#it’s like when a loud noise startles you except only one muscle and nothing was there to trigger it

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

FUCK! I’ve been going through my ao3 history looking for a few fics (it’s been taking ages. I’ve been using the site for years and it shows) and I sometimes have muscle spasms or jerks. Well, guess what fucking happened while I was scrolling. MY GODDAMMED ARM DECIDED TO FLINCH/JERK OR WHATEVER! I accidentally deleted a fic from my history and I have no idea what it was. I had still been reading the summary before it! This is worse than when this happens with a bookmark because at least when that happens I can scour my history for what I lost. I’m so fucking mad at my arm right now!

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith is halted in his tracks again by Lance’s sudden stop.

“Lance. Dude. Come on.”

Lance isn’t listening even a little. There’s a crease between his eyebrows, furrowed as they are, and his dark eyes flit rapidly back and forth, scanning the hustle and bustle of the giant crowd of the market they’re in.

Keith tries tugging Lance’s hand again. It does nothing. Lance always suddenly grows a ridiculous amount of muscle when he’s being stubborn.

“Lance,” Keith tries again. “What’s up? If you want to go to a stall you can say so, you know. You don’t have to just look around until I guess what you’re thinking.”

Lance doesn’t take the bait, which is worrying. Usually Keith has no trouble riling him up even playfully.

Lance mumbles something, standing on his tiptoes and leaning to try and look over the crowd. (Fat chance. The Megel people are tall as all hell. Even Hunk barely passes their shoulders.)

“What? You’re mumbling.”

“I think she’s lost.”

Keith blinks.

“Okay, that cleared up exactly nothing.”

Lance finally looks over at him, and Keith’s earlier judgement was correct. Lance is biting his lip. He looks upset, anxious.

“The little girl. I think she’s lost.”

“What little girl?”

“I’ve been seeing this little girl walking around every few minutes. She looks scared. She keeps walking up to people and running away when she sees their faces. I think she’s crying. I haven’t seen her in a while, but I have a bad feeling.”

That sobers Keith up quickly. Unbidden, a memory he hasn’t touched in a decade floats up to the forefront of his mind; blurry around the edges, like an old home video: him and his Pa, at a flea market in west Texas. Keith couldn’t have been more than three. He remembers holding his Pa’s hand, as he always did, his tiny palm wrapped tightly around his father’s calloused finger. It had been so loud that the noise had coalesced into one constant swelling sound, like the constant background noise of the desert.

He’d let go of Pa’s hand for a millisecond. Just — just for a second, as he’d waddled over to someone’s kiosk, awed at the shining jewellery and glittering stones. The old woman manning that kiosk had been amused by him, spinning him a tale he doesn’t remember about a brooch and the ancient princess it had belonged to. He’d wanted to keep it, he remembers, and when he asked if he could have it she had told him he could as long as his parents paid for it.

The terror had come so quickly.

He’d looked over immediately and realised he couldn’t see his Pa at all. He’d even climbed on the top of the kiosk to try and see better, but all he saw was a sea of baseball caps and cowboy hats, and no sign of his father’s messy black hair or broad shoulders. He remembers how quickly the tears came, how they’d blurred his vision until the massive crowd was a smudge of colours and shapes. His chest had felt so tight that he’d struggled to breathe.

He doesn’t remember how he found his Pa. He thinks his Pa must have found him.

But he remembers that fear in startling clarity, the galloping of his heart, the first time he’d ever really thought I am all alone.

“There she is!” Lance cries, and that’s all the warning Keith gets before he’s yanked in a random direction. He barely manages to keep himself upright, balancing only by his hand clenched tightly in Lance’s.

Seconds later they’re stopped abruptly when Lance lets go of his hand to brace them on his knees, bending down to the little girl’s height. She looks at him distrustfully, wary of both a stranger and a stranger who is so clearly foreign.

“Hey, kiddo.” The words are delayed by a fraction of a second, meaning they’re translated — Lance isn’t speaking English.

By the instant look of surprise and then familiarity that rushes through the girl’s features, Lance is speaking her native tongue. Where the hell Lance had time to learn Megeli, Keith doesn’t know.

(Except yes he does, because he’s stayed up with Lance before diplomatic missions, unable to sleep with all his nerves — diplomatic missions are not his strong suit. Keith has caught Lance, though, on several occasions, quietly teaching himself a few key phrases in the language of whatever people they’re visiting. He does it if he can on rescue missions, too, small phrases like his name and his purpose, and “we are not here to hurt you”. Comforting words, soft words. An active proof that the person coming to save you cares enough about you to learn your language so you can hang on to whatever familiarity you can, in your most frightening moment, without the just-a-second-too-long delay of the translators. Keith got a little choked up, when he first saw it; Lance’s purple eyebags and lost beauty sleep, all so he has an off-chance of comforting whomever may need it. He still feels in intense affection bubbling up in his chest when he thinks about it.)

“Where is your home?”

The phrase is a little klunky, kind of a strange thing to ask — Keith can’t imagine that Lance is fluent, or anything, they only learnt about this mission yesterday so Lance can’t have had much time to memorize many phrases — but it drives the point across.

The little girl bursts into tears, flinging herself into Lance.

“I can’t find my mama,” she wails, sobs wracking her tiny frame. Lance wraps his arms around her immediately, unhesitatingly, pressing her head to his shoulder and standing carefully once he’s got her secured.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here to help. You know Voltron?”

It takes her a moment to gather herself, maybe to place the name, but she nods.

“I am part of Voltron.” He makes sure she’s supported properly, balanced on his hip, then uses his other hand to point at Keith. “Him, too. We can help.”

The little girl contemplates them for a moment. Keith tries to make himself look as helpful and non-scary as possible, but only really succeeds in making himself look constipated and dumb.

The little girl giggles. “He looks silly.”

Lance laughs too, bright and loud and obnoxious, and it takes up all the air in the room and Keith wants to breathe in the sound like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever inhaled.

“He does look silly. I think it’s the hair, hm? Very dorky.”

Lance’s words are no longer delayed, he’s back to English, but the little girl is unphased. She wipes her tears with her hands, and then on Lance’s flightsuit.

Lance doesn’t seem to mind.

“Can we find my mama now?”

“Of course, kiddo. How about you sit on my shoulders? I’m not very tall on this planet, so it might help you see better.”

The little girl lights up.

“Can I stand on your shoulders?“

Lance snorts. “Absolutely not, pequeña. That’s a great way to fall on your head.”

The little girls pouts, but offers no further complaint as Lance lifts her by the armpits over his head and onto his shoulders. He plants on arms across her knees once she’s situated, and then reaches over to curl his free hand around Keith’s, beaming at him.

“Can’t forget Shiro’s rule,” he says, winking.

Keith swallows, face heating up as he entwines their fingers together, even though they’ve held hands a million times before.

That’s Shiro’s version of the get-along-pants, you see. Everyone has to do it. If you’re bickering for longer than what is acceptable (a standard known only to Shiro, who’s patience flounders between a level so awe-inspiring that Buddha would be ashamed, and shorter than even Keith’s fuse, depending on how long it’s been since he’s been in the same room as Slav), then boom! Guess who’s holding hands for the next several hours. Keith and Lance are a special case — since they spend inordinate amounts of time, and Keith is quoting here, “doing goddamn somersaults on my last nerve”, for every time they argue they have to hold hands for ten missions in a row.

Lance did the math. Based on all the arguing they did in their first few months in space, they’ve wracked up a handholding debt of about 54 straight years.

So it’s become normal for them, now, to hold hands all the time. Keith has pretty much gotten used to it — he leaves his room, sees Lance, and neither of them even blink before linking hands and moving on. It shouldn’t be a Thing. It isn’t a Thing.

But sometimes, it really is.

(Sometimes, like when Lance’s brown eyes are amused and mischievous and looking to Keith like he’s in on the joke, or when Lance is tugging Keith along to whatever dorky thing has attracted his attention, or when Lance is swinging their arms back and forth when he gets bored, or when he makes Keith twirl him around and Keith does without question, because as much as it makes his heart pound he will take any opportunity to have Lance twirled and dizzy pulled back against his chest, or or or —)

“What’s your name, buddy?” Lance asks, yanking Keith back into focus.

He has a funny way of doing that, Lance. Of dragging every inch of Keith’s attention on him.

“Gehma,” the girl says, appearing to be playing bongos with Lance’s head. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Lance. And this is Keith.”

Keith raises his free hand as Lance introduces him, wiggling his fingers in an awkward half-wave. She imitates him, the way kids do with the world around them in general.

“Those are silly names. Do all of you have silly names?”

“Probably, by your standards,” Keith says, cracking a grin.

He loves kids. They’re hilarious. He’ll forever laugh at the time a random child walked up to Shiro at Walmart one day and told him he would look better bald with long nose hair. Keith laughed until he was hunched over, crying in the produce section.

Gehma continues to chatter on, asking a myriad of questions and making out-of-pocket observations about people. She also frequently yanks on Lance’s hair, who winces but allows it. At one point they even stop for snacks, because they’ve all been in the sun for a few hours and also because Keith’s stomach growls so loud that several people turn to stare, so. Food time.

“What does you mama look like, Gehma? It’s hard to see over everyone’s shoulders, but Keith and I may be able to help a little, at least. Do you remember what she was wearing?”

Gehma rattles off a description, half-helpful and half-information that would only ever be notable to a kid (“And she makes an excellent monster impression, so watch out for that.”). Keith keeps on high alert, though, looking for pink braids and a blue tunic that Gehma mentioned.

“Mama!” Gehma yells, after another twenty minutes of aimless wandering. She lunges forward so abruptly she and Lance start toppling forward. Keith rushes forward to plant on hand on the back of Gehma’s shirt and one hand on Lance’s chest, yanking them upright. He reaches up to help lift Gehma down, who takes off in a sprint the second her little feet hit the ground, into the waiting arms of a woman who looks very, very relieved.

“Oh, baby! Oh, Gehma, my girl, my little monster —” Every word is punctuated by a kiss, Gehma’s mother’s fluttering hands frequently patting random areas, making sure her kid is alive in one piece. Gehma herself has gone quiet, all the fear catching up to her, reminding her how scared she was without her mama.

It’s a lot for a little kid to handle.

“Thank you,” Gehma’s mama says, once she’s satisfied that her kid’s okay. “I couldn’t — I turned around for one second and she was — I was so scared —”

“It’s okay,” Keith interrupts softly, surprising himself a little. “Uh, yeah. Happens to the best of us. Not that I would know. I mean. Yeah. But it’s cool. I’m glad we found you.” He’s bright red by the end of it, and lowkey hoping something blows up so he has a reason to exit the scenario immediately.

Lance’s quiet laughter is not helping. It’s making Keith redder.

God, he’s going to find some way to blame this on Shiro and then yell at him later, for his own sanity.

“Thank you, paladin,” the mother says again, and this time she sounds amused.

“All good,” Keith chokes out. Lance squeezes Keith’s hand, nodding.

