wiggle out from under his grasp. You scoot along the step until you’re right up against a metal handrail.

Thor follows. “You’re not like that.”

The electric blue of his eyes has never been anything but genuine to you. Even when he stared you down in Von Doom’s office - he was still open and honest. Dangerous, for sure, but he’s not now.

Your heart breaks a little bit when you ask him, “What do you know about me?” It’s not a fair question. You know it, he knows it, you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole fucking park knows it. You’re the one who’s been keeping secrets this whole time.

“I know that you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met,” he says, reaching out for one of your hands. The hand that had just been on his knee. Only this time, he keeps his fingers between yours and just...holds you. “And one of the most confusing. But I like that.”

A ghost of a smile is able to break out across your sombre expression.

“I know that I like waking up next to you. And I know that, before I met you, I didn’t realize how much of Earth I was missing out on.”

One signal in your head tells you that you can’t let him go farther than that. That feelings will only get complicated and dirty the second he realizes what you’ve done.

Another signal tells you that you so desperately want this. Want Thor. That he makes you feel like you can move whole mountains just because he believes in you.

Then, there’s a third signal. Except it’s not inside of you, and really, it’s not a signal at all. It’s Tony Stark’s voice over a crowd that’s increasingly interested in whatever Tony Stark is doing.

You look out toward the fountain beyond the stairs and notice both Iron Man and War Machine headed right for the two of you. Thor sighs, tightens his grip on your hands a bit, then shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N),” he says, and you actually deign to believe that he is. “It seems I’m being called to duty.” He stands, and a breeze pushes a small red flower past his feet. Thor picks it up, brushes its petals off softly, then turns and hands the flower over to you. “Until next time,” he says.

Then he bends and kisses your cheek. Though you’ve kissed him before, his lips send electric jolts through your body. He lights you up.

And then he stands, backs away, calls forth a hail of lightning and transforms from civilian into hero. He smiles at you gently, genuinely, before calling forth Mjölnir and joining his teammates in the sky.

[noona-clock]

Whatever You Want to Call it - Part 7

Genre: Office!AU

Pairing: Jackson x You

By Admin B

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

“Oh, wow,” Jackson remarked as he stepped into your townhouse behind you. “Very nice place.”

“Thanks,” you replied with a shy but very proud smile. It had taken you a few years to get your place decorated exactly the way you wanted, but you’d gotten there eventually. And now, it was just about perfect. It was, as Jackson had put it, very nice but it still had an element of coziness to it. You felt like it was truly your home, not just a place in which you lived.

“Are you hungry?” you asked as Jackson closed the front door behind him. “There are plenty of takeout places around. I always order delivery on Friday nights, so it’s sort of a tradition.”

“Hey, who am I to break tradition?” Jackson chuckled. “I’m good with whatever.”

You limped your way down the hallway, leading Jackson into your living room and letting out a sigh as you plopped onto the couch. As the week had gone on, you’d gotten progressively more tired at the end of each day. So by today, you were flat out exhausted.

Jackson perched himself next to you, his brow furrowed softly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said with a sigh. “I’m just tired. Nobody ever tells you how much effort it takes to walk with crutches.”

“Are you sure you want to work? If you’re too worn out, we can ditch the papers and just work extra hard on Monday.”

“Oh, no,” you replied. “You came all the way here, I don’t want to --”

“I mean, we could just watch a movie or something.”

...You blinked. Your heart skipped a beat. Or two.

Was he... trying to turn this into a date? A real date and not a work date?

“I -- I, uh --” you stammered.

“How about this?” Jackson interrupted with a bit of enthusiasm. He obviously thought he’d just come up with a novel idea. “We get half the work done we brought home, and then we watch a movie. A compromise!”

“A compromise,” you repeated with a nervous chuckle. “I guess -- I guess that works for me.”

Except it kind of didn’t. Because sitting on your couch watching a movie with Jackson? How would you not be able to think about the dream you’d had? You would imagine him scooting close to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close... You would imagine burying your face in his neck, his scent invading your senses, feeling his kiss on the top of your head...

You almost shuddered just thinking about it.

But, like, shuddered in a good way.

“Y/N?” Jackson said a bit forcefully, making it obvious he had said your name a few times already.

“Sorry!” you chuckled with embarrassment. “I just -- what?”

“What do you want to eat?”

“Oh! Um... I’m not that picky, we can order whatever you want. Pizza, Chinese, Thai, burgers...”

A quite angelic smile pulled at Jackson’s lips, and you had never wanted to reach up and cradle someone’s face more than you did at that moment. “I haven’t had pizza in forever,” he admitted.

“Pizza it is,” you nodded.

You slid your phone out of your pocket and navigated through your contacts until you found the local pizza place you frequented. You quickly called them, placing an order for a large pepperoni after getting a silent approval from your date -- er, I mean -- your co-worker.

Your friend?

Your... crush?

Whatever. From Jackson. After getting a silent approval from Jackson.

“All right, let’s get to it,” Jackson suggested, rubbing his hands together before grabbing some papers and spreading them across your coffee table.

Despite the fact it was Friday evening, you were both hungry and waiting for pizza, and you were most certainly overthinking the situation, the two of you managed to get quite a bit of work done. Even after the pizza came, the conversation was still very much focused on encroachment and contractors and tenants and occupancy and investors and financing.

You weren’t sure why, but you had imagined Jackson would try to distract you instead of actually working. But the only time he didn’t talk about work was when he insisted on paying for the pizza. (Which, of course, made you wonder if this really was a date, but that’s not something we need to get into more than we already have; we know you’re an anxious overthinker who doesn’t want to admit that you have feelings for Jackson. That’s been clearly established, so we’re good on that part.)

Just after you popped the last bit of pizza crust into your mouth, Jackson let out a satisfied sigh and leaned back against the couch cushions.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” he announced, lolling his head to the side as if he were just too exhausted to hold it up any longer. “What do you think?”

“I think we got more than half the work done, and we definitely deserve a treat.”

“What’s your favorite movie?” Jackson asked, groaning as he leaned forward to grab the remote.

“My favorite movie?”

“Well, your favorite movie that’s on Netflix,” he amended.

You bit your lip, feeling your cheeks warm because you instantly thought of what your favorite movie on Netflix really was.

But you didn’t want to admit it.

“What?” Jackson asked with a soft chuckle. “What is it?”

“...You’re going to make fun of me,” you told him with an extremely guilty expression.

“What! I am not! Why would I make fun of you?!”

“Because!”

“I won’t,” he assured you, though the smirk on his lips told you otherwise.

“Yes, you will! You’re already smirking!”

“Y/N!” he cried, clearly affronted. “I won’t make fun of you. I promise.”

And then he held his pinky out toward you.

You gazed at it for a few moments before letting out a soft sigh and hooking your own pinky with his.

“...The Princess Diaries,” you murmured.

“That’s Aimee’s favorite --”

“Oh, god!”

Great! You shared the same favorite movie with Jackson’s toddler niece!

“No, no, no, no!” Jackson laughed. “That’s not making fun of you! Aimee has very sophisticated taste for a four-year-old! And I like it, too!”

“You do not! You’re just being nice!”

“I do like it! I know some of the lines,” he insisted. “I mean, ‘shut up!’”

Your eyes widened slightly because he’d just done an incredibly accurate impression of Mia Thermopolis, and you sputtered out a very amused laugh.

“See?! I told you!” Jackson grinned, reaching out to playfully swat at your thigh as he scrolled through Netflix to find The Princess Diaries. (Which, unsurprisingly, was one of the first titles to show up in your ‘Recently Watched’ list.)

“Okay, you have to say the lines during the movie,” you grinned, reaching toward the end of your sofa and pulling over a cozy blanket. “Because I will, and I don’t want to be the only one.”

“Of course! Who do you think I am? I’m not going to let you hog the spotlight.” After he pressed ‘play’ on the movie, he set the remote down and took hold of the blanket you’d just spread across your lap. He pulled it to cover his own lap, and you felt like you were a teenager again because oh my god you were sharing a blanket with a guy and you were watching a movie and had you just been flirting? Maybe? A little bit?

And... the fact you were not only thinking about flirting with Jackson but... actually liking it?

Your dream had definitely gotten to you.

Or maybe... Jackson had just gotten to you.

You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing over at him as the opening credits played, and you decided you might as well just go for it, right?

Seize the day!

YOLO!

So you scooted just a little closer, not quite allowing your shoulder to brush his arm... but almost. Enough to invite Jackson to scoot over himself and close the gap if he really wanted to.

And, apparently, he did want to. But he disguised it as him settling back against the couch cushions, sliding a bit lower and getting even more comfortable than he already was.

“Stop daydreaming,” he recited along with the movie. “You’ll be late for school!”

A soft giggle escaped your lips, and Jackson gently nudged your ribs with his elbow.

“See? Told you I would say the lines. I wouldn’t leave you hanging.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” you chuckled softly. “I should know that by now.”

Instead of replying verbally, Jackson simply reached underneath the blanket and patted your knee, squeezing it gently before returning his hand back to his own lap.

Oh, boy.

Here we go again.

The heart-faced emoji. The wink. The movie suggestion. Now this knee squeeze.

Was he doing it on purpose? Was he doing these things to try and work you into an overthinking, overanalyzing frenzy?

What if he was, actually? But not because he wanted you to overthink things. What if he was doing these things on purpose because... he really did like you like Jinyoung said he did. And he was trying to make it obvious.

Did guys do things like that? Why had you not learned this yet? Why were you a full-fledged adult and still had no idea how guys operated when it came to dating?

You let these thoughts marinate for almost an hour, barely paying attention to the movie - though Jackson didn’t particularly notice because he was too busy reciting all of his favorite lines. Which were most of them.

Finally, during the disastrous state dinner where Mia messes just about everything up, you decided you simply couldn’t take it anymore.

“Can I be honest about something?” you asked suddenly, almost jumping at the sound of your own voice. You’d been thinking for so long, it was startling to hear yourself actually talk.

Jackson glanced over, but when he saw how serious your expression was, he straightened up and turned toward you slightly.

“Of course,” he replied, his brow furrowing earnestly.

“I did get behind on work this week, so I really did need to catch up... but that’s not the real reason why I invited you over.”

“No? What do you mean?”

