#imagine someone gets a minor cut at the office and is bleeding

[fluffishere]

One of my favorite American Psycho headcanons is (going with the idea that all of the murders were in his head and he never actually killed anyone): Imagine if Bateman faints at the sight of blood

[carry-the-sky]

Hi could you do 14. touch on a bruise for brio please?

ahhh thanks for sending this one in!! have some post-s3 angst, hahaha. :)

(also on ao3)

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The next time she sees him, he’s bleeding.

Okay, maybe not actively, but the jagged line of stitches etched above his ear looks like it’s seconds away from ripping open. Beth takes in the nasty bruise blooming along his jawline, the cut splitting his bottom lip.

“Um,” she says.

Rio smirks. “What’s up?”

“I—” she sputters, because he’s just standing there with that stupid, smug expression, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to drop by the showroom after hours looking like—that. “You—what happened?”

“Not your division, darlin’.”

He says it lightly enough, but Beth reads the undercurrent of warning in his voice like a neon sign. He wants her to drop it.

Well. She’s not feeling very incentivized to give him what he wants at the moment.

“It is when you bring that”—she pointedly eyes the stitches—“into my showroom. Those look awful, by the way. Did he do them?” She juts her chin toward Mick, who’s lurking in the doorway.

The two men share a look, and Mick folds his arms across his chest. “Maybe I did,” he grumbles. “YouTube’s got tutorials for everythin’.”

Beth glances between them both. She’s about to open her mouth—to say what, she has absolutely no idea—when Mick snorts, shaking his head at the same time that Rio’s mouth twists into a grin.

“Nah,” Rio says, still smiling as he casts a glance back at Mick. “Nah, he didn’t. Your concern’s duly noted, though.”

Mick makes another sound in his throat that he quickly covers by turning it into a cough. Beth’s face flames, but she draws herself up and meets Rio’s gaze head-on. Let him try to get a rise out of her—she knows better than to take that bait.

“Fine. What can I do for you, boss?” she says, spitting out that last word like it’s acid.

Rio’s eyes fall to the floor, but Beth can still see the ghost of a grin lingering at the corners of his mouth, like he knows he got under her skin. Like he’s won. For one furious second, she imagines how hard she’d have to hit him to split his lip, leave a bruise. She imagines hurting him and liking it.

But she doesn’t really have to, does she? Beth still remembers the weight of his gun in her hand, how the recoil from pumping the trigger once, twice, three times made her hand ache for days afterwards. She remembers him choking on his own blood, the sound of it filling up the loft—

No. No, she hadn’t liked any part of that. It’s a catch twenty-two; she hates him, she wants him dead, gone and out of her life, his name crossed out in permanent ink, but then—sometimes she doesn’t. It’s the not-knowing that keeps her circling the drain, pushing that damn boulder up the hill only to watch it come crashing down again and again.

She thinks she might hate that even more than she hates him.

Beth blinks, coming back to the office. Mick’s staring her down like a hawk, but Rio’s gaze is more appraising, head tilted to the side in a gesture that’s so familiar, so him, it makes her stomach flip.

“Just here for my cut,” he says, as nonchalant as if they’re discussing the weather. She hears the unspoken words as clearly as the night he said them—you, me, we. It’s just business.

Beth holds his gaze a second longer, then tugs a black duffel out from under her desk. She hands it off, dropping the straps like they burned her to avoid brushing her hand against his when he takes it from her. If he notices, he doesn’t show it.

“What, no mama bag this time?” he says, then presses his lips together like he’s trying not to grin.

Beth glares at Mick, who just shrugs. She snaps her eyes back to Rio, barely managing to unclench her teeth before asking, “Anything else?”

“Yeah, Mick’s gonna check the books.”

Of course he is. Beth isn’t exactly shocked, but it still feels like a slap on the wrist, another reminder that there’s a hierarchy and she’s the furthest thing from sitting on top. Even this, the operation she pieced together herself, the system she built on equal parts desperation and determination—even this isn’t hers.

You wanna be the king, you gotta kill the king.

Yeah, she tried that. Technically she’s still trying, but she shoves that thought down deep and ignores the twinge in her chest.

Rio’s already turning to go, slinging the duffel over his shoulder. “Next week, yeah?”

Maybe it’s the way he says it, like he’s glad he can pawn her off on someone else because he has better things to do with his time, or maybe the stress and exhaustion from these past few months are finally cracking her foundation—the reason doesn’t really matter. Beth can’t—won’t—let him have the last word.

“You should really get those stitches looked at,” she says.

He pauses, then looks back at her. In the low light, his eyes almost look black.

“I’ve had worse,” he says, and the words hang between them for a moment, heavy as a loaded gun.

Beth swallows. “Still. They could get infected.”

Something slides across Rio’s face, sharp and predatory. It’s the look he gets when he sees an opportunity, and Beth feels her stomach drop.

“Yeah?” he says, turning around so that he’s facing her again. He drops the duffel, and Beth can’t help flinching at the thud it makes when it hits the floor. “Sounds like you’re volunteerin’.”

“No, that’s not—”

But he’s moving, sliding into the chair on the opposite side of her desk. Beth’s eyes dart to Mick, but he just arches an eyebrow, not even bothering to look up from the list of sales projections he’s been checking.

Rio leans back in his seat. “A’ight, doc, fix me up.”

Beth stays where she is. The irritation that’s been bubbling just beneath the surface ever since he walked through the door is reaching its boiling point, but there’s something else humming under her skin, crackling like a live wire. He can leave whenever he wants—he was halfway out the door a second ago—but instead he chose to stay.

They’re circling the same drain, each of them waiting to see who will get sucked under first.

“I’ll—get the first aid kit,” Beth says, stepping around the desk only to be stopped in her tracks by Mick, who clears his throat audibly and pulls his jacket back to reveal the Glock tucked against his side.

Beth resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Really? You think I’m stupid enough to try something with both of you here?”

Rio doesn’t answer, just fixes her with an amused look.

“Fine,” Beth snaps, taking a step back. She nods at Mick, tips her head in the direction of the door. “It’s in the bathroom across the hall.”

Mick gives her a two-fingered salute and ducks out of the room, and then it’s just her and Rio.

He’s still—watching her. He looks relaxed enough, legs spread a bit and his hands clasped loosely in front of him, and if Beth didn’t know better, she’d say the expression on his face is almost neutral. But she does know better. His eyes are what give him away, flashing with the same electricity that’s thrumming behind her sternum. He’s waiting for her to make a move. She knows, because she’s doing the same thing.

God, she hates how much she likes this.

She barely registers Mick coming back—it’s only when he tosses the first aid kit onto the desk that she jumps, startled back to herself.

“Thanks,” she says, injecting as much sarcasm as she can into the word.

Mick’s mouth twitches, but he goes straight back to the books, sinking into a chair in the far corner of the office. Beth rolls her own chair around the side of the desk, lowers herself slowly into a seated position beside Rio. This close, she can see each individual color in the whorl-patterned bruise that stretches up toward the hollow of his cheek. She lets her eyes drag across it, then up his temple. The stitches look—well, not great. It’s clear they were done hastily, probably to prevent as much blood loss as possible, but the wound is seeping.

“Damn, that bad, huh?” Rio asks, reading it on her face.

Beth stares down at the kit in front of her. Her first aid knowledge extends about as far as patching up a skinned knees and Benadryl for minor allergic reactions—removing possibly-infected stitches from her crime boss’ head isn’t even in the same zip code.

“I don’t—I don’t know what you want me to do,” she says, abruptly exhausted.

Rio adopts an expression of mock concern that does nothing to ease Beth’s urge to slap him. “Oh, no?” he says. “What part’s trippin’ you up?”

Beth shuts her eyes for a second, briefly wonders why the hell she didn’t let him waltz out of here when she had the chance—except she knows why, and so does he, and when she looks again—

He’s practically beaming, that smug tilt at the corners of his mouth dialed up about a thousand percent, and it’s like a puzzle piece slotting into place. This is just another game—he’s messing with her, playing with his food before eating it.

The low buzz of electricity inside her ignites.

He’s not the only one who’s hungry.

“No, you’re right,” she says, popping open the first aid kit and digging around until she finds the antiseptic wipes. “I should at least clean those stitches up. Maybe even remove them, start fresh.”

She glances up, and that’s the only reason that she sees him falter, a blink-and-miss-it record-scratch behind his eyes before he recovers, slides the mask back on. Satisfaction floods through her. She can play his game.

“Whatever’s good, ma,” he says with a shrug. “You’re the boss, yeah?” He echoes her earlier emphasis on the word, grinning when he sees the barb land. “Shit, that’s my bad—poor choice o’ words.”

Beth rips open a wipe. “This might sting,” she says, pressing against his line of stitches, hard. She’s rewarded with him hissing a breath through his teeth, the hand at his knee balling into a fist.

“Easy, mama,” he grits out.

Beth flashes him her sweetest smile. “I’m sorry, is that too rough? I thought you liked that.”

Mick makes a noise like he’s choking, and Rio looks over, eyes bright with amusement. “Ay, cállate la boca.”

“Didn’t say nothin’,” Mick mumbles, still staring intently at the books.

Beth presses her tongue behind her teeth, swallowing a pinch of annoyance as she switches tactics. “Aren’t crime lords supposed to have, I don’t know, some sort of medical professional on retainer? For situations like this?”

“Nah,” Rio says with a shake of his head. “Why, you gunnin’ for a promotion? ‘Cause I gotta say, your bedside manner could use some work.”

And something inside her roars, because this is how she’s going to get him. She dabs gently at the wound beneath his stitches, swiping a thumb over the sutures. Rio winces, jerks back—

She sees it, the moment he drops the mask.

Beth leans forward. She brings the antiseptic up to his face again, stops just short of pressing it to his skin, as if to ask, okay?

She sees it, the moment he drops the mask.

Beth starts at his temple, softly scrubbing at the caked-on blood that’s streaked down from the cut above his ear. Her hand moves lower, fingers gliding over his cheekbones, and she’s not sure if she imagines his breath hitching when she reaches the bruise at his jaw. She drags her thumb across it, then back again. His skin is warm, under the pads of her fingers.

“How am I doing now?” she breathes, barely above a whisper, and she knows she doesn’t imagine him dipping a glance down to her mouth. Their faces are inches apart, close enough for her to count the shades of brown in his eyes. Her fingers trace lower, toward the curve of his lips—

His hand comes up to grasp her wrist, tug it away from his face. “Don’t,” he growls, low like thunder. A warning. “Don’t do that, Elizabeth.”

He’s looking at her again, but she almost doesn’t recognize the emotion swimming in his eyes. He’s—terrified. Of her. For a fleeting second she lets the thrill of it run through her, buoyant on the feeling of power, the feeling that she’s won—

(—she did it, she shot him, she’s free—)

The moment pops like a soap bubble, and she’s empty, hollow, everything good inside of her scooped away until this is what’s left. This is who she is. And maybe this game they’re playing was never meant to have a winner.

The realization leaves her numb.

She’s vaguely aware of Mick slipping the books back onto her desk, and when her eyes flick back up to Rio, his mask is firmly back in place. Steel, untouchable.

“I’m all better now, thanks,” he says, and then he’s pulling away, pushing up from the desk, slipping out the door. She watches his silhouette until it dissolves into shadow.

She’s alone.

[yungidreamer]

Claimed

Summary: An intruder enters the territory of Chan and his pack, attacking people and causing havoc. Seemingly by chance he saves a victim that turns out to be his mate, but as fate would have it, he happens to be a wolf at the time. How will he protect her, come clean, and claim his mate?

Word count: 8.2k

Content warnings: slightly dark themes, a werewolf serial killer who is a vindictive asshole, impregnation kink, marking, minor descriptions of violence, sort of stalking, sort of possessive behavior. Some cursing.

Music: Come Out by Lenise Morales and War of Hearts by Ruelle

“Come on, boy,” she said, patting her leg and holding out the leash. “Let’s go on a walk before it gets too late.” Chan hopped up off his round dog bed near the couch, wagging his tail as he came to her. He sat patiently, turning his head to let her reach the leather collar she had put on his neck. Jesus, his pack mates would be in hysterics if they saw him like this, he thought to himself. But he could have endured the embarrassment for her.

How had he ended up like this? Really, it was a mix of destiny and bad luck on  both of their parts. He honestly never thought he would meet his mate when he was in his wolf form and hurt on top of it. Fights weren’t something he got into that often and something he avoided when he could, but that night three months ago he had caught that piece of shit lone wolf stalking her.

Why the loner had picked her, he had no idea, but Chan had to be grateful in some ways. How long would it have been before he ran across her if not for that? Jesus, what if he had gotten there too late? He didn’t want to think about it.

That night he had been sent to track the interloper that had been causing havoc in their territory. He was the first of the pack to actually find him, which must have been luck since Minho was generally the best tracker and Changbin a close second. They had taken the two days before and barely missed catching him at the no-tell motel he had been staying at and at some restaurant where he had mauled some poor woman heading home after her shift. Changbin had been furious with himself for not tracking him fast enough and had been the one to find her bloodied and crying near the back door of the restaurant. He had shifted back to human and called 911, telling them he had been passing by when he heard her crying, a plausible enough story not to raise any suspicion. Besides as far as anyone involved knew, it was a rabid dog attack… a massive rabid dog.

Tracking was exhausting work and got shared amongst all the members of the pack. The third night had been his job and he had taken a neighborhood near the one he had been stalking, suspecting he had moved his hunting grounds but not that far. His hunch had been right, but it was pure luck that he had come across the scent of the intruder as he patrolled, just hoping to catch some hint, some clue.

That whiff had pulled him down an alley and into the strip mall parking lot of the craft store. For the life of him, he could not figure out why on earth he would pick this sort of place. The parking lot was half empty since most of the stores were already closed… except the big hobby shop. The sodium orange lights of the parking lot had flickered and buzzed, bothering his sensitive senses and it must have done the same for the lone wolf… so why on earth would he choose to hunt here.

Chan had spotted him, in human form, leaning casually on a planter half a dozen meters from the entrance to the store taking a drag on a hand rolled cigarette. He had let out an involuntary huffing sneeze, hating the smell as it drifted to him. That had given him away. Even if he hadn’t been able to sense that he was a fellow werewolf, no dog would have been wandering around alone in a parking lot here, like this, at this hour.

“I’m surprised you found me, rover,” the loner had chuckled, self-satisfied and amused. “I would have let you guys be, but you couldn’t just let me hunt a little.” Chan had growled as he watched him stand up, letting the shadows and flickering lights obscure his face as he pulled himself into a standing position. He had moved fast, charging at Chan and drawing a knife just before he got within an arm's length of him. Chan dodged but not fast enough, and the knife caught him in the ribs, grazing over a couple of them before he could dig his teeth into the man’s arm.

“Fuck,” the man yelled, punching Chan in the jaw to force him to let go. Stars sparkled in his vision and pain sliced through him as the knife slid along his collarbone and upper leg. He had gotten one last swipe in before retreating, leaving Chan bloodied and limping.

A safe place to shift was what he had needed, there surely would have been someplace nearby, a little alcove or alley between a couple of the shops, but before he could get very far, she had stepped out of the store, locking up and leaving for the night.  Chan froze. He had been slinking away, slowly trying to get out of view, but was still very clearly in view when she had stepped out. His pain had blinded him to other sensations at first, but even before she turned and saw him, it hit him like a freight train.

Mine the sensation said with a ferocity he had never felt before. Why he had to find his mate like this, he had no idea. He wasn’t particularly unlucky. He didn’t spend tons of time as a wolf either. His pack was pretty chill and was pretty careful to stay below the radar. Their territory was safe and they were known for not being overly territorial, letting people pass through without a problem so long as they left and didn’t make problems. So how he ran across her while he was shifted and injured was just stupidly bad luck.

She had gasped when she finally turned around and saw him, but who wouldn’t when they turned around to see a massive dog behind them limping and bleeding. A moment’s fear had shot through her at the sight until Chan had whimpered, flattening himself on the pavement to look as unthreatening as possible.

“Hey puppy,” she said softly, putting out her hand for him to sniff as she leaned down, slowly coming closer. “Can I take a look at you?”

Yes please, he thought, rolling gently onto his uninjured side.

“What on earth happened to you… boy?” She asked, catching sight of his belly. “I don’t suppose you are going to make this easy on me and would just get in my car if I brought it around?” She sighed and patted his head. Rubbing his head into her hand, he rolled back over and pulled himself up to stand again. “Maybe you can just come with me, hmmm?” Standing up, she started to move towards her car, keeping an eye on him as he slowly limped behind her. She opened the back door to her car and patted the seat, inviting him to hop in, which he did quite happily. “Well at least that was easy.” She observed, closing the door behind him as he laid down on the back seat. “Now we just have to go spend my whole paycheck at the emergency vets.”

Sorry, he said to her in his head. I’ll pay you back when I can. Pain pulsed through him as the city lights swished over him in the back seat. The emergency vet clinic was only a half an hour away but that was way longer than he would have ever wanted to have to lay bleeding in the backseat of a car. In fact, he really was sure he could have gone his whole damn life without knowing what that felt like.

He was tough, he was the alpha of the group, though he didn’t enforce a hard hierarchy like some did. They were more family than anything else. They looked out for each other, did their part, contributed in any way that they could. It worked well for them and everyone was pretty happy with the arrangement. It was just his job to be the final voice when decisions needed to be made or to speak for the group when dealing with outsiders.

“Can you get up, pup?” She asked when she opened the door in the parking lot of the vet’s office. Chan nodded, though it probably didn’t look like it, what with being a dog and all, and stood up on slightly shaky limbs. Thank god they were close, he thought to himself as he stepped out the door and onto the pavement.

“I need some help please,” she said as they stepped through the automatic sliding door of the clinic.

“Oh my god,” the woman behind the counter said when she caught sight of him, picking up the phone on the desk and hitting a couple of buttons. “Doctor West we need you in reception now please, and bring whoever is back there to help.” She hung up the phone and dashed out from behind the desk. “What on earth happened?”

“I don’t know,” she said looking down at Chan as she kept a hand on his head. “I was just coming out of work and found him like this in the parking lot. Maybe he got cut getting out of a yard or went through a window or something?”

The receptionist had shrugged, it seemed like as good an explanation as any. They had taken him back, stitched him up and scanned him for an ID chip, which, shocker, he didn’t have. With no one else seemingly accountable for him, she had decided to take him home, saying she would try and find his owners. For now, she would pay for the vet bills and she just had to hope whoever owned him would pay her back. Though honestly, given the shape he was in, she wasn’t holding out hope there was someone, or at least someone responsible.

That was how he had ended up here and stuck in his canine form way more than he was used to. The one upside was that he was with her. She had spent a couple of weeks hanging up posters with his picture, but eventually just decided to adopt him herself, leaving him in the weirdest bind he could imagine.

The first few days he had stayed just because everything hurt too much to do anything else. I’ll change back soon, he told himself, I just need the stitches to heal a little first. Then one evening when she came home he could smell him and cigarettes on her and his heart had clenched. The loner had been there for her? For his mate? At that moment, that realization he had a feeling he never would have thought possible. Thank god I was the one that got stabbed. That had settled it. He had to be there, he had to stay and protect her, at least until the intruder was caught.

Not long after that he had shifted when she was off at work, finally getting in touch with his pack. After the understandable chewing out he let Jisung give him since he had basically disappeared without a word for DAYS, he explained what had happened and told him to pick someone to shadow her while she was out or at work. Jisung agreed, letting out a low whistle at the story and the news that he had found his mate. Chan left the details to him and the others, still not feeling even 50% if he had to be honest. He trusted them and for now, he was stuck.

Now it had been three months and the loner was still on the loose and still in their territory. They had no idea why and he had only attacked one person since that night. Now and again, when she came home from work, he would smell him on her, and still other times, he would catch the smell of the loner when they walked through the neighborhood. But it was never enough, never that fresh, and he had no idea how he was flitting around so close yet so far.

Jisung had the brilliant idea of getting one of them hired to work with her at the craft store. Chan had to admit, it had been a good idea, it kept someone close, but it probably wouldn’t have been the solution he would have wanted. Smelling Changbin on her every night when she came home from work rankled him an unbelievable amount, despite the fact that he knew nothing was happening with them. But between smelling his pack mate and the loner on her, and being unable to do anything with her aside from pretending to be her pet was going to drive him mad.

How on earth was he supposed to tell her who he really was? Buck also couldn’t just disappear. And yes, she had named him after the dog in Call of the Wild which was both adorable and painful. She was attached to him...just the wrong him. He needed to come clean but, aside from breaking to her that werewolves existed at all, something that would most likely freak her out, saying, surprise (!) you know that dog you’ve been letting sleep in your bed and changing in front of… well, he’s actually a guy. Because, you know, that would go over really well.

So that was how he ended up on the end of her leash, heading out for a walk. If he didn’t have to do this as a dog and have to make a show of going to the bathroom on these walks, he would be far happier. It was nice being out with her, he just wanted to be able to do it as a person, maybe holding her hand, though he might have tolerated a collar and leash if she really liked it for some reason.

Chan walked ahead of her, scenting the air as they made their evening loop of the neighborhood. All seemed well and normal for the most part, at least for the first half of the walk. But as they made the turn that would head them back towards home the scent of the loner drifted across their path. Chan stopped, causing her to bump into him and make a little sound of surprise as she accidentally stepped on one of his back feet.

“What’s the matter, Buck?” She asked, looking in the direction he was looking. “Did you see something?” Unsurprisingly, he didn’t answer and, after pausing for a few seconds, she moved past him, trying to snap him into moving again. Chan stepped in front of her, preventing her from going as he tried to place where the scent was coming from. “Come on, boy, I want to go home.”

I know, he said mentally, willing for her to understand him. Trust me, me too. Suddenly he saw it, the shape of another of his kind skulking on the other side of a cinder block wall. It’s dark chestnut fur moved slightly in the breeze as the animal stayed stock still. In a split second, it dashed back behind the wall and Chan gave chase. He pulled his leash out of her hand, sending a mental apology to her, and immediately gave chase. He couldn’t let this just keep going on. She called out his name, well the name she had given him, as he disappeared behind the wall, giving chase.

Quick as a flash, he saw the tail disappear around the back of the house on the other side of the block wall. He skidded around the corner, keeping the scent trail of the intruder under his nose. The chase led him through alleys and back yards as they ran and dodged. Finally he saw him disappear over a high fence and Chan lept after him, feeling like he was finally gaining on him.

When he landed he heard a snap and knew immediately that he had made a mistake. A sharp pain shot through his front leg. It had all been a plan, been a trap to get him here, to get him trapped… and to leave her alone. He had never really felt as stupid as he did right now. He finally gathered the will to look down at his leg to see it clasped in a leg hold trap, cut and bleeding, but thankfully not broken, probably by sheer luck. He couldn’t run like this and he had to get back to her.

With a gulp, he changed back, needing the dexterity of human hands to get out of the contraption. It pinched harder, stinging his nerves as his leg turned into an arm, thickening in the vice like grip. It took him a moment to stop seeing stars and then another to figure out how to press down the sides of the trap to open it. When he was finally free, he looked around. He had to get out but running around naked and bleeding was a great way to get the cops called on him.

Making his way to the edge of the neighboring yard, he looked over the wall to see laundry hanging on a line outside. He hopped over the wall and took a t-shirt and some pants, promising to try to remember to bring them back when he could. Once he was dressed, he ran. He ran towards where he had left her; ran like his life depended on it. Ran because hers probably did. His feet barely touched the ground as he rushed back to where he had left her.

Suddenly he heard a scream rend the air and he felt his whole body go cold. So stupid, he berated himself as he willed his body to move faster. Turning the corner a couple of blocks from where he had left her alone, he saw her… and him. The loner had cornered her against a fence in the front yard of some house, a hand around her throat and a knife pressed against her ribs. Without a second thought, Chan rushed forward with a guttural growl. The loner heard him and turned. Momentarily distracted from her, he didn’t notice when she jerked herself down, loosening his grip enough on her neck to fall in the direction opposite the knife he held on her. With his attention torn between two people now, Chan had the upper hand and wrestled him away from her.

“Run,” Chan commanded her as he tackled the loner to the ground. They rolled and grappled like gladiators, vying for dominance, both ignoring her. Something that turned out to be a mistake on the part of the loner. Just as he rolled on top, pinning Chan by gripping his injured arm, she rushed toward them, picking up the dropped knife and driving it into his back. The loner let out a rage filled scream and rolled away from them both as he changed back into his wolf form. Running away as quickly as he could manage and disappearing into the neighborhood.

“Are you okay,” Chan asked, getting up and grasping her upper arms. Her face was a mask of shock, eyes wide and not really seeing anything. “Look at me. Tell me that you are okay.”

“I have to find my dog,” she said, her eyes flashing around them, yet she didn’t pull away. “I think he tried to chase that thing away. He ran off and I need to make sure he’s okay… he was already hurt and…”

“I’m okay,” Chan said to her, giving her a little shake to get her attention. “I’m Buck. You found me in a parking lot and saved me. It’s me.” Her eyes snapped to his face and she went white. “I was following him that night, trying to figure why he was here. That’s how I got hurt, but that’s how I found you.”

“You were looking for me, too?” She shrank back, her eyes searching for something in his face.

“No, but,” Chan sighed. He needed to come clean but this wasn’t the place. Not in the open, not in someone else’s yard. “Let’s go home. Please. Can we talk there?”

“Home?” She asked, looking at him suspiciously.

“Your home,” he corrected. “Just, let me explain. Give me a chance.”

She looked down at the arms that were holding her, finally noticing his cut arm. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s not that bad,” he let go of her arms, trying to hide his injury a little.

“Let me take care of it,” she offered timidly. “Then we can talk.” Chan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. With a nod he led them both back to the house, keeping a gentle hand on her wrist as they walked. He needed the assurance that she was there, that she was safe.