“Yeah! That’s what we’re here for. Stay with your mama now, okay, Gehma? Don’t let go of her hand.”

Gehma promises to be more careful, and then she and her mother are off. Keith watches them go with a fond, semi-wistful smile.

He misses his Pa.

“I miss my mom,” Lance says quietly, voicing exactly what Keith is thinking.

“Me too. Uh, my dad. Not your mom. Not that I wouldn’t miss her if I didn’t know her! I’m sure she’s great. But, I don’t know her? So. I don’t. Miss her. But —”

Lord above, someone put him out of his fucking misery. God. Is it impossible for him to, like, speak like a normal person?

At least the word vomit that just came spewing out of his mouth had one benefit, he supposes. The horrible sad look has dropped from Lance’s face, replaced with the pinched expression of someone trying desperately not to laugh.

Keith sighs. “Go ahead.”

That’s all the permission Lance needs. One second he’s shaking every so slightly as he tries to keep himself together, the next he’s collapsed onto Keith’s shoulder, laughing himself sick.

“Jerk,” Keith mutters, but it’s far to soft to have any impact.

“You’re such a loser,” Lance says fondly. It takes him a few minutes for the giggles to vanish completely, but eventually the do, and he steps out of Keith immediate space and starts to pull him along in a random direction.

Keith doesn’t miss him being so close.

He doesn’t.

(They’re still holding hands, for fuck’s sake. When did he get so greedy? When did he need Lance so close to him, all the time?)

“We should meet back up with the others,” Lance says, swinging their arms together. “It’s been a few hours, I’m sure everyone else is done shopping. Ooooh, maybe we’ll be the first ones back, and we can go for a swim! What do you think?”

Keith smiles, whipped as all hell, Lance’s endless enthusiasm and love and affection and joy just making every part of him feel all fond and squishy.

“Sure, Lance. Whatever you want.”

The worst part is he means it. Lance could ask if Keith wanted to go skateboarding on an active volcano, and Keith would say yes without a second thought. (He would still have the wherewithal to complain, thankfully. He’s not that far gone yet.) But as he looks at Lance, who’s beaming, dodging elbows of random passers-by and pointing out every little stall that he thinks Keith would like (“Hey, Keith, check this out! It’s like little knives but for your nails! That’s right up your alley, Freddy Krueger.”)…

Keith can’t say he minds.

[ohbuckie]

FLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT

college!bucky x reader

summary: bucky fucks you on his bedroom floor.

warnings: smut, fingering, unprotected sex

word count: 2.3k

masterlist

Bucky’s room is at the end of the hall. It’s decorated simply—white rug in the center of the floor, a desk sharing a wall with the door, a few posters littering the walls, a dresser across from the bed in the corner of the room. His bed frame is metal and cheap; flimsy, to say the least. He holds onto it while he fucks you—arm outstretched above your head, trying desperately to keep it from slamming against the wall and using the leverage it gives him to pound into you harder.

His friends’ rooms are both attached to his, with their common wall being the front one that the door is on. Sam and Steve have gotten used to banging on the walls of their bedroom in protest of the loud sex happening on the other side, or even sitting in the hallway and knocking on the door. Of course, this means nothing to Bucky, who could probably ignore a category seven earthquake in order to finish. He’s nothing if not thorough.

He tries to be considerate. He plays music loudly—something with lots of bass, to drown out at least a little bit of the sound—but it renders itself useless in between every song, when both of the guys can hear every sound the two of you make. Good sleep is a lost cause in apartment 4B.

Arriving home from a double date with your roommate, you let your jacket—Bucky’s, actually—fall from your shoulders, and you catch it in your hands to hang it up by the door. You kick off your shoes, run your fingers through your hair, find your boyfriend who scurried away to the kitchen, plant a kiss on his lips.

“That was fun.” You say, running your hands up his chest, remembering how he kissed you in the cab on the way here. He smiles and leans on the counter with the heels of his palms, with you in between his arms, in front of his chest.

His lips find yours, and you cup his cheeks in your hands, accepting the tongue that he runs along your lower lip. He tastes like the red wine that he had with his dinner and smells like the expensive cologne that you gifted him last Christmas.

“I don’t think the guys are home.” He says against your mouth, and you smile, breaking the kiss and practically running down the hallway.

He follows you to his bedroom, his hand making contact with your ass, leaving it stinging while you twist the knob and push the door open. He beats you to the bed, sitting on the edge with his legs open, waiting for you to climb onto his lap. You straddle him, feeling his arms wrap around your waist and his lips attach to your neck, delivering wet, hot kisses to your throat and collarbones. He runs his hands over your body—along your shoulder blades, down your spine, across your lower back—appreciating the figure-hugging black minidress that you’re wearing.

You lean forward to push him onto his back, catching yourself on your hands, which are positioned on either side of his head. You grind against his lap and he flips you onto your back in response, rolling his hips into yours.

You kiss like pornstars, swapping saliva between your mouths through tongues and clashing teeth, sucking and biting at plush lips. With his hips between your thighs, your dress inches further up your legs, making your red thong visible.

Your hands are free, and you use this opportunity to pull his shirt out of his pants and unbutton it until it’s open. The two sides hang down, exposing the top of his prosthetic arm and the outrageously defined muscles of his torso.

“Bucky.” You breathe, lips wetly separating from his.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Just want you.”

He chuckles teasingly, nudging your chin upwards with his nose and kissing down to your chest. You arch your back into him, pushing your fingers into the hair at the base of his head.

The room is dark, except for the animated screensaver of the open laptop of his desk and the moonlight that pours through the blinds perfectly, casting rigid bars of light across the wall opposite the bed. You reach to the nightstand beside you, pulling the cord on the lamp and wincing when it turns on as you’re staring at the bulb.

He pulls away and gathers himself, licking his lips and pushing hair from his forehead while he catches his breath. He looks up at you and smiles sweetly, kissing your cheek before standing from the bed and unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his slacks, pulling the zipper down, shoving them past his thighs. His belt hits the floor with a jingle and he steps out of the pants that are now pooled around his ankles. Dark gray briefs are revealed, and you appreciate how nicely they cling to his legs and ass. You remember an earlier comment from him about “fancy underwear,” and you giggle to yourself when you realize that this is what he was talking about.

“What’s funny?”

“‘Fancy underwear.’” You repeat to him, and he cracks a smile before he steps over to you to get back to business.

Instead of removing your dress, he pushes it up past your hips, harshly pulling your panties down and out of his way. He kneels in front of you and kisses your inner thighs, moving up to your pussy, ghosting over it with his lips for a moment before pressing a delicate kiss to your clit, his eyes trained on yours. His gaze remains unwavering when he licks a stripe up your entire pussy. His tongue pushes between your folds and applies pressure to your sensitive bud, and you both moan—you at the sensation and him at the taste.

“Buck.” You whine. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please fuck me.”

He sighs, disappointed that he can’t eat you out. Not that he isn’t excited to fuck you.

He stands and steps out of his underwear, tossing them behind his right shoulder. His cock stands against his stomach, seemingly thrilled to be freed from its fabric prison. You can’t take your eyes off of it—pretty and pink, fairly long and definitely thick enough.

He spreads his large hand over your lower stomach and lets his thumb hover over your bundle of nerves, keeping it still, for now. He gives his cock a few pumps, holding it just below the head to line it up with your entrance. He looks at you while he pushes in, because he loves the way that your eyes squeeze shut and your hips wiggle to get more comfortable with his intrusion.

He chews on his bottom lip, waiting until you stop clenching and fluttering around him before he moves. When he does, you reach to the hand on your stomach and hold his wrist tightly. He uses his other hand to put your right leg over his left shoulder, the cold metal of his mechanical hand at variance with your hot skin. You take the initiative to put your other leg up on your own.

His movements are less of a rhythmic roll and more of a pistoning in and out of you, giving you what you begged him for only a moment ago. At first, the thrusts are shallow, but after about a minute he can’t help himself anymore. With every jerk of his hips, his cock slams against a spot inside of you that only he has ever reached—although you’d never tell him that, because you’re too proud to admit that he can make you feel better than you ever could yourself.

When you let go of his wrist, he withdraws his hand, licking his thumb before putting it back where it was and putting it to use. He draws small circles into your clit, just like you taught him to do when you first started dating. You buck your hips up and it makes him smile, and you want to smack that look off of his face. You hate that he knows exactly how good he makes you feel.

You tighten around him when you study his concentrated face—how his brows furrow and he licks his lips.

“Feel good?”

“Yes.” Your voice is strained by desire.

“Good.” He mumbles, and starts to put a little more behind every thrust. He pulls almost all the way out before pushing back in, and the slapping noises that your skin makes upon contact with him is obscene. The bed frame squeaks as it rocks, and it hits the wall over and over again, at a moderate-but-still-annoying volume.

Loud knocking on the closed door startles you, but doesn’t phase Bucky.

“What?” He asks, not stopping, or even so much as looking in the direction of the interruption at the door.

Sam’s raised voice is on the other side. “At least put on the music, man. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, okay, fine. Go away.” Bucky replies. Footsteps descend and a door closes. Bucky pauses his movements, clearly annoyed, to lean over and fish his phone out of the pocket of the pants that he let fall to the floor earlier. He thanks God for Bluetooth when it automatically connects to the speaker that lives on his desk, and all he has to do is press play. He tosses the phone onto the mattress, lets it bounce behind your head, and picks up where he left off.

The music is loud enough to drown out the squeaking and the slapping, but definitely not the bed hitting the wall. You can’t bring yourself to care, because the circles against your clit are growing bigger and faster, and your eyes are rolling back into your head.

“Fu-u-uck.” You moan, syllables choppy from the way that you’re being fucked.

“You’re so hot.” He mutters, letting a breathy moan slip out after his words.

Something hits the part of the wall that Steve’s room is behind, and you both can hear shouting. “Shut up!”

Neither of you respond.

A familiar feeling pools in your lower stomach, tightening and threatening to spill. “I’m so close, Buck.”

You tense around him, squeezing his cock and surely bringing him close, too. He pulls out suddenly, but quickly replaces his dick with two of his fingers, curling them against the upper wall of the inside of your pussy. It shoves you violently over the edge, and you cum with a moan that rips through your chest and leaves your throat burning. His fingers continue to move through your orgasm and he watches your legs tremble, kissing your calves that are still rested beside his head.

“You good?”

You only nod.

“We’re being too loud on the bed. Get on the floor.” He orders, and you breathe through your nose, exhaling through your mouth before you stand on wobbly legs. Before you lower yourself to the floor, covered by his pristinely clean, white rug, he clarifies, “Hands and knees.”

The bass of the music booms through your chest, reverberates through your bones, echoes through your head. You feel him kneel behind you, putting one foot onto the floor for balance. You wish you could see him right now—shirt open, sweaty chest heaving, cock standing at attention, ready to fuck you to completion for the second time. He tilts his head down and you can hear him spit onto his dick before shoving it back into you, exercising no restraint.