“I was actually planning on just asking you out, but then I kind of chickened out and turned it into a work thing because I’m still not entirely sure if I have feelings for you or not, and I didn’t want to get your hopes up or hurt your feelings or anything. I also didn’t know how you felt about me, so I guess I just wanted to play it safe.”

Obviously, you expected Jackson to respond with a very surprised ‘What?!’ Or maybe sputter out a shocked reply or ask if you were pulling his leg or something.

But instead, he let out a soft chuckle. He smirked a little. And he said, “Yeah, I know.”

So now it was your turn to respond with a very surprised, “What?!”

“I overheard you in the copy room. I was about to go in there, but I heard people talking, so I paused. I didn’t hear much. All I heard was Jinyoung telling you to ask someone out, and you weren’t sure about it, and he told you whoever it was one-hundred percent liked you so he would definitely say ‘yes.’ I didn’t know who he was talking about, of course, but... I hoped it was me. I knew it was a long shot because I knew how you used to feel about me, but I still hoped. And then I heard you coming toward the door, so I ran into the break room instead so you wouldn’t see me. But then you came into the break room, and you were acting really nervous, and you really smiled at me when I told you I was getting a Diet Coke for you, and oh my gosh, you don’t know how my heart fluttered when you smiled. You look unbelievably beautiful when you smile, did you know that? Anyway. You invited me over to your place, and even if it was for work, I still figured... you had been talking to Jinyoung about me, so I said ‘yes’ immediately. And that’s why I suggested watching a movie instead. So it could be more like a real date. And now here we are.”

Jackson was grinning at you like everything he’d just said was no big deal. Like it didn’t completely rip your stomach out and make your heart drop down to the floor.

It was... a lot to process.

First, he’d heard you talking about him. Thankfully, he hadn’t heard you say you’d had a dream about him, but still.

Second, he’d admitted to liking you. Basically. He hadn’t said the exact words out loud, but him accepting your date invitation was enough of an admission.

Third, he really had been trying to turn this from a work date to a real date. You’d been right! Ha!

Fourth... he’d said you were unbelievably beautiful when you smiled.

Of course, that was what stuck out to you the most. Because... honestly, what girl doesn’t like to hear she’s unbelievably beautiful when she smiles?! Coming from someone as handsome as Jackson?!

Be still my freakin’ heart.

“You...” you said softly, gulping down your anxiety. “You do like me?” You think I’m unbelievably beautiful when I smile?!

“Of course!”

Of course?! Like it was a total given?! Like you shouldn’t be surprised?!

“But I --”

“You had a lot on your plate. You were stressed out, and I know I can be a lot to handle when you first meet me. Especially for someone like you who only talks when it’s necessary. Plus... after I was an idiot with the copier, you changed. You were never actually mean to me, so why would I hate you?”

“I wasn’t exactly nice to you, though,” you pointed out guiltily.

“But you were pretty,” Jackson admitted with a smirk. “Sometimes that’s all it takes. At least, at first.”

You bit your lip, trying to let everything he’d said so far sink in.

But that didn’t last for long because you had some questions for him.

“Why did you send me that heart-face emoji after I got home from the hospital?”

Jackson’s brow furrowed immediately in confusion. “What? The heart -- I don’t know. I was happy to hear you’d gotten home safely, so I chose a happy emoji, I guess.”

“It wasn’t... I mean, you didn’t send it to try and confuse me?”

“Confuse you? No!” he laughed. “I mean, I wanted to drop hints that I liked you, but I wasn’t trying to confuse you. Did I?”

“A little, yeah.”

...He didn’t need to know how much you’d actually thought about it.

“And when you winked at me in my cube earlier this week. Another hint?”

Jackson’s expression turned a little smugger now, and he leaned back against the couch. “Yeah, another hint.”

“Well, it worked,” you muttered.

“Wait, it did? What do you mean?”

Oh, god, you hadn’t meant to say that out loud!

“I -- uh -- I just mean -- I figured out you liked me!” you lied.

“...No, you didn’t.”

Damn it.

Okay, fine. You’d already admitted to this whole date thing, so... might as well keep up the honesty, right?

You let out a deep sigh, completely avoiding his gaze when you said, “After you winked at me... I... kind of had a dream about you, and that’s when I realized maybe I did have feelings for you.”

“A dream?” he asked in the smirkiest tone. “What kind of --”

“Nothing like that!” you cried, your head snapping up to look at him. “Just a boyfriend dream!”

“Ooh, a boyfriend dream.” He sounded far too intrigued, and it worried you. “What was I like as your boyfriend?”

“Oh my god, really?” you asked, your cheeks now flaming and most definitely hot pink.

“Yeah! Was I a good one?”

“...Yes.”

“Damn right, I was!” he crowed, smiling wildly. “I may be annoying, but I know how to be a boyfriend.”

“Oh, you do? How many girlfriends have you --”

“Hey, we’re missing the movie!” Jackson interrupted, scooting closer to you and turning toward the television. “The best part is coming up soon.”

“What’s the best part?” you asked, noticing just how close he was sitting to you.

“When she sends him the pizza with the M&M’s and it says ‘I’M SORRY’ on top. That always makes my heart flutter. I wish someone would do that for me.”

“...You wish someone would apologize with a pizza?”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be an apology! Just some cute gesture like that.”

You simply chuckled softly, shaking your head a little before settling in and continuing on watching the movie with him.

And... now it was officially a date (though you might lobby to have a re-do because you didn’t actually want your first date to be one where you two had gotten work done)... you decided to go against all your anxieties and not care that you weren’t fully certain if you liked him or not.

So you slid down just a tad and tilted your head, resting it on his shoulder.

Jackson almost immediately lifted his arm, bringing it around your own shoulder and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Just like you’d imagined earlier.

Part 8

[omgshewrites]

Paperwork!

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Word Count: 1.5

Summary: Loki won't come to bed and you are growing frustrated

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, oral sex (male reciving) don’t read this unless you’re over 18.

A/N: Hi! this is some short smut I wrote the other day, hope you like it! Also;  I write in english but it’s not my mother languague, so please remember that I put all my effort to make the translations, if you find any grammar mistakes or if you want to give any tips, message me!

Requests are open!

I caressed my legs slowly, applying my favourite moisturizer to my body, enjoying the massage I was giving to myself.

I had spent at least two hours in the bathroom, trying to clear my head, my thoughts and probably my arousal too.

I was waiting for him while watching some random show on tv, after dinner, he would always disappear, and I would always wait for him in bed, but after an hour or two I got out of bed and went to his office.

“I need to finish this paperwork” He said when I asked him to come to bed, I groaned at his response and he spoke again “Why don’t you take a relaxing bath? I promise I will be in the room before you finish”

But he wasn’t here. And I needed him here. Right now.

I wrapped my body in a robe, my hair still damp from the “relaxing bath” I took some minutes earlier, my skin irradiating an exquisite coconut and vanilla smell that he always complimented after every time I got fresh out of the shower.

I walked to his office once again, this time I got no patience left. I opened the door, making him look away from his laptop screen to look at me, and returning his sight to the screen once again.

“I told you to wait for me in the room” he said, with a finger tapping on his mouth

“And I did” I told him sitting in the chair in front of him, he didn’t look at me “But you never came”

“I told you I was busy”

“You have been here for like, four hours, I think you need to get some sleep” I said resting my back on the chair, trying to not look as furious as I was.

“You need to learn some patience, (y/n)” He shocked his head and singed some paper on his desk.

I clenched my jaw in anger, the last thing I wanted to do is have an argument right now, so instead making some sarcastic comment I decided otherwise.

I undid the knight that was holding my robe, letting a glimpse of my breasts to the sight, I raised my legs, one resting in the chair and placing the other over the edge of his desk, but he didn’t look at me.

I caressed my chest with the tip of my fingers, teasing my nipples over the robe, tracing patterns in my belly, my hand went up to my mouth, where I tuck two fingers in my mouth, coating them in my saliva, then I let my hand descend to my core, touching myself slowly.

I was already looking at him when he realized what I was doing, but he asked anyways.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked and closed his laptop, I smiled, toying with my pussy.

“Taking care of myself, since you’re so busy” I said, opening my legs further, giving him a better look of my fingers now slipping in and out of me, he swallowed thickly and got up from his chair, making his way to my place.

When he was standing next to me, I stopped my movements, knowing by the look on his face that I had won a punishment.

“On your knees” he said unzipping his trousers, and tugging them down along with his underwear, I smiled and quickly got in my knees, admiring his member from below, my mouth watering instantly.

I tried to taste him but he didn’t let me, grabbing his length with his hand, stroking himself.

“Your impatience will cost you a punishment” He said letting the tip grace my mouth “But lucky you, I’m eager to fuck you, so I’ll punish you later… Now, open that pretty little mouth”

I did as he said, sticking my tongue out for him, liking a long strip from the base to the tip, swirling my tongue around it and then liking another strip.

He grunted, his fingers taking my robe off my shoulders, I took him as deep as I could, feeling him harden more if that was possible, then I bobbed my head, stroking with my hands what didn’t fit in my mouth, I felt his hands taking my hair into a ponytail, his hips started to move slowly, holding me in place and fucking my mouth.

I looked upwards, expecting his eyes, but his head was tilted back and all I could see was his adam apple bobbing up and down as his moans left his mouth. I hollow my cheeks and once again I took him deeply, he stayed still a few seconds before taking his member out of my mouth, a string linking my mouth and the tip.

I got up and quickly he grabbed me in his arms, kissing me hard before placing me over his desk, I got rid of his shirt, tearing it open and giggling sightly at the sound of the buttons making contact with the floor. He smiled at me, knowing that tearing garments apart was an habit I got from him.

He placed in between my legs, holding one with his hand on my knee, his other hand lined him to my core, collecting my juices with the tip, teasing at my entrance but letting it slip out.

“Loki” I said warning him

“What (y/n)? What do you want?” He nipped at my neck, probably marking me already.

“Fuck me Loki, please”

I heard a dark chuckle and then I let out a moan, he sinked inside me slowly, placing a kiss below my ear and pulling out completely just to thrust back in.

I smiled, more to myself than to him, feeling the need and desire being satisfied once for all.

I tangled my hand in his raven locks, pulling them with force enough to make him look at me, he did, pupils dilated and eyebrows furrowed in concentration, he filled me just the right way, reaching all the perfect places, making me feel incredible.