She followed, letting him take the lead, slightly unsettled by how well he knew the way to her house. Part of her still didn’t believe him. But then again, she had just seen a man change into a dog or… wolf maybe, and she couldn’t explain that. She had never seen him before and yet he knew her dog, he knew where she lived, he had saved her. She wasn’t 100% sure, but something told her to trust him.

When they got to her house, she let them in and Chan pulled her inside, locking the door behind them before tucking her behind him as he scanned the room and tested the air inside the house for anything amiss. When he was satisfied that it was safe, he stepped further into the living room and headed towards the bathroom to care for his arm. He really knows where everything is, she thought as she watched him head there without hesitation. Stepping up to the sink he started running warm water, dipping his arm under the spigot to rinse it. He hissed as the water hit the wound, a tingling pain shooting outwards from it.

“Here,” she stepped up beside him, dampening her hands and lathering them so she could gently wash his wound. Chan sucked in a breath between his teeth at the sting. “Sorry,” she said softly.

“No, it’s okay,” he assured her. “I appreciate you helping me. I owe you my life twice over now.”

“Seems like both times it was because of me anyway so…” she didn’t meet his eyes, focusing on what her hands were doing.

“It’s not your fault,” Chan soothed. “We should have gotten him out of here long ago. He just… he keeps slipping away.”

“So what are you?” She asked as she patted his skin dry with a towel. 

“Werewolf,” he replied softly. “But I won’t hurt you.”

She nodded and pulled some gauze and tape out of the cabinet behind her. Kneeling down in front of him as he sat on the toilet, she spread some anti-infection cream over one of the wounds before putting gauze over it and taping it down. She did the same with the other side, then wrapped both with a sports wrap to keep it secure on his arm.

“What’s your name?” She asked, finally looking up at him.

“Chan,” he replied gently, reaching out to cup her cheek. “My name is Chan.”

“That fits better than Buck,” she gave him a nervous smile and laugh.

“God I love hearing my name on your lips,” he admitted. He leaned forward hesitantly, giving her a chance to pull away, taking her lips with a gentle firmness. She tasted like heaven, even better than he had dreamed those nights when he lay beside her in bed pretending to be her pet.

What am I doing, she asked herself, feeling a fuzzy, intoxication filling her brain as his lips pressed against hers. His tongue darted out against her bottom lip, begging her to open to him. Why did he taste so good, she wondered as she shivered under his touch. He was hardly the first guy she had kissed but he felt different and she didn’t understand it. She didn’t know him at all, despite the fact he seemed to have been living in her house for months.

“Love, I… I need,” Chan pulled back and stepped away from her. “We need to talk.”

“Sorry,” she leaned back, not meeting his eyes, wiping her lips to try and erase the distracting sensations.

“No, don’t apologize,” he soothed, reaching out to her. “I just need—” he broke off. “I need you to understand.”

“What do I need to understand?” she asked him, frustration coursing through her.

“You’re mine,” he said, taking her face in his hands. “I knew it the moment I saw you that you were supposed to be mine. I protect what’s mine. But I need you to choose me. I can wait. I can send someone else to stay here and protect you. Just… I need it to be your choice because once I have you. I’m not letting you go.”

She should have been afraid, she should have made him leave and run as far as she could as fast as she could. But something in her trusted him. No that wasn’t strong enough. Something said he was right, they were a part of each other.

“Okay,” she nodded as much as she could, still restricted by his hands on her face.

“What?” He asked, his eyes searching hers, trying to divine what she was saying.

“I understand,” Her hands came up to loosely grip his wrists, guiding his hands down from her face. She leaned forward, bringing her lips to his.

“Wait,” Chan took a step back, having to use all his willpower to do so. “You’re sure?” She nodded and his will broke. It had taken so much of him to pull away, to do the right thing. He hadn’t expected her to accept him and what he was. With a desperate hunger, he smashed his lips into hers as he lifted her and carried her to the bedroom. He already knew the place well enough he didn’t have to take his lips from hers as he took them both to her room. He tossed her onto the bed and crawled in over her, pressing her into the mattress with his body. He was pure muscle as he pressed himself against her, she could feel it even through the odd mismatched clothing he was still wearing.

“Chan,” she breathed when he shifted to kiss along her cheek.

“Say it again,” he groaned, grinding himself against her. “Say my name.”

“Chan,” her hand tangled in his hair, holding him close. He pulled back, only long enough to strip off the shirt and to slip the borrowed jeans off his hips. He covered her still clothed body with his, drawing her arms around his neck. She moaned underneath him, parting her thighs to let him settle between them.

“I think I’m a little overdressed,” she pointed out.

“I can fix that,” he grinned, rolling them both over. With hurried hands he pulled off her shirt and unhooked her bra before sliding it off her arms and tossing it across the room. His pupils widened as he took in her bare breasts. They looked soft and inviting and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to cup them. She giggled and covered his hands with hers. Sliding backwards off him, she unfastened her jeans and stepped out of them.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Chan propped himself up on his elbows and took all of her in with his gaze. Her hands lifted to cover herself and he sat up, grabbing her wrists to stop her. “Don’t hide…” he blushed slightly as he admitted it, “You’re so beautiful.” He pulled her down to straddle him, running his hand over her waist and thighs.

She leaned down, bringing her lips to his as his hands wandered over her body. He had thought about this moment for months. Being so near her and having her not notice him, not see him had been killing him. So close, yet so far. Every night when she changed for bed, he had done his best not to stare as she stripped and put on her pajamas, only peeking a few times. Everytime she wrapped her arms around him and cuddled into his fur as she went to sleep. He had wanted to change, to confess, to throw himself on her.

Now he had her holding him as his human hands wandered over her soft curves and it was even better than he had dreamed. She smelled like heaven. Like the forest in summer and fields of wildflowers. He wanted to take her in every way possible. Kissing along the side of her neck, he buried his face in her shoulder, pressing her body against his tightly. He wanted to taste her, to feel her flesh in his mouth, to see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.

He knew why. It wasn’t that he wanted to eat her. The bite would mark her as his to any other wolf that might cross her path. It would meld them together according to their customs and the rules of the pack. The mark would claim her as his alone and give her the protection of the pack.

Breathing deeply, he fought the urge. He needed to do this right. I’m not an animal, he reminded himself, rolling over and moving them both to the center of the bed. Her pleasure had to come first.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded softly. “I just want you to feel me.” She looked into his eyes for a second before nodding and closing her eyes as she laid on the bed beside him. Kissing her lips, he tasted her with a slow and lazy sense of leisure, reminding them both they had all night. He licked and nibbled at her lower lip, letting out an involuntary whine as he asked her to open to him. She parted her lips and let him in, still allowing him to set the pace, to guide her. His tongue thrust into her mouth with a hungry confidence. He devoured her like a sweet dessert, enjoying her taste with a slow deliberation. As he did, one hand played lightly over her chest and collarbone. His touch was as light a feather, teasing her with the contrast of sensations.

Leaving her lips, he slid himself down her body, dragging his lips and tongue over her neck to the center of her chest. He could hear her heart beating under her delicate rib cage, fluttering like a wounded bird. The sound stirred the animal inside him. Was she afraid? Her scent tickled his nose telling him that she was mostly aroused but underneath it was a faint sliver of fear. It wasn’t a fear of him, or at least not a real fear of him. It was the type of fear that makes a rollercoaster fun or that tickles your stomach when you stand near the precipice of a mountain and take in the wonder of the view. That frisson of a potential danger that was entirely unlikely, but not impossible. Looking up her body, he saw her bite her lip in anticipation of… something, of him.

He slid between her legs and moved lower on her body. He kissed and nipped at the flesh of her belly; so soft and vulnerable. The wolf in him loved that she trusted his teeth there. His wolf could have ripped that flesh with such ease and the fact that she trusted him like this made pleasure rippled through him. Moving lower, he settled himself between her thighs, lifting her legs to rest on his shoulders.

“Can I taste you?” He asked, nuzzling against her inner thigh.

“Yes,” she nodded, squeezing her eyes tightly as her hands fisted around the blanket beneath her.

“Show me what you like,” he instructed, licking a line up the slit of her body. “Let me know how to please you.” She nodded, her hands fidgeting with anticipation. “Baby girl, you can look at me now.”

Opening her eyes, she looked down the line of her body to see his hungry eyes fixed on her. Chan’s hand reached up to take hers as he held her hips down with the other, keeping eye contact as he made a testing thrust of his tongue into her. She gasped and squeezed his hand. Satisfaction settled in his chest and he threw himself into pleasing her as he read her body. He licked and nipped and sucked at her until she came apart underneath him with a strangled cry. She was beautiful and he had never felt as powerful as he did in that moment.

He needed to take her, to fill her with his seed until he was sure she would bare his child. An image of her, round with child, floated through his mind. Yes, the wolf inside him growled, take her. Chan slid up her body and positioned himself at her entrance as he pulled her into a kiss. She could taste herself on him as he stole her breath.

“Are you ready for me, baby girl?” He asked, brushing hair off her face.

“Yes,” she nodded, eyes hazy as she looked up at him. “Please, I want you in me.”

“I would give you anything you asked for,” He admitted, coaxing her thighs around his hips. “Have you… done this before?”

“Yeah,” she assured him. “Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” he nodded, a little relieved he wouldn’t have to hold back. Holding her face in his hands, he looked into her eyes as he curled his hips into hers with a slow deliberation. He watched as her face filled with wonder at the feel of his invasion. When he was finally seated fully inside her, he paused, taking a moment to enjoy the way her body stretched to accommodate him. It was like she was built to hold him.

“Can I move?” He asked softly, running the pad of his thumb over her cheek.

“God, yes, please,” she nodded, digging her nails into the skin and muscles of his back. Smiling down at her and keeping eye contact, he pulled himself half way out before thrusting back inside her. She sighed at the delicious friction. His body felt so good inside her, felt like it belonged, or perhaps that they were becoming a part of each other. Chan moved slowly, relishing this moment. She shivered, her hands grasping at his wide shoulders as he moved.

“Please,” she said again. “I need more.”

“Anything for you,” he soothed, placing a few kisses across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. He pulled his hips back and plunged inside her, going as deeply as he could. Setting a steady rhythm, Chan buried his face in her neck as he began to let go and lose himself in the feeling. She filled every sense of his. Her smell, her feel, and the taste of her skin under his lips. Even her pants and moans filled him as they teased his ears in the quiet of the room. Her limbs held him close, gripping him like he was the only thing keeping her from falling. 

Pleasure rose inside him and he knew there was only so long he would last like this. He wanted to feel her come around him, feel her body milk him as she came beneath his touch again. Her heels hooked around the back of his thighs as she arched against him. The slight change in angle let him brush the sensitive spot inside her, making her quiver and gasp.

“Harder, there,” she begged, a desperation growing inside her.

“Are you close,” he questioned, his face tucked in against her neck.

“So close,” she whimpered, her nails raking his spine.

“Cum for me, baby girl,” Chan panted. “I need to hear you cum.” She whined and moved restlessly against him as the warm pleasure pooled in her stomach. He put his lips to the thrumming pulse of her throat.

“Chan,” her voice was barely a whisper when the knot of delight finally snapped inside her. As her body gripped him, he bit the flesh where her neck and shoulders met marking her as his. The shock of pain melded with her orgasm sending a cascade of sensations through her. With a final thrust he came inside her, filling her body with his emissions. He stayed like that until he felt her move restlessly beneath him and only then, reluctantly pulled out and moved to curl up beside her on the bed.

Her hand went to the bite on her neck. It still stung slightly but not nearly as much as she thought it should. Chan splayed a hand over her stomach, rubbing it in small circles.

“Are… are you okay,” he asked, looking at her lovingly as he laid beside her.

“Yes,” she nodded, taking her hand from her neck. “I didn’t expect you to bite me.”

“Just this once,” he promised, pulling himself closer to her. “It marks you as mine, gives you the protection of my pack. You’ll carry a little of my scent now.”

“Oh,” she blushed and looked at him. “Am I supposed to feel different? I don’t feel any different.”

“No,” he chuckled and smiled at her. “It’s something only my kind would notice.” She nodded and laced her fingers with his where they laid on her stomach.

“Did you do it so that he, whoever he is, would know?” She questioned. “Was this all just to, I don’t know, put him off?”

“No, although I would be happy if it did,” He gave her an adoring look. “This was because you were meant to be mine. Meant to be the mother of my babies; to be by my side for as long as we live.”

“So you want children,” she laughed.

“I want to see you filled with my child,” he admitted, his eyes going to where his hand lay on her. “I want to see it grow inside you. I want to raise it with you, watch it grow into someone as beautiful as you are.”

“Someday,” she nodded. “But I’ve been on birth control, so I don’t think we could just yet.”

“The bond,” he explained. “When I claimed you with my mark, it sort of…” he paused, searching for the right wording. “It opens you to me.”

“Oh,” she blinked at him a few times, trying to process what he was saying. “Even if we just… this one time?”

“Maybe,” he furrowed his brow slightly. “If  you don’t want, at least not yet,” sitting up, he moved to help her walk to the bathroom. “We can try to clean you out, maybe prevent it.”

“No, it’s just a lot to adjust to,”  she explained. “A lot has sort of happened since this morning.”

“I know, baby girl,” he laid down again and pulled her into a spooning position against him. “Let’s go to sleep for now and figure out the rest in the morning.”

Over the next few days neither of them left the house. She called in sick to work, not wanting to put either of them in danger by going out to a place he could so easily find and potentially corner her. Even with Changbin there, with so many people and such a big space, it would be possible to miss him, or at the very least, to not notice him until it was too late. Instead his pack mates came over to plan their next move. Chan spent most of his time planning with Minho and Changbin, setting patrol schedules and scout missions for everyone. Hyunjin was assigned the duty to investigate at the hotel and talk to the woman who had been mauled. Maybe it wasn’t a random coincidence that he had picked her, Felix had suggested after their second meeting. After all, if he was just looking to hurt people and just stir up trouble here, why target her? Sure it could have been a coincidence if he had just been foiled and chosen another target, but he hadn’t.

The suggestion had made Chan go cold. It made sense, but what had made him target her? There wasn’t something particularly special about her, except that she was his mate, but even he hadn’t known that yet. Was it possible the loner had some way of knowing even before Chan did? As far as they knew, it wasn’t possible to know but, still the thought lingered.

As the meeting was drawing to a close, Chan’s phone rang. Hyunjin was calling him from the hospital where he had gone to talk to the other victim.

“Chan?” There was a slight edge of panic to Hyunjin’s voice as he spoke.

“What’s the matter?” Chan asked the other boy, worried immediately by his tone.

“She’s… she’s my mate,” Hyunjin whispered into the phone.

“What?” Chan had a sudden sinking feeling in his chest. He stood up, needing to see his mate, to touch her and know that she was there and fine. He found her sitting at the table in the kitchen, snacking on something as she read.

“I’ve never met her before,” Hyunjin started to explain. “But I felt it the moment I walked into her room. She was just lying there, still sleeping, so hurt, and it just hit me. Her scent and just her presence; I know she’s mine.”

“How did he know?” Chan asked, pulling his own mate against him as he spoke.

“I don’t know, but this can’t be a coincidence,” Hyunjin insisted.

“I know,” Chan agreed.

“Look,” Hyunjin sighed. “I can’t leave her alone here. I have to stay for now.” Chan understood, letting him stay with the promise to send someone else to keep watch over her tomorrow so he could get some rest and come back to discuss what to do next.

“I hate this,” Chan said, as he sat at the cafe a block away from the craft store.

“We can hear everything that is happening,” Jisung assured him. “She’ll be fine, but we need him to come out.”

“I know,” He shifted in his seat. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

They spent the afternoon waiting, and waiting, and waiting. Over an open line, Chan, Jisung, Changbin and Jeongin listened as she went about her day like everything was fine and normal. She helped customers, stocked shelves, and worked at the register, all while Chan was on the edge of his chair, waiting for something to happen. But, it seemed, it was all for nothing. The sun set and the store closed and seemingly all was well. She locked the front door and set about closing everything down by herself.

Chan relaxed a little, hearing her calm humming as she closed down the register and counted out the money in the back of the store. After the money was counted and locked in the safe, she just had to make one last pass through of the store to make sure no one had left something behind or left a mess and then she could head home. Over the radio, Changbin and Jeongin started joking around, getting playful after a tense day. Everyone was relaxing, at least until a loud crack broke over the mic followed by her surprised squeal. The jokes stopped and everyone froze.

“I know you all are out there,” the loner’s self-satisfied voice cut through the silence. “Don’t worry. I won’t make her suffer, but sadly, you will.”

Before the words were even finished coming out of the loner’s mouth, Chan was up, running as fast as he could to the store. He had to get in, he had to protect her. Jisung was on his heels as they ran across the street and into the strip mall parking lot.

“Why?” She asked, her voice slightly strained.

“Why should he have you when my mate was stolen from me?” He growled.

“What did they have to do with that?” She asked, keeping him busy for as long as possible. If he was explaining things, he wasn’t killing her.

“Nothing,” he admitted, dragging her towards the back door. “But neither did anyone in the last three territories I went through. This one was the first one that figured out it was me though.”

“What the hell is the matter with you,” she spat. “You think you can take something from others just because it happened to you?”

“Why should I be the only one who has to be alone?” He demanded, pushing her against the wall by her neck.

“The only one,” she scoffed, realizing this was probably not the ideal way to handle this, but she couldn’t help it. “You know most people don’t have some beacon to tell them who they are supposed to be with. Even those who do, people lose the people they love all the time. Car accidents, illness, crime, no one needs your help suffering, you selfish, shitty person.”

“What do you know,” he hissed back. 

“I know that your mate was lucky not to have had to spend a lifetime with someone who would do this,” she challenged. “No one deserves that.”

Shock and rage vied for dominance in his expression as he stared at her. He made a sound of pure rage and pulled back a hand to strike her. Never having been the sort to just lay down and give up, she kicked out catching the side of his knee. It didn’t really hurt him, but it was enough to unbalance him and make him catch himself, giving her the chance to break out of his grip. She knew she wouldn’t get far, he was faster and stronger, so she just tried to get as close as she could to where Chan and the others were. They would come, she had faith.

The loner came up, grabbing her from behind. “I’m glad, even if this is the last thing I do, I’m not just denying him his mate, but I’ll take his child, too.”

On the other side of the glass door, Chan felt half a second of numbing terror. He had to get inside, for both of them. Changbin picked up a part of a broken concrete curb stop and smashed it against the window, cracking the safety glass into a million little pieces, still stuck together by the coating, but weakened. He hit it again, opening a hole the size of a fist, and again, until the tear in the inner plastic layer got bigger. Impatiently, and perhaps a little recklessly, Chan covered his hand with his jacket sleeve and tore at the shattered glass. Finally the hole was big enough and he crawled through onto the display on the other side of the glass. He had to find her.

Their scuffling was audible and he found them quickly, rolling on the floor a few aisles into the store. She had curled into a ball, only moving to thwart his attempts to move her or drag her further to the back of the store. They all leapt on him, pulling him off her and dragging him away before they made sure he could never hurt another person. Chan stayed with her, trying to get her off the floor where she lay. He needed to hold her, make sure she was okay, make sure the loner hadn’t done anything to her that needed an ambulance.

She peeked out from under her arm, checking who it was before throwing herself into his arms. Relief coursed through her like she had never felt before. She breathed his name and threw her hands around his neck. Pulling her to his chest, he held her close for a moment before pulling her back to get a better look at her. Bruises were blooming on her neck and wrists, but that seemed to be the most serious injuries inflicted upon her.

“Baby girl,” he looked into her eyes, trying to find the words to express how sorry he was he hadn’t been there.

“I knew you would come,” she assured him.

“I will always come for you,” he promised, his hand dropping to her stomach. “For both of you. I will always protect my loves with everything I have.” Over the past few days he had been so preoccupied with their hunt and their planning that he hadn’t noticed the subtle change in her scent.

“How do you know,” she shook her head. “I don’t feel any different.”

“Nothing much, just a little change in your scent… hormones and all that,” He smiled and shrugged. It wasn’t really something a person could sense themselves. “Are you happy? I know this has been… too much.”

“I am,” she nodded. “I may not have chosen this way to meet you and fall into your world, but I don’t think I can imagine ending up anywhere else.”

“You’re mine,” he assured her. “And there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do just to see you smile.”

Masterlist

[thiswasinevitableid]

feel free not to take this but it is still technically march so. vampire sternclay nsfw, a hungry submissive vampire being so, so good in the hope that their human will let them have a taste?

Here it is! I guess it’s april now but eh, on this blog it’s always monster time.

Content Notes: Mentions of blood, since we’re dealing with vampires. The roleplay in this could read as dubcon, since Stern has something Barclay needs, but aftercare is shown and even in the scene it’s clear Barclay feels safe and happy.

“I thought we could act out that, um, request you had for me tomorrow night”

“The one where you let me…”

“Yes, big guy, that one.”

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

Barclay waits in Mt. Sterns study, clock on the mantle reading three minutes to six. Lamps are being lit up and down the street as the citizens of London flock out into the first warm night of the year. Barclay will not be joining them; Mr.Stern has other plans for him, and the crosses over the windows and doors to the street ensure Barclay doesn’t go anywhere without his permission. 

It could be worse. Much worse.

Mr. Stern frequents the gentleman's club where Barclay is (was) a cook, is polite and charming when he discusses the latest evidence of monsters in the Himalayas or the depths of the sea. He’s American, like Barclay, which meant someone appreciated the pies he made for dessert. Every visit, he stopped by the kitchen to compliment Barclays food, insisting was the best in the city. 

So imagine Barclays’ horror when, half-starved and foggy-brained, the man he pounced on in an alley turned out to be none other than Joseph Stern. The fear intensified when the human easily overpowered and pinned him, revealing that he was an agent of the crown, a member of the Royal Order of Vampire Hunters.

“I can’t let you free, not in good conscience given you attacked me and could attack someone else. But I don’t want to hurt you, Barclay.”

The agents solution was to bring the vampire home with him, lock him in the safety of the cellar (so he wouldn’t get burnt), and use him as a subject for his research. Mr. Stern prides himself on being the preeminent scholar on the subject of vampirism (“Dr. Helsing’s research is sorely lacking, but everyone goes to him because of the Harker Affair”), and couldn’t pass up the chance to make use of his live-in vampire. Generally, he peppers Barclay with questions or submits him to minor medical tests, always giving him a glass of blood to drink while they work. That glass is conspicuously absent tonight, as was the note Mr. Stern usually leaves him detailing what to expect. 

Barclay bounces his knee as his stomach growls; they ran out of blood last night and a new supply has yet to arrive. Then the door opens, and he perks up like a bloodhound offered a bone. 

“Hello, Barclay, thank you for being so prompt.” Mr.Stern is in his full suit, hair styled as if he just returned from the office. 

“Of course, sir. I, uh, I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” He smiles, licks his lips as the human removes his jacket, revealing more of his throat in the process. 

“You like being my research assistant?”

“Very much sir.”

Mr. Stern rolls up his shirtsleeves, “I think you’ll like tonight's experiment quite a bit. On the desk.” He pats the strangely empty hardwood and Barclay sits on the edge, tall enough that his feet still touch the floor. The human opens his dictograph, stops before turning it on, “lie down.”

Barclay does as he’s told, jolts in confusion as Stern pulls three leafs of wood from the desk; one on either side of Barclay and one at his feet, meaning that his whole body is on the table with a few inches of room to spare on all sides.

“This isn’t your normal desk, is it sir?”

“No, I had it made just for us.” The dictograph clicks on, “April 14th, experiment twenty-nine; determining the relationship between sexual arousal and bloodlust in vampires.”

“Wait, what?” Barclay bolts upright, starts climbing off the desk only for Stern to firmly cup his cheek. 

“Barclay, you want to be a good specimen, don’t you?” Something sharp and wicked as a scalpel glints behind the clinical curiosity in his blue eyes. 

“Yes, sir.” He does, he really does, but he’s so hungry. Hungry and terrified that whatever Stern is planning will cause Barclay to admit the feelings he has to keep reburying in his chest thanks to their reemerging whenever Stern smiles at him. 

“Then do as you’re told.” He takes his hand away, Barclay mourning the loss of contact as the reclines back onto the desk. 

“Much better.” Stern walks around the desk, patting Barclay’s head along the way, “If you’re good tonight, I’ll give you a special reward. One you’ve never had before.”

Barclay resolves to be better than he’s ever been. Stern's rewards are well planned and generous, leaving Barclay positively spoiled when he’s done. He buys him the expensive draught that lets vampires consume non-blood foods without illness, then takes him to dinner. Brings him rare teas and books to read while he sips them. When he learned Barclay liked theater and opera, evenings out in finery became part of the rotation. He can’t imagine what the extra special reward will be, but he hopes it involves more of Sterns gentle touches on his skin. 

“I’m starting the experiment now. To establish our baseline, how aroused are you?”

“Like, a little?”

“Are you craving blood?”

“Yeah, I’m kinda hungry, but not like, crazed or anything.”

“Good. I’ll keep checking in with the subject throughout the process.” He pulls a notebook from his shelf, and Barclay can see a checklist running down the page, “I’ll start by relaxing the subject.” 

The detached manner in which Stern refers to him should aggravate him; instead, his cock twitches in his pants and he squirms, hoping the human will say it again. 

Stern rolls Barclays pants up to his knees, picks up his right foot and kneads his thumb along the arch. He finds all the sore spots with ease (almost as if he’s done this before), Barclay moaning softly as he works his way up one leg and then other. The vampire is so relaxed by the end he almost misses Stern guiding his wrists into the cuffs on either side of him. 

“Sir?”