Your head bows between your shoulders, and you try not to be too loud, because Sam and Steve hardly ever let you hear the end of it when you do, but Bucky’s making it extremely difficult. He’s taking what he wants now, since he’s already made you cum.

His hands hold your hips like they’re handles, yanking your body backwards onto his cock at the same time that he’s ramming into you. His breathing is heavy, and you close your eyes to picture his face right now. A piece of hair over his forehead, fallen from the gelled mass atop his head, jaw tight, abs tensing. That’s what he usually looks like, anyway, when he’s fucking you into oblivion. It’s an image that’s forever burned behind your eyelids.

His hips are moving bruisingly fast, bringing you closer to another orgasm. It’s actually more like you’re being dragged behind a pick-up truck that’s approaching a cliff and is showing no signs of stopping.

It takes only a hard clench to throw off his rhythm and have him cumming inside of you, scrambling to blindly locate your clit with only his fingertips so that you can finish together. He rolls it between his fingers, rubs haphazardly, and gets lucky when you cry out that you’re there again.

“Bucky! Oh, fuck!” Your knees sting from the rug beneath them, and your hands make a fist around the strings between your fingers. “Oh my God.”

He pulls out slowly, kissing down your spine while his warm seed spills out of you, trickling down your leg.

You lay on your back on the floor, much too tired to stand, and watch him pull his briefs back up, on a mission to dampen a face cloth to wipe you down with. He comes back with one, and wipes the cum from your legs and pussy, leaving small kisses in the wake of the warm water that refreshes you.

He gives a final kiss to your lower stomach before he tosses the cloth in the direction of his hamper. He lays beside you on the floor, taking your face in his metal hand and pressing sweet kisses to your cheeks and forehead and chin.

It's silent for a moment, before he decides, "I need to invest in a sturdier bed."

[tsukishumai]

pairing: Bokuto Kotaro x gn!reader

summary: whoever said being adult was fun obviously never had bills to pay. so when Akaashi offers up a way to earn cash fast, you jump at the opportunity. except, you never thought you’d find yourself modeling in your underwear... least of all with Bokuto Kotaro

wc; 3k+

tags; fluff, humor, college au, mentions of very slight nudity

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

If anyone else other than Akaashi offered you this position, you would probably punch them right in the face.

Maybe he considers this payback for all the times he’s had to listen to you whine about your problems during your shared shifts at the cafe, or maybe this truly was his own sadistic way of attempting to provide support.

“Okay, so I know a way you can make easy money,” he started, and already those words should have sent alarm bells ringing in your head, but this was Akaashi. You’ve only really known him for a short time, but already you knew he wouldn’t lead you astray.

But really, the electronic shop five blocks from campus told you it would cost 55000 yen to repair your laptop monitor, so you weren’t exactly in a position to be picky. 

You had also been complaining to him for the past forty minutes -- about the broken laptop, the leaking faucet in your apartment, the textbook that cost you more than your groceries for the past month, the two hours of sleep you got last night, and your paychecks that were all but depleted once the bills were paid. He remained tightlipped throughout your whole tirade, so you suppose the least you could do was hear him out. 

“You’re not trying to sell my kidneys, right…” You mumble sarcastically, but you tilt your head to him anyway to show you were listening.

“No, sadly, it’s not quite the season for kidneys yet,” Akaashi delivers in a flat tone, “So you’re just going to have to deal with modeling.”

“Modeling?” Your reaction was harsh and loud, and you flinched away from the piercing glares of cafe regulars trying to study in peace. 

Akaashi smirks as he wipes down the steamer before replying, “Don’t worry, it’s not the kind of modeling you’re thinking.”

Your mouth dropped, and you raised an eyebrow as you crossed your arms, scoffing at Akaashi incredulously. 

“Are you trying to send me to a nudie shoot?!” you whisper in almost-mock offense, but now a part of you was a little worried that your favorite coworker was a secret pervert.

To your utter relief, Akaashi just laughs. “God, no. Well, I guess, kind of?”

At this point, your head was beginning to spin. “What do you mean kind of? Just spit it out already, Akaashi.”

Akaashi finally finishes cleaning off the coffee machine just as you finished replenishing the pastry displays, and in an unusual lull in customers, he’s able to lean against the bar and give you his undivided attention.

“My art professor pays the models for her figure drawing class a pretty decent amount of money, I think,” Akaashi tells you, and your eyes begin to sparkle. “She mentioned a couple of slots being open.”

“Really?” your interest was immediately piqued, “How much money?”

Akaashi shrugs. “Enough to strike at least one problem off your list, probably.”

That was all you needed to hear. Akaashi had given you his professor’s contact information, and you sent her an email the second you had clocked out of your shift. 

Professor Nobuta was a kind woman who emailed you back with such haste, you could feel her desperation matching yours. She was candid during the entirety of your exchange, saying that her usual model had dropped out last minute and there was a spot in her class tomorrow that she needed to fill as soon as possible. Lucky for both of you, you were actually available, and details were exchanged swiftly. 

As you read over the requirements, your eyes roved over two words in a section of the email that made your eyes bulge out of your head. 

Semi Nude. 

You blinked once. Then twice. 

You had already formulated a kind rejection in your mind, ready to type your response when another section caught your eye. You inwardly groaned, dropping your head into your hands. 

She was offering you almost as much as two shifts at the cafe. 

That, alone, was enough to convince you, but the look of relief on Professor Nobuta’s face when you walked through the doors of her classroom was confirmation you made the right decision.

The seats around the classroom were nearly all filled, some students preparing their materials across their desks, and others sitting back and scrolling through their phones. The whirring of the A/C had filled the room with white noise, and you take notice of the two empty stools in the middle of the room.

“Thank you so much for signing up, L/N-san,” Professor Nobuta bowed profusely, and she gestured to a table for you to leave your things. “We’re still waiting on the other model, so take your time, and have a seat on the stool when you’re ready.”

You nodded in acknowledgement, and Professor Nobuta makes her way back to her desk. You briefly wonder if she was going to point you in the direction of a changing room, but realized the redundancy when everyone in the room was meant to stare at your half naked body anyway. 

You begrudgingly peeled off your clothes, folding them neatly before placing them in a pile on the table. Your footsteps made hardly any noise as you walked across the room, desperately trying hard to act nonchalant. 

Just as you took a seat in one of the empty stools, you heard someone pull the door open and loudly clamber inside.

“Ahh, welcome back, Bokuto-san!”

Your eyes widened at the name the professer had just yelled across the room. You brace yourself as you quickly whip your head around, and standing by the door sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck was Bokuto Kotaro. 

Student Athlete, Volleyball Star, Most Wanted Bachelor Bokuto Kotaro smiled brightly as he skipped to the table your items were placed, apologizing profusely for being late. All eyes followed him like moths, and Bokuto was the bright flame. Everyone knew him, and you often saw him walking across the quad, always greeting at least twenty people on the way. 

You could hardly hear what Professor Nobuta was saying to him, and you were now unabashedly staring as Bokuto began to strip out of his clothes. 

Bokuto was built like a marble statue -- hard lines that traveled across his chest and traced his abs must have been painstakingly carved with the utmost care by a masterful artist, and every movement he made created new shapes along his muscled body. You found yourself instantly wishing you had even an ounce of artistic talent, because it was no doubt that Bokuto was every figure artists’ dream. 

All at once, your vision was filled with gold and a sweet smile, and too late did you realize you had just been caught staring. Bokuto’s eyes don’t leave yours as he stands up straight, and struts over to you in nothing but a pair of nude briefs. 

“Alright, everyone, your timed session is about to begin,” Professor Nobuta’s voice had startled you nearly out of your seat, and you turn your head back to face the class, cringing inwardly when you noticed some were smirking at you, “Feel free to request poses from the models, as this will be a graded assignment. We only have an hour and a half, so make the most out of your time.”

You feel your body stiffen as Bokuto takes the empty seat next to you, staying silent when you feel his eyes staring at you. You might have been able to ignore this in another setting, but at the moment, about fifty students were watching him watching you -- eyes flitting up the stage down to their sketchbook as they try to decide where to begin. 

Envy coursed through you as the room began to fill with the sounds of graphite scratching against paper, wishing you could switch positions with literally anybody else in the room. You tried to relax your body against the stool, awkwardly attempting to find a natural position for your arms when you were interrupted by a throat clearing. 

Your head turns to the side, heat rushing to your face when you see Bokuto smiling at you.

“Hi,” he greets, his voice a direct contrast against the silent concentration filling the room, “I’m Bokuto!”

His knees were bent as he settled his feet on the first ring of the stool. He rests an elbow on his thigh so he can place his chin on the palm of his hand, giving you an expectant look as he waits for your response. You try to avoid the way his chest seemed to bulge even more in this position, but the furious sound of sketching says you weren’t the only one to notice.

“Bokuto Kotaro,” you say his name back, and he pulls his lips back into an even wider smile, “I know.”

You bite your lip when a student from the back requested for you to cross your legs, resting your hand against your thighs. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be talking, but Professor Nobuta didn't seem to be paying either of you any mind. 

He hadn’t said anything to you after that, but the grin remained on his lips as requests begin coming in from students across the class.

They were all fairly simple -- please position your hand like so, could you extend your leg this way, or turn your head that way. The first twenty minutes had been spent doing individual tasks and repositioning, and soon you felt yourself relaxing into your role. Your previous jitters had all but dissolved, and you figured if the rest of the session were to go on like this, then you’d be golden. 

Your eyes shift over to Bokuto, who was leaning back with such easy grace, balancing himself with his foot against the footrest. The way his body created such naturally eloquent lines made it seem as if he was born to be a sculpture, to be admired and gazed at, to invoke inspiration and creation. You weren’t sure anyone in this room was even looking at you anymore, with Bokuto acting as if he was the lighthouse in a storm, beckoning all of you to come home. 

He turns his head a second too quickly, winking when his eyes meet yours, and for the second time in less than an hour, you realize you’ve just been caught checking him out. 

Your dignity was slipping through your fingers like sand, and you clear your throat before turning your attention to a poster on the wall.

From the corner of your eye, you see Professor Nobuta stand from her desk and making her way to a student in the corner. The two whisper among each other, and you watched as the professor consults with other students before nodding her head and turning to the both of you. 

“I received a sort of direction from a few students,” she began, beckoning for the both of you to stand, “They were hoping you could do some more intimate poses.” 

You balked, nearly choking on the air in our lungs. “I-intimate?”

Professor Nobuto nodded her head enthusiastically, and you exchanged a look with Bokuto. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with — an embrace, hand holding, hands on each other’s face — get creative with it!” 

And with that, the professor sits back down on her desk and begins flipping through her phone, and the two of you are left to brace the expectant looks of the art students staring up at you. 

“This your first time?” Bokuto asks you gently, a sort of sympathetic look on his face as his eyes study your stiff posture. 