“I needed this” I said “Dear god, I really needed this”

“Don’t use the lord name in vane, darling, I’m a god too, so you can use my name instead”

He said, smiling and letting my leg go, I hold it in place anyways. He was holding me by the waist now, and his other hand was now on my nape, he reached down, capturing my lips in his, muffling my moans with his mouth.

He changed the patron of his thrusts, and now he was being slow but not soft, in fact, I felt him deeper and deeper with each thrust, I opened my mouth in the kiss and a strangled moan left my throat when I felt his pubic bone brush my clit.

He knew I was close, I knew he felt squeezed and I knew he loved the feeling.

His hand left my nape and went to the front, to hold my neck, choking me lightly, I smiled and placed one of my hands over his, applying pressure to it, asking silently to him to do the same with my neck, he did, looking at me with a smug grin on his face, knowing he was giving me this much pleasure.

I came with a loud moan, my hands running down his back and my nails leaving red lines from his shoulders to his waist.

He didn’t stop his thrusts till he was sure I was completely wasted, and then he pulled out.

“Turn around and bend down” I nodded and spun in my heels, flexing one leg over the desk and balancing my weight in the floor with the other, bending down the rest of my body, I turned my head to look at him when I felt him making his way inside me once again.

He threw his head back, his hair was messy because my hands were playing with it a moment ago.

He thrusted a few times before his head returned to its original place, our gazes finding over my shoulder.

He knelt my bum and ran his hands through my back, holding me by the waist and thrusting hard and quickly, I moaned and whimpered and that only encouraged him to go faster and deeper.

Sudenly I felt him grabbing my arms and tucking them behind my back, taking control and making me bounce along his dick.

I straightened my torso, my back finding his chest, his hand placed flat against my tummy, holding me while his other hand played with my nipples, rolling the buds in between his fingers, I let my head fall back on his shoulder, moaning profanities into his neck, loving the way his hair tickled my face.

I nibbled on the lobule of  his ear and that sent him over the edge completely, I felt hot spurts leaving his cock as he grasped for air, he stopped his thrusts but I kept bouncing, helping him to draw his orgasm, when I knew he was satisfied, I pulled him off, turning around to look at him.

“Are you happy now?” He asked pulling his boxers up, a smile creeping on his lips

“I am” I said wrapping my arms around him and caressed the red lines on his back “Are you going to come to bed now?” I asked

“Of course I am, paperwork can wait till tomorrow”

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[we-built-the-shadows-here]

it’s Snape’s birthday and I’ve been sitting on this for a bit so here is a new fic to close out my fic recs of 2018, and I’m just gonna throw chapter 1 up here on its own!

LD50 (ao3) (ffn)

January 3 1981: Belladonna

Knockturn Alley is full of furtive movement and mutterings even though it is thirty minutes until the newly-imposed curfew and bitterly cold. It is the first Saturday in 1981, and the street has well-hidden inlets and outlets; the people flow through like a river. No one wants to catch the ire of the Aurors who are, even now, certainly watching. Most of the legal transactions still have the sly movements of the illicit; most of the illicit transactions have the easy grace of a carefree conversation. Everyone’s head is covered in hats, scarves, hoods both to stave off the cold and to disguise identity.

That's how Severus hides: hood pulled high, collar turned up against the chill, stubbled chin and telltale nose hidden behind a lumpy wool scarf. It’s cold enough to warrant it. He’s looking at a fogged window at an assortment of cursed books, watching one drag itself to and fro past the others--the one that shakes, the one bound in human skin, the one whose gently shifting cover pattern could hypnotize if you weren’t careful.

The books are a pretense; his real focus is the reflection in the window of the people as they move up and down the street. He straightens when he sees his target: a bright yellow scarf, catching the dim streetlamps in the snowy gloom, strolling slowly down the alley. He jerks his head as the yellow scarf walks past, tugging his own collar tighter, making sure the tiny brass star pin--his own marker for his partner, nicked from a pawn shop--is exposed. He turns, and they fall in stride, looking straight ahead.

“You’re late,” Severus mutters.

“You’ll wait if you need it,” he drawls. “For your little haemophiliac customer, you said? Sad story.” He sounds as if he’s heard about a dozen of them today and gives credence to none. “It’s five galleons, now. Do you have the money?”

“Yes,” Severus huffs, the word making a puff of mist in the cold air. He had hoped for a discount, with the whole cloth tragedy of a sick child woven in, but clearly struck out. Perhaps the man was raising his prices to charge for the lie, as well.

What they are doing is not precisely illegal , which is why the item is not delivered by one and the payment taken by another to thwart law enforcement. But this transaction is also not entirely above-board. Were a Ministry official to inquire after it, certainly no tax would be paid, and Severus knows for a fact that the brewer would not be certified. There are a number of reasons not to be certified, though; one could be unable to find a Master to apprentice to, or one could be a registered werewolf or vampire or half-breed of some description, or one could simply lack the galleons.

Even galleons themselves are muffled where Severus holds them between his fingers, and the flagon of potion is swaddled in dirty canvas. They pass hand to hand with ease, and Severus takes the vial easily even though nerves have his fingers shaking. He’s bought ingredients from the black market like this, but never a finished potion before, and it feels less like a transaction between fellow professionals and more fully illegal, which means more frightening, with the Aurors permitted to attack with Unforgivables first and interrogate later.

But there’s more he’s supposed to get, more than just the vial. “Your supplier--” he starts.

But his companion has already turned to go into a dimly lit shop door. The shopkeeper greets the man with a thin smile and the door shuts behind them both, and Severus fights the urge to look after, to look around at all. Looking around is worse than walking alone, but his heart is still pounding. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slow, through his teeth, so it doesn’t make a huge puff of steam; it was clumsy to ask like that, clumsy to pry so openly at the supply chain when he’d only just won the dealer’s trust enough to sell. He has to keep his gait even, step by step, soles slipping on the icy cobblestones. Well, half of Dumbledore’s task was to get blood replentisher. He has blood replentisher. The other half--meet with his new contact and begin some kind of work with them in person--will be more painless. It has to be.

Near the end of the alley he slips into a doorway and, spine rigid with the effort it takes to not glance backwards, he disapparates.

The designated place Dumbledore had indicated is not so far as it might be; he makes two stopovers before coming to rest along the foggy, moonlit street. He walks five long blocks, takes two  left turns, and crosses a street to ensure he isn't being followed despite the fact that there is no body in the darkness trailing him, no footsteps in his ear to betray a follower. It helps calm him, and it is perhaps the only spycraft that he'd managed to think of on his own that wasn’t entirely lifted from a pulp novel. His heels are muffled on the sidewalk by snow and charm, and his dark cloak sucks in the light. He feels like a shadow, and is comforted by the thought.

The dingy, dim muggle lane with its dirty shutters and spindly trees comes to an end and there, in the dimmest corner, is the address he was given. One light is on in an upstairs room. Up the stairs to the door, and Severus pauses at the threshold, tugs his hood closer to his cheeks, and knocks.

The door opens of its own accord. Charmed, it must be. Or a trap. He could walk away. It would be safer. Severus thinks of the light upstairs. They must have heard. Might have opened the door using their own wand. It could be an Auror ambush, or a Death Eater ambush, or an Order ambush from those who embraced the more brutal methods Dumbledore claimed to not endorse.

Severus has scrounged in the dirt for as much information as he could for Dumbledore for over a year: it was, all of it, thin, barely sufficient, little of it actionable. Then, on new year’s eve, an owl carrying Dumbledore’s sprawling script: Acquire a blood replentisher potion and meet your new contact, I have an assignment uniquely suited to your skills. This is your opportunity to gain my trust-- and the date, time, and location, this anonymous, run-down home. He had barely managed to find someone who would sell him the blood replentisher in time for the meeting.

Severus decides that he wants Dumbledore’s trust. It’s the only hope he has of surviving this. He strides across the threshold and shuts the door behind him, throwing the bolt.

Warm light is pouring down the stairs in shattered shapes, carved by a banister, but no light is on in the first room, a parlor with an arm-chair and a fireplace. Dimly through a doorway he can make out a kitchen. He waits to hear someone call or speak, but no one does. When no one appears, he whispers, “Hominem revelio.”

His senses expend for a swooping moment and--yes, someone is upstairs in the lit room. He begins slowly moving toward the stair. A floorboard creaks beneath him and he pauses, briefly.

Someone is humming. The tune is half-familiar, half-remembered, something from the Muggle radio from a long time ago.

Two more steps. Only one room is illuminated, the one he saw from the street, half a bookcase and a desk visible behind the banister. No person. Two more steps, and still nothing. Three more, and he’s at the landing. Four more--

A door with no light behind him flies open and there’s a wand stuck in the back of his neck. “Don’t try anything,” a woman’s voice demands. “Were you followed?”

Snape's head turns slowly. Something very odd is happening in his gut. The seller’s voice had been an intentional cipher, but this one, that voice is-- “Do I know you?”

She scoffs, then. “I said, were you followed?”

“I wasn’t followed,” he says. He could shoot a hex over his shoulder, could sweep her legs out from beneath her, could run. But this is about trust. “I have what Dumbledore asked of me.”

“All right.” The pressure comes off the back of his neck. “You can turn around.”

He very nearly doesn’t want to. He stares for a single, flat moment into the opposite room, lit so well, and curses himself for being tricked, for having a secret, for defecting to Dumbledore, for being so damn predictable.

Then he turns.

There she is: red hair, green eyes, anger, and the reason Dumbledore hadn't told him the name of the handler who would meet him. “You,” he says, pushing all the loathing he has for himself into his tone. “Dumbledore didn't say--”

“Dumbledore didn't say because you wouldn't have come,” Lily Potter says. “Frankly I wouldn't have believed it myself if you weren't standing here.”

He had begged--on his fucking knees in front of the old man--for her life, this exact woman’s life, almost a year ago. Dumbledore had taken the defection and assigned it a price: information. He had paid it, over and over again, through a Protean charmed quill and through the Auror Bones and, very rarely, Dumbledore himself. Too much obvious, direct contact was dangerous to Severus himself. Dumbledore cared at least that much for his life.

He had wondered, briefly, if it was meant to be an Auror sting to lock him up. While gray market potioneering could lose his certification if it happened too many times, it wouldn’t put him in Azkaban, it wasn’t really any more illegal than the woman selling homemade pasties by the train station, and Dumbledore had far worse against him.