“It’s for your safety and mine; you may get agitated later on, and I don’t want you injuring yourself. Arousal level?”

“About the same.”

Stern raises his eyebrow.

“Uh, I mean, about the same, sir.”

“Hunger?”

“The same, sir.”

The agent turns back to the dictaphone, “Subject is now restrained. Proceeding to step twoOW, shit.” He sets the notebook down and shoves his right pointer finger into his mouth. 

It’s only a small paper-cut, bleeding a bead of red when he pulls it out to examine it. To Barclay, it’s like someone cracked open a fine wine and is taking their sweet time pouring.

Stern notices his interest immediately, “Is this what you want, Barclay? To taste me?”

He whines, nodding his head. Stern’s hand hovers over his face; he could reach it with his tongue, but if he takes it without permission the human will no doubt revoke his reward. 

The cut finger strokes his neck, leaving a faint trail of red that he can smell but neither see nor reach. 

“Then I guess it’s convenient that’s your reward for tonight.”

“Ohfuckyes, sir, thank you sir.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, we’re only through step one. Where was I” he flips to the same page in his notes, “Oh, right. Addition of even a faint trace of blood lead to increased arousal in the subject. Testing the reverse pathway now.”

“Ohhhhhhfuck” Barclay bucks his hips as Joseph palms his cock through his pants. The warmth and pressure are enough to tease, to coax his cock up, but too little for him to do anything but rut like a needy dog on his hand. 

“It looks like stronger stimulation is required.” 

“AHahgodOWfuck” tears prick his eyes and he wishes, not for the first time, that he’d been less prone to taking the lords name in vain when he was human. The habit is hard to break and the word burns his tongue whenever it’s uttered.

Sterns eyes flick up to his face just long enough for him to see Barclay isn’t hurt, then they return to his cock. His hand moves in calculated, steady strokes, his voice calm even as Barclays grunts of pleasure fill the room. 

“Good boy, Barclay. Let’s see what happens if I…”

“Fuck, ohfucksir.” He jerks his hips as Stern quickens his hand, pre-cum slicking the shaft.

“Subjects fangs are emerging, salivary glands seem more active, eyes-Barclay, be quiet, you’re going to drown out my notes.”

This statement does not have the desired effect, as the thought of the device picking up his moans, of Stern playing them back with a clinical ear or fucking himself to them or letting other hunters listen to just what a vampire will do in order to feed, makes him moan louder. 

Stern stops entirely, his tone a warning, “Barclay.”

“S-sorry sir, it, it just, it feels so good, wanted you to, to know I like it. It’s, it’s an honor to feel your hands on me.”

“That’s very sweet. So sweet that I’ll make you a deal; if you can be quiet until after you cum, you can make as much noise as you want afterwards. Understood?”

“Yes sir.” He clamps his jaw shut, fangs pricking the inside of his mouth. Stern works his cock relentlessly, smiling as Barclay’s legs begin jerking and twitching with his impending orgasm. 

“That’s much better.”

Barclay smiles, proud, swallows down a moan, and cums all over Sterns waistcoat.

“Messy boy.” Stern wipes himself off, then covers Barclay’s mouth with a cum-streaked hand, “clean it up.”

He obeys, ambivalent to the bitterness of his own spend and elated by the taste of Sterns skin on his tongue. When he’s done the human ruffles his hair with his other hand, smiling down at him. 

“I’ll be right back.” Stern leaves his view and Barclay only just keeps himself from whining at his absence. The agent returns with a case which, when opened, reveals a vibrator. 

“I’m not hysterical, sir.”

“Not yet.” Rather than hold it himself, Stern straps the device so it rests against Barclays cock and switches it on.

“AHFUCK, sir, it’s, how many times-” His cock, which was soft only a moment ago, perks back up even as the nerves in it scream for it to stop.

“As many as it takes to complete my study. Let’s see.” The human turns Barclays face this way and that, frowns, and digs his finger and thumb into his jaw to keep his mouth open as he moans, “subjects fangs are now fully out and he” Stern snickers as Barclay’s beard tickles his wrists, the vampire licking and nuzzling at his inner arm, “he’s increasingly submissive and blood focused.”

“N-no, I’m you focused sir, want you, be so good for youAHannn” he cums, cuffs clanking on the table as he arches off it. Stern drags a chair over, sitting near Barclay’s head and leaning with his elbows on the desk to watch as his cock continues leaking and shuddering under the onslaught of sensations. 

Barclay recalls a myth, Greek he thinks, where a man is punished in the afterlife with intense hunger and thirst. He doesn’t remember why it happens, he tends to skim tragic stories. The part that stuck with him was the man being trapped with food and water just out of reach. With Joseph so close and Barclay so aroused and hungry, he can see the veins in his neck, can almost crane his neck to reach them. 

Then he cums a third time and his vision whites out, taking away the temptation for a few moments of mercy. His brain gives up on coherent thoughts after that, and all he can do is moan and sob as Stern forces two more orgasms out of him. His feet and legs go from kicking and thrashing to laying so limp he’s not sure he’ll be able to walk when they’re through.

“I think I have what you need.” Stern shuts off the vibrator, removing bringing a water basin and pitcher over to the vampire. He dips a handkerchief into the warm water, guiding it along Barclays forehead, “you’re doing well, Barclay. I’m so proud.” 

“Thank you sir. 

“I have one more test to run, okay?” His voice is so gentle, his touch so soothing, and Barclay would do anything for him like this, all he wants is to serve him, to make him happy so he’ll keep looking at him like he’s something precious instead of dangerous. 

The agent checks the dictaphone, clears his throat, “Final test: role of discomfort in the arousal-bloodlust dynamic.”

Barclay swallows, so turned on he couldn’t be scared if he tried. The agent pulls a loose page from the notebook, mischief in his eyes and menace on his fingertips. Only Stern could make the snap of a freshly inked piece of paper erotic, and Barclay adores him for it. 

“I will now have the subject read a passage and record my observations.” 

Letters fill his view and it takes his eyes a second to focus on them. His tongue, likely out of self-preservation, fights to stay behind his teeth. 

“We don’t have all night, Barclay.”

The vampire takes a deep breath, “O God, accept me in penitence. O God, l- leave me not. O Lord, lead me not into temptation” his tongue flinches even as his chest burns with pleasure “O God, grant me good thoughts. O God, grant me humility and obedience.”

“I’d say you’re doing well on that front already,” Stern murmurs, saying more clearly, “the subject responds positively to pain associated with holy words, and looks increasingly thirsty.” He gives Barclay a pointed look, “subject should continue if he wants his reward.” 

 “O Lord, grant me patience, courage and meekness. O God, grant me to love Thee with all my mind and soul.” Tears run down his cheeks; the pain is right on the edge of what he can take, and even in his submissive haze he’s certain this alone is deserving of a reward, “Sir, please, please, I’ve been so good, please say you’re satisfied so I can, I can-”

Stern sets the paper aside, “can what? Specificity is important, Barclay.”

A dozen types of hunger well up in his throat as he whimpers, “please say I can taste you.”

An indulgent smile, “Of course. Give me a second to prepare.”

The vampire closes his eyes, breathes as slowly as he can manage as his tongue ceases tingling. There’s a scuff and thud of Stern touching the desk, and Barclay assumes he’s being freed until warmth straddles his chest and a shadow blocks the lamplight from his face.

“Ohfuck.” He opens his eyes, finds Stern--naked from the waist down--bracketing his ears with his knees. 

“Is this the taste you wanted?” Stern guides his head up and Barclay eagerly kisses his cock.

“N-no I wanted to feed but, but this is so, so perfect sir.”

“You think you deserve to feed from me?”

Barclay nods, too busy teasing his tongue along his folds to respond further. The hunter is wet, and the thought of him soaking his tailored trousers just by watching Barclay cum is almost as heady as the scent of the blood beneath his skin. 

“Well, I think this is what you deserve, for being so careless as to attack me, and for having to rely on my hospitality to survive.”

“Uhhummm” Barclay closes his lips around his cock and Stern moans, a sound Barclay would gladly swallow holy water to hear again. 

“Nnn, oh lord, that’s it, you’re doing so well big guy.”

He purrs at the praise, mouth watering as Stern’s body sends more blood south. The skins so sensitive here, so thin, he can practically taste iron through it. He grazes his teeth along Sterns thigh, hoping for the smallest of scrapes, yelps when the agent pulls his hair hard enough to slam his head back against the desk. 

“If you bite without permission, I will leave you here, like this, with that vibrator strapped to your cock, until the morning.”

Barclay whimpers, licks plaintively at his cock to show he’s sorry. Stern’s voice softens, “That’s better. I know it’s hard to restrain yourself, but you--oh lord--you must. I hate having to discipline you my sweet boy, I’d much, much rather-” his hips gain speed, smearing slick across Barclays mouth, “fuck, I’d rather spoil you and then do whatever I want to this perfect body, oh, ohlord, ohyes.” He tenses, gasping, and Barclay wishes his hands were free so he could hold him, keep him safe and steady while he takes his pleasure.

The hunter eases off of him, undoes the cuffs and helps him upright. They move on equally shaky legs to the settee, the human undoing the top buttons of his shirt once they do. 

“Barclay…”

“Yes, sir?” He grips the edge of the cushions to keep from pinning the agent to their deep blue surface. 

“You can have your reward now.” Stern tips his head sideways, revealing a welcoming patch of throat. Barclay growls, lunges forward as Stern makes no attempt to stop him. His teeth pierce willing skin and hot, sinfully delicious blood flows across his tongue. Stern goes rigid in his arms, voice cracking in a moan. Then he relaxes, clinging to Barclays shoulders as the vampire pushes him down, licking and sucking and smearing crimson kisses across his neck. 

Nothing in the world compares to fresh blood, freely offered, swallowed down while the most handsome man you’ve ever seen lets out softer and softer moans of ecstasy. 

Two taps register on his shoulder and he pulls away, lapping at the wounds so they’ll stop bleeding and be protected from infection. Joseph groans, gingerly shaking his head to clear it.

“You feeling okay, big guy?”

“Y’know how pythons will eat a cow once a month and then sleep for days? That sounds really fucking good right about now.” Barclay knows some vampires feel energized after feeding, but for him it’s always followed by the need for a nap.

“Let’s go upstairs first, the bed is better than the couch for that. Last time I fell asleep here my back hurt the whole next day.”

“Someone feeling being in his thirties?”

“Barclay, you’re three hundred.”

“And I don’t feel a day over two hundred and fifty.” He smiles as Joseph chuckles and kisses his cheek. 

They make it up the stairs, Barclay easing his way under the covers and trying not to let them touch his sore cock. Joseph brings two water glasses and a damp cloth. Barclay uses the latter to clean the last traces of blood from his skin, patching over the punctures with the bandages they keep in the bedside table. 

“Fun as it is to pretend to be your, like, pet vampire, I really glad you decided you just needed a roommate after I was stupid enough to attack you.”

Joseph polishes off his water, “You were starving, not stupid. Most vampires who go after humans are. It did put a damper on my plans to proposition you in the club kitchen the next night, but it worked out in the end.”

“They did warn me the clientele might try to bribe me into earning a few extra pounds with uh, ‘special services.’”

“A few pounds is barely a fair price for a kiss from you.” The human kisses him, somehow more sincere and loving than the equally tender kiss he gave him before leaving for work. Then he rubs his leg through the blankets, “do you want some tea? Indrid dropped off a new one he found while traveling with Duck, and it smells amazing.”

“Sounds great, blue eyes.”

“I’ll go make a pot of it while you rest; you did so well tonight I’m inclined to spoil all weekend.”

“No complaints here. You take such good care of me, Joseph.”

“You deserve it, big guy. Don’t go anywhere.” He kisses his brow and leaves the bed, whirling on his dressing gown as he goes towards the stairs. 

Barclay watches him with all the love his unbeaten heart can muster and murmurs, “I won’t. Not when everything I need is right here.”

[themysteriousauthor18]

RADIODUST ONE SHOT

The brunette sat quietly in the office lined with bookshelves. A blase smile on olive skin and dark brown eyes watched through round frames the old man behind the desk close the file. He had various wrinkles on his face and his hair had fully greyed leaving a bald spot at the center although the grey suit suggested he was no old man but rather the head of this institute. 

He hummed in thought as those old grey eyes traced up to the much younger looking male on the other side of the desk, at him. After a brief exchange of profound eye contact on the elderly man's part he gave a warm smile extending his hand shortly after. 

"It's a pleasure to welcome you aboard Mr..." The man paused fumbling for an ending to that sentence. The brunette's self assured smile only grew as he firmly grasped the others hand.

"Alastor." He finished for the deen who seemed pleased with that answer. As they released the handshake the deen stood up adjusting his suit.

"Well I look forward to seeing how you educate these young mines. A man of Twenty four it is not often that I see such young men that are willing to teach." He laughed heartily and Alastor joined in standing with him and turning to the deen as he stood at the door.

Alastor met the man's eyes grinning ever so slightly. "Well I look forward to it." He replied spirited.

"You can start first thing tomorrow morning. I'll have your classroom number faxed to you before then." The brunette only smiled as the deen spoke.

"Yes that will do." With those words the deen opened the door motioning in a kind manner for Alastor to exit his office. Alastor took the fedora in his hand and tipped it lightly in the man's direction before walking out of the room. Once the door closed his smile formed into something more sinister.

He looked up and down the empty halls. Right it was in the middle of classes there wouldn't be any students around. 

Teaching college students seemed very crazy indeed, but he had his own reasons for that. Alastor reached into the breast pocket of his brown vest taking out the pocket watch. His eyes became troubled as he saw the time. Oh he would be late...he seemed the meeting cut into his time for that.

He shook his head, filing the pocket watch away and walking briskly down the bare halls with his fedora tucked under his arm.

Although as he passed by one of the smaller hallways leading to what he assumed to be the washroooms something caused him to pause in his steps. It fell silent in the hall and he questioned if he was merely imagining things..but just as he was about to continue walking he heard it again.

The sound of someone breathing in quickly, through their teeth. His smile tensed and his curiosity beckoned him closer. As he turned down the small hallway he spotted the source of the sound.

Tucked in between the doors, sitting on the floor was a student judging by the priss navy blue jacket and black pants. The uniform for this school, although the buttons on the jacket were undone in several places and the pants were wrinkled. A mob of blonde hair covered their face but all of those were minor details compared to what had drawn Alastor's eyes.

The sleeves rolled up and the site of blood dripped down the students' wrist.

Thump....thump.....

Alastor shook his head briefly, he would have to control himself. Especially if he were to teach here.

Alastor glanced over his shoulder miffed. He did not want to deal with anyone right now, especially a child no less. Well, all the students were at least eighteen here but still a child in his eyes.

He attempted to take a step back to distance himself from the situation but unfortunately the sound of his shoes caused a small enough sound to alert the other. Just a small tap of the shoe and a pair of green eyes were staring at him in alarm.

How perceptive.

Alastor thought curiously.

Well now that they saw him, what was he to do? He very well couldn't leave or that would tarnish his reputation which had yet to begin. And he did not want to give it a bad start.

Against his better choice he knelt down to eye level of the pale mess of blonde. Their breathing was erratic likely due to the blood...the blood...it-

Alastor refocused his eyes looking at their face instead. "Hello there dear, why are you hiding in such a deplorable place?" He paused avoiding the urge to look down at the scarred wrist. "..And why are you inflicting pain on yourself?"

The blonde-haired...male? At least he thought they were a male, only moved back looking at Alastor as if he offended him.

"The fuck you care.." He mumbled, he had a hint of an accent in his words. Although Alastor wasn't sure where it was from.

He flashed that charming smile of his and merely extended a gloved hand. The male looked at it fearfully as if Alastor was holding a weapon, to which he was not.

"Well considering I will be teaching students like yourself starting tomorrow I think it would be best to begin forming a sound relationship with you all." For his benefit later of course, but they didn't need to know that.

The pale student wasn't buying it, more complex it seemed. He moved back grabbing his wrist with his free hand, he hadn't seemed to care that he was bleeding all over the floor and it was then when he stood that Alastor spotted the small pocket knife. But the students who was a few inches shorter than him brushed past him quickly.

Alastor couldn't get a word out as his eyes were fixated on the pocket knife on the ground only hearing the footsteps of the student walking off into the distance.

The brunette walked over to the knife, leaning down and slowly taking it up. He held it in his hand for a moment, his eyes tracing over the blade and blood that dripped off it.

He brought it up to his mouth and slowly ran his tongue across the blade. As the blood coated his tongue his dark brown eyes glowed a bright crimson for a mere second and no more than that.

His heart jolted in delight...oh the blood, it tasted so sweet.

He turned to look behind him, the student was already gone but the scent of their blood still lingered in the air.

It seemed he had made a good idea after all.

His fangs bared themselves in the shadow of the corridor as he ran his tongue over the rest of the blood.

That is, if he could control himself for long enough...

Did a radio dust drabble of a college AU but turns out Alastor’s also a vampire in this AU. Yay…..woo random oneshot. Hope you had fun reading let me know what you thought of it. 

-Thanks for reading-

[lochrannn]

AU_gust: The Magic of Detention

Read on AO3

prompt no 26: School of Magic

Relationship: Minor Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

Characters: Lila Pitts, Diego Hargreeves

-

Her anger having subsided a bit, Lila thinks she can acknowledge that punching Esther squarely in the face was maybe excessive. But the bitch really had it coming. Even if she hadn’t felt a tad personally offended when Esther called Lila’s friend Vanya a word that she didn’t even want to repeat in her own head, she would have still been indignant enough to resort to some violence.

Okay, it was excessive, but, she thinks, she still stands by it.

Lila’s been sitting outside the principal’s office for about twenty minutes now, while the old wizard is presumably discussing the incident of inappropriate name calling between Esther and Vanya. Lila’s not too sure what there is to discuss for this long, but at least they seem to be taking the incident seriously. If Esther doesn’t get away without some kind of consequences, then, Lila thinks philosophically, she can live with whatever punishment is coming her way.

Her knuckles hurt though.

She’s just rubbing over the reddened skin when the door at the end of the hall slams open and Diego Hargreeves in a jersey and shorts, holding what must be an ice pack to his forehead and she thinks she might also see a split lip, makes his way towards her and then drops into the empty chair next to her.

The frustrated fury rolling off him is palpable and Lila turns very slightly to sneak a look at his face and sees that he’s got his eyes squeezed shut and his nostrils are flared.

Diego is in her Art of Divination class, but she doesn’t think she’s ever exchanged a single word with him.

She knows all the girls think he’s hot and she doesn’t quite get it. He’s moody and doesn’t seem like he’s a lot of fun. He’s not that tall and on the skinny side, though apparently he’s very fast and relentless, making him possibly the best player on the team. Not like Lila would know, really, she doesn’t care much for sports.

He is pretty though, she’ll give him that.

And one time in the cafeteria she saw him watching his friends messing about and one of the boys, Klaus she thinks his name was, managed to turn one of the others’ burger into a sponge, just as he was biting into it, and she still remembers how Diego’s face had lit up and he was wracked with silent peels of laughter. She’s not sure why she remembers that so vividly, she just thought he looked cute.

“What did you get up to, Pitts?”

Lila startles at his gruff question, never expecting him to talk to her.

“Uhm, I punched a classmate.” She looks up at him wide eyed, not sure why she cares what he’ll make of that.

Diego has moved the ice pack from his swollen and bleeding brow to the cut on his lip and nods sagely, staring straight ahead.

“Did they deserve it?” he asks, turning slightly to look at her and Lila might be imagining things, but there seems to be a glint in his eye. Now she doesn’t know what to make of that.

She tries not to dwell and instead says firmly, “Yes!”

Diego hums and for some reason Lila doesn’t want the conversation to end so she asks, “What did you do?”

He shrugs slightly, wincing when that upsets the cool pack on his lip, “Got in a fight with a teammate… I’m told I have a temper…”

He most definitely does, everybody in their year knows that, but who is Lila to judge, she punched someone only an hour ago.

They lapse into silence, but despite everything it doesn’t feel uncomfortable, though the skin on her knuckles is still throbbing and Lila rubs it once more with her thumb.

“Here,” Diego says softly, startling her again.

He’s holding out the ice pack he was pressing against his face, apparently catching on to the ache in her fingers.

“Uh…” Lila says dumbly, grateful for the offer, but she feels he needs it more than her.

But Diego seems to misunderstand her hesitation, because he pulls the ice pack away with a sheepish expression, rubs it against his chest, cleaning the blood off with his jersey and then holds it out to her again with a small, “Sorry!”

“Thanks!” Lila takes it, because what else could she possibly do now, presses it against her fingers and feels the instant relief/pain as the cold seeps into her swollen skin.

They lapse back into silence again and while Lila could have sworn she wasn’t nervous about going into the principal's office, she’s surprised to find now that her heart is racing.

[malereader-inserts]

Way Down We Go

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Remus Lupin & Son!Reader Summary: Oh, father, tell me, do we get what we deserve? Word Count: 2,135 Request: @apple-pie-and-ice-cream  “Can I request Lupin x son Reader where the reader is also a werewolf?” A/n: Headcanon that the week of the full moon, senses are heightened because here’s some whump for yer. Remus is so easy to write for, send me more request for this dork

“Think I’m losing my mind.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as you leaned your head down on the long tables in the great hall, tired as you struggle to keep your eyes open, after a full moon in May you were getting back on your feet after being bedridden after the full moon.

“You’re being dramatic, (Y/n),” Hermione vocalised, though she paused when she hears your wince, “Are you okay?”

“Sensitive ears,” You hummed, rubbing them gently before propping up your face, leaning your elbows against the wooden tables, “I’m fine.”

Hermione narrows her eyes, opening her mouth to say something until she decides against it. You stare at her, knowing what she was thinking. She had her suspicion for a while since Snape had set the werewolf essay back in November - she’s been keeping an annoyingly close eye on you.

It happened over the summer, Dumbledore was right at the door the day after the full moon with Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. Your mother had been worried sick, considered pulling you out of Hogwarts. So, as you lay in your bed recovering from the bite, Dumbledore explains to your mother about your predicament.

Dumbledore had explained that you could continue going to Hogwarts, as Hogwarts is the safest place to be. Madam Pomfrey would tend to you and McGonagall was there just to support your new life, to mother you when you get to Hogwarts. 

The two women remember a boy your age, with similar eyes like yours. If they could provide Remus Lupin one good time at Hogwarts, they sure will do the same for his son.

“You know, your father came to my office on Wednesdays for tea, you’re welcome to come visit,” Poppy says, smiling softly as she heals the wounds as best as she could, grimacing that there would be a permanent bite on your neck and scars running from your torso to your stomach.

You sat up so she could look at your back, you were much more scarred than your dad, more on the body and less on your face. 

“I’m slowly turning into dad,” You hummed, “Next thing, I’ll be reading books willingly and wearing sweaters with patches on the elbows.”

McGonagall couldn’t help but smirk, “Yet, your dad was one of the greatest pranksters of his year, and your dad isn’t bad.”

“I’m a were,” You snorted at the joke as McGonagall and Pomfrey roll their eyes because that was a common joke that was thrown around, before frowning when they noticed how you stared at yourself in the mirror, “I’m hideous.”

Sure, there were no major scars on your face, just minors one. Two serrated scars cutting through your right eyebrow, small but definitely someone would mention. There is a scar on your lip too, in the same direction as the other two but this was cutting through the upper lip and space before the lip. 

“I think you’re still handsome,” McGonagall says, “If I recall, many people fancied your father because of his scars, and I tell him all the time whilst he was in school that features do not define who you are, it’s what on the inside that does.”

Being at school was bearable but you had no heart to tell your dad about the condition, Snape was involuntarily making wolfsbane potion. Remus would have his monthly batch delivered by Snape whilst Snape drops yours off at McGonagall’s office where you would collect yours.

You talk a lot to your head of house, how you couldn’t bear to tell your dad about your condition because he was so happy to find out that his son did not burden with such a heinous illness. The shrieking shack is a place you were supposed to go, but you avoided that area since that’s where your dad takes place to shift. 

Though you notice a cat in the forbidden forest in your first shift, it stayed with you all night and when morning came, dragged clothes by its teeth close by for you to notice but at the same time not giving you any looks before running away so when you shifted back bare you had clothes to change into.

So, over the course of a year, you got closer to McGonagall and Pomfrey, had Friday teas with your dad to catch up weekly and spend time with your beloved father, keep up with your studies, stop yourself from decking Snape in the face when he has a snark with you, and try not to die whilst being friends with Harry Potter.

Then, just a few weeks before the June full moon, you informed your conditions to your friends, they comforted you that you were no different to what you were before they had known.  You explained you hadn’t told your dad and some professors were known of your situation.

“It doesn’t make you any different, you said Snape has been giving you potions?” Ron asked as you nodded, “So, you’re not a monster, you’re a brilliant person (Y/n)!”

You smiled, “Really?”

“Really, mate,” Harry nodded, grinning, “Can we make wolf jokes though?”

“Yes mate,” You laughed, nodding, “But, not too obvious.”

“I’ve always wondered where you got the scars from,” Harry says, thumbing your scars on your face, “I noticed the ones on your back.”

“Have you been watching me dress, Potter?”

“Can’t help it, Lupin,” Harry teased, grinning impishly, “You talk loudly, you draw attention to yourself.”

“Sod off, Harry.”

Which brings you to the present, hearing your dad snap at Peter as Hermione and Ron watches you gag on the potion, your back facing your dad.

“How does that taste?” Ron asked.

“Spectacular,” You responded, sarcasm evidently on your tone.

“Full moon this week,” Hermione asked, as you furrowed your eyebrows, “What is it?”

The trio was aware that you had to drink the wolfsbane potion the week leading up to the full moon and just before the full moon.

“I don’t feel so good,” You gagged again, stumbling away from your friends.