“Yeah,” you admit, and he coaxes you towards him with an outstretched hand. You hesitantly place your fingers in his palm, and for a moment, he just stood there. It took a minute for the sounds of rapid sketching to register in your brain, and you realize he’s allowing the class to take note of this pose. 

He’s standing directly across from you now, and you can feel his gaze burning trails across your body as he regards you from head to toe. You feel like an ant burning under the beam of a microscope, and you nearly burst into flames when he chuckles. 

“Nice peach,” Bokuto comments, and you nearly recoil back in surprise. The last thing you had expected from Bokuto was a comment like that, but then you notice his eyes flick back down to your underwear. 

The professor’s email hadn’t included too many rules or requirements. She only included the most important details, such as time, place, pay, dress code, and such. Stated in the dress code, you were allowed to wear undergarments of any neutral color. Today, you had chosen a simple pair of black underwear and figured it was the safest choice.

You hadn’t, however, noticed the large cartoon peach that had gracefully adorned the back of it, complete with a cartoon face that winked sparkles. Now that you were forced to stand, and the entire class got a good view for themselves. 

“Thanks,” you deadpan through gritted teeth, “It’s pretty juicy if you asked me.” 

Bokuto fails miserably to hide a smirk, but his eyes sparkled with amusement as he looked down at you. 

A few minutes (or eternity) later, his hand closes around yours, pulling it up to place against his cheek. He pulls you in by the other wrist, wrapping your arm around his waist as he cups the side of your neck. His other arm wraps almost completely around your middle, and he pulls you flush against his chest. 

His body was hard against yours, and you had no doubts he could feel your heart’s hundreds of beats per second. He tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, and you hope he doesn’t notice the sheen of sweat beginning to collect on your upper lip. 

A fire was bound to be started with how quickly everyone around began to move their pencils, and you heart races when Bokuto absentmindedly draws circles on your skin with his thumb. 

He holds you in this embrace for much longer than you anticipated, and the butterflies in your stomach were making you nauseous. His eyes are trained on your face now, the intensity of his stare making you want to shrink back, but you hold your place and return his gaze. 

His eyes narrow and squint, eyebrows wiggling as his face scrunches up in thought. 

“Do I know you?” Bokuto asks, and it was in this moment where you felt your stomach flip flop into the abyss. It was the one question you had hoped he wouldn’t think to ask you. 

Because you did know Bokuto Kotaro, but not in the way everyone else on campus knew him. 

You remember clearly the slow, dreary Wednesday morning when Akaashi Keiji asks you the same thing. 

“Uh, yeah? Of course, you know me, we’re coworkers,” you replied sarcastically, and Akaashi insists it was more than that. 

“You’re hiding something from me,” he simply states, and you inwardly thanked the customer that had walked and interrupted that moment.

But you should have known that Akaashi was not one to let things go, and after being berated the entire shift about how secrets don’t keep friends, you finally confessed.

You were a student at Fukurodani. 

Akaashi didn’t believe you. There was no way, how was that possible? He would have recognized you. But you were the year above him, and had actively avoided school sports. Because as much as you would have liked to watch your school’s Nationally Ranked Volleyball Club play and compete with super hot athletes from across the country, there was one glaring reason why you couldn’t. 

You had confessed to Bokuto Kotaro in your first year. 

And you were soundly, and absolutely rejected. 

He had every right to, of course. You were just his classmate, you didn’t even know each other that well, and he needed to focus all his attention on volleyball. It made sense.You know that now.

But to your young heart, it was world ending, soul crushing even, and it took you two years to get over your ridiculous one-sided crush. 

Now here you were, standing in front of a group of people in nothing but your underwear, with Bokuto staring at you like a fly caught in a trap.

“No, I don’t think so,” you respond, and Bokuto scoffs. 

“You’re a bad liar,” he whispers, and you find yourself grinning. 

“How would you know?” You whisper back, “You just met me.” 

“No, I definitely know you —“ 

“Alright, everyone,” Professor Nobuto announces with a smack on her desk, “That about does it for today’s session. Give some thanks to your models!”

You jump back from Bokuto as the class offers a light round of applause. The two of you bow back, and you rush over to the table as the professor approaches Bokuto. 

You leave the two of them to chat as you hurriedly put your clothes back on, hoisting your bag up on your shoulder, and nearly falling over putting your shoes on.

“Thank you for today,” Professor Nobuto sneaks up from behind, a smile on her face as she hands you a blank white envelope, “I hope I see your name on the sign up sheet again.”

You offer her a grin as you accept the envelope. “Thank you for the opportunity!”

And with that, you rush out of the stuffy room and make a bee line towards the door. 

“Hey, Peaches!” Bokuto’s voice makes you freeze from across the room, and you turn around to see him adorned only his pants. “You never told me your name?” 

With a smirk, you put your hand on the handle, walking out the door as you yelled over your shoulder. 

“I thought you said you knew me!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“That was a trap, wasn’t it,” you accuse Akaashi as soon as you see him again, walking into your shift at the café just as he was about to clock out. 

His smile was almost evil, punching out as he gathers his jacket. 

“Whatever could you possibly mean, dear coworker,” he replies, and you smack him on the shoulder. 

“You had to have known Bokuto was doing that,” you seethe, glaring at Akaashi, “And you knew about… about… you’re dangerous, Akaashi Keiji.” 

He laughs, waving you off, “You said you needed help, so I offered help.”

“Oh, you conniving little —“ 

“Akaashi, you ready?” A familiar voice cuts you, making your head twist towards the door. 

A set of white and black streaked hair, a devilish grin, bright twinkling eyes — your nightmare in human form walking in. 

His eyes widen as they meet yours from across the room, and he waves a hand in the air as if you could have possibly missed the six foot three volleyball player barely fitting through the door frame.

“Hey, Peaches!” He greets cheerfully, walking and leaning against the counter, “Fancy running into you here.”

“Peaches?” Akaashi asks, and your eyes shoot him a nasty glare. 

“I work here,” you reply, and Bokuto’s eyes widen. 

“Akaashi, why wouldn’t you tell me you have such a cutie for a coworker?!” He demands of his best friend, who simply rolls his eyes and heads out the door. 

“Let’s go, Bokuto-san!”

“Akaashi! Hey, wait,” Bokuto runs one step to the door but stops and turns back, “If I come back tomorrow, you gonna tell me your name then?” 

You laugh. “I don’t work tomorrow.” 

“I’ll ask Akaashi for your schedule then!” He screams as he runs out the door. 

The smile on your face stayed on for the rest of your shift. 

[boldlyanxious]

In the Dark

Masterlist

Marinette saw Damian headed down the hallway and she quickly turned down the back hallway and slipped into a costume closet. She had already had a long rough day with one of the supporting actresses causing a series of problems that somehow were all Marinette's fault. She did not need to deal with Damian as she was headed out the door. He was arrogant and always found something to complain about and it was usually about her. They had gotten off on the wrong foot and now the only thing she had ever seen him happy about was her being unhappy.

She only planned to be here for a moment but she heard him curse as his footsteps moved past the hallway and then move quickly down into the hall and the closet door opened. She pushed back into the corner hoping whatever he needed was in the front and he wouldn’t see her. She couldn’t imagine what he would need to get from there anyway. He had made it very clear that as the star of the show everyone should be meeting his needs and he had no need to know where to find his costumes or props.

Instead of getting something out of the closet he opened the door and stepped in, closing the door behind him. She had no time to shift away or any way to hide that she was in there. She held her breath and backed into the corner. She couldn’t fathom why he had followed her into here anyway. He shifted the costumes and pushed himself right into the corner until he was against her. There was nowhere for her to escape to, she let out a startled squeak as he pressed himself into her.

---

Damian could not stand Cecile. She was vapid and loud. She never had an end to her questions or ideas. She had gotten a good supporting part in the movie, but she was not a lead role for which she constantly complained. He did his best to avoid her off set but she had a habit of showing up everywhere. Honestly the entire movie was a waste and he wished he could get out of his contract. The other lead was fine. They had little interaction outside of the set and she did well with the part. Everyone else on the cast and crew were extremely tiresome with the exception of one costume designer. She was an apprentice and this was her first project on her own but it was overseen by her mentor. She was efficient and had a great eye. She had a hesitancy and stammering manner but she didn’t fawn over him like many of the others did.

Cecilie had been even more insufferable today than usual after catching Damian not listening to her because he got distracted watching the costume designer, Marinette. When Damian heard Cecile loudly talking about how she was looking for him so they could leave together and check out the new tapas place he panicked slightly. He did not want to deal with her anymore so he rushed down the back hallway and through the first door he saw. He pulled the door closed behind himself. He was moving too quickly for the small space. He thought it was an office or workspace but it turned out to be a small closet. A very small closet and it was pretty full of costumes. He tried to halt his movements and remain silent. He ended up right in the corner, or would have if someone was not already occupying it.

The other person made a startled eeep sound and he covered her mouth before they could be discovered. They were silent and listening as Cecile wandered around shouting for Damian. He was so focused on listening for her that he didn’t realize for several moments that his hand was still covering the mouth of the other person. There was no light in the closet so he wasn’t sure who was in here with him, or why. Hopefully they could be persuaded to refrain from mentioning this incident if he offered the right incentive.

---

Marinette was certain the loud sound of her beating heart would give them away. She would probably have been breathing heavier but Damian’s had covered her mouth and his other arm had moved to the back of her head holding her head still. She didn’t dare try to get him to stop. She quickly figured out why he had jumped in here and it had nothing to do with her. She could hear one of the other actresses screeching around looking for him. She couldn’t blame his escape, especially since she had just done the same. Maybe she could convince him that she was also hiding from the odious woman. She was pretty nasty to Marinette and honestly she might have made the same choice if she thought the woman was looking for her.

She could feel every one of his muscles tensed against her as Cecile continued screeching out Damian's name. She would never give him the satisfaction of saying how that made her feel. He had already wanted his distaste at her mentioning anything about how the costume would look on him or display his muscles. She had just been making conversation while getting measurements but he had mistaken her inquiries about the costume's fit and material preferences as trying to make a pass at him. He told her to just do her job and leave her personal opinions out of it so she had just made the best choices she could without his input then or in the future. If he wanted to be a diva she would wait for the complaints.

Marinette shifted in his hold. She was right against his chest but she was still holding herself back into the corner with her arms at her sides. It had been quiet for several minutes when Damian released the pressure from her mouth pulling his hand away. His other hand seemed to release the back of her head slowly, almost threading through her stray hairs. She stayed rigid in the corner and she still remained silent. She didn’t know the protocol for greeting a person you randomly hid in a closet with, maybe she could find a book or a humorous blog post about it. He seemed uninterested in coming up with small talk and simply turned away from her and turned the door handle. Then he twisted it again with the same result. Several more times before he seemed to accept that there was a problem.

---

“It's locked,” he said.

“No, are you sure?”

“If you can manage to open it, be my guest.”

Damian felt the woman shift and he turned so she could reach the door. Same result. It wouldn’t twist. That didn’t stop her from trying several more times and then making an irritated sound before rattling the door against the jamb.