Far worse that was now standing before him. Severus spits on the floor at her feet.

Lily wrinkles her nose and glared down at the little wet patch on the carpet, then returns to glaring at his face. “Are you done?”

“I'm not working with you,” he says hotly.

“Fine,” Lily says. “I told Dumbledore you we're better suited to Azkaban anyway, when he gave me this assignment. Glad to know I'm right.”

The idea that she didn’t want to work with him-- that she had been assigned when all of this had been to protect her--and her prophecied son and her dreadful husband--that she might be right -- “Is that what you think,” he hisses, stepping closer.  He has grown since the last time they had stood so close together. He has also learned many things, learned to use his voice better than just to shout, learned to imply violence instead of just reach for the blunt tool first when anger flared, learned to be quick and smart and keep a level head in a fight, which maybe this was shaping up to become. He could look down his long nose at her, eyes narrowed in disdain, thinking you’re nothing to me and make it plain on his face without saying a word. He keeps his tone just barely level through sheer force of will. “You know what I am, then. Perhaps you should think twice before threatening me.”

Her wand must be up her sleeve, the way her finger twitches, as if considering bringing it to her hand. “I don’t think you’re going to hurt me,” she says, voice tight but even.

“The Dark Lord has murdered mothers before, witch.”

“I know he has. I don’t think you are going to hurt me.” Her eyes are fixed on his, even, open, brow knitting back together, but not in anger--in frustration, as if he were being particularly dense. She pushes past him, toward the light. “Come on. Let’s sit in the study. Don’t touch anything. This is the house of a Muggle on holiday so I’d ask you not to make me stage a break-in for him.”

He could leave. He could leave, right now, throw the swaddled potion down a sewer grate, disapparate, go home, get blind stinking drunk and go to sleep on the couch. He could do it right now and likely wouldn’t even suffer for it. Dumbledore wasn’t the kind to punish, not the way the Dark Lord is.

He follows her into the study. She takes the seat at the desk. There is a fat floral armchair that Severus would rather set on fire than sit in, so he stays standing.

“Our assignment,” he says, with all the disdain he can muster.

“Yes. Right.” She pulls a piece of thumbed parchment out of her pocket and sets it on the desk.“You’ve got your Mastery and certification, you’re probably brewing, right?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “There is an artificial shortage in medicinal potions ingredients, Ministry’s throttling imports and increasing hunting down home-herbologists growing ingredients. And there’s an all-time low of potions masters.” Her eyes go narrow and sharp, as if daring him to say anything about why she isn’t one--the marriage, the baby, her blood status and the fact that most potions masters would hesitate even in peacetime to take on a mudblood.

Severus is glaring at the window, at his own reflection and hers. He flicks his fingers at Lily as if he doesn’t care, gesturing in a loop. “Get on with it.”

Her hand on the desk becomes a momentary fist, but then she goes on. “The biggest pinch is blood-replentisher. Even St Mungo's is feeling pinched on that one. The only place that can reliably stock medical potions is the black market and the prices--”

“You owe me five galleons, by the way,” he interrupts.

“Five?” She looks shocked. “Last week the going rate was three.”

“I suppose they aren’t giving me the new customer discount that they offer to Order members,” Severus says bitterly.

“Not to slimy bastards like you, anyway,” she retorts.

He moves to the door. “Tell Dumbledore--”

“Oh, hell, sit down Sev.” She passes a hand across her brow. “I’m sorry, all right. That was uncalled for. You did what we asked.” And then she starts digging in her pocket. “I don’t think I have five. I only brought what I needed. I’ve got a few quid--”

“It’s fine,” he says harshly from the doorway. He can’t exactly afford all five of the galleons but he’s not about to beg for two. There is enough rice in the cupboard, he won’t starve.

She produces three coins and places them in a neat little stack on the desk, as if asking him to come back in. He does. They’re warm to the touch when his hand covers them--the warmth of her body, he realizes uncomfortably. He inspects one. It’s so bright, it must be fresh from the bank, but the mint date is 1716.

Potter gold, then, minted and then put in a bank. That, too, he swallows, and shoves the gold into his pocket. He can feel her watching him and tries not to allow the ugly flush that he knows is creeping up his stubbled neck to reach his cheeks.

“Anyway,” she says, clearing her throat and reverting her gaze to the well-thumbed note. “Fully half the potions the Order managed to source have turned up tampered with or outright poisoned. And they were poisoned really well, even I had trouble when I went through our stores.”

That is interesting. Some Death Eaters had died of tampered black market potions, and they suffered the same difficulties the Order had. Detecting the tampering was a feat in itself, Severus knew firsthand. “And you want me to inspect further? Follow up your work?”

“No,” she says. “Dumbledore wants us to trace the tampering back to their source. Figure out who’s doing it, and why. Maybe even stop them, if we can.”

“I would sooner suggest you stop taking medical potions,” he snaps, rattled by the ambition of the task--and the word us. Himself and her, working together; not the occasional report, but real work.  Low risk spy work compared to the passing of information that he had already done--that would get him killed, this could be played off--but still valuable or he wouldn't be doing it. But then again, he had never been a spy before. His forearm itches, at that thought. He doesn’t reach for it.

“People are dying, Severus,” she says, deadly serious. “We can’t trust anything but charms and you know well as I do that potions are better for the worst of it. People are dying and will keep dying and you and I are the best brewers the Order has. This is our assignment. Do you accept it or do I have to tell Dumbledore that I’m working alone?”

He resents that. It’s not as if he had a choice regardless. “Your first sample, then,” he says stiffly, dropping the cloth-wrapped vial before her on the desk.  “I take it you will require more?”

[xreaderfic-land]

What Lies Beneath Part 18 Red Hood (Jason Todd) X Reader

Summary: Coming back home to Gotham after several years was a tough choice, but you needed to put the past behind you. You blame yourself for Jason’s death and hope that with a medical degree you can have a second chance at saving the kids of Gotham’s streets, but the past won’t stay buried. As the Red Hood invites himself into your life and the little safe bubble of a lie you call life bursts you’re left struggling to cope. Your secret studying of toxins used by Gotham’s villains is sure to land you in hot water eventually, but you’re always up for a challenge. Life is a game of survival and it’s time you joined in.

Co-Author: @inkteller-17   Tags: @jason-todd-rh  @totallynotashieldagent  @exotiicqueen494  @dragons-of-the-usa    @shadowsndaisies  @e-equals-mcommunism-squared    @icycoldbeanieweanies  @peppermint-17  @theskytraveler  @wintersb0ner

Tags CLOSED DUE TO STORY COMPLETION Word Count: 7,175 WARNINGS: Language, Descriptions of Physical Violence

Catch Up Here

—— —— —— —— ——-

Your head rolled to the side as you waited for Joker to begin his stupid villainous spiel. Joker paced back and forth in front of you. His hands tucked behind his back while he watched you carefully.

“Get on with it already,” You spat.

Joker froze mid-step. He turned his rather large grin upon you.

“You know why I had to bring you here, right?” Joker asked.

“Because I was close to ending your virus?” You asked with a hiss.

Joker smiled.  “Feisty one, I see,”

“Just get on with it, will you?” You growled.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Joker asked.

“You’re wasting your time and your breath, clown-boy,” You said in a low growl.

For that remark, Joker backhanded you. Your head snapped to the side and your mouth filled with a familiar copper taste.

“Insults won’t get you anywhere,” Joker informed you.

You spat a mouthful of blood on the cement next to his shiny black shoes.

Joker scoffed before stepping away from the blood. He continued to circle you. You sat perfectly still. You knew you had to keep him busy. The only way for you to get your hands untied was to keep his attention elsewhere.

“My virus was my baby, you know? I worked very hard on creating her,” Joker said.

“You mean you had Scarecrow working hard on it?” You shot back.

That earned you another slap. This time you felt your lip split. Your tongue flickered over the ripped skin.

“I told you insults will not get you anywhere,” Joker repeated himself.

You picked your head up.

“You already had your fear toxin, so why the virus?” You asked him.

Joker clapped his hands together.

“I’m so glad that you asked,” Joker grinned.

You rolled your eyes.

“The fear toxin brought fear, I’ll admit that, but it wasn’t driving everyone crazy. I just wanted someone to feel just as crazy as I do,” Joker explained.

“You’re criminally insane, no fear toxin or virus is going to make them seem as crazy as you,” You told him.

Joker turned on his heels to face you.

“I saw your symptoms, Joker. Fatigue, dizziness, hard time breathing, tremors, and weakness. Sounds like the common flu to me which also means that your virus wasn’t as powerful as you thought or my stupid little cure wouldn’t have worked,” You said.

Joker’s lip curled in disgust.

“It also causes hallucinations. You forgot the most important part,” Joker said.

“Right, making people see things that aren’t real, that’s real clever,” You scoffed.

You were infuriating to him. How could you not see how hard he had worked? There was only one option left. He was just going to have to show you how clever he really was.

You could tell that Joker was having a complete conversation with himself. You were able to free one hand and then work your other hand free. Keeping your hands behind your back you reached forward to try and dig for the pocket knife in your back pocket.

“I know that you haven’t had a taste for the real thing so I’m going to change that,” Joker said with a sinister smile.

Your head snapped up. You watched as Joker practically skipped over to the table and he lifted a giant needle. You gulped. You were going to have to react fast on this one.

Slowly, Joker made his way towards you. Your hand wrapped around the pocket knife and grasped it tightly. You were waiting. Once Joker was in arms reach you lunged forward. Your feet were still tied to the chair, but you used your upper strength to swipe at him.

Joker was expecting that. He easily knocked the small knife from your hand and then grabbed you around your waist pinning your arms to your sides.

“I didn’t realize you were this stupid,” Joker hissed in your ear.

Leaning back you tried to create as much space as possible as your teeth ground together. A sudden idea had you smiling.

“I’m dumb enough to outsmart you,” You seethed.

Jerking your head forward it smashed against Joker's hard enough to have him staggering back. The restraints still anchoring you to the chair met their short limit as Joker kept most of his hold on you.

A hiss of pain left your lips as your knees buckled before smashing against concrete. A heavy door was thrown open followed by several footfalls nearing you.