Remus turns his attention towards you, getting concern when he sees you stumbling away from the rest of them then cringing when he hears you emptying your stomach. He wants to go to your aid but then he had to keep an eye on Peter.

“Harry!” Hermione shouted, pointing into the sky and seeing the full moon.

Harry’s eyes widen, driving straight towards his friends watching his godfather beg his best friend to remember who he is. The three off them watch in horror to see their professor transform in pain, they can’t imagine what you’re going through.

“(Y/n)!” Harry exclaimed, trying to look for you in the long grasses.

“Harry, no!” Hermione bellowed, gripping Harry, “He’ll be fine, he’s taken his potion.”

Harry had turned his attention to Snape grabbing them, before getting floored as the werewolf tried to wipe them clean. Of course, a dog intercepted mid-air swing, the two were at it before the dog was once again flung into the long grass.

The werewolf slowly made it’s way closer before getting attacked by another werewolf, smaller. The trio watches with wide eyes as you protected your friends from your dad who was no state of mind of his actions. 

“(Y/n)!” Ron shouted, causing you to turn to look at him before your dad had attacked you.

Whimpering as you watched the werewolf snarl at you move towards the long grass were Sirius had landed as a dog. Harry had escaped Snape’s grip to follow.

“(Y/n)?” Hermione softly says, Snape was about to snap at her but stops when he hears the werewolf whimper slightly.

Looking at them, you paw your face then neck, blood was seen before stepping away. 

“He’s injured,” Ron says, his eyes softening when he sees your human eyes plead, “He’s-”

A werewolf howl was heard into the forest before they knew it, you followed your dad before anything else could happen. Your friends prayed you were okay.

Morning breaks out, the summer sun shining through the trees. You groaned as you found some clothes by the bushes, you smiled to yourself as you put them on. Feeling the comfort of the sweater, you noticed that there were extra, larger clothes for your dad. You sighed, touching your chin to feel dried blood.

You remember most of the night, you followed your dad into the forest and it was hunting. You tried to pry him away, fight him, but he was larger and stronger. You had lost him for the rest of the night.

You try to crack the discomfort in your bones, your body weighing you down as you try to search for your dad in the large forest. When you found him, he was just coming around to the land of the living.

You threw him his clothes, shielding your eyes, “Morning dad,” You mumbled.

Your eyes too sensitive to the sky and you did not want to see your dad naked. Remus opened his eyes and noticed you, shutting your eyes close.

“Go to the shade,” Remus says, groggily, “What are you doing out here?”

“Making sure you’re okay,” You say, taking a few steps back into the shade, “Are you decent?”

“Mhm,” Remus confirms as you pull your arms and hands away from your face, “(Y/n)... What happened last night?”

yes, Remus felt like utter shit, but you were bleeding and bruises were formed. You were pale, uncomfortable, you looked sick almost. 

“The full moon happened,” You say as if it explains everything, but continues as you did not want to make out your dad had attacked you to become a werewolf, “I took my wolfsbane potion, you didn’t.”

Remus remembers now, he had witnessed seeing your head tilt back with a small vital in your hand, taking down its contents before you suddenly started to retch in the long grass. 

“Did I-?” 

“No,” You interrupted, knowing what he would ask, “Sirius and I, well, mostly I put up a good fight, Merlin, is it always this loud?”

Remus knew what you were complaining about, sensitive ears - everything was louder. You were looking down rather than looking at him, the sun was blinding you even more. Remus had gotten used to the heightened senses, but the way your body shook he could tell you were not used to it.

“Come on, it’s a long walk back to the school grounds, but if we go now, we can make it before anyone wakes up or notice us.”

You don’t wait for his response as you start to limp your way back to the school grounds. Remus groans as he stands up, popping back his joints into place as he made his way next to you.

“When?” Remus asked, his voice soft as he hears you softly wince.

“Summer,” You responded, “I hadn’t had the heart to tell you...”

Remus’ fatherly senses could tell that you were ashamed, he knows what you’re feeling - he went through it your age. 

“I could have helped you,” Remus says, coming to your aid as you limp, he may be in immense pain but he was used to it - you, not so much, “You don’t have to do this alone.”

He stops you, makes you face him as he sighs, his thumb runs over a bruise under your right eye, he examines you. The scars, the scabs, the bruises. He noticed your werewolf bite in your neck, he wonders how he has never noticed it. He placed a firm hand on your shoulders.

“We have each other’s back, you said that yourself,” Remus comforted as a small smile started to form.

“I know, but-” You shake your head, “You would just, I don’t know, be afflicted with all my problems.”

“(Y/n), you are my boy, my son - as a parent, I have to guide you. I want you to be better, to know better. I can’t do that when you’re keeping secrets.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” You let out a shaky breath, offering him a smile, “You’re too good of a dad, I don’t deserve you.”

You lunged yourself on to your dad into a massive hug, you both groan at impact, but he grips your tight nevertheless, afraid you would slip out of his arms.

“You’re still my boy, werewolf or not. As you said, we have each other’s back, we do things together, all the way down we go.”

“Way down we go,” You affirmed, you shuffled before cowering, “I really need to get to the hospital wing so can we wrap his hug up for later?”

Remus simply laughs, as he lets you go, helping you onto the Hospital Wing.

“Do you think Madam Pomfrey will let us have chocolate for breakfast?”

“You wish, kid.”

[justlookfrightened]

Emergency room meet-cute, Jack/Bitty or Ransom/Holster

Sorry this took so long!

“Please,” the small blond man said, gasping.

The child in the man’s arms was nearly half his size, Jack thought, hustling up a wheelchair for the … girl, it looked like, once she unburied her face from the man’s shoulder.

She was dressed in leggings and a sparkly shirt, her dark hair falling out of a ponytail and across her tear-stained face. One foot was covered in a sneaker and sock; the other was bare, and she was holding a towel that used to be green against the bottom of it.

“Thank you,” the man said, gently depositing the child in the chair. “You sit right there, sugar pie, and these nice people will get you fixed up in just a minute. You doing so good, baby girl. Just a little longer. Keep that towel on there, all right?”

The man turned back to the desk, digging a slim wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“I’m sorry, you need her insurance card, right?”

“Euh,” Jack interrupted, before the clerk could say anything, “why don’t we get this one into triage while you do that? Can I take her just over there?”

He nodded to the alcove to the side of the ED waiting room.

“Of course,” the man said. “You go right ahead. You’ll be alright with Mr. —”

“Jack,” Jack said, nodding towards the badge clipped to his scrub shirt. He turned to the little girl.  “I’ll be your nurse tonight, milady.”

The girl, who had been sniffling with her face down, concentrating on holding her towel, glanced up, almost smiled, and put her face back down.

“You’ll be alright with Mr. Jack, Jo-bear, and I’ll be right here, and then I’ll be there with you,” the man said. “I promise. Okay?”

The girl, who was maybe seven, nodded without looking up.

Jack looked to the man – her father? They didn’t look much alike, but that didn’t mean they weren’t family – and he nodded.

“Thanks, Mr. Jack,” he said. “I’ll be there as soon as I’m done here.”

Jack wheeled the chair the few feet it took to get to the alcove.

“Can you tell me your name, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Jo,” she said.

“Yeah? Is that short for something?”

“Josephine,” she said. “Josephine Bittle.”

“Well, Josephine Bittle, can you tell me what happened to your foot there?”

“I cut it,” she said. “It’s bleeding.”

Then she looked like she was going to cry again.

“I’m pretty sure we can fix it up,” Jack said. “Can I see?”

At her nod, he peeled the bloody towel away from the sole of her foot and saw a cut, about an inch long, curved, and close to a centimeter deep. At least the edges were clean. No wonder the poor kid was crying.

“Yeah, you’re going to be just fine,” he said. “Let’s put something clean on there, yeah?”

He applied a sterile gauze pad and wrapped it loosely.

“Do I need to press on it?” she said. “My daddy told me to keep pressing on it in the car.”

The cut was probably a good thirty to forty minutes old at least, and her foot was up on the rest that was part of the chair. It was seeping, but not too much.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “I’m going to use this to take your temperature, okay?”

That was normal. Her blood pressure was also in the normal range, despite the traumatic evening.

Her father was there by then, holding her hand and whispering encouragement.

“So, Miss Jo,” Jack said. “How did your foot get cut?”

She looked at her father, who nodded and said, “Tell Mr. Jack.”

“I wasn’t supposed to pour the milk,” she said. “‘Cause the carton was full and it was heavy. But I didn’t want to wait for Daddy.”

“And the milk cut your foot?” Jack asked, face and voice serious.

“Not the milk,” she said, and there was that almost-smile again. “But I spilled it and I was trying to clean it up before Daddy saw and the glass fell off the table and broke and I stepped on it.”

Jack made notes on the computer, which already had a chart started by the admissions staff. She was eight, not seven.

He looked at the father — blond, small, worried — and said, “Anything to add, Mr. Bittle?”

“Eric,” the man said, although Jack knew that from her chart. “Eric Bittle. Um, no, that’s pretty much what happened. I knew she had the milk out — I was finishing the lattice on a pie crust not eight feet away — but I figured it would be good for her to try — develop independence and all that? But the next thing I know, there’s milk all over the counter and glass on the floor and she’s bleeding and crying.”

The guy looked near tears himself.

“Maybe I should have done it for her?” he said. “Or at least been paying more attention.”

“It was an important pie,” Jo said.

“Not more important than you, Jo-bear,” her father said.

“Mr. Bittle?”

The admitting clerk had matching wristbands for father and daughter and a clipboard forms to sign.

“Was the pie important because it was for you?” Jack asked, hoping to keep Jo distracted until they were ready to move back to a room.

“No,” Jo said. “It was for a job.”

Before Jack could ask more, the clerk was fixing bracelets on wrists and shuffling the papers away.

“You guys are lucky it’s so quiet right now,” Jack said, getting up to push Jo’s chair. “It’ll probably get busy later.”

“Sh- shoot,” Eric Bittle said. “I left the car in the loading zone.”

“Come with us to the room so you can see where we’re hiding her,” Jack said, ducking his head to whisper to Jo, “It’s the room where we put all our most important patients.”

He looked back at her father and said, “Then you can go move the car. I can sit with her for a few minutes.”

Once they got to an exam room, Jack lifted Jo onto the table, and her dad set the unicorn backpack he’d slung over one shoulder on a chair. “There’s a book and some paper and markers,” he said. “I’ll be right back. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

“I know,” Jo sniffled. “Come right back?”

“As fast as I can,” Bittle said.

As soon as he rounded the corner and couldn’t be seen from the open doorway, Jo looked at Jack, chin quivering.

“You want your book?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Hurts.”

“I know it does,” he said. “But you’re being very brave.”

“My daddy said the more I cried, the more it would bleed,” Jo said.

“Well, getting upset does raise your blood pressure,” Jack said.

“Can we talk instead?” Jo asked. “Daddy said I’d probably need stitches, like sewing up my foot.”

“Well, probably, yes,” Jack said. “But we can give you medicine so it doesn’t hurt. We just have to wait for the doctor. Then you can go home and have some of that pie.”

At that, Jo started sobbing.

“Wait, no, what’s wrong?” Jack said.

“There is no pie,” Jo said. “Daddy never finished it because I cut my stupid foot. And I don’t know if he has enough ingredients to make a new one when we get home. And it was an important pie.”

“You said,” Jack said. “For a job? Does your daddy make pies and sell them?”

Making pies one at a time in his kitchen didn’t seem very profitable to Jack, but what did he know?“No,” Jo said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He used to, before my other father went away. He worked at a bakery and made pies and cakes and cookies. But his pies are the best.”

“Is he trying to get another job in a bakery?” Jack asked. He hadn’t looked at the financial part of Jo’s medical record. If her father was unemployed, did he have insurance? Maybe someone should tell him about the children’s health insurance program? He clearly loved his daughter, who was just as clearly well taken care of, but Jack would hate for a minor mishap like this to send their little family into a tailspin. Especially if there was no other parent involved.

“No,” Jo said. “After my other dad went away, Daddy got a job in a office. He says the hours are better and there’s more money. But now he doesn’t work there anymore either. And he wants to get another job, and he was making the pie so they would like him.”

She looked up, and Jack followed her gaze to see Bittle hurrying back into the room.

“Right, Daddy?” she said.

Jack knew he didn’t imagine the blush on her father’s face. He could feel his own cheeks coloring at having been caught gossiping. With an eight-year-old.

“Uh, close enough, Jo-bear,” Bittle said, a little breathless from jogging back from the parking garage. “But I doubt Mr. Jack here wants to know all that.”

He turned to Jack and said, “I’m sorry. Lord knows what you think of me. Letting my little girl cut her foot open like that because I’m worried about a job.”

Jack shrugged. “Accidents happen,” he said. “Really, she’ll be fine. Lots of kids get talkative when they’re stressed. It’s actually easier than when they clam up and won’t tell you how they’re feeling.”

Ransom came in then, ignoring both Jack and Eric in favor of pretending to search the room, saying, “Josephine? Josephine Bittle? Has anyone seen a Josephine Bittle?”

He did a double-take when his eyes lit on the child on the exam table. “Excuse me, but do you know what a Josephine Bittle looks like?”

That got an actual giggle, and Jo said, “Me. I’m Josephine Bittle.”

“Well, then. I’m Dr. Oluransi, and I’m going to take a look at your foot.”

Ransom sat on the rolling stool, peeled back the dressing, prodding a bit at the edges of the cut, and then using a syringe of sterile water to clean it.

“How did this happen?”

This time, her father told the story of the spilled milk and the broken glass, using even more words than his daughter and sounding so apologetic that this had happened on his watch.

“We’re going to have to get an a quick X-ray just to make sure there’s no glass left inside,” Ransom said. “I don’t think there is, but better to be sure.”

“That means another ride in the wheelchair,” Jack told Jo. “You can come too,” he said to her father.

So they went down the hall for an X-ray. Jo holding tightly to her father’s hand the whole way. When they got there, he rooted around in the backpack and pulled out a tattered stuffed rabbit.

“I think I’m going to have to go over there while they take the picture,” he said. “But you can hold Senor Bun if Mr. Jack says it’s okay.”

Jack looked to Dex, the radiology tech, who nodded. “As long as she keeps it away from her foot.”

Dex was quiet as usual as he positioned Jo’s foot and the camera, spreading a lead-line apron over Jo’s lap (and Senor Bun).

“Now you’re gonna have to hold real still, then I’ll be right back,” Jo’s father told her, before stepping behind the wall.

Dex, who rarely commented at all, threw a “Cute kid,” over his shoulder at Bittle.

“Thanks,” Bittle said, his eyes never leaving his daughter.

That gave Jack a moment to look at her father, who had struck him initially as small and flustered and worried. As they went through triage and her exam, Jack had somehow decided that Jo wasn’t the only one who was cute in the family. And she had said her other father left, which implied that Bittle was a) attracted to men and b) single.

And unemployed, and worried about his daughter, and Jack knew better than to even be thinking about a patient like this.

But Bittle wasn’t the patient.

He was the parent of a pediatric patient. Was that really any better?

“All done,” Dex said. “I don’t see anything in the cut, but we’ll have a radiologist take a look to make sure.”

Jack picked up Jo to put her back in her chair, suddenly self-conscious. It was hardly any effort at all to lift her – she was a child after all – but was he imagining the way Bittle was looking at him?

Back in the exam room, Jack said, “It’s going to be just a little while. I know you didn’t get any pie for dessert, Miss Jo. Would you like a popsicle?”

“Yes, please,” Jo answered.

Jack swore he was just being nice by bringing two popsicles back to the room. He wanted to give her a choice.

“Do you want cherry or grape?” he asked, after opening both packages.

“Grape,” Jo said. “It makes my tongue purple.”

Jack handed it over, then held the cherry one out to her father. “Do you want this? I’ll just have to throw it away otherwise.”

“Sure,” Bittle said, then put it in his mouth and began to suck on the tip.

“Um, I’ll be right back,” Jack said.

“Of course,” Bittle said. “I’m sure you’ve got other things to see to.”

Jack didn’t return until Ransom told him the X-ray was clear and they were ready to put in the stitches. He had Holster with him, which Jack knew was probably a good idea. It would be good to have two of them to hold Jo’s foot still while they administered the lidocaine, and Holster was a big guy; he could block Jo’s line of vision so she wouldn’t see the syringe and needle.

Still, Holster had a way of sucking all the attention in the room to himself. Jack shouldn’t be jealous, not if it would make this easier on Jo. But he felt like he’d built a little bit of relationship with the two of them, delicate and fleeting though it was. Maybe it was silly, but he didn’t want Holster to take that over.

Jack entered the room first, and went right to Jo.

“How was that popsicle?” he asked. “Did your tongue turn purple?”

Jo stuck out her tongue to show him, then said, “Now look at Daddy’s!”

So he did, probably feeling just as silly as Bittle did sticking his tongue out.

“Now that we have the important things taken care of, Dr. Oluransi is going to stitch up your foot,” he said. “We’re going to give you some medicine so it doesn’t hurt while we do it.”

“Are you gonna give me a shot?”

“Well, yes,” Jack said. “But it will only hurt for a minute. Then your foot won’t hurt at all for a while.”

“Hold my hand?” she said.

“Your daddy’s right here,” he said. “He can hold your hand.”

“You hold my other hand,” Jo demanded.

Jack looked at Ransom and Holster, who nodded and said, “I think we got this.”

Jack and Holster moved to block Jo’s view, and Jack took one hand while Blttle took the other. Jack could tell when the first injection went in by the way her whole body moved and her small hand gripped his tighter. Her reaction was less with the next two injections, and by the time Ransom started suturing, she was calm, if not quite relaxed.

It was only a couple of minutes before Ransom was straightening up and saying, “All done.”

“I’ll just get your paperwork, and then be back to go over care instructions,” Jack said. “Then you two can be on your way.”

When Jack returned with the sheaf of papers, Bittle was in the chair next to the exam table, leaning down to listen to Jo.

“Yes, Mr. Jack is very nice,” he was saying when his eyes lit on Jack in the doorway. He blushed again. “Sorry to be talking behind your back. All good, of course.”

Jack couldn’t help but smile at his earnestness.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Let’s go over these. Because the stitches are on the sole of the foot, they’re going to need to stay in twelve to fourteen days. You can make an appointment with her pediatrician to have them taken out.”

“But Daddy,” Jo said. “Aren’t we going to see Moomaw and Pepaw? I don’t want to stay home!”

“Of course we can still go,” Bittle said.

At Jack’s inquiring look, he said, “My parents. In Georgia. We were taking advantage if me being between jobs to make a longer visit. But they have doctors there too. I bet Moomaw can get the doctor she used to work for to do it.”

“You didn’t sound like you were from around here,” Jack said. “And as long as there are no complications, it shouldn’t be a problem to have a doctor in Georgia take them out.”

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here, either,” Bittle said.

“No, uh, Montreal,” Jack said.

“Surprised you didn’t stay in Canada,” Bittle said. “Seems the medical system there is a little less crazy.”

“Maybe,” Jack said, not wanting to explain how difficult it would be to be the son of a national hero and work as a nurse. “But I went to school here and it became home.”

“Well, that certainly worked out well for Jo and I tonight,” Bittle said. “I wish I could do something to thank you.”

“No thanks necessary,” Jack said. “It’s was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Jo.”

Bittle was bent over, digging through the backpack. Jack knew he was wearing whatever he had on when Jo got hurt, but the jeans – now stained with blood on the thigh – fit him well enough to highlight a little round behind. Even though Jack also knew he shouldn’t be looking. He looked back at the discharge papers.

“You know to call your doctor if it shows signs of infection,” he said.

“I know,” Bittle said, coming up with an extra sock and shoe for the foot that now had stitches. “Ready to try walking on this, Jo-bear?”

“I can wait with her while you get the car,” Jack offered. It was probably against policy, but it didn’t matter. They were dead so far tonight.

“You’re sure?” Bittle said. “You can do that?”

Jack shrugged and walked them out to the waiting room.

“Right back, Jo,” Bittle said, and jogged off toward the parking garage.

Jo watched him go, then looked up at Jack.

“What’s your favorite pie?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “Maybe apple?”

“Do you work here tomorrow night?” she asked.

“I do,” he said. “But your daddy doesn’t have to bring me a pie.”

Jo shrugged.

“I bet he’ll want to,” Jo said.

**************************************

When Jack put his jacket in his locker in the staff room, the table held not one but two pies, an apple and a peach. A card was propped in front of them, thanking the whole staff, but especially Jack, Ransom, Holster and Dex for their help with Jo, who had contributed a drawing of herself as a mermaid.

Lardo, the nurse-manager, came in while he was reading the card. “Better get a piece a now,” she said. “Those are some good pies.”

“Okay,” Jack said, cutting a sliver of the apple.

“And I saved this for you,” she said, pulling another card from her pocket. The front of the envelope said “Mr. Jack.”

Dear Jack, I am so sorry I don’t know your last name. I’m sure it was on your nametag, but my mind wasn’t all there last night. But I did notice how kind you are – you were very sweet with Jo. And it would have been awkward to say this then, and you don’t have to ever respond if you don’t want to, but I’d like to see you outside of the emergency room if you want to. Call me or text me or whatever. I never do things like this, but Jo said I should.

It was signed “Eric Bittle,” with his phone number underneath.

Then, PS: The apple pie is a new recipe for me. It has maple syrup in honor of your Canadian roots.

“Seriously, bro,” Lardo said. “You should eat that pie. And if that note says what I think it says, call the guy. For all our sakes.”

[amisssunbeam]

When (and Why) Hickey Fell in Love with Gibson

Well, it all started when “Hickey” was a child named EC, possibly Edgar or Edward, probably Edward, and the last name was something common, Clark or Carter or Cooke perhaps, as they are amongst the most familiar surnames in Great Britain today.  (I myself like Cooke as his last name.  See below.)

BTW, there was a time when I was in love with Herman Melville and tried to be very good so I could go to Heaven and escort Herman to all the constant Elvis concerts being held in the serene ethereal.  (This was about the same time I mentioned “Elvis Presley” to my husband who thought I said “Melville’s Presley”, which in turn started that heavenly dream I still live in. Elvis IS Billy Budd.)  Oh, what is my point?  Melville was born in 1819, and so I have decided EC was born in 1820, making him the perfect age to set sail on “Terror” in 1845 (and helps me dope out a time-line for EC’s life).

Was EC abandoned by his mother to a foundling’s home?  I’ve no doubt; I think he lived with her long enough to bond (she a hoe; father unknown), and then she left without a word when he was three and a half years old.   And did the drunk old men and women who ran the home try to give EC any solace?  Of course not.  Plus, meals were served on a very erratic basis, which is why Edward and his analogue David Young never got very big.  But EC thought of his mother often, sometimes with an enormous anger which caused him to befoul his bedding, sometimes with a longing that causes him to dissociate completely.

Now the drunk old men and women who run the home would prefer that little Eddy not be so needy, but they have a solution.  They know a rich man called (let’s say) Captain Autolycus Wilson, who likes very young boys. (Such a cliché.)  The drunk old etcs. ask Captain Wilson if he would like to purchase, uh, sponsor very small Eddy with his big blue eyes and reddish blond hair for a handsome fee. Captain Wilson is without a ward at the time, so he agrees to take care of Eddy, whom he calls Cookie.    The expected things proceed.  Except: Wilson is fond of Cookie, finding him clever and amusing and witty, and Cookie becomes very fond of Captain Wilson, fond to the point of adoration.  The Captain sees to his education with private tutors (the less said about what went on with the tutoring the better: too depressing for words).  But, despite the buggery and sodomy and orgies (many of which take place at the Captain’s private men’s club, The Sons of Phorcys, before interested audiences), Cookie becomes well educated, and something of a dandy too.  These are the gifts Captain Wilson gives him in exchange for his complete oppression and dehumanization.

Okay, we knew it was coming. Cookie begins to show signs of manliness, which means he no longer interests Captain Wheeler.  Captain Wheeler goes back to the foundling’s home and “adopts” a likely little carrot top who is nameless to us.  But, before he kicks Cookie out, Captain Wilson offers him a drink from one of his cut glass, uh, glasses.  Cookie goes completely catatonic.  

Afterwards, with a five-dollar gold piece and the clothes on his back, Cookie finds himself on the streets of Victorian London.

It gets worse and then it gets more worse.  He is Cookie no more.

So he runs with the dog pack.  He steals cheap jewelry and silverware. Steals nice clothes too, so he is always well turned out.  (Speaking of dogs, EC doesn’t like dogs.  Too many high-tone toffs, too many coppers have sicced huge slavering four-legged beasts on him.  Dogs, dogs are shit eaters.)

However, one useful trick he learns from the dog pack is to hang around taverns, especially those catering to sailors who have returned to shore.   He likes to chat with the sailors and hear their magical tales of life on the vast blue sea as he picks their pockets. These stories are why E.C. decides to dab Cornelius Hickey and put him in Regent’s Canal.  

“You’ll be gone how long, Cornelius?”

“At least a year!  And then I’ll be in Hawaii.  Oahu.”  His Irish accent is quite pronounced.

“Aren’t they cannibals who live there?”

“I think they prefer fish.” Both giggle.

“In other words, they’re Catholics!” EC says.

More giggles.   “See, here are my sailing papers!”

“Look, you already got paid!”

“Yes, a handsome sum. Speaking of which, let’s have another drink.”

“Just a small ale for me.”  EC takes a deep breath. “I bet your mam was glad to see your pay!”

“Me, I keep my money. I was a foundling, see.”  

“I lived in an orphan’s home too.”  (EC thinks to himself: I will always live in an orphan’s home.) “So when do you sail?”

 Then there’s a small slice of time and the ex-Cornelius Hickey lies bleeding at the bottom of Regents Canal.