“I’ve left my phone in the dressing room. Use yours to call someone to let us out.”

“My phone is in my office. But great news. I have the keys. Unfortunately the lock is on the other side of the door.”

“That is useless.” he sounded angry. “Why were you in here anyway?”

“This is a costume closet. I have every right to be here.” she said. “You are the one who followed me in and locked the door.”

This gave him the information to place her voice which helped make sense of her having an office instead of a dressing room. He didn't think she would accept any bribery from him to keep quiet but fortunately it was because he didn't think Marinette was the type to talk about any of the cast or crew. He had heard her be asked questions by reporters before and she always expertly sidestepped the questions to focus on aspects to promote the movie or her own work on the costumes.

He wasn't sure how to bring anything up with her. He had his first meeting with her directly after the initial meeting with the cast that has reporters. He had gotten along great with the other lead Amy and her husband at the meeting but that is when he first met Cecilie. He had been very grateful to get away from her for a quiet fitting but on her first day Marinette was distracted and fumbling. He had later found out she hadn't been told to be there at all and had rushed in to get measurements. He had been her first fitting and he was already in a foul mood. Her innocent questioning felt too personal so he scolded her harshly.

---

She released the handle and turned away from the door, bumping into him in the process. He stepped back from her but he was against the wall so he reached out and nudged her away. Marinette stumbled when he pushed her and hit the wall on the other side. She pushed against it to keep herself up. She tried to smooth out the costumes so they would not be damaged in the small space. She felt around trying to think through everything that was located in this closet. She was hoping something would prove useful for their current predicament. She didn’t even realize she was talking quietly to herself until he asked about it.

“What are you muttering about?” he asked.

“I’m trying to inventory the costumes to see if there is anything here that can help us get out of here,” she said.

“I thought you were very professional until I found you hiding in a closet and now muttering to yourself.”

Marinette turned quickly to confront him. How dare he suggest she was the one being unprofessional when he had tried the same thing. She turned on him quickly. Too quickly. She slipped on a piece of fabric when she spun back towards him and stumbled. Her arms flailed out and grabbed for anything to keep her from tumbling. She cringed as she felt herself grasp at the costumes but she couldn’t seem to stop it. She made a series of noises to go along with the sounds of the hangers being yanked to the side.

But then she felt his arms go around her and pull her back to her feet. She latched onto him in an attempt to stay upright but he had lunged too far. She was only on her feet for a split second before he crashed into her and they both fell down into a heap. He was fully on top of her and she twisted to try to get free of his weight. Like a game of Twister she realized her back was on top of one of his arms and her legs were tangled in his.

His chest lifted as he shifted against her. She tried to move again but she could not get her arms under her with his weight on top of her. She froze as his hand moved against her and down the outer part of her skirted side and leg. She pulled away from his hand causing both of them to collapse back down again. His arms pulled her against him tightly as he started twisting. She struggled against him until he told her to stop. She froze again and he flipped them over until he was sitting with his back against the wall with her straddling his lap.

---

Damian was regretting not just letting her fall. He could hear her flailing and reached out without thinking but now they were on the ground tangled together. She seemed to be panicking so he took charge. He felt around a bit to find out how they were tangled before making his move. She was not cooperating with any of his attempts to get them apart. She was doing the exact opposite of what they needed to do to get back to their feet.

“You are making everything worse. Just hold still,” he growled.

Finally she stopped and he was able to lift her to him and turn them both over. Now she was on top of him but they were in a better position to get untangled. His hands were resting at her hips as she moved forward, leaning against his chest. Everything in him told him to wrap his arms around her and keep her close to him but she pushed off and got back to her feet. He was shocked that he missed the feel of her against him. He chose to ignore that and pushed himself to his feet.

She was already back to going through the costumes to find a way out of here. He considered what would have happened if he became locked in a closet with almost any other woman who had been around today. He didn’t think that any of them would be trying very hard to get out. They would probably be trying to find a way to get closer to him.

---

Marinette tried to contain her breathing so Damian would not notice how affected she was. She had to get out of this closet. It was not doing her any good being this close to him. She was shaking remembering the feeling of his body on top of hers and then shifting until she was on his lap, against his chest. She had known he was attractive. That was clearly printed in every magazine that had ever had a photo set of him. But being pressed against his muscles was very different from taking his measurements and checking the fit of his costumes. She just had to remind herself that he hated her.

She had gone through all the costumes on the first row and she hadn’t come up with any brilliant ideas. A couple of the costumes had pins in them that might be used to push into the back of the lock to force the mechanism open but she didn’t think any of them were stored here. She wondered if the hangers could force the handle open. They were pretty sturdy. She moved back to check the costumes to decide which ones would be least harmed by not being on a hanger for a bit. She found 3 that should work and so she went through the process of removing them.

---

“You’ve had an idea,” Damian said.

He had taken a moment to calm himself after he stood back up but suddenly her movements felt feverish and hurried. He could tell she was working on some sort of plan even without being able to see her.

“I’m getting hangers. I think they could be used as a lever to force the handle open.”

“That sounds possible. How can I help?”

“I think it will have to be you doing all of the work. I’m not tall enough to put the pressure in the right spot.”

Damian reached out for her to get the hanger. Her hand pulled back suddenly when their fingers touched. He wasn’t sure how to react to that. He wasn’t one to be overly touchy and definitely not pushy about the feelings he thought might be developing but it was unexpected. Before he had time to consider further she had pushed it back and it poked into his chest and he was able to get it from her.

He reached out for the door handle and settled the hanger over it to apply the pressure. It was very tight and he could feel the handle turning but when he added a bit more pressure the handle snapped. He cursed while Marinette checked to see if it had opened. She made a disappointed noise and handed him the next hanger. Possibly he was a bit too frustrated because it snapped almost immediately. The broken wood jammed into his forearm. Marinette tried to pull his arm into the thin strip of light coming under the door.

“I don’t think it broke the skin but it will probably have scratches or bruising.”

He made a noncommittal noise and tried not to focus on her fingers gliding along his skin. It didn’t even hurt that bad any more. It had just been a sudden pain. But he found he liked being the target of her concern. He reached out to stop her fingers on his arm. She sucked in a breath at the unexpected contact and pulled back. He could practically feel her shake herself out of a daze. They were too close to hide much of anything in here. He just wasn’t sure if she was reacting to his touch in a good way or just trying to get away from him.

He instead focused on getting them out of there.

---

Marinette jumped when Damian grabbed her hand from his injured arm. She had completely lost all thought about what she was doing. He had never given her any sign that he wanted her to continue touching him beyond the initial check of his injury. Luckily he could not see her face heat up in the dark. She pulled away quickly so he wouldn’t notice how much she just wanted to hold onto his hand. His focus had returned to the door handle so that is where she would focus too. She was too quiet for him to hear her stammering apologies but just handed off the final hanger she had gotten. She could tell the difference with this attempt immediately. The handle was making a noise as it turned and Damian was adjusting it as it moved so the hanger wouldn’t snap.

Then just like that, the handle fell to the ground with a clatter. Marinette couldn’t contain her excitement. She laughed with joy and grabbed Damian and pulled him into a tight hug. She hardly even noticed that he was hugging her back because she was bouncing around. She didn’t notice until the hug didn’t end when she expected. She tended to be a hugger so she was accustomed to pulling back when the other person pulled back but after the excited feeling was washing away she started to step back only to realize that he was still holding on. His head tilted into the crook of her neck before with one final squeeze he slid away slowly. Marinette had to hold onto the wall for a moment when he released because her knees were suddenly too weak to hold her up.

---

Damian held her in his arms and wished the feeling could never end. He didn’t often hug people. He rarely enjoyed it when he did, aside from a few close family members and friends. But holding Marinette in his arms just felt right. She fit against him. He could feel her pulling back but they were about to be out of the space and he may never be close to her like this again. He tightened his hold for just a second before releasing her slowly. He hoped she couldn’t feel how hard his heart was beating just now or that she would not tell everyone how he gave awkward long hugs. He squared his shoulders and pushed against the door.

The door didn’t just push open so he looked at the mechanism stuck in the handle hole. He pushed on the tab and it did nothing. The locked handle was still stuck on the outside and it wouldn’t budge. It was fastened on with screws. Marinette had picked up the handle and tried to get it to connect to the piece but it wasn’t working. Damian didn’t think that would help anyway but she was clearly in distress.

“Is there a screw to use to push in the pin hole?” Damian asked.

“No. There are no screws on this side. It was connected with threads to connect to the other piece of the handle.”

“Where is the hanger? I can use the piece that holds it to apply pressure.”

Marinette handed him one of the hangers.

“I don’t think that will work. The hanger doesn’t have the piece like that. They connect directly onto the rack so the costumes are less likely to fall and be damaged, especially during shipping or when people get locked into the closet and stuck for all eternity.”

Damian started to laugh at her joke but then he realized she wasn’t actually joking. She was breathing heavily and was backed against the wall.

---

Marinette didn’t know what else to do. They had tried everything and they couldn’t get out. No one else would be there for hours. She held onto the wall and while her head was spinning. At least Damian couldn’t see her acting so foolishly. She bit her lip to control her breathing and hot tears ran down her cheeks. She could hear Damian moving but even with another beam of light shining in she still couldn’t see what he was doing. Maybe it was good that he hadn’t given up yet. It wouldn’t be great to have them both breaking down at the same time.

But Damian had not stopped at the door. He was right there in front of her. He rested a hand on her shoulder and she just knew that he could feel the wet spot where her tears had dripped down. She felt the fingers on his other hand on her cheek, gently wiping away her tears. She couldn’t hold in a sob at his tenderness. She covered her face with her hands but he didn’t let that stop him. He pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

---

Damian was not the first person anyone would go to when they were in distress but in this case he was the only one available. He made gentle hushing noises and smoothed her hair back from her face. He breathing had calmed but she was crying into her hands. She was struggling to get some distance so he could hear what she was saying. He caught just the last bit through her muffled tears.

“I’m crying all over your shirt,” she said.

“Don’t worry about my clothes. They will be fine,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“I think I’m just not a huge fan of small spaces.”

He brushed the last of her tears from her cheeks. Her breathing was calmer now and he wasn’t sure what suddenly came over him. His hand was on her jaw and he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. He could feel her gasp against his lips but he realized she had stayed rigid and not melted against him. She wasn't kissing him. He had kissed her while she was against a wall trapped with him in a small closet. He stumbled back from her.

---

Marinette was so distraught about being such a mess in front of him it took her a moment to process what had happened. He had just kissed her. He seemed just as shocked as her when he pulled away. She didn’t think he had planned it. She didn’t even think he could stand her. She could still feel him standing right in front of her. Not that he had many options for where to go. His hands dropped from her and they just stood there, inches apart for a moment.

He turned back to the door and tried to mess with the lock again. She could see his face in the light coming from the hole in the door. Two separate strands of light hit his face. She could see the tenseness in his cheekbone that she imagined moved down to his jaw. The other was shining directly on his lips. She touched her own remembering the feel of his on hers.