“No,” Joker’s cold order had the footfalls stopping, “she’s mine.”

Peeking through your hair you managed to process two of Joker’s goons who’d apparently come to his rescue stopped just a few feet away. As you prepared to rock back on your haunches Joker’s foot shot out to connect with your shoulder sending you back against the floor.

Rolling slightly you watched as Joker readied his foot for another kick. You waited until his foot got close enough before reaching out and grasping around his ankle.

With a harsh tug, you had him off balance and crashing down to your level. Scrambling you drug him toward you just enough to smash your fist against his grinning face.

The satisfaction of finally returning a blow had you raising your arm once more as his sick laughter filled your ears. As your fist shot forward for another blow Joker suddenly caught your hand and pulled you back down against him.

With one of your arms pinned between the two of you and the other locked up trying to regain space between allowed Joker to wrap his legs around your waist.

Your mind raced to recount any defensive maneuver to escape the tight hold.

“Jason put up the same fighting spirit as you not so long ago,” Joker cooed.

Your teeth ground painfully together as you renewed your efforts to struggle free to which Joker tightened his hold even more.

“You’re a little sloppier than he was though,” Joker spoke with nostalgia in his tone.

“I’m going to make you swallow your fucking teeth when you let go,” You promised.

Joker giggled, “I am really going to enjoy seeing you try.”

As Joker spoke he used his free hand not effectively holding you down to jam the needle into your neck. A cry of pain left you as the needle bit into your skin.

It didn’t take another moment before the cool liquid forced into your body suddenly felt like fire.

Gasping at the sensation you barely felt Joker throw you aside as he climbed back to his feet. Your hand flew up against the injection site as your eyes squeezed shut.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Joker laughed, “That one I had made special just for your annoying ass. Turned up the fun for you and even added a few things that I’m not even sure about. It’ll be like symptom roulette for you.”

Curling onto your side you tried to focus just on breathing as the fire in your veins spread throughout your entire body. Your lungs felt on the verge of seizing up as your heart rate pounded in your ears.

Your brain decided at that moment to remind you of all the possible virus strains you’d once had written down in your lab. Panic set in allowing adrenaline to dull some of the pain as you rolled to your hands and knees.

The fight or flight response shifted into overdrive as you yanked hard enough at your leg restraints to snap them from the chair. Climbing to your feet you sprinted toward where you thought had been the door.

Several surprised hollars hit your ears spurring you to run faster if possible. Your entire body screamed at you with signals to both do anything to survive and curl up against the pain.

Your shoulder smashed against the metal door throwing it against a nearby wall as you stumbled into an alley. Pouring rain soaked you through as you stomped blindly in any direction that was away from Joker.

Thunder shook the ground under your feet as you stumbled against a wall. Your eyes blurred from the rain and against the pain coursing through you making it hard to tell where exactly you were.

A familiar motor reeved in the distance making hope fill you, even if it was connected to Jason.

A lone headlight bobbed up and down as it crawled along the street several blocks ahead of you. Pushing from the wall you mentally screamed at your feet to move.

As you and the bike made slow progress toward each other you shouted for Jason hoping he’d hear you over the rain.

“Jason!” You throat stung as you screamed his name.

You watched as the bike skid to a halt as it rounded a corner. You could make out Jason straightening away from the bike’s gas tank as he scanned through the rain.

Another block or so and you’d be in range for him to see and hear you better.

Inhaling you readied to shout again only for it to come all whooshing back out when something connected flat against your chest. Your feet struggled to keep up as whatever had hit you sent you backward.

As your back connected with the cold ground your vision swam. When it finally cleared enough you made out Joker’s goons encircling you from above before Joker himself peered down.

A smile lifted Joker’s lips, “Oh no you’re not allowed to leave me quite so fast little one. You see since Jason has been away from me I’ve been lacking fun in my life, and you’re going to be his stand-in.”

With another cruel laugh, Joker took enjoyment in kicking the side of your already bruised head. As his foot made contact your vision blackened once more.

------     -------    -------

Clawing your way back to consciousness was spurred on by the unbearable heat radiating from your body and constant pull on your ribs.

Moving to readjust your arms to alleviate the pain only resulted in the sound of metal clinking. Peeling your eyes open you were gifted a reason for being unable to find a more comfortable position.

Your hands had been handcuffed together and fed to a chain drilled into the ceiling. A heavy breath left your lips as your muscles weakened at having to hold your head up for too long.

With your head now propped against your raised arms, you could make out restraints also tethering your feet barely to the floor.

Balancing your weight between your arms and toes made your already firing pain receptors go non-stop. A groan left your lips when your one leg slipped a bit forcing your weight to bare down on your wrists.

“I tried to be nice and allow you a chair to sit, but after your little stunt I think I prefer you standing.”

Joker’s faux painfilled words sounded from behind as he slowly rounded to your front.

You swallowed hard upon seeing the long thin metal piece he nonchalantly swung between his fingers. Joker studied your expression at seeing the crowbar in his hand.

“Ah, you like this?” Joker looked at the bar appreciatively, “It’s an old favorite of mine. Created some good memories with it. With Jason.”

Joker’s tone made your stomach drop as he circled behind you once more. You could feel him standing directly behind you.

“I have to say I’m a little disappointed with you. Your little escape attempt forced us to relocate as to ensure our continued bonding time.”

“Let me down and I’ll bond with you a whole lot more.”

Your words lost some of their impact when they come out laced with weariness. Joker clicked his tongue at your words.

“Bad girls aren’t allowed to play back,” Joker spoke while the crowbar tapped off the concrete allowing a metallic sound to echo around you.

Your fists opened and closed as you struggled to free your hands. You could feel the skin already on the verge of breaking against the biting metal cuffs, but it still paled in comparison to everything else going on internally.

Joker hummed to himself before a small chuckle left him.

“I have just the thing to make our game more fun. Well fun for me and a tough lesson for you.”

You felt Joker draw nearer to your backside before something covered your eyes sending you into wakeful darkness. Shaking your head you tried to rub the blindfold from your eyes but Joker was much quicker in tying it off tight.

You felt Joker step back, “I’ve heard that taking away sight makes bodily sensations much more intense. And you being my special guest I want you to enjoy all the best surprises possible.”

“Joker you fucking-” You started.

Your words morphed into a scream of pain as what you could only assume to be the crowbar smashed against your thigh.

Instinct had you jerking your leg up before it stopped short as the chain hit its end. Your weight wobbled between your one other leg and overhead arms.

Breathing had already been a taxing effort but managed to become even more so.

“That’s for giving my poor fellow men such a hard time when gathering you.” Joker spoke lowly.

You barely managed to tuck your mouth against your arm to muffle the next yelp of pain as Joker sent the bar against your other leg.

“That’s for spitting at my shoes.” Joker sneered.

Tears clogged your throat as each swing Joker took had you already constantly firing pain receptors jumping to a new level of searing heat. The sound of Joker’s laughter bounced off the walls around you.

“Oh and let’s not forget to repay you for the general pain in the ass you’ve been!” Joker said this time with more glee.

Joker’s gleeful shout was mirrored with several swings smashing against your ribcage. White burst behind your scrunched shut and blindfolded eyes in pain. The sickening feel and sound of your ribs snapping ricocheted in the air making it harder to hold in your screams.

------   ------

It felt like hours had passed before Joker had eventually let the crowbar drop to the floor before tearing your blindfold off and fucking off to someplace else. Tremors shook your form pulling on old and new wounds.

Your vocal cords felt numb and were surely torn, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.

Blinking slowly you tried to stay awake. If you fell asleep you weren’t overly confident you’d wake back up if the blood matting your clothes to you was anything to go by.

A shuddering breath jarred your ribs making you whimper.

“Y/n?”

A familiar voice called your name drawing your eyes up from the floor. Your eyes widened at the sight of Jason slowly advancing toward you with concern in his eyes.

Your body straightened a bit in shock, “Jay?”

Your hoarse voice had you cringing as Jay continued forward with his hands up. Jay’s eyes scanned your form.

“I’m going to get you out of here.”

You shook your head vigorously, “No, Jay get out of here. He could come back--”

“It’s okay, doll. I’m not leaving you. Remember?”

Jason’s soft tone had tears springing to your eyes. After everything you’d said before you left the manor you weren’t sure you even deserved his bravery or kindness.

As Jason got within a foot of you a loud bang echoed through the room. You watched as Jason’s mouth dropped open, his eyes wide.

His gaze dropped to his chest the same time yours did.

Deep red blossomed across the center of his chest until the Red Hood symbol was indistinguishable.

“No,” Your voice broke as Jason relooked at you, “No. Jay, please!”

Blood slowly dribbled from the corner of Jason’s mouth as his knees buckled. As his form fell against the floor you yelled at him.

“Jay! Jay, please no, Jay!” You pulled frantically at your restraints, “Jay look at me! Come on, please! Stay awake! Jason!”

The sound of cold laughter had you looking up across the room with hard eyes.

“You fucking asshole! I swear to God I’m going to fucking kill you!” You shouted through tears.

Joker rocked back on his heels with more laughter, “You’ve got to be kidding me! He’s your biggest fear?!”

Joker wiped a tear from his eye, “Oh this is just too good.”

His words had you blinking in confusion. Joker simply waved his hand around the room, Looking around you failed to notice anyone else besides the two of you.

Jason was nowhere to be seen.

“But--But he was--” You stumbled in disbelief.

“Not here my dear. No one is coming for you here. Nor will they find you. So long as I see fit you’re stuck here to entertain me with all your fun little sounds. Which by the way I forgot to mention your bones, when they snap, sound just like Jason’s used to.”

“You sonofabitch!” You yelled.

Joker looked at you seemingly bored before checking his nonexistent watch, “It would seem I have another matter to look after. Do be a dear and enjoy yourself in my absence. I promise when I get back we can have another round with good Ole Mr. CrowBar.”

“Come back here, Joker! Come here and face me!”

Your shouts were answered with a metal door slamming shut before a lock engaged.

Your ribs painfully protested against your heaving breaths as silence descended upon you once more. Disbelief still had its teeth deeply embedded into your brain as you looked back down to where Jason had last lain.

What remained in his place on the floor was a small pool of your partially dried blood.

Swallowing thickly you realized that what you’d seen had been a hallucination caused by the virus.