(There’s a great fic which gives more details about this event on A3O: “Skinned Snakes” by @willowbilly)

 There’s not much variety on a ship; sailing and caulking is boring.  So no one should be surprised that the new Cornelius Hickey grouses.  

But one day, he shares a joke with Billy Gibson, and Billy laughs and says, “Now, that one’s worthy of Shakespeare.”

Hickey is pleased and intends to make Billy laugh again.

What was the joke? What is the joke in any office setting? Most office jokes are about those other people in The Office, who get to be more and more “other” as the jokes continue (think of Jim and Pam against Dwight), until Hickey and Billy have their own little two-man Eleusinian mystery cult going on.

They sit together at what serves as the library table and look at picture books together.  Perhaps it’s a book of engraved Biblical illustrations. Hickey points at one and whispers, “Look, Billy, there’s Lieutenant Irving walkin’ on water in his nightshirt!”

Billy gets a bad case of the giggles.  

Weekes is sitting nearby and hears them.  “What’s this, laughin’ at the Holy Scriptures?  Do you want the ship to sink?”  (Weekes is like the Dansker in “Billy Budd”, a quiet type who utters oracular remarks and tries to keep the superstitious young sailors under control.)

Hickey and Billy like to look at maps too, especially maps of the Pacific.  They move to a more secluded place to share their secret dreams. They decide they’ll jump ship in Oahu and live in the sun and sand forever.  

“Bugger the officers, Billy!” Hickey whispers.  “‘Orlop!’ I’ll feckin orlop ye, Irving!”

Hickey’s minor blasphemies appeal to Gibson, who must also feel underappreciated.  

(By the way, Melville was discharged in Maui in 1843 where he worked as, among other things, a pin-setter in a bowling alley before he returned to New York in 1844.)

But more than jokes happen. Billy sews a nice shirt for Hickey and knits him a warm red scarf.  “Look here,” Billy says to the other sailors sitting around.  “Now doesn’t Cornelius look smart!”  They all applaud, somewhat sarcastically, but Hickey is pleased.  

It appears that Hickey can sit in Billy’s little cabinette, I won’t say anytime he wants, but he CAN sit there.  Which is where the friendship goes to the next level.  Again, there isn’t a lot to do on an exploration.  I like to think of Hickey and Billy sitting right beside each other, CURTAIN OPEN, Hickey making his small jokes, perhaps about Mr. Diggle’s bad bread, and then he puts his hand on Billy’s knee.  When they hear someone coming, Hickey rapidly removes his hand.  With this negative evidence, Billy learns what Hickey meant by touching his knee.

The first kiss:  this is as tricky in fan fic as it is in real life. How do you know when to take that first step?  My experience has been that it is “The Man” who kisses first. (Don’t get mad!  Last century, when I was getting kissed, that rule of courtship was ratified in iron.)  

We can imagine that Hickey finds the simple warmth coming from Billy’s frame . . . nice.  Better still, he has no obligation to be (or do) anything to Billy.  He is free with Billy.  One night in May 1847 on Billy’s little cot, the bedtime bells ring (I don’t really know ships work), and Hickey says, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Billy,” and, because it’s been building inside him for several months, he leans over to the seated Billy and kisses his cheek.  Billy looks up in pleased surprise (giving Hickey the same look he gave him when Hickey put Young’s ring on his finger).  

I will now commence to use @starbuck’s excellent timeline to date the next steps of their relationship. “Go for Broke” is September 1846. Eight months later (plenty of time for a courtship) is “The Ladder” which I like to think of as the SEX-isode; by this time Billy and Hickey have become very experienced in their buggery.

So just let me make up some stuff.   In that sexy sexy month October 1846, they get to first base (they make out until their lips are chapped.)  Second base occurs in early November 1846 (running their hands over each other’s quivering but clothed skin).  Late November 1846 brings a firm third base (petting to orgasm: yup, that was a phrase much in use when Mamie Eisenhower and I were college roommates).  And on Christmas Day 1846, HOME RUN is achieved in costumes and crannies as drunken sailors overwhelm the air.  Hickey and Billy are in love!  They run up and down the deck with the snow falling on their pink boyish cheeks. Young, beautiful, in love, just the two in their icy mystery cult.

Uhoh, here comes June 1847 and “The Ladder”.   Now you know goddam well Irving isn’t going down to the orlop deck just to “find” the “caulker’s mate”.  He’s been smoldering over his suspicions for months (he and Hickey exchange stink-eyes all the time at Sunday services).  Finally, Irving gets a double-header: he achieves a major vicarious thrill AND a chance to save souls at the same time!!!!  Still, Hickey and Gibson are busted.

Stuff happens, Silna and Sir John and Tuunbaq, all that arga warga.   Not to mention, Gibson’s nervous conversation with Irving.  Which Hickey sees.  (Notice how I rigged the timeline to make sure Hickey got to see Gibson’s postern “all winter”, i.e. the winter of ’46-’47.)

Hickey is angry, but he never learned how to express anger towards someone he loves.  First he reverts to an infantile state; then it seems he finds a new love: The Captain.

The Captain offers him a drink.  A drink! Who would do that but a devious seducer! Hickey scours his brain.  What do you say to an Irishman?  “Here’s to us Micks!”  OH GOD OH GOD HOW COULD HE BE SO STUPID!  THAT HAS TO BE THE STUPIDEST THING ANYONE HAS EVER SAID TO ANYBODY!!!!! OH GOD! But Crozier’s face doesn’t freeze, doesn’t close down; it’s still open and pink.  EC will remember that.

Now, because I pledge allegiance to @rhavewellyarnbag and all that he stands for, I will also assert that Francis is a three-beer queer.  And if it weren’t for that Bible-beating bastard Irving barging in on them, who knows what would have happened next?

Hickey keeps trying to shine up to the Captain; he brings him a trophy, the guilty Eski girl.  But then there is that unfair cross-examination by Crozier and his big shiny toff buddy.  I have to say, I feel for Hickey in this scene.  He really thought he was being useful to Crozier, and Crozier is completely dismissive. How often have I misunderstood what other people wanted from me! They quarrel, Hickey loses his cool and ends up getting flogged.  Oh, sure, there’s worst things than bein’ lashed, but still . . .

Then there’s the tobacco. Just as you and I would, Hickey uses Occam’s useful razor and sees the tobacco as a love gift from . . . Billy. Billy! Billy the steward with access to supplies!  Billy must still love him!  

Sound the music cues, for here comes the bride!  In the next episode “First Shot a Winner”, Hickey marries Billy.  The reasons for this marriage are numerous (hey!  Just like real life!), but one reason is Billy’s ability to spy on those in command.  

Now, I won’t pretend that Hickey thinks this, but I DO!  Hickey will never never never forgive Crozier and determines to destroy him.  Then he HE Hickey will become King of the Expedition, just like Crozier is now, and Hickey will even have his own super-tall willowy delicate queen at his side.

It doesn’t work out that way, as we know, because nothing ever works out.  Still, Hickey loves Billy to the end, taking Billy’s head in his hands to say good-bye as lovers do.  The stabbing is a favor to the suffering man, and, if the murder turns out to have its useful aspects, well, so be it.  

That’s my story, and, being a Libra, I can be easily persuaded that I’m wrong about everything.

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

dedicated to @rhavewellyarnbag, @blazingadam, and @wildcard47

[prettywordsyouleft]

Destined (Series)

Summary: You craved meeting your soulmate, but you wished more than anything he could be your best friend, Mark. When Mark finally meets his soulmate, you get the chance to find yours and he’s not at all what you expected.

Characters: Park Jinyoung x reader ft Mark Tuan

Genre: soulmate au / angst / romance

Warnings: cursing, a couple of injuries, lots of angsty feels

A/N: This was meant to be a Mark story but I went and made the mistake of making Jinyoung the second guy. Of course, he didn’t appreciate this and it twisted into something greater. This is my longest oneshot on here, but I hope you’ll give it a chance!

Also prepare your hearts because Jinyoung is a doctor in this, you have been warned! 

Finally, this ended up being a mini-series. The links are just below to the following stories.

Word count: 8336

Series Index:  Destined // To Love You // Forever [M]

You had often heard of it.

That feeling you would be consumed with as soon as you crossed paths with your soulmate. The undeniable urge to be at their side forever, travelling through life making memories and a family of your own, raising your children to dream of their own destined partner. You had craved to experience it for most of your life.

You had waited to meet your soulmate for so long now that you wondered if there was something wrong though. It was said that everyone would meet their partner before twenty-five, that way there would be plenty of time to finish tertiary schooling and get a job before moving onto a life full of love, marriage and stability. Society had been designed to follow this path for everyone and it was almost a perfect execution.

There were small nuances that society couldn’t control though, such as when a soulmate died before their partner could meet or when they had been born later than expected. Generally, even with slight age differences, by twenty-five most people had crossed paths once with their destiny.

But you were twenty-six already and had been for some time. Your twenty-seventh birthday was coming and you were panicked. Were they a few years behind you in age and you had just gotten unlucky and had to wait? That wouldn’t be so bad as long as they turned up. Was it worse than that; had your soulmate died? You didn’t want to consider being one of the minority – those who had no one to live their lives out with naturally. Could you still find someone if that was the case? Another minority who would match you as close as a soulmate could?

You knew of someone. You had known him your whole life, actually. And as much as you loved Mark with every fibre of your being, you knew that came from growing up together, from being best friends for so long. He knew everything there was to you, and the same could be said back. You couldn’t go a single day without Mark.

But he wasn’t your soulmate.

Sometimes, you wished he was. That you would just wake up and realise you had somehow missed the sign. That the two of you, who had shared your first kiss as teens just to see what it felt like when your friends started bragging about kissing their soulmates in school, had been so close that love was naturally something you had felt your whole life.

You knew better, you both did. No matter how much you wished and dreamed of a life of growing old with Mark, the sensation you craved wasn’t there. His soul wasn’t cut out of the same piece of destiny as yours was. For some time after turning twenty-five, you tried to tell yourself that if your soulmate didn’t arrive, and Mark was still single then you would just marry him instead. It would be frowned upon but it would be better than being alone and waiting to be assigned to someone if you made it to thirty alone. You didn’t want that kind of humiliation to be bestowed upon you and your family. You could see children with ease with Mark and he held a stable office job that would keep you both set up for life. A quaint home and maybe a dog would complete the setup. It was such an easily imagined dream that you could almost reach out for it every time you fantasised about it.

“We can’t,” Mark told you sadly every time your frustrations got the better of you. “We don’t know about our soulmates yet. What if we marry and then they turn up, do you want to become a divorcee?”

“It would be better than being alone,” you muttered and Mark took you in his arms, humming softly as he tried to settle you both down. You knew all too well he wanted this dream as well.

“I’m not your destiny, Y/N.”

“I want you to be,” you admitted and Mark buried into you, holding on tight.

“I want it too.”

Twenty-seven hit and twenty-eight loomed. You were sick of the rumours that you would be assigned to someone else and that your parents must have done something wrong in a past life to have such an ill-fated daughter. It broke you to see their saddened faces every time you returned from social outings without the tell-tale smile of love that most people couldn’t hide when they met their soulmate.

The small thing that got you through was that you weren’t alone, Mark still hadn’t met his soulmate either.

“Are you still waiting for your destiny?” you asked him one afternoon whilst out taking a walk together for exercise. He glanced at you and sighed.

“Not again, Y/N. Just let things travel how it should.”

“I want you though,” you whined and he laughed. “I want it all with you.”

“Everything?” he asked, raising an eyebrow up whilst he grinned down at you. “Your imagination is rather creative too I bet.”

You blushed, knowing full well he was thinking about you naked as much as you did him some days. He nudged you and you flinched, his laughter filling the otherwise silent scenic path of the forest.

“You’re dangerous.”

“No more than you are,” he refuted, turning to spin in the path to face you, walking backwards. “The amount of times I’ve almost given everything up for you, I’ve lost count.”

“Can’t you?”

Mark sighed and didn’t answer, turning to fall back into step with you.

“Help us!” a voice cried up ahead all of a sudden and with a quick exchange of a look, you both raced towards the noise, rocking back on your heels when you realised someone was injured. Mark took a sharp breath in before he lurched forward, rushing towards the woman laying on the ground bleeding from what looked like a fall from climbing the cliff face beside you. For some reason, you couldn’t get your limbs to move fast enough. Unlike the way Mark flew to her side, you felt like lead, watching on, disconnected.

Your eyes soaked it all in as if it were another world, Mark’s urgent instructions stabbing at your heart the longer they continued. You wanted to feel concern. You wanted to not be selfish.

But you could tell instantly that Mark had just found his soulmate and she was dying right before him.

You somehow managed to follow them to the hospital, and now stood in the room after the doctors had done their best to stabilise the woman. You knew you should have left but Mark begged you to stay to support him. You weren’t sure how supportive you could be when your own heart was crushed watching him grip at Oh Sera’s hand, who had been a stranger only mere hours beforehand.

Of course, you were jealous. But not in the way you had expected. You had always joked about it, that you would be so envious when the other found their soulmate first. That you would crave yours even more if that would ever occur. But now as you watched how your best friend rested his forehead against their linked hands, you wanted Mark to be yours more than anything. To let go of Sera and to come home with you instead. He was yours and you didn’t want to let him go just yet.

It was different for him though, you could tell that much. The conversation before crossing paths with Sera felt so juvenile, lost as your childhood years had become. There would be no more joking around about a future you both craved. Because in an instant for him it had all changed.

And left you broken and alone.

It was ironic how fate twisted its path around you both. Mark spent his days at the hospital and you would bring him things that he needed, quietly taking an early departure whenever he focused intently on the woman laying within the white sheets. She wasn’t improving but she still had a grip on life. You didn’t want her to die, you might hate the situation, but Sera was an innocent person who, from what her family described her as, was generous and kind. She suited Mark well you thought as you took your leave from the hospital room, blinking back your tears. You were slowly accepting that Mark would never fulfil your dreams. He had his own now and you didn’t want to stomp them out. You would find it within yourself to celebrate his success in finding his soulmate.

You didn’t expect to find yours in the same place though. It was just how you had been told your whole life; you didn’t need to see him to know that he was your soulmate. As you rounded the corner of the hospital the sensation began, your heart started to beat faster, confusing you momentarily. Your senses grew heightened and you could hear his footsteps the closer they got before you first saw him. It made you move with an urgent pace, wanting to know who was making you feel this way.

And then you saw him. He had an entourage of nurses and doctors flocked around him as he walked down the hallway, his white coat making him look every part of a dashing doctor in your eyes. His raven hair was slicked up in a tidy pomade, and his dark eyes scanned the chart a nurse handed him intently.

When you stopped near him though, his perfect composure faltered for a second. He flicked his eyes up to look at you, scrutinising you from head to toe.

There was no wonder, no hopeless romantic connection or a giddy smile that crossed his lips. Instead, he let out a dejected sigh and turned back to the chart in his hand, struggling for a moment to regain control over his thoughts before instructing the closest doctor beside him to check on the patient’s scans.

His voice made your skin tingle and you were surprised to be this affected by the handsome stranger. You understood the pull Mark held for Sera now, your heart slowing down to a rhythm that if you listened carefully enough, matched the doctor’s only a few feet away.

He didn’t make a move and you didn’t intrude on his work either. It was strange to feel such a surge of delight rushing throughout your body from finding him yet not knowing what to do about it. You had always heard how instantaneous conversation and love flowed between soulmates. Why did it feel like you shouldn’t bother yours though? Watching for only a moment, you let out a sigh which caught his attention, his eyes shifting towards you as you walked on by and out of the hospital.

The next evening, you felt him approach you as you came to deliver a change of clothes for Mark you had been given before leaving for work earlier in the day. It made you nervous when your hearing caught hold of his enclosing steps and you anticipated his arrival. Was he simply walking through the halls, doing his rounds? Or had he also been attracted by your unique connection to find you and finally talk to you? You weren’t exactly sure but when he stopped nearby you again, his eyes were wider than they had been yesterday. He was conflicted, that much was evident, and you finally caught glimpse of his staff ID clipped to his coat. You focused on his name.

Park Jinyoung.

Your future was with Jinyoung? Well, your parents would be thrilled for you to marry a doctor. The prestige of his occupation would remove some of the humiliation they faced the longer you remained unwed. You hadn’t ever been one of the types to daydream over dating a handsome doctor who healed the lives of many though.

He cleared his throat and stepped closer, enough for you both to engage in conversation, but not enough for anyone to view you as intimate. It suited you more than you expected it to. “Hello.”

“Uh, hello.”

“So, I’m certain you’ve realised who I am now,” Jinyoung stated, very straight-forward. You nodded once. “I was wondering if you could give me some time to meet with you? We have a bit to discuss now that we’ve found each other, right?”

He didn’t ask who you were like you expected. It made you frown as you nodded again, accepting the card he held out with a time and venue on it. He seemed awkward and cleared his throat once more. “Will this be suitable?”

“I’m sure I can meet you then, Jinyoung.”

He blinked several times before freezing, surprised by something you had said. Was it his name? Surely being as practical and evidently intelligent as he was, he’d realise his name was bolstered to his chest, would he not? Or was it the sensation of hearing his name from your lips? You weren’t sure but it felt like a minor victory to you.

“Right, well I will see you then,” he answered curtly and spun away, leaving you staring after him in for a moment.

“Did you meet him?” Mark asked you softly once you were seated in Sera’s room, explaining why you had been delayed. He was eager and it was bittersweet. You could see how happy your best friend was within his situation but it was too much to see him this intrigued by your own soulmate.  

You nodded slowly. “He’s a doctor here.”

“Your patience has paid off then!” he cheered and you chewed on your bottom lip. Mark’s smile faded. “Are you not happy?”

“What?” you asked immediately and then shook your head. “Of course, I am. Isn’t this what we all want in life?”

“Don’t try and lie to me,” he told you, giving you a look. You diverted your gaze from him, hearing Mark sigh. “Is he not what you expected?”

“I don’t know who he is.”

“I didn’t know Sera either but look at us now. Even though she’s not present with us yet, I can tell she is the one for me. Give this doctor a chance, you never know, the love might start pouring out of you when you’re alone at this meeting tomorrow night.”

You hoped he was right, but you knew deep down you weren’t ready for Park Jinyoung to love you.

You arrived early to the appointment with Jinyoung, glancing around the fancy restaurant and instantly feeling uncomfortable. All the same, you mentioned your reservation to the maître d at the counter and she showed you into a private room, closing the sliding door behind you gently. You had never been in one of these rooms before and you marvelled the set up before taking a seat at the table. Everything looked expensive and you wondered if you would find anything simple to eat on the menu. Just as you were about to look at the food selection, the door opened again and you glanced up, feeling caught in Jinyoung’s dark gaze as he moved into the room. After thanking the maître d, he sat down across from you and took a heavy breath.

He was awkward again.

You had only known Jinyoung from two instances but you could already tell the difference between how he treated you and how he was with others. You had viewed him as the capable young doctor at the hospital, and how his staff all revered him. He was strong and demanded attention from all within that environment. But with you, he faltered. Most would claim this to be something they would want from their soulmate, to be the person who made them clumsy, who provoked them to show a more human-like side to them. To be that special.

You just felt like you were frustrating him and you hadn’t even spoken to him yet.

“Thanks for meeting with me tonight,” he finally said, his voice void of emotion. It was like it was a business contract and you felt uneasy, hoping to slip into something more comfortable with Jinyoung. He didn’t seem to welcome this notion and you kept quiet.

You wondered when he’d ask of your name.

“Shall we choose something to eat?” he asked, reaching for the menu as you stretched out to do the same, your hands both gripping each end of it. Although you hadn’t physically connected, it felt like you had and you stared at each other wide-eyed before Jinyoung let go of the menu as if it had zapped him. He motioned for you to take it and reached for the one underneath.

You suddenly didn’t feel very hungry.

As he perused the menu quietly, you peered over the top of yours at him. Would you like similar foods? Your parents both had the same sweet tooth and had often shared the same meals when dating in the beginning of their relationship. Would you and Jinyoung be like that? You continued to stare over at him until his eyes snapped up to capture yours, a sigh leaving him.

“Have you found something?” he asked, putting his focus back to the menu. He knew you hadn’t, you had barely looked at the various meals before you had gotten caught staring at him. Jinyoung glanced over at you again. “Shall I order for both of us?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to answer with your voice. He pressed the button on the table for assistance and you listened to him list off what you would both eat to the waiter who entered soon after. His voice was strong and commanding, and like the first time you heard it, your skin tingled as if every vibrato of his tone was being sent over to you in waves, hitting against you and arousing your senses. You had never been so affected by a voice before in your life.

The food arrived to fill the unsuccessful space between ordering and eating, and as you picked at your meal, you grew frustrated. You hadn’t come here just to sit in silence or skirt around the reason of why you were connected to the doctor. “Jinyoung?”

He dropped his fork at the sound of his name, closing his eyes for a moment to compose himself. He then reached for the utensil again, gripping it tightly. “Yes?”

“I’d appreciate if we just got to the reason to this meeting. Dinner is very nice and all but with no conversation, it just makes us strangers.”

“Isn’t that what we are?” he replied, his eyes not lifting from his meal. You could tell he knew how petty he was being and he took a steady breath. “Miss... Miss-”

“My name is Y/N,” you offered and he stopped for a moment again, struggling with however you were affecting him. Although you were dealing with a strong physical connection to him, emotionally you didn’t seem as afflicted as he was. You wondered why.

“Y/N,” he repeated and you felt your breath get stolen from you entirely. He watched you struggle with the weight of hearing your own name from his lips and a small smile played upon his lips. He knew how this felt and you wanted to curse everyone who hadn’t explained this feeling to you so you could be better prepared for when your soulmate called out your name for the first time.

You knew nothing could truly prepare you for the exhilaration you now felt consuming you from Jinyoung uttering your name though. It felt like a love call as if saying your name into the universe made the connection much more real. Jinyoung placed down his utensils and the clinking against the plate grounded you back to reality. “Shall I be blunt with you, Y/N?”

He was saying it now just to spite you. Swallowing hard, you forced a smile. “Of course, Jinyoung.”

Two could play this game.

He heaved a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t believe in the whole soulmate expectancy on life. I know it exists, I now know you exist. But I had been hoping that I wouldn’t ever meet you.”

Hearing your name from his lips no longer felt life-altering with how painful his rejection was. He dismissed your existence so easily and from the high you had been enjoying, you stumbled to the lowest of low in an instant. How could he be so cruel? To deny who you were to him? It hurt you more than you expected it to and you glared over at him immediately. He was surprised himself, whether it was from his own admission or your reaction to it, but the smug air of control he held of the first portion of his sentence deflated. Jinyoung merely sat in silence.

“If it makes you feel more at ease,” you finally started, his umber eyes flicking to look at your hardened stance. “I had hoped to become a minority.”

“You what?” he breathed, narrowing his gaze. Were you not allowed to inflict torture back at him? It was ironic, Jinyoung had clearly thought heavily about his own role in this situation but he hadn’t once considered what you might feel. At least, that was how you viewed it and it fuelled you on.

“I believe in soulmates, I wanted to experience that instant connection of love with someone,” you admitted, wringing your napkin within your hands in your lap as you wrestled with your emotions. Your desperation to cling to your romantic notions tugged at your heart again. It told your brain to be quiet, to not dismiss what little hope you had that Jinyoung could match with you eventually. But the pain was too unbearable and it clouded your judgement. “But it’s clear there was some kind of mistake when it came to us.”

“I’m sorry, what?!”

“After all, you just so easily dismissed my existence. You hoped to never meet me?! Well, I hoped to marry my best friend. We don’t get what we want though, Park Jinyoung. Life is destined before we get a choice. And in this lifetime I was ill-fated to be matched with you.”

“Ill-fated?!” he exclaimed, growing frustrated by your outburst. His hand clenched up on top of the table. “If you just let me finish-”

“So you could make further excuses as to why neither of us has felt that immeasurable need to fling ourselves into one another’s arms or to chide me for considering there may have been hope eventually?”

“You’re feisty,” he observed and you let out a huff of air. He smirked. “It’s a change from the meek Y/N of before.”

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t say my name from here out, considering how we’re strangers,” you continued, your emotions now overruling any rationale left. You were done with sitting in this room across from Dr Hostile.

Jinyoung nodded in agreement. “Well, this just works out just fine then. I never wanted to meet you because my dedication is to the hospital. I didn’t need any distraction from my job or a wife and kids at home that I couldn’t give proper attention to. It seems we both agree that our meeting only gives us a disadvantage and that we should continue in our separate lives.”

Yes, it was clearly a disadvantage to have been paired with the likes of him. You got up then, Jinyoung’s gaze moving with your action and you held your hand across the table towards him. He eyed the gesture and then got up, slipping his hand into yours. Shaking your linked hands, you forced a smile and ignored the intensity of holding his hand.

“May we never meet again.”

Five years passed by. Sera had regained consciousness a month after her accident and it was as if she had always been in your world. Mark and Sera soon moved in together and then got married, not waiting long until their first child was born. They were extremely happy together and you genuinely celebrated it. You knew that Mark’s soul was fulfilled more than it would have ever been if either of you had of acted on your past feelings. Instead, you got to be his best friend and now Sera’s too. You were able to be an Aunt to their daughter Sejeong, doting on the little girl as if she was a part of you as well. She definitely got her sassy side from you, that was for sure.

Since you were over thirty, you had been contacted by the government for matching. You ignored it several times, writing in protest to them that you wanted to live alone. Your parents no longer had to house you from this point on and you had moved into your own little apartment, in love with living each day to your own beat. There were no more expectations from your parents about wasting your life, and there was an element of freedom. Although you had spent so much of your life dreaming of your soulmate and fearing the worst when he never truly eventuated, you had to admit you liked where you were now. You could rely on yourself.