She could feel his bicep tense as she reached out and touched him. She had to force herself to breathe. He didn't pull away but he reserved any reaction waiting to see what she would do. She knelt down next to him and slid her hand up to his shoulder. If possible he tensed even more. She reached up with her other hand and tentatively touched his jaw. She could feel the bit of rugged stubble required for the scene today. It was much softer than she had imagined.

---

Damian didn't think he quite stopped the groan that came out as her fingers brushed along his jaw. He generally preferred clean shaven but as her fingers continued to move through his stubble he was gaining an appreciation for it. He moved slowly as her second hand moved up to his jaw. She seemed over the shock of being kissed against the wall while crying but he wanted to wait for her to make a move. It was torturously slow. She was being cautious too. But he felt her body shift and then her thumb brushed along his bottom lip.

Her lips met his as she leaned forward. Her hesitancy vanished when he responded. His hand moved back to her hair where it had been when he first entered the closet and covered her mouth. She pushed herself against him from her knees but he craved her closer. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into his lap. She planned a knee on either side of his hip and wrapped her arms around his neck. He kept one arm around her waist and one threading through her hair as it cascaded out of the bun.

Damian wasn't sure how much time had passed. They had pulled away for air several times and shifted positions as well. Marinette's hair was fully down from her previous hair do and her clothing looked delightfully wrinkled when the door opened and light poured in. He watched her squint at the sudden brightness. He must look something like her. Her chest was heaving and her lips red and puffy. He was tempted to shut the door again and stay hidden with her longer.

---

Marinette was dazed when the door suddenly opened and poured light over them. Her eyes were shocked at the amount of light too quickly. She knew the person who opened the door could clearly tell what they had been doing. She looked away from the man's smirk and down at the floor. She glanced back up at Damian. His hair was sticking out in all directions and his shirt was untucked. He stood and reached to pull her to her feet. She noticed a couple buttons undone at the top of his shirt. She suddenly wondered about the buttons on her own blouse and turned away to fix them.

"Jon, it's great to see you. How did you know to look for us?"

"Your brother called and said you missed dinner and wouldn't answer your phone. I sent a video of a baby elephant being cute and you didn't react so I knew something had to be wrong," Jon said.

"We have been locked in here for hours. No phone or tools and the handle was broken."

"Sounds," Jon cleared his throat, "rough."

Marinette wasn't making eye contact. She had readjusted her clothes and pulled her hair into a low ponytail. She couldn't avoid the awkwardness anymore. She stepped into the hallway and both men looked at her. She opened her mouth but realized she had nothing to say. She turned on her heels quickly and started to rush away. Her cheeks were burning and she thought she might start crying again.

What had she been thinking? There were all sorts of rumors about what kind of man Damian might be. It was widely thought that he remained single so he could hook up with women from all over and pay them for their silence. There had been all a lot of suggestions about who he might secretly be involved with but there had never been a confirmed relationship. She just knew things at work would end up very awkward if anyone found out. Both her and Damian were professional so perhaps they could manage to hide the awkwardness until the end of the project and then never see each other again.

"Marinette?" Damian's voice was quiet and he stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Would you like to go to dinner tonight? I need to freshen up a bit but I imagine you are as hungry as I am."

He sounded so uncertain. She wondered what he was thinking. Everything felt perfect when they were alone but in the sudden light and openness they were uncertain again.

"I'd like that," she said.

They both took a few minutes making themselves presentable and gathering their things. Marinette was happy she wouldn't have to catch the late night subway. Damian introduced his friend Jon and said he would keep everything about the incident to himself. She was grateful for that and for him waiting on the introduction until she had fixed her appearance. His hand hovered at her back at they walked out. Jon excused himself and left them alone as they got in the car.

Marinette buckled her seatbelt in silence. When she looked over Damian hadn't started the car. He was watching her. When she looked at him he leaned towards her. She met his lips as they gently brushed against each hers. Her heart was suddenly pounding again.

"I was aching to do that again," he said.

He turned back and started the car to take her on their first date.

Taglist

@theymakeupfairies | @emjrabbitwolf | @vixen-uchiha | @trythisagainlove | @trippingovermyfeet | @tbehartoo | @adrestar | @zynna

[baronessblixen]

A prompt if I may ask for one, how sick does Scully have to get before she will admit she is sick? Cancer arc hurt/comfort please

I hope this enough hurt/comfort! There's definitely cancer arc angst. Wc: 1340. Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2021

Fictober Day 2: Whispered Words

She's been on her feet all day, slicing and dicing, trying to keep up with Mulder. Same old, same old. Except it's not. Her muscles protest as she changes out of her scrubs. Her legs barely lift, and she stumbles, catching herself just in time against the lockers. She looks around, her cheeks flaming red, but she's all alone. She sits down to tie her shoes and when she leans forward, the slight headache she's been ignoring all day, presses against her forehead, reminding her of the unspeakable.

Mulder is waiting for her, roaming the halls restlessly like a caged animal.

"There you are," he says when he sees her, and she forces a smile. "Any anomalies?" He asks, cracking a sunflower seed. The sound is loud in her ears, and she startles.

"No," she says, "nothing abnormal." Mulder makes a disappointed noise. She can't blame him; they're stuck in this case, every lead a dead end.

"Let's go back to the office. There must be something we're missing." She tries to keep up with Mulder's long, athletic strides and finds that she can't. She should have kept on her sneakers. The heels squish her toes, make her slow and sluggish. Mulder stops to open a door and Scully, breathless, averts her face so that he doesn't notice. When his fingers come into contact with her back, right where they always do, at the tip of her tattoo, tears shoot into her eyes. Her glazed skin cracks and she winces.

Mulder, oblivious to her internal turmoil, removes his hand but the pain remains. Ahead of her, his form turns blurry. Every step is agony, like she's walking on coals. The heat spreads thickly, gathers in her stomach.

"Scully? Are you okay?"

How many 'I'm fine's’ are too much, she wonders as she stares at him, leaning against the wall. She's breathless, can't take in enough air. Her stomach revolts against everything and she prays silently like she never has before to please, please not be sick right here, right now.

"Hey." Mulder is by her side, crouching down to be eye-level with her. She doesn't want to look at him. She wants to tell him that she's fine. She wants to be okay.

"I'm- I don't-," she breaks up, sobs; she doesn't want to cry but her tears fall anyway. If she doesn't say it, if she doesn't admit she's sick, then she won't be, right?

"It's okay," Mulder says and touches her arm. "Do you- can you walk on your own? Do you need an ambulance? I'm gonna call-"

"Mulder, no." She puts her hand on his where it lays on her arm. "I just want to go home. Just... home."

He helps her out of the building and into the car. They're taking baby steps. One foot in front of the other as if she's just learned how to do it. Mulder is quiet next to her but his thoughts are screaming, piercing through her mind.

"What about work?" She asks once they start driving. Her tongue feels three times its normal size and it's a struggle to get the words out.

"Work can wait. It's not that important."

Any other day she would protest. Any other day she'd tell him she was better already. Today, though, she stays silent, accepts the fate her body has inflicted on her.

She leans her head against the cold glass window, watches the scenery pass by. It makes her nauseous. They drive past roadkill; a small fox, its life over before it's really begun. Scully closes her eyes against the pain, against the unfairness of it all.

She doesn't remember falling asleep but when she opens her eyes again, they're at her apartment building and she's in Mulder's arms.

"What are you doing?" She asks, her voice thick with sleep.

"Didn't have the heart to wake you," he says, his words in her hair, like new fallen snow. "How are you feeling?"

"Sick," she says, too exhausted to lie.

"We're almost there. Can you stand? I need to unlock the door." As if she were his grandmother's porcelain, he puts her down and opens the door.

"I can walk," she says quickly before Mulder can pick her up again. He follows her like a guard dog, watching her every move. She walks straight to her bedroom and collapses on the bed.

"Do you want me to call your mother?"

"What for?" She mumbles, feeling Mulder remove her shoes.

He doesn't answer right away but he's still there because she feels his hand on her ankle.

"Mulder?" She asks.

"To help you... get changed, eat something. Do you want me to call her?"

"No. I'm fine." As long as she doesn't open her eyes again. She will manage. Her clothes are loose enough to sleep in; she's done so before.

"Tell me if anything is uncomfortable." She hears Mulder's voice, but it doesn't register. The sound of a zipper tears through the silence and as cold air hits her legs, she realizes it's her own. Mulder is removing her pants. She should say something, stop him. But she can't. The words won't come. She shivers and Mulder mumbles an apology, quickly finding her pajamas.

"I won't look," he swears with a gentle smile that distracts her for just a moment. He opens her blouse, one button at a time. "Bra on or off?" He asks, glancing at her face. Only someone who's never worn a bra would ask that question.

"Off," she manages to say. Mulder nods, keeps his eyes on her face and takes her bra off. How often has she dreamed about Mulder undressing her? How many fantasies has she had? None have ever been like this. Not a single one. She’d scream if she had the strength.

He helps her into an oversized t-shirt that she's certain used to be his. Neither comments on it.

"Lie down," he says. "I'll get you your meds." Scully listens to him moving around in her kitchen and swearing once or twice. She can't move. Her eyes keep falling shut, too heavy to stay open. She fights it, fights everything. Somewhere in her apartment, Mulder is talking. She hears snippets, deducts that he must be talking to her mother. 'Tired' is one word, 'worried' and 'stubborn' are uttered as well.

"I'll take care of, Mrs. Scully. I won’t leave her alone," Mulder says close to her bedroom. Fresh tears threaten to fall. This is everything she didn't want. Nothing was supposed to change. She's a medical doctor and she should know better. This is only the beginning.

"I'll call you if anything changes. Bye." Mulder walks back into the bedroom and sets a cup of tea and crackers on her nightstand. He leaves again, returns with a small bucket, a towel, and another blanket.

"I hope you're not crying cause the tea tastes bad." She touches her cheek, unaware that she's started crying. "Do you need anything else? Do we need to call your doctor?"

We. Not her, we. She merely shakes her head no, not trusting her voice.

"I won't leave. Anything you need, just tell me. Okay? Anything at all." He touches her forehead, his fingertips gentle against her skin.

"Try to get some rest, hm?"

"Where are you going?" She asks him.

"The living- I can stay here if you want." She's too tired to fight it. She knows in half an hour, an hour tops, her limbs will feel as if they're freezing. She will shiver and there will be nothing that can keep her warm. Except... tonight, she wants to take. This disease is taking from her every day, chipping away at her life every passing moment. Tonight she'll, too, be outlandishly demanding.

"Stay," she whispers. "Please stay."

In the next few hours, she falls in and out of sleep, eats, drinks and gets sick. Repeatedly. Mulder is right there with her, never once leaving her side. In the morning, when she feels better, they don’t mention it. They never do.