A very realistic hallucination that had been real enough to fill your sense with Jay’s smell. The telltale hint of leather and cigarettes.

Your brain worked unhindered by the throbbing in your skull in an effort to try and believe what had happened. The image of Jay’s shirtfront staining red made bile rise in your throat.

You wished for the ability to erase memories, or even to just fall unconscious until Joker tired of you. You couldn’t handle even the suggestion of being forced to watch Jay fall again and not being able to help him.

Losing him the first time had been hard enough.

“Y/n?”

Tears blurred your eyes as you forced yourself to look at the floor.

“Hey, it’s going to be alright. Look at me doll.”

Tears finally brimmed over as you looked up at the form of Jason. Jay gave a soft smile.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not,” your sore throat worked around the wet words.

“Don’t say that. Of course it--”

Jay’s words were cut off this time as you watched what you assumed to be a hallucination of Joker smash a crowbar off the side of Jay’s head.

As Jason fell to the floor Joker rose the bar upwards before sending it back downwards. You shut your eyes against the sight, but the sound of Jay breaking still processed.

“Y/n, help me!”

A choked sob jarred you, “Please stop.”

For the next several hours those two words would become a new mantra as each new scenario of Jason falling played out before you. Jason always just in reach but never close enough for you to save.

Eventually, the virus would morph internally ensuring that the hallucinations and pain remained as fresh and painful as the first time.

-------  ------

Selina had gotten the call. The call that made her heart drop to her stomach. Y/n was gone. Her apartment was trashed. Jason was frantic. Bruce and the others were already out scanning the streets for her. For any sign of her or who could have taken her. Jason had brought up Joker, but Tim easily pulled his brother from that thought.

But Selina knew better. Selina knew that that sick clown was up to this. Selina hoisted herself up on the edge of the window. Half of the window was missing. Carefully, Selina was able to squeeze herself past the broken glass and drop down into the warehouse. Her shoes made no sound.

Selina looked around the large room. It was empty. She didn’t hear a sound. Selina knew that technically wasn’t a good thing. Staying close to the walls and using the shadows to her advantage, Selina slunk across the room. She had an idea of where Joker possibly had Y/n tucked away.

As Selina made her way down the hall she could hear Harley’s high pitched voice. She may hate that Harley couldn’t see past Joker’s sick ways, but if she was here that meant Joker was busy giving Selina the perfect opportunity to find Y/n and get her out of this hellhole.

The very last room on the left Selina poked her head around the corner. There Y/n was. Tired. Beaten. Bloody and broken. Selina’s stomach turned at the sight of her. She didn’t deserve this. The kid was only trying to do what she thought was best. She wanted to make a difference. Selina couldn’t blame her.

Sneaking into the room Selina crept her way over to Y/n. She reached out and gently grabbed Y/n’s face in her hands. Y/n woke with a startled gasp. Selina immediately covered her mouth with her hand.

“Hush now, you’re safe,” Selina cooed.

Y/n screamed into her hand. She was mumbling and stumbling over her words. Selina was able to make out that Selina was fake.

“Y/n,” Selina said sternly.

Y/n only tried pulling her head away.

“Y/n, look at me! Look at me right now!” Selina ordered.

Slowly, Y/n brought her head up so she could look deep into Selina’s eyes.

“I am not a hallucination. It’s me. You’re safe now, okay? I’m going to get you out of here,” Selina said.

“You’re a fake,” Y/n said once Selina removed her hand.

“Yeah and you’re Queen Elizabeth,” Selina hissed as she quickly made work at Y/n’s ties.

When Y/n was slumped against her, Selina quickly picked her up bridal style.

“Jason,” Y/n muttered.

“I’ll get you to him, I promise,” Selina said.

“Joker killed him,” She cried.

“Shh, no he didn’t,” Selina said as she moved out of the room and quickly making her way out of the warehouse without getting caught.

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

They were coming up empty-handed. None of this made sense. How could she just up and disappear? Jason really thought that it was the Joker that took her, but Tim had helped him search her apartment. There was no calling card. Joker always left a calling card. He enjoyed showing off and bragging too much to forget.

“Gordon is going to put his best men on this and help find Y/n,” Bruce said over the communicator.

Jason rolled his eyes.

“He’s trying to help Jay,” Tim said from next to him.

“What I want is to find Y/n,” Jason growled.

“We’re all doing the best we can. You just have to believe that,” Tim said.

Jason shook Tim’s grasp from his arm and then stormed away. Tim yelled after his brother, but Jason completely ignored him. He was absolutely over it. His family wasn’t getting anywhere. It was time that he took things into his own hands.

Climbing onto his bike he tugged on his helmet. He’d find Y/n by himself. Jason no longer had the patience to be a team player. He was never good at that sort of stuff. Flying down the road, Jason took a sharp right. He’d find Y/n one way or another he’d bring her home safe.

Jason’s phone began to ring. He pulled up the call in his mask to see Bruce’s name. Rolling his eyes Jason ignored the call and continued on his way.

Again, Jason’s phone rang. This time it was Dick. Couldn’t his family get the clue that he didn’t want to talk to them? That he didn’t need their help?

Jason pulled down a side street and began looking for any of the kids that they had recently helped. Maybe, just maybe somebody had seen or heard anything about Y/n and what could have happened to her.

As he scanned the common areas Jason was beginning to come up empty-handed. The longer time went on the chances to find her alive were beginning to dim and Jason was slowly starting to lose hope that he was going to find her.

------

Across Gotham, Selina had dragged Y/n to one of the shadier motels. She was able to get her inside unnoticed and then Selina began working on cleaning her up. She stitched her wounds and bandaged everything else up.

Y/n dozed in and out of consciousness as Selina tended to her. Selina knew that it was going to take days for Y/n’s body to fight the toxin. Without the cure, it was going to be a long process. Selina was worried that Y/n wasn’t strong enough to fight off the toxins or that this time Joker had perfected his virus.

“Selina,” Y/n croaked.

Selina turned from the window to hurry over to the bed. She dropped onto the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” Selina spoke softly.

“Is it really you?” Y/n asked, her voice was thick and hoarse.

“It’s me. I made you a promise. You’re safe,” Selina said.

Y/n closed her eyes trying to hold back the tears.

“Y/n, Joker gave you a rather large dose of his virus. I’m afraid that you won’t be able to get past this,” Selina explained.

Selina could tell that Y/n was trying to think of something. She could see the hard look of concentration on her face.

“My place,” Y/n began.

“Has been destroyed,” Selina pointed out.

Y/n shook her head.

Finally, she opened her eyes to look at Selina.

“I was smarter this time,” Y/n said.

Selina couldn’t help but smile.

“In my closet is a safety lock box. It has a few of my last cures and my notes,” Y/n began.

“Y/n,” Selina interrupted.

“You have to go get them, Selina. My cures won’t cure me 100% but it will at least help me feel better,” Y/n explained.

“I can’t just leave you here,” Selina said.

“Yes, you can, I need you to go,” Y/n told her.

Selina sighed. She could tell that Y/n was beginning to lose consciousness again. She was right if Selina didn’t go now things could get worse for her. But she also knew that she couldn’t leave her alone. Y/n could throw up and end up choking on her own vomit. Selina knew the only thing she could do. She had to call for backup.

Selina walked into the bathroom and closed the door as quietly as she could. She dialed the familiar number. It rang and rang before going to voicemail. Sighing heavily, she called again and again before Jason finally answered his phone.

“What?” Jason snapped.

“Come to the old Motel on Hardwick Lane,” Selina said.

“What?” Jason said in confusion.

“Just get here,” Selina hissed before hanging up on him.

Selina cracked open the door to look over at the bed. Y/n was back to being out cold. Selina walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains. Several long minutes went by when Selina finally heard the familiar sound of Jason’s bike. Selina stepped outside of the motel room and flagged down Jason.

He yanked off his helmet and then walked over to where Selina stood.

“What the fuck is going on Selina?” Jason demanded.

“Come with me,” Selina said.

Jason had no other choice but to follow her inside of the motel room. Selina quickly shut the door behind him. Jason scanned the room. His eyes stopped at the bed. His heart dropped and his stomach rolled. Jason quickly looked over at Selina.

“How? Where?” Jason stumbled over his words.

“Joker,” Selina simply said.

Jason hurried over to the side of the bed. Carefully he dropped down next to her. She let out a small whimper. Taking her hand in his, Jason stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. His throat felt thick as he held back the tears. Y/n was covered in bruises. Blood stained her skin and her clothes. Jason could see where Selina had bandaged most of her wounds.

“Jay she’s really sick,” Selina said.

Jason finally looked over at her.

“Did he inject her with the virus?” Jason’s voice cracked as he asked a question.

“With double the dose, Jay. I have to go, she says that she has some cures hidden away at her apartment,” Selina said.

Jason shook his head. “I’ve been in her apartment. It’s trashed,”

“She had a backup plan, Jason. I know where it’s hidden and along with her notes,” Selina explained.

Jason said nothing as he looked back over her. Her hair was soaked from sweat. He could feel her shivering, but she was hot to the touch. Her lips were beginning to turn blue. Jason closed his eyes.

“I’ll stay with her,” Jason finally said.

“I won’t be gone long. Call me if she changes or gets worse,” Selina said.

Jason nodded.

Selina quickly slipped from the room. Alone, Jason crawled into the bed to lay next to her. She may be sweating, but Jason couldn’t go much longer without having her in his arms. Curling up behind her, Jason pulled Y/n into his arms.

Several minutes went by when she began to stir in his arms. Jason sat up and looked down at her.

“Y/n,” Jason said softly.

He watched as her eyes began to flutter open. They were glazed over and she looked up at him in confusion.

“Jason,” She whispered her lip quivered.

“Hi doll,” Jason greeted with a grin.

“Please, I can’t do this again,” She cried.

“Do what?” Jason asked.

“I can’t lose you again,” She replied.

Jason was confused.

“Doll, you never lost me in the first place,” Jason said.

Even though her body ached, Y/n slid away from Jason. He tried grabbing her arm to keep her from falling out of the bed.

“I won’t be fooled again, Joker!” She screamed.

“Hey! Hey! It’s me,” Jason said.

Panic had already settled in. With a quick jab with her elbow, Y/n hit Jason in the jaw. He released her and she fell out of the bed with a thud. She cried in pain, the blow hardly did any damage to Jason. He sat on the bed in confusion as Y/n hurried to her feet. She stumbled a little and reached out towards the wall to steady herself.