You never told anyone but Mark about Jinyoung, and even then you had lied and told him you had been mistaken. That doctor was no match for you. He had been comforting as any best friend should, and you had cried enough over the loss of your missing piece of your soul. But as time travelled, so did your mindset. Jinyoung had been right. Being a doctor was hard work and would have left very little time for you. You had imagined a life of being at home with the children crying and you exhausted from raising them alone. Of barely seeing Jinyoung enter your home only to leave it again after sufficient rest to head back to the hospital. To forever tell the children he did love them even when he missed their birthdays due to urgent surgeries. He had been sensible in brushing you off back then.

If there was anything you regretted in meeting Jinyoung though, it was ending it with that handshake. Even years on you still felt the pressure against your skin as if he had held it mere moments beforehand. It would wake you up at night, making you curse that handshake more than anything in your life. The tingling could last for hours, sometimes days and you were unable to do very little to distract your mind from it. Thankfully, it wasn’t constant but it was still enough of a burden to remind you that out there, Park Jinyoung existed.

You hoped he suffered from the same dull ache within his hand too, out of spite.

It was because of this lingering connection that you met him again. You had been suffering from the incessant tingling in your hand for days, getting so frustrated that you couldn’t focus on anything. At work, you barely were present, blundering through some meetings and hardly impressing your superiors in others. You were stressed and exhausted, and had little time to regard anything about your surroundings, let alone yourself. You couldn’t remember the last time you ate and you groaned, getting up to go buy a coffee and some food from the closest café, unable to focus on the documents scattered over your desk any longer. Taking the stairs instead of the elevator in hopes to become alert again with exercise, you pounded down the first few flights with ease. But then the twinge in your hand caught your full attention again, making you lift it up to your face and glower at it.

“Stupid Park Jinyoung,” you muttered as you took the next couple of steps, letting out a cry when you blindly missed one. It happened all too quickly, your body slipped and tumbled down the rest of the stairs, slamming against the wall heavily. You cried out in pain, attempting to pull yourself up when the noise of your fall caught the attention of others on that floor. It wasn’t long until your eyes closed with how heavy they felt.

When you opened them again you were in the hospital. There was a couple of nurses and a doctor nearby, looking at charts and a scan beside you. It took some effort to adjust to the lighting, and then you groaned when you felt all the pain.

God, it was intense.

“Ah, Miss L/N, you’re awake, how do you feel?” a nurse asked and you merely stared at her, trying to understand why you were here.

And then you felt it. A sudden sense of dread made all your senses heighten and you heard the rushed footsteps before you saw him appear in front of you. Jinyoung screeched to a halt as he grabbed onto the bed’s side-rail, staring down at you wide-eyed as he caught his breath.

“Doctor Park?” one of the nurses called curiously and you blinked slowly as Jinyoung examined you himself. “It’s your day off, what are you doing here?”

“Have you ordered an x-ray?” he asked of her and she eyed him momentarily before responding by handing over your chart. He scanned it proficiently, nodding once before directing her to administer further pain relief so you wouldn’t suffer too much. You watched him silently as he ordered the staff around, his eyes everywhere but on yours. It was too much for you to comprehend and you reached out for his wrist, Jinyoung’s voice stopping midway.

He turned to look at you, breathing heavily before he slipped his hand away from yours and continued directing for more treatment to be done to you.

It confused you.

You had broken your leg and suffered from a mild concussion. Overnight observation had been deemed essential much to your disdain. Once your leg was secured in a cast, and you were wheeled into your own room, you cursed not having anything with you. Your bag had been left in your office, and you remembered your phone was still on your desk. All you had on you was your debit card, and that wasn’t going to offer you a whole lot. You needed to contact your family and Mark.

At the same time, you felt too embarrassed to tell them. After all, you were in this position thanks to your soulmate that none of them knew about. Okay, so it was a bit of a stretch to blame everything on Jinyoung but with your current mood, you weren’t prepared to be rational about it either.

The door opened and you were surprised to see Jinyoung enter, closing it quietly behind him.

You were curious despite your disdain. Your eyes soaked in his appearance now that you were more alert than before, noticing the little changes that came with age. He had changed his hair and his arms looked like he had started working out more regularly. You wished you hadn’t noticed that about him and looked away when he approached your bed.

“How do you feel?” he asked and you noted he still was in his casual clothes. Was he asking as your doctor or as someone who cared? You scoffed at your foolish notion and shrugged.

“How would you feel with a broken leg and an aching body?”

He smiled. “I see you’re still sassy.”

“Only when it comes to you,” you admitted and he nodded softly. He didn’t say anything for some time, and you realised his eyes were softer than the last time you had seen him all those years ago. Was he worried about you? Surely, he had better things to concern himself over. But you couldn’t squash the feeling that he was here because he chose to be, not out of some kind of hospital regulation.

“How did it happen? I only felt it when you screamed and-”

“Felt what?” you interrupted, your eyebrows knitting together. “You heard me scream?”

Jinyoung shot you a concerned look. “You really don’t get it?”

You shook your head and winced, the room growing fuzzy. “Don’t shake your head, you have a concussion.”

“Don’t confuse me then,” you murmured, holding onto your head in your hand in an attempt to cease the spinning.

“Whether we like it or not, we’re still connected, Y/N.”

“That much is evident by how much my hand tingles,” you bit back, staring at the hand as if it was a culprit. You sighed. “If I didn’t feel it all the time, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“You suffer from it too?” he asked, surprised. You felt a glimmer of victory in knowing you weren’t alone. But it also brought with it another feeling, and your heart started to beat faster from it. “You’re stressed and your tests show you’ve been lacking in nutrition. Did you faint? Is that how this happened?”

“I was distracted,” you admitted quietly, avoiding his gaze. Jinyoung sat down in the chair beside you and you snapped your focus to the opposite wall, cursing inwardly at growing dizzy again.

“So immature,” he muttered and you chose to ignore it. “Well, I heard you clearly when it happened. I was out with a friend and I heard your cry in my head. Then my hand started to ache the worst it ever has. For some reason, all I could think about was finding you and I drove here without realising it. This is all very overwhelming for me.”

He wasn’t the only one.

You knew the connection between soulmates was strong but you didn’t know it was able to give the other a beacon of suspected danger like this either. If you weren’t so worked up by being in close proximity again with Jinyoung, you would have marvelled at how intricate being a soulmate to someone truly was.

“I never gave you permission to do this to me,” he continued and you stopped your fantastical thoughts, letting out a hollow laugh. There was the Jinyoung you knew. He gave you a strong look. “Why would you hurt yourself like this?”

“I’m so sorry for the inconvenience,” you spat, rolling your eyes. Your head hurt and you were growing frustrated the longer he was at your side. “Just go on your way, back to what we agreed upon.”

“Do you really think you’re in the position right now to request that of me?” he wondered, reaching to pull your blanket up further. You froze at the action and Jinyoung smirked. “You were distracted? By me?”

You didn’t answer and that was all the doctor needed to feel chuffed for a moment. And then he looked at you lying in the bed and sighed heavily. “How are you going to look after yourself?”

“I have family and friends,” you assured and Jinyoung nodded mindlessly. “You can go if you like, I want to sleep.”

“Ah,” he said, shaking his head as a smile played upon his lips. “You can’t sleep.”

“What? I can too-”

“You’ve got a concussion, just as a precaution you need to stay awake for a few more hours.”

“But-” He shot you a commanding look and you groaned back your protest. “What am I meant to do then?”

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”

You had been hesitant to speak. This was after all the man who had rejected you as his fated partner five years ago. You didn’t want to give him any more ammunition against you for future endeavours of dragging you down. You were a different version of who you were back then. You didn’t care so much about others’ judgement on how you lived now, and you didn’t need to consider yourself as a failure for not securing your soulmate.

Yet his suggestion felt strangely welcoming and you spent the next couple of hours mindlessly telling Jinyoung about your life. He laughed at your childhood antics, and he listened to your adult adventures. He commended you for living your solo life and showed admiration for your career. It was a different version of the Jinyoung you knew, and it was intoxicating. You soaked in his own life story as if it was a bestselling novel. You craved all the knowledge you could garner, and when the catering staff appeared with your dinner, you happily shared the meal with Jinyoung. The night wore on and despite being exhausted, you felt wired at the same time. You never realised just how easy talking to Jinyoung would be if either of you allowed it. You thought back to your first dinner together and wondered why back then it had been so difficult to even breathe around him.

Jinyoung smiled knowingly. “I’m sorry I dismissed you back then.”

“I was rather petulant.”

“You didn’t want to hear me, that’s for sure,” he said with a smile and you returned it, shrugging lightly. You let out a yawn. Jinyoung checked his watch and then nodded. “You should be fine to rest now.”

“Is this going to be a dream?” you asked as he stood up and Jinyoung looked back at you. It made you feel vulnerable under his gaze and you diverted your attention to the blankets your hands gently gripped to. “When I wake up tomorrow, will you be gone again?”

“I thought you wanted me to leave,” he teased lightly, smiling at you. You didn’t know what to say in response and he chuckled. “I have work tomorrow, so I’ll definitely be here.”

“Yes, but I meant-”

“I know what you mean, Y/N,” he said reaching down to tousle your hair affectionately. It made you hold your breath, your eyes falling captive in his gaze. He blinked once before leaning down, brushing his lips over your forehead before standing back up. “I’ll be here.”

“Take it easy, you’re not supposed to go that fast on crutches, Y/N!”

You had been excited to leave the hospital and get home but the idea that it was Jinyoung who brought you here had left you anxious. You wanted to find some normalcy in this otherwise dream state you had been living in the past two days. Jinyoung had kept to his word, appearing as soon as he arrived at the hospital for work. He had then checked on you multiple times during the day, even eating his dinner with you. It wasn’t unnoticed by some of the staff and your nurse had even asked you how you had managed to garner the attention of such a fine doctor.

You decided he was just that, and you had to admit his doctor’s coat made you swoon a little every time he came in wearing it. How you were this affected by Jinyoung in such a short space of time, you couldn’t quite comprehend but you knew it was down to your connection.

He was your soulmate, after all.

Still, you didn’t want to shamelessly fall for him just yet. You knew feelings were brewing between you both that you couldn’t deny, but you were injured. It made sense that Jinyoung felt obligated to assist you right now.

He didn’t have to bring you home though.

“You didn’t tell anyone yet,” he reminded at your discharge, sans his coat. You had frowned at his blazer that was in place instead, wondering if his shift had ended. Silently he had wheeled you out to his car, beeping the unlock button and then helped you into it. You had felt shy at giving over your address but he threatened to check your personal records for it if you didn’t and so you reluctantly allowed him to take you home. That much you could rely on him for.

But he stepped inside your apartment after you entered without being invited in and you screamed internally at how unprepared you were for a guest. You cringed at your pyjamas strewn on the sofa and your breakfast bowl still on the small table near the kitchen. You were certain Jinyoung would be the neat type unlike you.

“At least I don’t have to ask you where your clothes to change into are,” he said with a small smile, going around you and picking up your dirty dishes.

“Hey!” you cried, hobbling after him in haste. You got stuck on the rug’s tassels as you chased him and wobbled dangerously, Jinyoung rushing back from the kitchen to help steady you, his hands slipping around your waist. For a moment you breathed heavily with the fear of falling before you looked up into his gaze, and stopped breathing altogether.

He didn’t remove his hands from around your waist, but you could tell Jinyoung was having just as hard of a time as you were being pressed against each other. He eventually moved back and you both sighed.

“Be more careful.”

Was his voice huskier than it usually was? Or did your ears just pick up on his sentence in a different way? Either way, you felt weak through your knees and scrambled to grip the crutches more tightly so you didn’t fall.

Park Jinyoung was decidedly dangerous.

He cleaned as you went to your bedroom and got changed, struggling for some time with your bottoms until you decided to give up on getting them on. You were going to bed in a moment and you normally didn’t sleep with them on anyway. You would simply yell at Jinyoung to head home, and then use the bathroom before going to bed once he left. There would be no need for pants.

There was a knock at the door and you were relieved to put your plan into place. “Are you done?”

“You can head on home now, Jinyoung,” you called out, slowly getting back to your feet on your crutches. “Thanks for everything!”

“What does that mean?” he asked as he opened the door and you wobbled on your crutches at his sudden entrance, shocking you entirely. You whined unintelligently at him as he merely stood there with his eyes glued to your bare legs. The oversized tee hid everything it needed to, but that was all. You cursed him for entering your private domain.

“Do you ever knock?!” you cried and Jinyoung’s mouth fell ajar a little.

“I did,” he mentioned distractedly and then blinked out of his stupor, pointing to the barrier he still had a hand on. “I knocked.”

“You don’t just enter the room when someone starts talking though!”

“You were telling me to leave, how was I meant to know it was because you were scantily dressed?!” He heaved a breath, trying ever so hard to keep his eyes off your legs. He failed, coming back in for seconds shamelessly. You groaned.

“Go home.”

“No.”

“No?!” you echoed and rolled your eyes. “Jinyoung, I’m fine. I can hobble around to use the bathroom and take myself to bed. I was doing it in the hospital all day.”

“I’m not fine though,” he mentioned, stepping closer. You attempted to back up but that was difficult given your immobility. You took a deep breath instead the closer he got. “Why was I stupid to let you go back then?”

“You’re being foolish now,” you warned him softly, despite the sudden rush throughout your body. You wanted to be back in his arms again, to lean on him instead of the sticks on each of your arms. You yearned for his lips to find yours.

“Tell me you don’t want this too,” he murmured, now in front of you. You were blinded by lust, your hands itching to let go of the crutches you held onto for dear life now. You had forgotten all about your vow to take it slow with your feelings, especially when Jinyoung lifted your chin up so you were looking him in the eyes. Had they always been that warm? You felt as if they were liquid dark chocolate and you would sink for eternity in them.

You wanted to be rational. You wanted to tell him and yourself this was all down to your souls wanting this. That you both were perfectly fine without each other and this was just from the connection you’ve had inside since birth. You wanted to remind him of his lack of belief in being soulmates and to choose his own destiny as he had in the past. To make a choice of his own.

You realised he was choosing to listen to the desires in his heart now and it made you curse your own little self-restraint that remained. You reached out for his waist from your crutches and your slightest action was enough for Jinyoung to pull you into his grip, your hands slipping off the handles of your crutches entirely. You heard them clatter to the ground as you remained fixated on his eyes.

“I was a fool for not doing this five years ago when I wanted to,” he told you honestly, leaning down to capture your lips finally. If the tingling from touching his hand had been unbearable, the fire upon your skin was an intensity you couldn’t describe at all. As he held you tightly to him with his lips passionately kissing yours, you were entranced. Everything melded together as one as you tasted him, his tongue licking along your bottom lip suggestively. You gasped into the kiss and it deepened as your mind swirled with completeness. This is what you had been missing out on. This next-level fulfilment that nothing or no one could give you but Jinyoung. Your heart soared and your soul reached forward for his, binding you both together forever. Eventually, your lips separated from the series of kisses that followed the first, and you gazed up at the man who had caused your heart to ache over the past five years. You knew now he wouldn’t let you suffer ever again.

Jinyoung smiled, pressing his swollen lips against yours briefly before resting his forehead against yours. “I’m cursing you for breaking your leg right now even though it’s the reason we’re together like this.”

“Why?” you asked, vaguely remembering the reason for the constant ache in your leg. You gripped onto him more tightly as the pain coursed through you now that his lips weren’t distracting you. It made you understand his sentence and you sheepishly giggled. “Oh.”

“And it’s going to take about eight more weeks until your cast is off too,” he muttered, pouting as he reflected on your current predicament. You found him endearing and poked his cheek lightly. “Why are you making me wait so long to make you mine?”

“Aren’t I already?” you asked and he smiled warmly, kissing you again. The kiss was followed with three more before you whined at the pain in your leg. Jinyoung helped you sit down and then crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on your thighs. You felt the thirst that was obviously claiming the man in front of you too and swiped his grip away quickly. You heaved a deep breath, he was right, eight weeks was a long time.

But five years was even longer. You had gone that long without your soulmate at your side since you first met Jinyoung. You could survive a mere eight weeks until you were stronger to deal with the desires still emanating from within his eyes, right?

Then again, you hadn’t kissed him before.

This was going to be a sheer test of patience. Jinyoung grinned. “In about five weeks you should be okay.”

“I can’t believe we’re scheduling this,” you mentioned with a laugh and Jinyoung shrugged.

“Don’t want to wait?” he asked, moving his hands back up and you smacked them away.

“Three days ago you didn’t care if I existed or not,” you pointed out and Jinyoung shook his head.

“I cared from the first moment I saw you. I just wanted to be the best doctor I could be and let my pride rule out what my heart wanted. You made it easy for me to do that too.”

“And now?” you asked, teetering on the fine line of wanting to avoid this going any further, but needing to know more from the man who you couldn’t imagine going another day without.

“Now I want to complete you and live our lives together.”

You smiled giddily.

“I can be a pretty good doctor on the side,” he added on and then smirked, patting your arm gently. “Doctor’s orders, it’s time for you to put your leg up and rest.”

“Is the Doctor going off-duty now too?” you asked, allowing Jinyoung to guide your legs up onto your bed. He smiled and kissed your lips gently.

“I should go home unless you need me to stay.” You wrestled with an answer and he chuckled. “I’ll go home. Five weeks will be even harder if I allow myself to sleep at your side tonight.”

“Alright, go before I can’t resist you any longer,” you urged and Jinyoung smiled, nuzzling into you with his nose gently. “Jinyoung!”

“Y/N,” he murmured and you smiled at your name on his lips. “I wonder if it’s like this for all soulmates, to feel the urgency to connect in every way, physically especially?”

“Well, my best friend didn’t really waste time,” you admitted and Jinyoung chuckled.

“Good, I thought I was going crazy with lust for you that was out of place.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t hate you anymore,” you teased and Jinyoung gaped at you. You giggled and bopped him on the nose with your finger. “But I won’t let you go soon if you don’t leave now.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he promised and you grinned. “And every day after that too.”

“Until when?” you asked, wanting this to never end.

Jinyoung kissed you passionately before he pulled back to answer. “Forever.”

_________________

Next: To Love You

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[hopeswriting]

Credit image: @noaa​ - Unsplash

Edit image: Pixlr/Canva

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn

Title: The Nuances of a Wrathful Sky

Author: @hopeswriting​​

Rating: T

Pairing: Varia & Xanxus

POV: Third Person Limited, Alternating

Summary: Xanxus doesn’t want, nor looks for, and definitely doesn’t need Guardians. His Guardians find him all the same when he needs them the most (not like he’ll ever admit that aloud), and then just never leave.

Themes: Formation of Varia, Varia’s Backgrounds, The Craddle Affair, Minor or Background Varia Arc

Chapter: 1/? (2057 words)

Squalo wasn’t predestined to be a swordsman, nor the way of the sword called him or chose him or any of that shit.

Squalo decided he wanted to wield a sword. He wanted to spill the blood of his enemies, to stain his weapon and clothes with it, wanted to watch the pain and struggle and despair on their face.

Squalo wanted to be close enough to them to not miss the moment they’d realize he was the death of them, but far enough away so they couldn’t retaliate easily.

He chose the sword and worked to make it an extension of his arm, of his whole body; worked to make it so no other weapons would ever feel so right in his hand.

Whiny Dino splutters and panics and is being his usual pathetic self when he tells him he wants to travel the world to master his technique.

Squalo snatches him by the collar. There’s worry and fear in his eyes of all things, as if Squalo can’t take him on any day, any moment.

“Voi, don’t order me around you scum. I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

“But Squalo—” There’s a flickering determination in brown eyes, and Squalo considers letting it come to life fully. It’s not often he succeeds to goad the clumsy Sky in a serious fight.

He gets Dino on his tip toes, tightening his grip on his collar, cutting off his breathing. “Don’t insult me Cavallone, who do you think you’re talking with?” A dangerous grin splits his face from ear to ear. “You’re looking at the best swordsman of this generation.”

*

The first thing Squalo learns on his journey is what defeat tastes like. It tastes like looming death, like unfulfilled cravings and a bleeding pride. This one defeat is tainted by mercy, which adds a sharp, sour taste of anger and disdain at the back of his tongue.

“Voi, what do you think you’re doing? Kill me before I kill you.”

“Why are you in such a hurry to die?” the swordmaster says. “I gave you the fight you wanted. I did not hold back either, merely matched my skills to yours. You survived. The way of the sword didn’t let you down just yet.”

“What kind of bullshit is that?” Squalo spits out. He doesn’t live in a world so kind he’ll be given second chances. Victory is living to see the next fight while defeat is death. There’s no room for draws in Squalo’s world. “Kill me before I kill you,” he says again.

The swordmaster turns his back to him and walks away. Squalo crawls to his sword and stands back up. The swordmaster goes down.

*

Squalo continues his journey, tackles on Italy first then Europe, goes to Africa and America, roams the streets of Asia and doesn’t forget Australia. He challenges all the masters he can find, their refined styles clashing against Squalo’s simple sword, which gets deadlier each time he leaves in his wake corpses he dragged down from their pedestal.

They call his first win against a swordmaster a fluke, call him a child who’ll get burn by the fire he’s playing with sooner than later. The second swordmaster he kills is deemed too sloppy, the third one too soft. The fourth one and all the others after him expect him, know better than to underestimate him, don’t hide their killing intent from him. Squalo gives back as good as he gets. Squalo is still the last one standing, and is quick to move on to his next prey

It’s particularly delightful to watch the so-called flawless, strongest and invincible style of the swordmaster and his two apprentices crumbles under his blows. There’s no such thing as a flawless, strongest and invincible style. Squalo swears only by his sword but it’s a truth he acknowledges. It’s a truth he won’t make the mistake to ever forget.

When the Varia tries to recruit him, he’s known and respected as The Ravenous Shark who always finds himself where the blood smells the strongest, and never leaves without a new fresh layer of red trailing his steps.

*

Squalo goes to the Varia headquarters to refuse their offer and gets them off his back. As “independent” they may be they’re still Vongola, and he’s none-too keen to be ordered around.

A step in the mansion and all of his body tenses under the weight of Sky flames all over the place. The undercurrent of anger and violence, the sheer threat of the flames behind their calm aspect isn’t lost on him—it wouldn’t be lost even on the dumbest of dumb fucks on this world.

It’s not a display of power, Squalo knows right away. It’s not a demand for submission either, nor the Sky offering himself up for eventual courtships. This Sky just doesn’t care who his flames reach or who’d be suicidal enough to take it as a challenge. This Sky simply doesn’t see the point to have his flames in a leash.

Squalo mercilessly reigns his Rain flames in lest they lash out blindly, lest they try and submit to the Sky flames, or—god forbid—try and court them.

The Sky is a he, and the utter fury in his eyes is like nothing else Squalo ever seen. His flames thrash and bite and purr, eager to see if they can drown the man—the boy really, and how strange to think they’re about the same age—before they get burn to ashes. The Sky turns his gaze on him, and Squalo’s bloodlust finds a Home at last, strong enough to never need from him any restraint. (Squalo could have been claimed before, truly. But he has no need for a Sky who can encompass him only when he limits himself.)

He walks forward to meet his Sky, the most sure he has ever been in his life, without having any idea on how it’ll play out.

*

Tyr lies dead at his feet after two long days of battle. Squalo looks down at his bloody sword and sees the embodiment of his ambitions. He looks at his bleeding, exhausted and painful body, and sees the proof of his resolve. Squalo looks at his lost left hand and sees the depth of his loyalty.

Squaring the accounts of the battle, washing away the blood spilled*—this is how The Requiem Rain is born.

(Squalo knows there’s a lot of swordmasters he has still to meet and defeat. Knows there’s a lot of swordsmen out there who can challenge him on the title he covets he has to find and eliminate. He doesn’t worry about them. He’s still young after all, there’s no need to rush his pleasure.)

*

Xanxus tells him of his plan, and it’s not a show of trust. It’s sure as hell not a call for help. At most it’s some kind of test, but either way Squalo doesn’t care. (Both of them are letting their hair grow, they’re past needing any show of trust.)

“We’ll need more people of our level for this.”

“I don’t need anyone.”

“Voi,” Squalo cries in indignation, “of course I can take on these Vongola scums on my own too! But you know better than me Nono isn’t to be underestimated. You can’t spare any strength on some underlings if you want to win.”

Xanxus throws his whiskey at him because he said “if”, but he doesn’t disagree.

In a near future and the years to come, when Squalo will have the urge to stab to death or cut the others useless Varia officers heads off, he’d stop and remember just who he has to thank for that. It won’t stop him from trying—if anything, it’ll make him try harder.

*

Someone sold them out, Squalo has no doubt about it. He looks forward to the fight to decide who’ll be the one to kill the traitor, but he knows Xanxus won’t let this particular kill in anyone else hands.

They successfully make their way through the mansion anyway, taking full advantage of Vongola’s hesitation and confusion when they realize they’re fighting their own.

Vongola Nono is a monster on his own right because of course he is. They land some blows, make for a decent challenge, but Squalo isn’t fooled. Vongola Nono isn’t even fighting with his all, doesn’t bother to show them this bare minimum of respect.

When both of them think he’s out cold, words are spoken he could never have imagined, and everything about Xanxus suddenly makes so much more sense. Did Vongola actually expected any other outcome? How delusional of them.

The ice caught Xanxus in his peak of fury, his face all harsh features, his eyes hateful and unforgiving, his hand outstretched in what was meant to be a killing blow. The ice is so incredibly cold against his palm it’s easy to forget it’s not Dying Will Flames; seeps through skin and bones and makes his flames recoil in such a way it can be nothing else but Dying Will Flames. Squalo can’t reach back to his Sky.