[lov3nerdstuff]

I've got you

*James Conrad x reader*

Parts: Oneshot/Drabble

Words: 1.7k

Prompt: "Imagine being on Skull Island (or somewhere equally as fucky) and Conrad shines a flashlight out into the darkness, only for several pairs of eyes to reflect back. His hand tightens around yours and every muscle in his lean body tenses. That deep voice gets low and quiet, warning you not to run. The second you try to bolt--because duh-- he tugs you against his firm chest and his lips are on your ear."

A.N.: This is a gift for @hopelessromanticspoonie who had this idea yesterday 💚✨ She (and her lovely anon) deserve some Conrad goodness! I hope you guys enjoy this quick little snippet 🖤 I am actually writing a longer Conrad series currently, but that will still take a while ☺️

______________________________

The low growling sounds outside your tent should have been warning enough, had they already sufficed to wake you up in the first place. If not that, then at least the distant screeching that carried through the cold night air at a bone-chilling frequency, haunting echoes in your mind filling the silence in between.

You should never have left your tent, should never have come on this bloody excursion to the middle of nowhere in the first place! But of course, you just had to be curious and go check on the noise by yourself instead of waiting for one of the men with the heavy guns to take care of it. Just had to prove to them that you weren't just the frail and frightened little thing they saw in you no matter what you did. You had to prove it to him. James Conrad, the man of both your daydreams and sleepless nights. Gods, you had been falling for him from the first day of this doomed mission. Him, with his incredible blue eyes and that unforgettable voice that could put the fear of God into every soul when he bellowed commands across any battlefield, and that yet would recite Shakespeare in the softest flowing melody like he was born to do nothing else. A voice dipped in liquid sin that should not be uttering compliments like languished breaths in the dark. Not without unravelling you softly in the sweetest torture known to man.

Well, you should have gotten a grip on yourself and your pathetic insecurities and just told him how badly you'd fallen for him days ago. Now, however, you were going to die lonely and frustrated, a mere hundred yards away from the well protected camp you'd been stupid enough to leave. Great job, idiot…

The same growling that had woken you up was all around you now, louder, so much louder than before and you couldn't believe that you had been so stupid to walk into this trap of… whatever was lurking in the darkness around you now. You didn't dare to move, didn't dare to make a sound… and simply clung onto the childish belief that if you couldn't see what was stalking you right now, it couldn't see you either. Not that you would've been able to see much anyway, with the stream of tears that was running down your cheeks now.

"Y/n! Are you out of your mind?! You shouldn't be out here alone in the middle of the night!" Conrad's scolding voice behind you, in that delicious British accent nevertheless, sent an immediate shiver down your spine, but unfortunately for more than one reason this time around. Gods, he was here… you only hoped that he had come as your salvation and not a second course to the hidden predators' nightly meal.

"James… They're everywhere, in the darkness… I'm so sorry." You whispered in a tear laced voice, too far frozen in your fear to turn around to him even when you felt his radiant presence coming up right next to you. So close that his warmth was almost seething on the chilled skin of your arm and shoulder. Gods… you had been so stupid indeed; you were absolutely bloody frightened and helpless out here, who had you been trying to fool!

When Conrad finally switched on his flashlight to shed some literal light onto the darkness ahead that you were still staring at relentlessly, you barely held back your startled scream by biting down hard on your bottom lip. There were eyes, so many eyes that reflected the light right back at you from the undergrowth in a glowing hollowness that spoke of nothing but hungry fixation and thus, impending death. Conrad next to you tensed in an instant, every muscle in his lean body coiling in a display of controlled strength, preparing to fight and defend himself. Or rather to defend both of you, for not even a broken second later his hand wrapped tightly around your lower arm as if purely on instinct, and your breath caught in your throat in return. A few deafening heartbeats long you both stayed frozen like that, until slowly, painfully, deliciously slowly, his hand slid down your arm to hold your hand instead, interlacing your fingers with his in the same unfaltering, strong hold.

"Don't move…" He drawled under his breath, commanding you with the deep tone of his voice alone to surrender his will no matter what he said. Thus you could only clasp his hand in a death grip in return, breath coming out in shallow pants as your heart thundered in your chest like the storm approaching in the distance.

And yet, when another loud growl announced that these beasts were drawing closer to you still, almost up your neck already with their teeth or claws sunk deeply into your tender flesh, the sound startled you so far beyond your reason that your flight instinct grew unbearable at last. Every fibre in your body burst in panic, and you bolted without thought, without reason, but you did not get far. Fast as lightning to match the thunder in your heart, Conrad's arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you flush against his chest, holding you tightly against his strong body while your excess adrenaline merely caused you to whimper into the soft fabric of his shirt.

"Shhh... I've got you." His voice was surprisingly soft now, reassuring and calming almost as if just to soothe your fears, while the gentle brush of his lips against the shell of your ear caused you to shiver for entirely different reasons. A soaring heart and tingling exhilaration made for an odd mix combined with the prominent fear of death, but in the end it only heightened your every sense to the incredible. If you were to die now, you at least would do so wrapped up in the arms of the man you loved. La petite mort, only in the opposite direction of what you would have wanted for him and you.

"James…" You breathed into his chest, desperately trying to keep yourself from trembling too noticeably, which only made him tighten his hold on you with a sharp intake of breath.

"Shush now, darling, and listen to me…" He replied in an equally quiet tone, still staring into the hollow eyes of death with his head so closely next to yours. "I will throw the flashlight ahead into the forest as far as I can to cause a decent distraction, and then you and I will run back to camp without turning back. We should be safe behind the barriers we've set up. Do you understand?"

You nodded slowly with a shuddering breath, then turned your head ever so slightly to glance up at him with all those sharp lines of his stern features, while at the same time he dropped his arm from around you and instead took a tight hold of your hand again. Then in the matter of broken seconds, he threw the flashlight as far away from your path as he could, and finally dashed off back towards your camp while pulling you along by your hand. You were quick to comply, running as fast as you could while your lungs burned all the more, but both Conrad's death grip on your hand and the howling behind your back made for a magnificent motivation to keep running either way.

The hundred yards still were torture to your mind and body, but even without the light you could see the barriers drawing nearer and nearer. When you finally reached the gate of the improvised defenses, Conrad didn't waste any time to rush you through before it was barred off from the inside right behind you. The howling, however, remained right outside before the gates and still made your blood freeze over even now from the safety of your camp. Good gods… you really had cheated death. Again.

Panting, you finally dared to look up at Conrad once more. He was still clutching your hand as if he was afraid you would vanish if he let go, and when his burning gaze met yours in that undivided intensity, you couldn't keep your lips from trembling, nor your words from spilling over at last. "I'm so sorry, I… I really didn't mean to cause you so much trouble, I'm so sorry, I just… wanted to prove to you that I'm worth your-..."

You didn't get any further when his hand rose to cup your cheeks with a start, elegant fingers entangling in your hair as he pulled you close to him and pressed his lips to yours in every bit of passion and urgency you had been yearning for for so long. It took you but a broken second of surprise before you melted against him with a faint moan, returning everything he gave you and everything you had beyond. This was heaven… A heaven you were granted only after surviving in hell.

When you finally pulled back, both breathless far more thoroughly than just from your run, Conrad leaned his forehead against yours so very gently, and yet refused to release you from his incessant hold. "You are worth all there is and more, darling. I can bear absolutely anything for you, and with you, you must know that. All except for losing you."

"I'm so sorry." You breathed, eyes closed as you revelled in the roaring waves of unadulterated affection washing over both of you now. "You won't lose me, I… I won't let that happen. I've got you just the same."

Your words brought a smile to his face, you could feel it all around you, could feel it against your lips a second later. He wasn't a man of many words, you knew that, but the ones he spoke were always the most beautiful and honest to his soul. So you did know indeed, you both had each other and that was all you would need.

______________________________

General Tags:

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[guqin-and-flute]

Episode 73: Koala Chlamydia Is A Problem [My Brothers, My Sister and Me Excerpt]

[MBMSAM AU] [First Installment] [Podfics!] [Ao3 Link]

[COVER ART BY THE FANTASTIC LITTLESMARTART]

Jin Zixuan: Do we want another question?

Qin Su: Sure, yeah, got one right here. 'When I was younger, I was really skinny and weak'--hey! Hey, now, negative body talk, much! That's super judgmental of yourself!

Mo Xuanyu: And of us people who are skinny and weak right now! [teasing] Right, Yao-gege?

Meng Yao: [calmly] I'm not affiliated with you.

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [cackles]

Qin Su: 'When I was a kid, I was really skinny and weak, so I made it my mission to get as jacked as possible so people would take me seriously. I put in a lot of hard work, changed my exercise routine and diet and it worked. But now, as an adult I'm a 6 foot 7 dude--'

Jin Zixuan: [incredulous] 6 foot 7 ?

Qin Su: Just a mountain of a man. '--6 foot 7 dude with serious muscle mass--'

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [sotto voce] Good God .

Qin Su: '-- and a pretty intense resting face. I routinely make children cry just by existing and everyone shoots me nervous looks in the grocery store. It gets to me sometimes. I’m not a bad guy! I just look scary. What are some ways that I can make myself less intimidating?’

Mo Xuanyu: Huh.

Qin Su: I mean, let’s see...puppies are unintimidating. Can you devise a system where you carry a few around with you at all times? Maybe in some saddle bags, everywhere you go?

Mo Xuanyu: The movies, the gym, on dates… .

Jin Zixuan: Sure, until they start pissing down your legs. Then you’re not just unintimidating, you’re the guy no one wants to stand next to at the bus stop.

Meng Yao: I mean, it still does the job, doesn’t it?

Mo Xuanyu: You could get a butterfly tattoo, like, directly on your forehead.

Meng Yao: Okay, please explain to me your thought process on how exactly that would make anyone more approachable.

Qin Su: They still want to be able to navigate human society, A-Yu.

Mo Xuanyu: Ew, why? 

Jin Zixuan: Let’s see...what makes someone approachable….Who is the least intimidating of all of us?

Qin Su: [immediately] You.

Meng Yao: [affirming] Mm.

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [incredulous] What?

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: Oh yeah, you’re like...you’re like a poodle. Or a--

Jin Zixuan: [highly offended] Excuse me! I'm the oldest and definitely the tallest one here!

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [ill concealed snort]

[crosstalk] Qin Su: [pityingly] Oh, da- ge .

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: Or a golden retriever.

Qin Su: Please don't tell me you think that being tall translates into you actually being scary. You’re tallest by, like, 3 inches. At most, that’s just part of the equation of being scary.

Meng Yao: And the rest of Zixuan’s equation is just filled with collared polo shirts. Which absolutely tanks the intimidation ratio.

Mo Xuanyu: That doesn't tank yours, though.

Meng Yao: I wear button downs. It’s not the same. [Vaguely disgusted undertone] Collared polos.

Jin Zixuan: Excuse you, polos are weekend wear and there is nothing wrong-- I can be intimidating!