“Y/n, it’s just the toxins talking. You need to calm down,” Jason said.

She furiously shook her head.

“I refuse to watch you die again,” She said.

Slowly and carefully, Jason climbed off the bed. He held up his hands in surrender so she could see that he meant her no harm.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I am not going to die either,” Jason said.

“Liar!” Y/n roared before lunging at him.

Jason wasn’t expecting that and she caught him off guard. She shoved her open palm upwards catching him in the nose. He heard the sickening crunch of his nose and the immediate warmth from the blood. Swearing, he stumbled backward and ended up tripping over his own feet. Jason let out a deep growl as his ass came into contact with the hard floor.

“Fuck,” Jason swore as he popped his nose back into place.

Y/n stood there in shock. Her vision didn’t blacken like last time. He didn’t disappear like all of the other times. Could this really be Jason?

“Jay?” She whispered.

Jason looked up at her.

“Is it really you?” She asked.

Wiping his bloody hands on his jeans he nodded.

“It’s me, baby, it’s really me,” He said.

She let out a long sigh of relief. Falling to her knees she crawled over to him. Ignoring his bloody hands and his still bleeding nose, Y/n crawled into his lap.

“I’m sorry,” She said.

Jason only wrapped his arms tightly around him.

“It’s okay,” Jason said.

Y/n nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck and took in a deep breath. The familiar scent of him filled her nostrils and it brought immediate relief. Letting the tears finally fall, Y/n closed her eyes and just sank into his warmth.

Jason kissed the top of her head and just rocked her back and forth. He sat on the floor a bloody mess, but he didn’t care. She had dropped off after a few minutes and he didn’t dare move as he didn’t want to risk waking her up.

Fifteen minutes later, she woke with a start.

“Shh, you’re okay,” He said.

You looked up at him.

Jason looked down at you.

“Hey you,” He said.

Their conversation didn’t even get to start as the door to the motel opened. Selina quickly slid inside. She froze at the sight in front of her.

“Whoa, what happened?” Selina asked.

“Just a little misunderstanding, but we’re both okay now,” Jason said.

Selina knelt down and checked Jason's nose.

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up and I’ll administer the cure,” Selina suggested.

Jason helped you to the edge of the bed. He squeezed your hand before disappearing into the bathroom. You looked over at Selina.

“Did you find everything?” You asked.

“It was all there,” Selina said pulling off her bag.

She pulled out your notes and set them on the bed next to you. Next, she pulled out a few viles of the cure.

“Give me 50cc,” You said.

Selina looked at you with wide eyes.

“It was a double injection of the virus Selina, we need to try and counteract it,” You explained.

Selina nodded. Jason was just coming out of the bathroom with a clean face as Selina was filling the syringe with the cure.

“Whoa, that’s a lot,” Jason snapped.

“I know what I’m doing,” You shot back.

Jason fell silent. He dropped down next to you and laced your hand with his.

Selina lifted your sleeve and then cleaned a spot on your arm. You squeezed Jason’s hand just as Selina poked your skin with the needle. You let out a small hiss. You watched as the clear liquid disappeared into your arm.

Slowly, Selina pulled the needle out. She quickly covered the spot with a small band-aid. You were feeling tired again. You leaned your head against Jason’s shoulder.

“Your dad has been blowing up my phone,” Selina said

“Shit, I forgot,” Jason said.

“Forgot, what?” You asked looking up at him.

“Everyone is out looking for you,” Jason answered.

“Oh,” You said.

“Stay with her. I’ll go, keep him and your brothers off your trail,” Selina said.

“Thank you, Selina,” Jason said.

Selina nodded.

“Call me for anything,” Selina said.

Jason nodded in return.

Selina kissed your forehead.

“Keep fighting. I’ll be back soon,” Selina said.

You grabbed her arm before she could turn away. She glanced down at you.

“Thank you,” You said.

Selina gave you a soft smile.

“Anytime, you’re family,” Selina replied before quickly leaving.

The two of you sat in silence for a long time. Jason wanted to know what happened. You knew that, but you weren’t quite sure if you were ready to relive everything that happened with Joker.

“I’m sorry,” Jason’s apology broke the silence.

You looked up at him in confusion.

“Why are you sorry?” You asked him.

“I should have known that Joker wasn’t done with you. I know better that he’s a psychotic piece of shit,” Jason explained.

“Hey,” You said cutting him off.

Jason refused to look down at you.

You grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you.

“You are not to blame for this. Creating this cure was my decision, Jason. I knew what I was getting myself into. Especially, after discovering that Joker was behind everything. I kept pushing. Not you. Me.” You told him.

Jason swore and got to his feet. Your hand slid out of his as he began to pace back and forth.

“I’m going to kill him once and for all,” Jason snarled.

“No!” You practically shouted.

Jason stopped pacing and looked at you.

“Hey, it will be alright, I know what I’m doing,” Jason said.

You shook your head.

“Jay, it’s different this time, okay?” You said.

Jason knelt down in front of you.

“Jason, I need to tell you something,” You told him your hand came up to cup his cheek.

Jason placed his hand over yours.

“What is it?” Jason asked.

“Joker knows our fears, Jason. He used mine against me and he’ll use yours against you and the same for everybody else,” You explained.

“Y/n, what happened?” Jason asked.

You knew you had to tell him. You took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“You have to promise to stay calm and that you won’t storm out of here on a mission,” You said.

Jason mulled the decision over. Right now he would have agreed on anything and everything for you.

“I promise,” Jason said.

So you began to recount what had happened. You started with coming back to finding your apartment once again trashed. You told him how you tried fighting Joker’s goons off, but you weren’t strong enough to beat the three of them. You explained how you woke tied up and trapped in a room with Joker.

The more you explained what had happened with Joker you could see the anger setting in Jason’s face. His hand curled into a fist and he began to shake when you told him how he used a crowbar on you. Jason got to his feet and paced while you continued on.

You filled him in on how he injected you with a larger dose. That your fears come to life in hallucinations. You told Jason how you had to watch him die over and over again which made you feel like a piece of you was dying every time you had to watch the life leave his eyes.

“There were so many times that I wanted to give up,” You told him.

“You’re too damn stubborn for that,” Jason said with a smirk.

You couldn’t help but smile.

“But there was just enough hope left in me that I knew that if I kept holding on that I’d be able to see you again. To see Dick, Tim, and Damian. I also knew that if I gave up that there wouldn’t be anyone out there to perfect my cure and to beat Joker all together,” You said.

“You beat him this time, Y/n. And together we’re going to bring him down,” Jason said.

You gave him a sad smile.

“Look at me Jason, I am in no condition to continue this battle,” You told him as your body began to shiver again.

Jason held back his concerns. He watched as you crawled to the top of the bed so you could slip under the covers.

“That’s fine. You be the brains and I’ll be the muscle. That’s how we work best anyways,” Jason said.

You forced a smile to keep yourself from whimpering in pain.

“You’re not going to be able to take him down yourself, Jay,” You told him.

“Then I’ll bring backup,” Jason said.

“You’re not a team player,” You reminded him.

“For you, I will be,” Jason said.

You coughed as you slid further under the blankets.

“That’s a lot to ask of your brothers. From your family,” You replied.

“They love you Y/n, you know they’ll do it,” Jason answered.

Jason noticed how you gasped several times as you struggled to breathe. You were sweating again.

“Can we talk about this later? I need a nap,” You asked.

Jason sat on the edge of the bed.

“Of course,” He said softly.

Jason noticed how the left part of your face began to twitch. He watched a spasm roll down the left side of your body.

“Could you get me some water?” You asked, your throat was suddenly dry.

Jason shot off the bed and into the bathroom to fill up a glass. When he came back into the main part of the room you were already sleeping. Setting the glass on the nightstand, Jason took a seat next to you once again. The symptoms were coming back in full force. Your body wasn’t sweating the toxins out and it looked as if your body was rejecting the cure.

What the hell was he supposed to do? You were sick. There was a good possibility that you could die. Being cooped up in this motel room wasn’t going to help you either. You needed real help. More than what he and Selina could do for you. Star City was on the outside of Gotham and he could drive you there, but at the state you were in Jason worried that you wouldn’t make it that far out of town. Swearing, Jason left the motel room so he didn’t wake you.

Dialing Dick’s number he waited for his brother to answer.

“Where the fuck are you?” Dick demanded.

“Hi to you too,” Jason snapped.

Dick sighed. “Seriously, Jay, where are you?” Dick asked.

“I need you and the others to meet me at the Manor in fifteen,” Jason said.

“Why?” Dick asked.

“Stop questioning me and just do it,” Jason growled before hanging up.

Shoving his phone into his jacket pocket, Jason went back in. He knew he had his bike, but he was determined to get you to the Manor in one piece. Wrapping you up in the blanket, Jason picked you up and carried you out.

Using one arm, Jason was able to get on his bike and keep you cradle against his chest. Revving his engine, Jason pulled away from the curb and sped through Gotham. Every time you whimpered in pain, Jason looked at you. He could tell that you were fading. He went even faster and prayed that the police were busy elsewhere.

Once he made it through Gotham, he hit the max speed on his bike as he raced back towards the Manor. At the Manor, Jason parked his bike and with you still in his arms he ran up the stairs. He pushed open the massive oak door.

“Bruce! Alfred!” Jason shouted.

The two men came around the corner with his brothers hot on his heels.

“Y/n,” Dick gasped.

“Hurry, she’s dying,” Jason hissed and everyone split apart running around trying to gather everything they needed as Bruce lead Jason down to the Batcave with you still in his arms.

“Stay with me,” Jason whispered as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

[rreader]

title: married at first sight pairing: min yoongi x reader fandom: bts warnings: non idol!au ; (sort of) arranged marriage!au ; from strangers to        lovers!au ; mentions of an anxiety attack genre: angst ; fluff ; smut (later on)

summary: taking part in the social experiment with the name of ‘married at first sight’ was only supposed to give you the money you needed to survive. you promised yourself that you were only in it for the cash. no feelings, no emotions, no strings, nothing. that is, until you walked down the aisle and saw min yoongi waiting for you. there, you realized that this thing might won’t be as easy as you had hoped it to be.

a/n: the result of me stumbling over an episode of married at first sight and my brain already beginning to form an entire fanfic, lol. I’m still not a hundred percent sure on whether I want to keep this fic on tumblr or put it up on my ao3, but I’ll definitely let you guys know. anyways, hope you enjoy the introduction to the fic :)

You sighed deeply, your fingers holding yet another overdue invoice, while your shoulders were slumping with each line you’ve read.