“You’re one pathetic man, old man.” But what to say of him then? About how useless he was in his Sky’s hour of need, how useless he is still now, to not be able to carve a new path for them towards their goal. Pathetic doesn’t even begin to cover it, Squalo doesn’t hold himself to such low standards.

“Stop the attack Squalo,” the old man says, sounding so much like the understanding and saddened grandfather he likes to pretend he is, Squalo thinks maybe he really forgot the cold-blooded, ruthless ruler he truly is. “Call back your men. You lost, there’s no need for anymore blood to spill.”

“Do you think this is over? Do you think this will stop him? That your ice froze even his ambitions, his Will?” Xanxus is still alive, as distant and barely there anymore his bond feels. This doesn’t have to be the end. Levi is Raging as they’re talking, and Bel’s bond took on a single-minded focus different from his childish glee from before. But this isn’t what Squalo is asking.

“It’s over,” the old man only says.

Squalo slams his fist against the ice, points his broken sword at him. “Voi, you foolish old man,” he roars, but his voice lowers in an even tone then. “This is only the beginning, can’t you even guess that?” Xanxus is still alive, and if he didn’t kill him now he won’t kill him later. It’s his mistake, maybe the last he’ll ever make. “Xanxus will be back, and when he does we’ll be there. We’ll be ready.” Squalo trusts the man to not be senile enough he doesn’t take his words as the threat they are.

*

Squalo learns that day defeat and failure aren’t the same thing, don’t sink their claws in the soul at the same depth. He learns how easy one is to overcome and forgive, and is too prideful and loyal to let the other be the same.

“The day will surely come when you’ll be thankful you made me your ally*,” Squalo had say to him. He thinks about those words a lot when dealing with the fallout of their failed Coup. Thinks about how they’re there to deal with it while Xanxus is restrained in a prison made of ice.

They’re both still alive, he says to himself when his own words haunt him. Others days will come both of them will be able to share and enjoy. He still can make good of his promise—he will.

*

Eight years later he is send on a hunt to retrieve the rings his Boss needs to make his ambition a reality. Squalo’s hair reaches his waist, a reminder of what he stands for and who he stands with for all the world to see. Xanxus’s hair doesn’t, and it’s a reminder his resolve and strength failed him once.

He won’t fail this time.

*

*: Direct quotes from Amano Akira.

Thank you for reading! If you’re interested in more here are the links on ao3 and ff.net.

[psycho-slytherin]

Less 2

Your boyfriend promised he’d drink less.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Yoongi x Reader, Policeman!Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Genre: Angst

<–– Prev

|mlist|

The gun goes off with a loud BANG and the recoil makes the firearm clatter to the floor, your trembling hands too weak to grip it properly. In front of you stands Yoongi, your boyfriend, your love, the man to which you’ve dedicated years of your life– and he sways, and he falls to his knees, the look on his face one of amusement and yet utter betrayal as the dark red stain on his shirt begins to spread outwards. You gasp– you’ve really shot someone, you’re a– “Murderer.” Yoongi spits out the word as though it’s poison on his lips. His breaths are unsteady and ragged, his shoulders are slumped, one hand behind his back while the other clutches his chest… but he managed to stare with eyes that seem to see straight through you, and on to something beyond. “I-I’ll call the police!” You look to your right and see Officer Jeon groaning on the floor. He’s gone so pale he’s near translucent, but at least his radio is still clipped to his belt. You tug at it, pressing buttons frantically, please, please– “Jeon? This is Sergeant Kim. Can you tell me where the hell you’ve gone? Over.” You jump at the crackle, the voice, and the sudden silence. “Please help me,” you cry, pressing the same button as before. “O-officer Jeon has been stabbed, and there’s–” you swallow back a sob. “There’s another man, he’s been shot, I need an ambulance right away!” “Jeon’s been–?” the radio goes silent. “I need a location.” You tell him your address, and Sergeant Kim pauses for a second. “Okay, an ambulance is on its way. Are you safe, miss?” You look around. Despite the bruises on your face and wrist, and a few glass cuts, you’re alright. “Yes.” Officer Jeon appears to have passed out from shock or blood loss, but he’s still breathing. And Yoongi… Min Yoongi is slumping lower and lower by degrees, and you see beads of sweat forming as he struggles to stay conscious.

“How could you,” he coughs, blood dripping from his lips, and your heart shatters. You scoot closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “Yoongi, you’re gonna be fine, I’m so sorr–” “How could you… you BITCH!” his bellow sounds only half human and you flinch, expecting another slap, a dead man’s last hurrah, but instead... “AUGH!” you scream, scrambling backwards. Yoongi had somehow clung on to his broken bottle and like an idiot, you’d let your guard down. Lucky he didn’t get any vitals, but as you look down at the gash on your inner thigh… is it your imagination or is there a lot more blood than there should be? Some faint wisp of information from your days as an ambulance technician escapes you. Inner thigh… and something about blood loss. You blink hard and press your hand to the wound, attempting to slow blood flow. Already your vision seems tilted, blurry, and blood is gushing through your fingers and onto the floor. “Nng…” The radio crackles again, and someone speaks, but it’s impossible to focus on their words. Black spots dance before you and you’re tempted, so tempted to succumb, Yoongi is all you have, all that’s ever mattered and now… You grit your teeth, woozy with pain. Now… he’s hurt you. “Hff…y/n…” Officer Jeon suddenly groans props himself up on his elbow and makes a grab for the radio. Even that minor movement causes him to gasp sharply in pain. “Lie down,” you tell him, tears rolling down your cheeks as you clutch at your leg, contending with your own agony. “Officer, I called… I called…” Who did you call? You can’t remember. your head is pounding, your thoughts are fuzzy, you’re gasping for air and you can’t fight anymore. This is it, Yoongi, you think as you slip away from the earth, as you drown in darkness, this is what you wanted, right? Funny how even in death, you give Yoongi everything. Light. Bright, painful. Painful. Yes. There’s pain. You feel it– angry, throbbing. Since when is death supposed to hurt? Are you still alive? Huh. 

“Ergh...” you blink hard, your eyes adjusting to the brilliant light.

“Oh, you’re awake. Let me call the doctor.”

“W-who...?” but it’s too late, whoever spoke has disappeared.

“Yoongi?” you whisper, unsure as to whether you want a response. Regardless, you get none, and as you look around you realize the IV drip and heart rate monitor attached to you mean that you must be in a hospital.

“Miss l/n?” A man in a white coat enters the room, consulting a clipboard. “Good to see you’re awake. I’m Dr. Kim Seokjin, and–”

The door opens again and a man wearing a police uniform strides to your bedside. “Y/n. How are you feeling?”

“Uh, I’m–”

“Great. Sergeant Kim Namjoon, we spoke over the radio, do you mind if I ask you some questions about what happened?”

You shrink into yourself as the sergeant looms over you. “Okay...”

“Wonderful. Can you tell me–”

“Sergeant Kim, I understand that you want information, but she is first and foremost a patient and shall be treated as such,” Dr. Kim says icily.

“Of course, doctor, but one of my officers was stabbed and unlike Officer Jeon, y/n here is currently awake and I’m in need of answers.” You can see Sergeant Kim’s jaw working in an effort to maintain his professionalism.

“Her femoral artery was severed, multiple lacerations required stitches, and she suffered severe blood loss. You will get your answers after I am certain of my patient’s condition. Should you test my patience further, I will have you removed from this room.”

It’s as if the doctor has dropped a mic– his tone leaves no room for argument, and Sergeant Kim nods grudgingly and backs away.

Meanwhile, Dr. Kim takes your blood pressure, checks the IV, and generally makes sure you’re all kinds of alive.

“M-my leg...” you’re in a hospital bed, with your lower body covered by a thin blanket. “And Yoongi. Where’s Yoongi?”

“Your leg suffered the worst of it, we recovered several shards of glass from the wound before stitching you up. Your left femoral artery was cut, but you’re quite lucky– any later and...” he falls silent, but you understand. You finally remember learning this during your medical training: If the deep femoral artery is severed, you black out in thirty seconds and can bleed out in three minutes.

Any later, indeed. You draw back the blanket and gasp. Your leg is wrapped in thick bandages, and when you prod at your own flesh it feels almost alien. You draw back with a hiss of pain after a wave of agony hits you, making you nauseous.

“Where’s Yoongi?” you croak again.

“Dr. Kim, if I may?” the sergeant steps forward.

“Be my guest.”

Sergeant Kim flips open a notepad. “Y/n– may I call you that? You were found at the scene along with Officer Jeon Jungkook and a Mr. Min Yoongi, who had a record of multiple arrests for DUIs and altercations resulting in violence. Our records show he was incarcerated overnight after an altercation with a Mr. Jung Hoseok, who has not pressed charges. Officer Jeon did not notify his colleagues when he came to your house, but CC camera footage shows him leaving the station almost immediately after you and Mr. Min, at 6:48am. We received a call from you on Jeon’s radio roughly forty minutes later, at 7:33am. Does that timeline hold up?”

“Y-yes.”

“Now, we just need you to fill in the blanks, y/n. What happened when you got home?”

You hesitate. Yoongi slapped you. But if you tell the police, they’ll take him away from you– and some part of you can’t stand that.

You stare down at your bandaged hands. “Nothing- nothing happened.”

Sergeant Kim frowns slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Uh...”

“We found the door had been kicked down. We’re wondering why Officer Jeon would choose to go to those lengths.”

“He was worried,” you blurt out. “About me. Um. Yoongi was being a bit aggressive, that’s all, and Officer Jeon was worried.”

“Aggressive? Did he hurt you?”

The bruises on your cheek and wrist shine like a beacon. Why are you acting this way? You tried to escape from Yoongi, that’s how this whole thing started. And now... what, now you’ve changed your mind?

What’s Yoongi done to you?

You take a deep breath. You’re the only one who can tell this story– you have a responsibility.

“He was slapping me around a bit, Officer Jeon burst in and helped me, but Yoongi snuck up behind him, he had a bit to drink–” a sob gets stuck in your throat as you recount the day. “S-stabbed him.”

“And then?”

I took Officer Jeon’s gun and shot Yoongi. He thought I wouldn’t, he trusted me–

In the briefest terms, you relay the events to Sergeant Kim, who scribbles it down on his notepad. After an eternity, he nods. “Well, if what you said is true, you’re not in any legal trouble– you clearly acted in self-defense.”

Another police officer knocks, pokes her head in, and tells Sergeant Kim that Officer Jeon has woken up.

Oh, thank god, he’s alive.

“C-can I see him?”

Both men turn to you in surprise.

“Miss l/n, in your condition–”

“It would be against police protocol–”

“Please,” you plead. “I need to thank him. He saved me.”

A few minutes later you’re being pushed down the hall in a wheelchair. You told Dr. Kim that it was unnecessary, but he insisted.

“He’s just in here.”

You soon come face to face with the policeman. He sits up in bed when he notices you. “Miss l/n.”

“Call me y/n,” you say. “You look a lot better, huh?”

He laughs dryly. “Anything’s better than that.”

“Officer Jeon–”

“Jungkook,” he supplies, and you smile.

“Jungkook, I wanted to thank you. And apologize. It’s because of me that you’re injured.”

He thinks for a second. “And it’s because of you that I’m alive.”

You both fall silent.

“The actions you took were brave,” Sergeant Kim says from the doorway. “No jury in their right mind would convict you, if you’re worried.”

“Convicted? Convicted of what?”

Sergeant Kim looks from you to Jungkook. “After a point-blank shot to the heart? Convicted of... well, of murder.”

“Y/n. Y/n, wake up, wake– what’s the matter with her?”

“Her heart has been having to work overtime to cope with the blood loss, it’s no wonder... we should’ve kept her in bed. I need her hooked up to an IV with type O negative blood bags, stat.”

“Y/n, please...” and the voice is a whisper in your ear. “Wake up.”

“Yeah, wake up.” Yoongi prods you with an empty bottle.

“You’re dead,” you tell him.

“’Cause you killed me. It ain’t my fault.”

You think about it. “Are you sure about that?”

His gaze darkens, the mellow expression turns murderous and he swings the bottle, letting the glass connect solidly with your jaw.

“Ungh!” You cough weakly, tasting blood, and your jaw feels like it’s on fire. Yoongi, however, isn’t done and he wields the bottle like a weapon, striking every inch of you within reach, emphasizing each word with a blow.

“Fucking bitch...” Thud. “You think it’s my fault?” Thud. “You’re the one that stayed, day after day after fucking day.” Thud. “You don’t got the right to be mad.” Thud. “You deserve to suffer.”

“Stop it,” you cry.

“Doctor, can you please tell me what’s going on with her movement? A seizure?”

Yoongi smashes the bottle against your collarbone and you scream in pain. “Stop!”

“Possibly... but we saw no sign of head trauma.”

“Stop!” You bolt upwards to find yourself back in the hospital bed, sandwiched in between the blanket and a plain white towel.

“Wha...”

Dr. Kim pats the towel. “You were sweating so much, you were soaking through the sheets– we were trying to keep you comfortable.

“Th-th-th-” you can’t get the words out, you’re trembling so violently. The doctor notices.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asks in concern. You shake your head no. Lie.

You turn to Sergeant Kim, who’s leaning against the wall with a stony expression.

“What happened? You were moving, jerking around in your sleep,” he says.

“Bad dream.” I killed him, I killed him, I killed my Yoongi...

A knock. “Y/n?”

After Yoongi’s attacks on your psyche, Jungkook’s voice is a ray of light. He rolls in on a wheelchair and grips your hand in his own.

“Are you alright?”

You smile gratefully. “Better now.”

“Jeon, you’ll need to file a full report on this incident, understood?” the sergeant says.

“Yessir.”

“The both of you will have to stay overnight,” Dr. Kim announces. “If all goes well, you can be out of here in a week or so.”

“In the meantime, if they’re going to keep flitting about to see each other, can we move both of them into one room?” Sergeant Kim sighs. "Officer Jeon, what are you doing here? Are you flirting on the job again?”

Jungkook blushes. “I’m not flirting, I’m not on duty, and I wanted to see how y/n was doing. Sir.”

“I’m okay. I’m stronger than I look,” you say. Aren’t you?

Yoongi’s voice echoes loud and clear in your mind. “No, you’re not.”

A/N: Hiya! Hope you enjoyed this continuation of Less. As always, all types of feedback are really appreciated, so feel free to comment or drop me an ask with your thoughts!

[tomhollanduniverse]

Blood [Tom Holland Oneshot]

Pairing: Tom Holland x Female Reader

Word Count: 1,817

Warnings: Fluffy fluff, mentions of blood, someone getting seriously hurt, maybe cursing? I can’t remember.

Anon requested this prompt for my 1.5k Celebration: Could you please write a tom x reader that they are filming 'spiderman homecoming' together and he ends up accidentaly hurting her very serious and there's a lot of blood and maybe she fainting in the set?

Hope it’s what you wanted. Let me know what you think! You guys have no idea how hard it is for me to write an action scene, so bear with me. I tried my best. But my requests are open, if anyone would like a oneshot, imagine or blurb!

Candice’s 1.5k Celebration

The sun was rising, as I pull onto the set of “Spider-Man: Homecoming.” I rub the sleep from my eyes, trying to wake myself up a bit because I knew it was going to be a really busy day with stunts. I take a swig of my large Starbucks, hoping it would magically calm my nerves. It was just cool enough to drink, the coffee burning my throat a little on the way down. I was extremely nervous, my stomach doing flips, adrenaline pumping through my veins. It wasn’t like I had never done stunts before but it was always different when other people were involved. Especially since that person was not only Peter’s love interest in the movie, but she was also my love interest. I pull my script out of my bag, scanning it for the thousandth time, checking over everything. It was the day we were filming Peter Parker saving his love interest’s life from a collapsing building. Y/N was offered to have her stunt double perform it, but she wants to be involved in as much as she could be. She was brave, I’ll give her that.

 I scan the parking lot to see who was here already. I swallowed hard, noticing Y/N’s car just adjacent to mine. She must have pulled up when I was distracted by my reading. I could see her script in her lap, pink and yellow highlighter streaking the pages. Her mouth and hands moving, not noticing me watching her. I take a deep breath, opening my door. I sneak over to her car, tapping on her window. She jumps, I notice some red spreading across her cheeks. I laugh at how adorable she is, as she opens her door.

 “Well, good morning. Are we a bit jumpy, today?” I ask, shit-eating grin on my face.

 “You ass. You already know I’m nervous about today.” She huffs. She grabs her purse out of the passenger seat, and slides out. Her eyes glow, looking at me. It was amazing at how beautiful she was without makeup. Not many girls could pull off the no-makeup thing as well as she does.

 “Why ever would you be nervous about today?” I ask nonchalantly, leaning against her car, crossing my arms. Her face drops and she rolls her eyes.

 “I wonder!” she says, sticking her open script in my face. “Let’s go get this day over with. I want to get scene 23-33 done, today.” she throws her purse over her shoulder.

 “That’s a pretty tall order. It might run into tomorrow.” We start walking toward our trailers, her hair blowing in the morning breeze. We stop and face each other.

 “Not if we’re actually serious about it, unlike you Mr. Blooper.” she pokes my chest hard. I flinch, grabbing my chest.

 “Owww…hey now. That hurt!”

 “Save the dramatics for filming, you wuss.” she lets out a breathy laugh.

 “You’re so mean. I think I’m bleeding.” She stops dead in her tracks.

 “Oh God, I hope not. Just the sight of blood makes me woozy.” I look at her in disbelief.

 “You do know it comes with performing your own stunts, right?”

 “Nothing has happened, yet.” she shrugs.

 “It’s going to be a long day. I’ll make sure the medics are on stand-by just in case.” biting my lip, struggling to hold back my smile. She rolls her eyes.

 “Just go to your trailer and get ready.” she says, evebrows furrowing, smiling. I sigh, watching her walk away, my eyes falling to her bum. I didn’t mean to be a perv but I could swear she was doing it on purpose. I shake my head, and walk into my trailer.

  I hid my nervousness well, but my heart races in anticipation. Especially when I watch Y/N walk out of her trailer, her clothes torn for the scene. I was in my Spiderman costume, keeping the suffocating mask off until the scene began.

 “Okay, attention people. Today, we will be performing one of the most dangerous stunts in the whole movie. Please do your exercises to warm-up. The last thing we need today is getting hurt or pull a muscle.” I look over to Y/N and her breathing was irregular. She catches me staring, her expression immediately softening. “We will be doing scenes 23-30, today. 27-30 will consist of Spiderman swinging in and saving Y/N’s character from the crumbling building. You two come with me, and we will get you tethered.” She hesitantly walks over to the director, I follow suit, she smiles as I get closer to her.

 “You ready to do this, Tom? Because I’m not.” I slide the mask over my face, grinning at her before slipping it over my head.

 “Who’s Tom? I’m Spiderman.” I leave my mouth and nose uncovered. She lets out a giggle, facepalming at my attempt at humor. I was actually attempting to calm both of our nerves: Her smile calms me down and my humor calms her. We start walking to the studio to get the hardest part out of the way, first.

 “Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you--” she starts but hesitates. “Would you like to go to dinner with me tonight, if you’re not too busy?” My breath caught in my throat at her question. She looks down at her feet, as we’re walking to the set. The director looks at me out of the corner of his eye, grinning wide.

 “Uhh--” I clear my throat, realizing I look like a total idiot with my mask half on. “--Yeah of course. Yes.” I stammer. Her head shoots up to me, eyes gleaming. Even through this uncomfortable mask I could still see how beautiful she is. I couldn’t believe it.

 “Well, since you two have inspiration to get through this day in one piece and quickly, let’s get this started.” The director laughs. “In this scene, Y/N will be lying on the ground, on her back, unconscious. As she wakes up, she realizes the office building is crumbling above her; Spiderman swoops in from the side, and gets her out of the way just in time, gliding just over the surface of the pavement.” The director demonstrates with a series of drawings. “The dangerous part of this is being so low to the ground, with rough debris on the ground. Not only that, but if the cue is missed and Tom swoops in too hard it could sent Y/N sliding across the floor into the wall. We have cushions against the wall but hitting it at a high speed will hurt terribly.”

 “Oh--is that all?” Y/N laughs, her eyebrows raising.

 “It’s not too late to have your stunt double do this.” I reassure her. She immediately shakes her head ‘no.’

 “I want to do this.” she says confidently. “Let’s get this over with.”

 “Okay, let’s get set up!” the director smiles. The crew teathers me up and raises me about 30 feet into the air, to the top of a “building.” Y/N looks up at me, waving, as she was getting her makeup done. She seems pretty calm for a dangerous stunt like this. Although, her asking me to dinner earlier in front of an audience was a pretty gutsy move. She definitely was a brave one and I admired that about her. Bravery would take her far in this business.

 “Quiet on the set!” assistants screamed. “Everyone get ready for your cue!”

 “And…ACTION!”

 Y/N’s character slowly woke from her unconscious state, looking around at the falling objects around her, speaking her lines flawlessly. She suddenly looks up as a crumbling piece of the roof falls toward her, and she screams. That was my cue to jump but I had forgotten to pull my mask the rest of the way down. I yanked the mask down and jumped toward her, missing the cue by a whopping 3 seconds. Not to mention, I jumped with too much force. I knew from the second I jumped that I would regret it. I swing toward Y/N, holding my arms out to catch her. Instead, our greatest fears were brought to life. We collided, sending Y/N sliding across the floor. She violently rolled over the debris and hit the wall with enough force for the collision to echo through the whole building. I unbuckled myself, as everyone immediately ran to see if she was okay. Miraculously, she stands up, using the wall to steady herself.

 “Y/N! Are you okay?!” I scream. She turns to face me, her nose is bloody and a few cuts were visible on her arms. Some were bleeding and some were minor. She held her side, trying to catch her breath. As I reach her, she wipes her nose with the back of her hand. When she sees the blood, she looks up at me and her head goes limp, her legs give out from underneath her. I immediately remember her telling me earlier about how she was sensitive to the sight of blood. I catch her just before she hits the ground and I cradle her in my arms. “Y/N, darling. Can you hear me?” I say, tearing the mask off. The crew runs up to us, handing me a cool, wet wash cloth. I gently start wiping the blood away from her nose, being careful as to not cause her anymore pain than I already have. Her eyes flutter open, her mouth open, breathing raggedly.

 “So you miss your cue by a few seconds, but you happen to catch me before I faint from seeing blood?” she asks, smiling through the pain. She grabs her side where our bodies collided, wincing in pain. “You’re unbelieveable.” She was able to crack a joke, no matter what the situation was.

 “I know I am.” I gently tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her. “Does this ruin my chances of that date we’re supposed to go on, tonight?” She bursts out laughing.

 “Like I said, Tom. You’re unbelieveable!”

[smilingheroes]

Please,,,tell me about Fishin,,

Oh!! Thank you for asking!! ahh Im not sure what you’d like to know! But she has two tags you can see info on her in!! However if you have any specific questions not covered in these tags, always feel free to send in another ask and I can answer!! ^v^ 

First Tag  | Second Tag 

Also here’s some general info on her under the cut, since it’s..very long ^^;; Thank you so much for expressing interest in fishin!! It always makes me so happy when people ask about her!! 

(this was written awhile ago but I don’t think I ever posted it on here? eitherway–) 

She’s my own persona ofc, so I drew most of her backstory from my own life ahaha;;

She’s the daughter of two quirk users whose families opposed their union, and disowned them soon after marrying (something that happened in my actual life..so I don’t have barely any relatives outside of my main family unit). My mother married my father out of convenience due to factors I won’t state..and honestly the two eventually came to resent each other for the theoretical anchor they’d weighed themselves down with due to the union. If that hadn’t been enough, I was born sickly from birth…experiencing all kinds of medical issues that took away from most of their money–My mother began to resent me too. My father wanted me to live a better life than he had–but constantly pushed me so far that nothing else mattered…and in the end I wasn’t good enough for either of them. Unlike my brothers who excelled in everything they did–socially and academically and most all, physically. It always felt like I never belonged there in the first place–that because of me, everyone in the family had to work harder. I always felt guilty for being born–for being sick both mentally and physically, etc. There was a lot of abuse in my life growing up–from home and from the outside world. I won’t go into that detail, but it still affects me even today–though I try my hardest to work past it!

My quirks are: Minor aquatic manipulation + Bleeding Heart (a type of healing quirk) along with the appearance of more fishlike features!

Despite my many health issues, my body is undoubtedly durable! Despite all the trials it’s been put through I’ve always survived! For my quirksona, this factored heavily into the use of the quirk ‘Bleeding Heart’–in which I can transfer physical injuries onto my own body. I will experience all the pain and recovery time it takes to heal–of course, the drawback is that I can only take so much of this at a time–and I can not sustain fatal injuries without severe risk to my own life obviously. So it’s not as strong or amazing as a healing quirk like Recovery Girl. I can also manipulate water for short periods of time–using them in mostly defensive purposes. The tactics used make me a rather weak fighter on my own in the end–which is why I strive to work as the best support and one day become the sidekick of an amazing hero! Even if im not popular or that hero gets all the credit! What I want most of all, is to help everyone so they can keep fighting! To protect the safety of those who risk their lives for others!