This was probably the fourth one you’ve gotten this month and with the way your finances were looking right now, it wouldn’t be the last. No matter how much you’ve worked, no matter how many more hours you could fit into your already packed schedule, it would never be enough to pay for it all. A barista job didn’t exactly pay well. 

You got up from your couch and threw the piece of paper onto the table where the others were already laying on, before walking into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water, hoping that it would calm down your approaching anxiety attack.

After taking a sip, you put the glass back down on the counter, your hands flat on the cold surface, before you let your head drop and close your eyes, taking a few deep breaths.

“Hey.. you okay?” your flatmate walked into the kitchen, a worried look on his face.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied, not wanting him to worry. The bills weren’t his problem. He was always on time with his payments, having found a good and well-paying job at a Gucci store downtown, while modeling on the side. No, he was good and you wouldn’t drag him into this.

The problem with Kim Taehyung was that you had known him for over ten years and he always managed to see right through your lies, ever since you two met in school all those years ago.

While others would shrug it off and not care enough to ask again, he would always try to help you. Make you feel better again. This time was no different. He came closer, leaning against the counter with his hip and cocking his head to the side, so that he could look at you.

“If it’s about the money again, I can..-”

“I know, Tae. I know that you can help, but I don’t want you to,” you shook your head and pushed yourself away from the counter, “Fuck, you’d think I’d be better at this whole ‘adulting’ thing,” you murmured, more to yourself, than to him.

“I don’t think anyone is really good at that,” he offered a kind smile.

“You manage.”

“Because I got lucky.”

“No. Because you’re talented, competent and attractive.”

“And you’re none of those things?”

“Well, if I were, I wouldn’t be in this situation right now, would I? I would have a job that pays me enough to actually pay the rent, I’d be studying at a better university and I’d have a boyfriend. But I have neither of these things.”

Taehyung sighed and reached for your hands, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand, “You’re going through a rough patch right now. That sucks, I know. But you’ll get past that. You’ll find a job that’s going to pay you enough and you’ll be able to focus more on your studies, maybe even find a better university. And well, there’s a shit ton of guys and girls out there who’d die to date you. Or do I need to remind you of Jungkookie?” he wiggled his eyebrows and grinned when you began to giggle.

Yeah, Taehyung’s younger friend who often came around to play games with your flatmate and usually ended up with a boner when leaving, just because you were wearing shorts or a shirt that revealed some cleavage.

Nevertheless, you knew that he had a point. You weren’t the only one with these problems and you knew for a fact that others had it even worse than you did, but that didn’t help you right now. All you could see when closing your eyes, were all the bills you had yet to pay and the more you got, the more you realized that if you couldn’t get your shit together soon, you’d be in big trouble.

The two of you made your way back into the living room, plopping back down onto the couch, with Taehyung turning his body, so that his full attention was on you.

He waited for you to say something, not wanting to push you.

“I don’t know.. maybe I should just become a stripper,” you shrugged. That had actually been on your mind for a while now. Some of your friends were doing it and, yes, while this kind of business wasn’t the kindest or the prettiest, it payed relatively well. Much better than your current job at the coffee shop.

“Are you crazy?!”

“What? It’s not a bad idea.. at least I’d be able to pay the bills, then.”

“And have disgusting and creepy men watch you dance half naked and fantasizing about god knows what! I’d rather pay all your bills by myself than have you in that business.”

“Well, I guess it’s good then that it’s not your decision,” you knew that he only wanted what’s best for you, but you were already so irritated, that you couldn’t help but snap at him. He wasn’t in charge of your life. Only you were.

You left a sighing Taehyung behind, his head dropping back against the couch.

He didn’t want to fight with you, but he would. He would rebel against you doing something that you would later regret. He just wanted to look out for you. You were like a sister to him, after all.

So he did the only thing that came to his mind, even if it could get him and a lot of others in trouble.

Taehyung (5.29pm)

“I might have found someone for you.”

                                                            * * *

Min Yoongi had a problem.

A very big problem, to which he found no solution, no matter how he twisted and turned it.

Right now, he should be the happiest person on earth, finally getting accepted to Seoul’s National University, where he’d be able to study music composition. Where he’d finally be a step closer to his dream job. To the life he had always wanted for himself.

But despite all that, he was sitting in a café right outside of town with a frown on his face, rain dropping hard against the window next to him, the coffee in front of him long gone cold, while staring ahead of him.

He might have gotten in, but he didn’t get the scholarship he had so desperately needed. He had a job, but that only covered the rent and the food. In no way, would it pay for tuition fees and everything that came with studying at a university like that. He knew that his parents wouldn’t help out either, nor would any other family member. So now he had been sitting in this café for over an hour, trying to come up with a plan as to how he would be able to pay for it all..

“You know, if you had told me that you’d not drink the coffee, I wouldn’t have put that much effort into making it so tasty.”

Yoongi raised his head, looking at a smiling Jimin.

“Uh, sorry.”

Jimin turned around to see if his coworker needed help. When he realized that only one customer was waiting for their order, he sat down across from his friend and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Is this about the University? Did you get your letter?”

“I did..”

“And?”

“And they accepted me.”

Jimin straightened his back, his mouth forming an 'o’, before beaming with happiness.

“But.. that’s amazing!”

“It would be, if I had gotten the scholarship.”

“But Yoongi! You got in! You got into the university you had dreamed of getting into for years!”

The older boy shook his head, “It won’t matter if I won’t be able to pay the tuition fees.”

Jimin could tell how distressed the brown haired boy in front of him was. Ever since they were little, Yoongi had talked about this university. About how it would help him to push his career to the point where he wanted it to be. Being so close, but so far away at the same time.. 

“Do you have a plan? Maybe.. I don’t know.. ask your parents?”

He snorted, “We both know that won’t happen.”

“I could ask around.. see if there’s a job that pays well enough. You could also move in with me, to save rent.”

Yoongi relaxed a little. Despite all of this, it was always incredible to see just how kind Jimin was. How he would drop everything for his friends. How he would say that Yoongi could live with him and then actually mean it.

“I appreciate it, but I’ll deal with it.. I’m sure I can come up with something,” some sketchy jobs immediately popped up in his mind. He knew a guy that sold drugs and got quite a lot of money for that. It was risky, but it would get him the money he needed.

As if he could read his mind, Jimin immediately shook his head.

“Don’t you even think about doing something sketchy. You want to be alive to go to that university.”

“I need to think about all options, Jimin. All of them.”

Jimin turned his head when his coworker called for him. He quickly apologized to Yoongi, walking back behind the counter.

As soon as the customer was gone, he pulled out his phone and without thinking twice he typed a message.

Jimin (7.38pm)

“I got someone.”

                                                    the next day

“Jimin?” Taehyung smiled happily, “What are you doing here?”

“Could ask you the same question!” he got up from the booth and hugged his friend tightly, “Haven’t seen you in forever. (Y/N) told me you’ve changed coffee shops, which isn’t very supporting, you know?”

Taehyung laughed and shook his head, “No, no, no. It’s not like that. I just have to leave earlier for work, so I don’t have time to stop by anymore.”

“I’m glad you two are wanting to catch up, but I didn’t call you here for that. I called you here to discuss business,” both guys turned their heads to the booth in which two men were sitting in.

Kim Namjoon and Kim Seokjin. One, a sociologist, the other a clinical psychologist. Both still so young, but already at a point in their career, where Jimin and Taehyung were still dreaming of.

“Business?” Taehyung laughed and sat down, “Is this about.. you know?”

“The show. Yes.”

“Hold on, what?” Jimin raised his eyebrows in surprise, “What does Taehyung have to do with the show?”

“What do you mean ’What do I have to do with the show’? What do you have to do with the show?!”

Namjoon sighed and rolled his eyes, interlinking his fingers and placing his hands on the table, before leaning forward.

“Last night, both you and Taehyung have sent me a message about possible candidates. Both of these people are in a similar position. And..,” Namjoon glanced towards Seokjin, who still seemed incredibly unsure about all of this, “Since we’ve been friends for so long and we’ve been through a lot, we felt like it was only fair to help you. Help them.”

“So you’re accepting them?”

“Accepting isn’t the hard part,” Seokjin finally spoke, “We are supposed to pair the people off based on interests and whether or not we think they’d be a match. Not as in ‘We think they’d be cute together’, but from the view of a sociologist and a psychologist. What we’d do, would be against all rules and it would most definitely cost us our jobs if anyone found out that we manipulated the matching process. And while we don’t personally know (Y/N), we know how much she means to the two of you. Yoongi, we know. And we feel for him. We know how much he needs the money and we know how much getting into this university means to him.”

Namjoon took a sip from his drink, twisting the liquid in the glass around a couple of times, before looking back up at the younger boys in front of him.

“We’ve decided to pair them with each other. They will have to marry each other, spend two weeks in Hawaii and live with each other for six. After that, they’ll be allowed to divorce. And once it’s over, they’ll have more than enough money.”

Both Jimin and Taehyung were speechless. They hadn’t known that the other friend of theirs had been in a similar position. While Jimin had known that his co-worker, you, were in a difficult situation, he hadn’t thought it was this bad. 

“Do they know each other?” Seokjin asked.

“No, not that I know of,” Jimin said, shaking his head, while trying to think back on previous parties and get-togethers.

“No, they don’t,” Tae confirmed. He knew his best friend inside out and he knew who out of his group of friends you knew and liked. Yoongi, you neither knew, nor liked.

“Good. If they realize that you have the same group of friends, it’ll simply be a funny coinsidence.”

“And how exactly are we going to convince them to join?”

Yeah, Taehyung was already dreading that conversation.

“Oh, hey, by the way, I’ve found a way for you to pay for everything.”

“Really? How?”

“You have to marry a complete stranger with the name of Min Yoongi and live with him for 8 weeks, then you can divorce him again and money won’t be an issue anymore.”

Yeah, that would most certainly not end well for either party.