However, before this dream–I had wanted to do many other things in life–but couldn’t reach them due to circumstance…back then I had no will to smile and only felt like I could exist in the world if I was useful to the people around me. So I was often used and taken advantage of in many ways and by many people who I thought I could trust–I felt that i Deserved the treatment for not being good enough. Even when I wanted to be so much more…

Then a moment came when I realized a new dream. It speaks to a memory in my past where some of the guys in my class took a drawing I was working on and tore it up and stomped on it in front of me, even when I started crying they were all laughing at me. So in the bnha-version…I thought, what if someone had stood up for me then? In bnha-ver. This happens 2 years before Izuku and I attend U.A. We were in different middle schools at the time–but on that day–he happened to be passing by this bullying scene. I imagine he must have traveled around his town a lot to take notes on all the hero/villain happenings after all. And if it were him…It would be the same…his body would move on its own and he would call out to them–even if he was shaking–He couldn’t let something like that happen and not do anything about it! At that moment, for me, a Hero had appeared! It was at his own expense in the end since he ended up getting roughed up–and he apologized afterwards, saying he wasn’t much help–but started to gather the pieces of paper on the ground the best he could. He tried to tape them back together for me…he was going so far for me…a stranger he’d never met before. He was doing so much for someone pitiful like me. He was everything a hero could ever hope to be…and I thought of him as such even at that time when he was quirkless. We never managed to cross paths again after that–but his impact was always on my mind–I decided from then that I wanted to attend U.A. and become someone who could support heroes in every way I could! I kept the taped up drawing hanging in my room to remind me of the Hero that inspired and saved me that day.

I was admitted to U.A. hanging on a thin string due to the combined efforts of my written test score + rescue points. I was obviously admitted into one of the support classes and not the main hero course–but since I was very sickly, I went to see recovery girl a lot and sometimes helped out in her office at my own request. This is where I would meet Izuku for the second time–but this time learn his name–and that’s mostly where our actual friendship and stuff would start–as well as any other interactions with others such as tsuyu, miro, etc.

General Personality overview:

Dark brown short fluffy curly hair/ Short stature, at 5′0, and rather chubby–which makes me very insecure and nervous. In relation to that, i have very frail skin and tend to be covered in bruises/cuts/scraps, which makes me even more anxious. Very shy, and constantly looks like a nervous wreck–however, im willing and open to accept anyone with a smile–especially if they need help with something–even if they’re a complete stranger. Because of this tendency, I tend to be taken advantage of a lot, since im a bit naive and always think the best of those around me. When im close to someone, I can actually be very air-headed and clumsy which causes me to become flustered/embarrassed easily. Despite being sickly from birth, I try not to let the heaviness of my medical conditions weigh me down often. However, I am terribly hard on myself, and tend blame myself for not being good enough–but Im trying to work on this every day, so that I can accept myself better. Drawing is my main passion, since I’ve been unable to go into a more hands-on Marine Biology due to my medical conditions prohibiting me from expeditions and diving. however, I love art just as much, and put my very best effort into practicing and learning new techniques every day! All in all, I want to do my best for the people around me and make them smile!

[braindamageforbeginners]

Neuralgia/ADA/GOP-On-The-Run

Cycle 7, Day 19

First of all, next week’s my “week off,” which is usually just a blood-draw, however, because it also marks Dad’s birthday, which he’s intimated is supposed to be A Party of Special Magnificence, so I’ll be in the greater SoCal area during my “off week,” and, with my brother at hand in a festive mood, there’s a chance I won’t come to my senses until November. So, unless something goes spectacularly wrong at next week’s blood-draw, there’s a chance I’ll only update/write about random goings-on, or Dad’s giant, dragon-shaped firework (that isn’t a euphemism, I’ve been explicit that I want to see wizards, halflings, the whole deal).

Today, however, I’d like to draw some attention to my own physical disabilities (such as they are), why large chunks of the country aren’t ADA-compliant (I don’t even mean in a paved sense), and your very corrupt, local congressman, if you’re from a rural area (almost guaranteed).

So, even though I am automatically, federally-qualified as disabled (look it up under “compassionate allowances”). However, 80% of applicants eventually get disability coverage because - here’s a shocker - when people can’t do their jobs or survive normally, that tends to be noticeable, unless you have an extremely advanced neurodegenerative disease (in which case, you get to be president). And when I applied for disability, no one was, shall I say, directly unpleasant, but I got the very distinct impression that everyone would rather be doing something else. It wasn’t until I actually wrote my own condition down and told the social security rep to call their boss and give them that diagnosis that I got a bit of an attitude change. So, most disabled folks tend to be somewhat sensitive about it, because it is a pain in the ass (sometimes literally) and society is very much stacked against us. I actually wouldn’t even have given it much thought unless I had to fill out and file paperwork on it. Again, be kind and patient (that’s the general message), and don’t assume. I prefer to be called “crippled,” because I feel that word accurately captures both what happened to me, and and how it’s effected me.

To that, I also get passing privilege, because I can walk (though steep stairs and long sprints are out), and you’d only tell my left side is off if you were familiar with me. So, a neurologically-mangling injury usually occurs in one of two ways, externally (or externally-derived), which is usually what you associate with disabled vets, or internally (either due to clot, stroke, or cancer/tumor).. In the former type, you’d see nerve damage below the injury point. In the latter type, it’s a little harder. Everything in the brain is integrated - physically -  it’s a little harder to keep track of the higher-order, Wile E. Coyote (Super Genius) functions, especially since you develop new neural pathways throughout your life. But, just for the physical functions, damage to the brain occurs on the opposite side of the body, and it’s a half-body thing (most of my left-side is unreliable in the right circumstances, but for day-to-day use, it’s just the lower leg and lower arm). And these can be anything from noticeable motor impairments to, in my case, “diminished sensation.” Again, I’m just speaking for myself, but neuralgia - the reduced/lost sensations and/or pain of nerve damage - is a killer for folks like me. In my own case, if you’ve ever had minor oral surgery or a filling where the dentist got a little careless injecting the novocaine, you’ll be familiar with the numbness issue. Your muscles worked just fine, but without sensation, it’s hard to orient them enough to get them to work. That’s a rather extreme example, and it’s not terribly accurate for me, but it’ll give you an idea of what I’m talking about. Again, unless you know me, it’s kind of hard to spot me (I only hobble on inclines). Unless you knew I’d been trained as a pianist for a number of years when I was much younger, you’d have a tough time guessing my left hand has trouble with buttons. And, fortunately, the legal definition of disabilities isn’t limited to “patient is mostly-functional, but severely reduced by previous-standards.” (I also really do spend an hour or two in the gym every day, if only because I want a body capable of absorbing and metabolizing every last damned drop of marizomib they can pump into me)(which, come to it, is probably some sort of admission of addiction). I am, however, going to start referring to my left arm as “my Grendel arm,” because, if I’m attacked by Vikings, I intend to let that side take the damage (again, it won’t be as painful because of that “reduced sensation” problem I run into when I’m very tired)(and, hopefully, when I’m on fire and being attacked by Norsemen seeking retribution for

Speaking of legal issues, now’s a good time as any to point out that vast swathes of the country are near-impossible to live in if you’re, let’s say, medically-compromised. Now, I realize that I’m a very special, special-needs patient/citizen in that my existence is dependent on technology that’s beyond the ragged, bleeding edge of most hospitals - most states, as it turns out. But that’s going to be true of just being able to access decent care in most places, even for something relatively simple, like the heart disease currently building up in the Boomers. And I bring that up because, in most places, your elected federal officials are actually working against your best interest. Frequently with your consent. And these are, in my experience, always in rural districts. The party of your representative isn’t an issue, I’d bet; the issue is whether you live in a zip code with a population density closer to Los Angeles, or Maine. Americans (or, health-industry lobbyists) made a hullabaloo about Obamacare (or, as it’s formally known, the Affordable Care Act - the ACA). However, for people like me, it did help knock down things that will kill Grandma and Granpa, like lifetime limits (I’ve reached and exceeded those probably ten years ago), and - this is big - prior conditions. These are both weasel terms used by insurance companies to reduce patient numbers. Again that wasn’t a major issue for me until an orange-haired idiot came into office, promising to change all that. At the time - these were in the intertumor years - I was living in Utah. Here’s an important thing to understand when someone is actively working to undermine your life expectancy; they’re not going to be honest about it. And, in my experience, elected officials from rural areas tend to have more in common with Boss Hogg than they do Mr. Smith, but that could be because the first Congressman I met “representing” me was Jerry Lewis (that was his nom de guerre)(but not his real name)(also not his real hair), who was almost hilariously sleazy, and consistently plagued by corruption accusations. Which, uh, I think, describes almost all of the Congressmen who represented that district. So, you can imagine my complete lack of interest at being pushed and prodded and shoved in front of a congressional underling at the sitting Congressman’s office (this was Chris Stewart - or his local office, BTW).

We will ignore the odd decorating decision to include a large photo of a bomber with an explosion on it - I guess it’d been made by a constituent. We were met by - as expected - an office underling. The hiring and firing and promoting of office staff in small districts is usually pretty sordid. That’s not some sort of slanderous accusation; all professional politicians are legally prohibited from directly employing their companies or family members. Most, like Ron Paul, figure out a workaround until those pesky Congressional Ethics reports come out. The assistant in front of us assured us - in the wake of GOP populism that’d swung in just a few weeks earlier, that the Congressman didn’t like his job, only did it because no one else was stepping up, and was all in favor of term limits and revolving door policies - basically, the sort of pep-talk I always look for in the medical industry when looking for a well-qualified specialist (”Yeah, he’s great at his job, but he dislikes it and is only waiting for an opportunity to get out.”). The assistant was not the Congressman’s chief adviser on health care (I can only assume that was some wildly unqualified lobbyist from Pfizer, but that’s pure speculation). You know what really sends out a message of professionalism and receptiveness to constituent needs? When a constituent calls to schedule an appointment to voice concerns regarding health legislation, and the person qualified to answer such things isn’t in the office. Anyway, even though the assistant didn’t have any answers to most of my questions, he assured us that the congressman didn’t want to cut anyone’s insurance, but thought that a free market - the standard BS filler that comes from someone who has never been thrown out of a hospital (yes, this happens, folks, it made headlines in Baltimore a few years ago). Upon later checking, the assistant had actually actively lied about both issues, based on the Congressman’s actual voting record. Again, I don’t think he’s alone, I just think rural Congressman who coast on for a career based on name recognition aren’t used to an informed, angry public making proper inquiries. At least have the guts to tell me it’s more immediately profitable to kill me than to keep me alive; we’ll have to agree to disagree, but I get it. To make a long story short, because of Utah’s combination of hilariously inadequate insurance coverage for people like me, and my stubborn refusal to settle for less-than-best when seeing neurology specialists, I’m no longer a constituent. Thank you, sir, you ran me off your land, kudos. But I’m certainly not alone. Again, the Boomers are at an age where they’re going to be dropping dead of heart disease, cancer, etc. That’s not some dire, emo warning, either, it’s just that they’re all in their 60′s or above, and, until 2013, almost half of the US was either uninsured or disastrously uninsured. I think the HMO system will last two dozen cases of wheeling grandma and grandpa into the cold street before it comes to an end. But what the hell do I know? I’m just a sick person who’s had to learn insane amounts.about the health insurance industry and pharmaceutical companies to make it this far.

[corazonstealer]

Cure - Ace x Reader

“Where is she?!”

“Someone! Go get the doc!”

Your eyes quickly shot open from the frantic calling. Heavy footing seeking your attention as soon as possible stirred you from your sleep.

Immediate thoughts of your Captain’s condition suddenly plummeting accelerated your own heartbeat. Had he suddenly stopped breathing? Was he bleeding out? Various ill scenarios rushed through your mind as you jumped up from your current resting location trying to get out as quickly as possible.

“Who is he?”

“I head his name is Fire Fist Ace. He’s a fool though for thinking that he could beat Pops.”

“Huh?” You took a deep breath, swallowing the rapid heartbeat stuck in your throat. Was all this fuss just about this foolish man being defeated?

You gave a deep sigh from getting so worked up over nothing. Tossing yourself back into your make shift bed, you wished for a few more hours of rest. Surly the nurses on call could attend to his injuries.

Covering your ears, you tried to return to sleep pushing out the continued pleas. A soft hum becoming louder to block out the pestering noise continuing to search for you.

“There you are…[NAME] -yoi.” Marco expelled a deep breath to witnessing your childish actions.

Your loud voice leading him directly to your secret location inside of the storage closet. Bunched up wash cloths and staked crates created the perfect space to hide away if only for a while.

“[NAME], you need to come out side right now -yoi.” Reaching over, he grabbed your wrist pulling your hand away from covering your ears.

Abruptly putting a pause to your humming, you looked up to the man intruding in your space. “M-Marco,” you hesitated as he suddenly appeared. “Fine, I’ll be there soon.” You rolled your eyes giving him the generic answer that he wanted wishing that he’d leave.

“C-Come on,” attempting to pull your hand away only increased his grip.

You sighed, giving up quickly as you knew that you couldn’t win against this man.

“Where is he?” With a soft yawn, you approached the gathered group around the infirmary door.

Nudging your way though, you found the man laying still in question. Although rumors about the fiery captain floated around, this was the first time that you had seen him.

Your heart skipped an initial beat from first glance. Vastly different, he wasn’t the distorted monster that you had pictured would be waiting.

Although scuffed and bruised, his warm face illuminated his soft freckles. Speckled upon his color changing cheeks, they raised to sudden uncomfortable breathing.

“We should hurry,” breaking your silence, a nurse grabbed you by the shoulder.

You gulped deeply as you shook your head focusing on the importance of his injuries, “R-Right.”

He mumbled as he came back to. Tossing back and forth in his space, the area became quickly uncomfortable. Reoccurring nightmares of his last battle leading to defeat spurring him fully awake. With a large gasp, he sat back up upon the medical bed. Crunching sanitary paper beneath him as he frantically looked around the empty room.

Where am I?

Ace began looking around. Various medical instruments he pulled from the navy bag sitting atop the only other piece of furniture. He scrunched his nose to the ‘torture’ devices before turning to a peek of familiar face. Beneath jargon filled papers mentioning his name every so often, he pulled out his wanted poster.

Before he could question, the jarring of the door knob backed him towards the bed. Holding a defensive position towards the unknown person attempting to enter, he braced himself for the worst.

Coming back into the room, you calmly wiped your hands. His multiple abrasions made for a good amount of work to keep up on. One cut here would soon turn into an infection. A cold sweat quickly becoming a high fever. You held your breath each time hoping that he would soon pull through it.

Initially caught up in your worries, you didn’t look up until he made a minor noise. Taken aback from his presence, you took a step back recovering from the spook. “O-Oh, you’re awake so soon. I expected you to be out for a bit longer.” Shock turned into a sigh of relief as his recovery was faster than expected. Tucking the rag back into your pocket, you returned to your desk pushing his scattered files into a neat pile.

“How are you feeling?”                                                                                                                

He let go of his held in breath. Your soft voice bringing an odd sense of calm to his frantic overworked nerves. How was he feeling? He didn’t say a word as his legs suddenly began to fumble back.

“Are you okay? You might want to take it easy or else you’ll end up reopening your wounds.”

He looked down at his arms then his chest, carefully wrapped covering the most serious of wounds. Failing to notice the coverings before, the pain suddenly began to prick at his body. Days of rigorous fighting taking a heavier toll on his body than he had cared to think about.

“How long have I been sleeping for?” He raised his own question ignoring his pain.

Tapping your lips with a pen, you looked up at the ceiling counting the time. “Three days.”

His once soft face turned sour to the answer. Many days unconscious upon an enemy’s ship could only mean trouble.

“Don’t worry, Pops said to take as long as you need before reporting up to him.”

“Report? Like hell I will.” He snorted quickly snapping back.

“Hmm?” You turned around in your chair to his unexpected harsh tone. Lowering your glasses down the bridge of your nose, your brows joined together in confusion. “I thought you were a part of the crew now?”

Repulsed once more, he gave a sulking pout. Being called ‘son’ by the man himself, it was unexpected to say the least. Yet he wouldn’t accept it, no, not yet.

“No,” he continued to mutter, rejecting any kind hand on the matter. Refusing to sit around any longer, he pushed himself way from the bed seeking the exit.  

“H-Hey! Where do you think that you’re going?!” You frantically rushed up from your seat to stop him. Taking a quick hold of his wrist, you tried to keep him back.

You knew that Whitebeard wouldn’t be too pleased to have one of his sons injured anymore. Even though he had just joined, the old man cared for them all equally.

“D-Doctor’s orders, stay here.” You tried to assert your dominance with a forced stern tone. Tugging back on his wrist, you were quickly failing to pull him back inside.

He turned to face you as you held him back from what he wanted. The fear in your voice evident as your strong front was just that. “Please let me go,” Ace tried to reason with you.

You shook your head quickly rejecting any possibility of escape. “I can’t, I need you to stay here for a while longer and –ouch!”

You quickly let go to the scorching pain. His being suddenly transforming into a scolding fire catching a large handful.

Completely different from Marco’s light healing flames, his caused a continuous pain. Fanning your hand frantically in the air, you tried to shake away the sensation.

He gulped, “H-Hey, I’m sorry, are you okay?” Ace paused in his eager steps turning back to your pained cries. Suddenly unable to control his powers, he didn’t mean to bring upon the injury.

You scowled at him pulling your hand away from his sight. “J-Just go!” You huffed vocally pushing him out of your office, suddenly not caring what he could get himself into.

He bit his lip hesitating in his steps. Unsure if he should stay or leave, he looked back at the door being shut making up his mind for him.

The days passed with Ace unable to learn his lesson. Consistently picking fights with Whitebeard himself, his injuries continued to appear as quickly as they were patched up. New gashes were covered by attentive nurses and not by the main doctor.

“Hey, where’s the [h/c] woman?” Ace questioned, lifting his head up as his arm was being bandaged for the umpteenth time. The days collected into a long week without seeing her even passing by. Only her pained face replayed over and over in his mind picking at his conscious.

“Do you mean Doctor [NAME]?” The woman in pink pondered for a moment as she snipped the final gauze covering securing it tightly with a fastener. “I’m not sure, she had a pretty bad burn on her hand last time that I saw her...”

“[NAME]?” First time hearing your name, he repeated it over and over to himself before he took a deep gulp. The injury being mentioned bringing upon an instant stirring regret. Although he didn’t see the extent of the accident, he never imagined that it would be so severe.

The nurse giggled, “She’s quite clumsy to be honest, apparently she burnt her hand on the stove.” She continued to add on before realizing that he wasn’t partaking in the funny tidbit. “Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.” She reassured noting the quickly fleeting expression upon his face.

Ace harshly swallowed back the lump in his throat. Forcing a lopsided smile, a new resolve was set.

“Are you sure that you should be drinking that much Pops?” You sweated as you watched him drinking with no end in sight. Monitoring each one of his various IVs, you made rounds to the countless connections hoping that they could handle his excess intake.

“Gurarara!” Whitebeard bellowed a hearty laugh from deep within to your worry.

Taking another long drink from his wooden mug, he completely disregarded your word continuing to indulge in his favorite liquor. “Lighten up, will you? We’re having fun!”

The crowd roared before him clinking their mugs together in agreeance. Another infamous Whitebeard pirates banquet spontaneously popped up on deck. Rowdy men with sky high pilled plates and too much liquor in their mugs gathered for a long day of binging. Nothing too out of the ordinary now days. The once celebratory reasonings washed away with the alcohol.

“Someone go get [NAME] a drink!” Whitebeard called out as the crowd backed him up with loud cheering.

“N-No no, that won’t be necessary!” You immediately rejected the idea of joining. Backing up, your hands shot up in defense not wishing to partake.

“Oh?” Whitebeard lowered his drink as he curiously looked at your hand. Wrapped up neatly, his playful tone shifted, “What happened to your hand?”

“This?” You looked at your hand with a questioning inflection. Minor pain and healing peeled skin hid behind the bandages preventing an infection. Pulsating suddenly as you thought of him, you quickly hid your hand behind your back.

“Oh, it’s nothing! I just cut myself on accident.” You sweated making up any reason deviating from the burning truth.

“Are you sure about that?” He continued to ask, unsure if he should take your word for it.

You gulped deeply from his keen eye picking up on the slightest bits of your uncomfortable tone. How could he easily tell that you were lying? Trying to hold onto your best poker face, you quickly nodded. “Mhm…” your voice fleeted as you turned to hide your face in documents focusing on another subject.

He shook his head in disbelief, although he knew that you’d come to him if a true issue were to arise.

Leaving his trust in you, he turned towards another soul making his appearance for the first time in the day. “Ace, my body, come join!”

You turned to his name suddenly being called out. Peeking over your cover, you nervously scanned the crowd for the man in question.

Over the past few days, you had left his continued care in the hands of others. Mixing up medications and salves behind the scenes specifically for him, you were unsure of if being visually present was the best thing.

Marco relayed Ace’s ups and down to you. From his stubborn refusal to his tearful acceptance just a few days before, he kept you updated.

Although word of his rather smoothly transition into the family brought you relief, his next words made you nervous. Relaying Ace’s request to speak to you, you weren’t sure how to approach him just yet. Simply shyly holding back for now, the moment would surly come naturally.

Looking past the rowdy men, you found the bare-chested man making his way up to Whitebeard’s calling. Suddenly laying his eyes upon you, he hesitated, pausing abruptly in his steps.

With a large grin, Thatch suddenly appeared besides dropping an arm over Ace’s shoulders. Bringing him in close, he redirected Ace towards a new location disrupting his desired path.

You kept eye contact following until it broke. Sitting with the Phoenix and Thatch, Ace joined in the banquet putting a hold to the desired conversation.

You gave a deep sigh from the uncomfortable aura. Too many bodies present for a proper conversation. Soft glances caught by each other every few minutes, it would have to wait for another time.

“Hey Pops, I’m going back inside. Please let me know if you need anything.” You looked up to the giant man ready to call it a day. With a nod releasing you from your duties, you stepped off from the high platform. Following the back exit, a sudden heavy bout of laughter turned your attention.

“What’s going on?” You looked back into the crowd before finding the source. Tossed sloppily on his back, Ace laid spread as the men around him appeared to not care about his sudden worrisome condition.

“W-What’s wrong?” You rushed over getting no response from the uncontrollable group.

Pressing your fingertips into his neck beneath his jawline, you found his weak pulse. Seeing no other option, you pinched his nose leaning in with no hesitation to breathe some air into him.

Silence quickly over took the crew in a wave as they watched the spectacle unfold before them.

A few pushes to his chest and more air into his lungs, you finally began noticed a slight change in his ‘ailment.’ Furrowing his brows together, he groaned as he slowly opened his eyes catching an unexpected sight. Soft warm lips laid over his as he held still blinking heavily to the sight.

Quickly jerking back, you jumped up from his surprisingly speedy recovery.

He sat up, stretching his arms over his head. Deeply yawning, he rubbed his eyes to being abruptly woken up. “That was one hell of a dream,” he chuckled nervously as he noted everyone’s surprised expressions refusing to change.

“What’s going…on…” his words fleeted as he refused to believe what he had just seen. Slowly glancing up, he found you standing above.

“D-Dream?” Drained of color, you stood mortified. “You were sleeping?!”

The once heavy silence of the crowd lifted into a second round of laughter. Unbeknownst to you, all new about his true condition.

He’s always like that. He’s always falling asleep.

“W-What?” You frantically looked around to the joyous grin appearing from your mistake. As your cheeks flushed a deep crimson red, you bit your lip to being left out and allowed to act so brashly without being stopped.

Even Marco couldn’t give a reason as to why he didn’t speak up. Simply taking a sip, he gave a smug grin from behind his mug.

You pouted as you balled your fists together. Embarrassment quickly turning into frustration, you cracked your knuckles as the joke wouldn’t last much longer.

“Huh?” Ace groaned as he came back to. Rubbing his head, he pressed down on the sudden pain causing a spontaneous headache. Looking around, confusion set it as he could have sworn that he was outside not too long ago.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” You laid an ice pack upon his injured head as you nervously chuckled an apology. “I guess we’re even now,” your laugh continued as you flashed your bandaged hand.

A quick joke you wished to make, nothing to be taken too seriously. Although he didn’t take it that way.

He took hold of your wrist careful not to hurt you this time before you could pull away. Raising your hand up, he stared closely as if he could see through the white covering.

“H-Hey,” you tried to pull your hand away. Despite your attempts, he wasn’t budging. Growing tighter, he let go of a breath as his expression rapidly sunk.

“I’m okay, really!” You tried to reassure. “Look…” beginning to unwrap your dressings, he paused your hand.

Before you could continue, he laid a peck on the palm of your hand.

Despite being over bandages, you could feel the warmth behind his kiss. A light dusting began to color your cheeks as his soft action caught you off guard. “I-I…” your train of thought derailed turning into a stuttering mess.

He lowered your hand coming up to your flustered expression. Cleaning his throat, he looked over to the side gaining a similar colorization upon his features. “Sorry, that’s what I used to do when my little brother got hurt…which was all the time…”

You chuckled softly to his explanation being muttered with a slight smile. Understanding his approach, his lopsided grin made your heart skip a beat.

Cupping his face gentry in your hands, you returned his warm smile. “That’s so sweet, thank you,” you accepted his style of treatment for a cure.

Raising a high smile, Ace was relieved to your ease of acceptance. “Hey…”

Loudly cleaning his throat, Marco stepped in breaking the moment. “[NAME], before you go further, I need a few ice packs -yoi.”

“Don’t mind us, we’ll be gone soon.” Thatch gave a sly wink as he took the liberty in looking through your cabinets.

Their mere presence in the moment made you sigh; adding the unnecessary teasing agitated the pulsating nerve in your forehead.

Taking a deep breath, you turned to calmly respond. “Of course, I have one right here,” removing your hands from Ace, you held the cold pack.

“Hand it over…wait, what are you doing? -yoi.” The pair began to step back slowly from your sudden approach. With a menacing look in your eyes tossing the pack seemed like a bad idea.

“What are you talking about? I’m just trying to give it to you, just stay still please.” The softness in your voice drained as you forced on a smile.

“Yeah, of course…” Thatch tried to reason with you before dashing down he hall in a quick sprint with Marco.

“Get back here!” You followed quickly behind threatening them with every step.

“Ace! Come get your girlfriend!”  

“Shut up!”

Read on DA