Qin Su: [doubtfully] Ehhhhh…

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [badly stifled snickers]

[crosstalk]Jin Zixuan: I can! Just because I’ve never had to intimidate you --

Qin Su: Let's just say; citation needed

Mo Xuanyu: Please, jiejie has you beat.

Jin Zixuan: [indignant] Wha--

[crosstalk] Qin Su: He's right, gege; an unopened jar of mayonnaise has you beat. And I'm no unopened jar of mayonnaise. 

Mo Xuanyu: That shit is opened .

Meng Yao: That’s a Tinder profile quote.

Qin Su: What? 'Spicier than mayo?'

Mo Xuanyu: [half singing, half chanting] ‘My mayo brings all the boys to the yard, and they’re like-- [normal voice] this is really underwhelming.’

Meng Yao: [musing] ‘Saltier than soy sauce, spicier than mayo….’

Qin Su: Why do we always come back to food? Are our Skype calls haunted by starving Victorian ghost children? Are we possessed?

Mo Xuanyu: [mournful, high pitched, bad British accent] ‘My name is Bartholemew and I’m starving. Please, spare some mayo.’

Meng Yao: It’s your own fault if none of you bother to eat before we record. You all had the schedule.

Mo Xuanyu: [crunches loudly near mic]

Meng Yao: [falsely happy] Hey, thanks! Thank you so much, A-Yu, love the level spike on that one. Editing mouth noises out of our podcast makes my day brighter.

Jin Zixuan: [under his breath] Just...unbelievable….You all….

Qin Su: [smiling] I think we broke him.

Meng Yao: [laughing] Zixuan is limping behind the conversation indignantly, brandishing his cane….

Mo Xuanyu: [sympathetically] Awww.

Jin Zixuan: I--! I am a high powered businessman! I am trained in martial arts and archery and swordsmanship --

Mo Xuanyu: [mouth full] Oh please, gege, you’re a pod caster.

Jin Zixuan: [forcefully] I am a CEO--

[crosstalk] Qin Su: [ignoring him] I think Yao-gege is somehow the most and least intimidating out of all of us at the same time, if we're all being completely honest with ourselves and our place in the world.

Mo Xuanyu: Aww, I thought I was at least a contender!

Qin Su: Honey, you're feral. There's a difference.

Mo Xuanyu: What does a kid have to do around here to be intimidating?

Meng Yao: Learn how to chew with your mouth closed, for one.

Jin Zixuan: [indignantly] A-Yao? Are you not going to deny this?

[Brief silence]

Meng Yao: [calmly] I don't think I'm scary.

Qin Su & Mo Xuanyu: [instant uproarious laughter]

Jin Zixuan: Oh, come on! He's like...a little koala bear or something! How is that scary!

Meng Yao: [offended] Excuse me--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [still laughing] I’m gonna pee --

Meng Yao: -- koalas have smooth brains and eat poisonous leaves all day. Are you calling me a poisonous idiot bear?

Qin Su: [wheezes] Only in private.

Mo Xuanyu: [laughter trailing off] Wait, wait, hold on. Don’t all koalas have chlamydia or something?

Qin Su: [renewed laughter]

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [startled laugh] What?

Mo Xuanyu: Chlamydia! I think that I read--!

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Oh my god, I think I’ve actually heard that. The plague, the bubonic plague, isn’t it? Or that--Some sort of--that disease people used to get where bits of you fall off?

Qin Su: Beheadings?

Meng Yao: [voice strangled from laughter] Yes, A-Su, that ancient disease the French Revolution that all koalas have--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [snickering]

Mo Xuanyu: [loud and close to mic] LEPROSY .

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Ow--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Holy shit--

Mo Xuanyu: It’s leprosy and you’re thinking of armadillos, da-ge. 

Jin Zixuan: [muttering] Aren’t we all….

Qin Su: [solemnly]  Armadillos and guillotines. Every damn minute of every damn day.

Mo Xuanyu: And I googled it, I’m right; koala chlamydia is a problem.

Meng Yao: And we’ve just found the title of this episode.

Qin Su: If most koalas have chlamydia, I feel like they have other problems they have to deal with.

Mo Xuanyu: Those pesky, promiscuous koalas!

Qin Su: Get them some damn sex ed! Use those eucalyptus leaves for protection!

Meng Yao: [pleasantly] That’s just about the worst thing I’ve heard all day.

Mo Xuanyu: Eugh, that menthol, though. Like Vicks for your dicks!

Meng Yao: I hate it.

[crosstalk]Jin Zixuan: [pained] PSA: don’t do that. Ever.

Qin Su: The voice of experience?

Jin Zixuan: I don’t think you actually want an answer to that, meimei.

Meng Yao: You people make me hate learning and also knowing things.

Mo Xuanyu: Also I've been looking it up and mountain lions are the ones that can have the bubonic plague.

Meng Yao: Choose your fighter; chlamydia ridden koala, leprosy ridden armadillo, or mountain lion with the Black Death.

Qin Su: Well, at least the mountain lion could inflict some damage. Use it like a poison delivery system, like an anthrax letter to secretly infect people.

Meng Yao: [patient teacher tone] ‘A mountain lion is to an anthrax letter, like a koala is to a…?’

Qin Su: [mock frustration] Oh, man, I know this one….

Mo Xuanyu: 'I can't come into school today, I got attacked by a mountain lion.'

Qin Su: [acting concerned] 'Oh my God, are you okay? Are you gonna have scars?'

Mo Xuanyu: 'Worse. The Plague .'

Jin Zixuan:  Okay, glad we got our animal infections all sorted out--back to what we were talking about. So, riddle me this--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [delighted, Riddlemancer voice] Rrrriddle Me Piss, kids--!

[crosstalk] Meng Yao & Qin Su: NO!

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Oh my god --

Mo Xuanyu: [laughing] I don't actually have anything today--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: A blessing .

Mo Xuanyu: --but I'll get you next time.

Jin Zixuan: No, I need to know, genuinely, this is not a bit-- why do you think A-Yao scarier than me?

Qin Su: I mean, what's not scary about a smooth brained bear full of toxins and chlamydia?

Meng Yao: [disgruntled] Uh huh.

Mo Xuanyu: Technically, they’re not bears, they're marsupials! And I think Yao-gege is more of an armadillo--hard on the outside--

[slight crosstalk] Qin Su: --And full of leprosy on the inside. 

Meng Yao: [further from mic, keyboard tapping] 'And to Mo Xuanyu...and Qin Su...I leave... absolutely nothing, except...this bag of dog shit and...spiders…..'

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [laughing]

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Awww, A-Yu, we're being written out of his will again!

Jin Zixuan: Listeners, am I wrong? Am I crazy? He’s the size of a toddler--

[slight crosstalk] Meng Yao: [still away from mic, keyboard tapping] ‘And to Jin Zixuan...I leave--’

Jin Zixuan: He looks like a sugar glider baby that got turned into a human man--

[slight crosstalk] Meng Yao: ‘This box...of useless...tetanus filled screws….’

Qin Su: Da-ge--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: ‘--that i...encourage him to use…--’

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [snickering]

Meng Yao: ‘As acupuncture needles.’ There. Sent to the notary. Now, what were we talking about, again?

Qin Su: Da-ge, all those things might be true--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [flatly] Wow.

Qin Su: But here’s a test. What would you do to someone picking on A-Yu in school?

Jin Zixuan: [immediate, sounding businesslike and slightly aggressive] I would contact their parents and set up a meeting with the school officials and make it very clear that they are never to do that again.

Qin Su: [grinning] Okay. Yao-gege, what would you do to someone picking on A-Yu in school?

Meng Yao: [calmly] Absolutely nothing you could prove in a court of law.

Mo Xuanyu: [bursts out laughing]

[crosstalk] Qin Su: I mean--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Uhhhh--

Qin Su: You see? Also-- [quick sing-song voice] 🎵 This is a joke, for legal reasons, this is a joke 🎵 [normal voice] He’s got that--that--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [lingering laughter] Yeah, it's that menace. Da-ge, you’re like--you’re like if a duckling--okay, you remember when I brought you to Hot Topic? You were like a duckling at a Death Metal concert.

Jin Zixuan: [defensively] The music was so loud--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [pityingly] Oh, Zixuan.

Qin Su: You're like if a golf course got turned into a human. 

Meng Yao You're what would happen if you gave mac and cheese a social security card and keys to a lamborghini.

Jin Zixuan: [unamused] Okay.

Mo Xuanyu: [laughing] You're the lightly salted almonds of people. 

Qin Su: You're like a wholesome Hallmark movie fucked the concept of the suburbs.

Jin Zixuan: [unamused] Sure. Sure.

Meng Yao: You emanate the peril of a box of lethargic kittens.

Jin Zixuan: Wow. My own family. This is coming from the physical manifestation of a My Chemical Romance song--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [smug] You say that like it’s a bad thing.

Jin Zixuan: -- and the woman who cries at the Land Before Time every time she watches it. I think this is a case of glass houses, here. Let ye who are intimidating... 

Qin Su: Oh, so we’re not roasting Yao-gege back?

Meng Yao: Not sure how me being compared to a STD riddled marsupial for about 5 minutes straight escaped your notice, A-Su, but alright. 

Jin Zixuan: I feel that you are all being...heinously short sighted, here. Are you seriously trying to tell me that A-Yu is scarier than me, a full grown man?

Meng Yao: I would certainly be more warranted in my concern about him stabbing me than I would about you.

Mo Xuanyu: Oh my God, gege, that was like 5 years ago and I already said I was sorry--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [loudly] What--

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Did we actually help this person? I mean--

Mo Xuanyu: We always help, jiejie.

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Hold on--

Qin Su: We learned a lot about exactly how disturbing the animal kingdom is, but….

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: No, go back--

[slight crosstalk] Meng Yao: Dress like a middle aged accountant, share minion memes on Facebook, and buy your son a puppy so you have an excuse to talk to the dog and not people. There you go. Done.

Jin Zixuan: No, rewind--Xuanyu, you stabbed our brother? 

[brief silence]

Qin Su: [brightly] Well, that's going to do it for us today, folks--!

Jin Zixuan: A-Yu!

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: It was only a little!

Jin Zixuan: How can you stab someone a little ?! 

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Thank you so much for listening in this week--

Jin Zixuan: With what ? Why?!

Mo Xuanyu: It honestly wasn’t that bad, he made it sound like--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: That's not an answer --

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [begins laughing]

Jin Zixuan: A-Yao--!

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [still laughing]

Qin Su: [brightly]  We hope you enjoyed our enlightening romp, here! We want to thank Sister Sledge for the use of the song We Are Family. A-Yu, how about that last Yahoo?

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [farther from mic, clearly grinning] Ohhh, boy. 

Mo Xuanyu: Okay, okay--anonymous Yahoo Answers user asks….[exaggerated, desperate voice] ‘I can’t afford a freezer. Where do I put my deer meat?’

[Outro music begins quietly]

Qin Su: [laughs] I’m Qin Su.

Jin Zixuan: [sighs, disgruntled] I’m Jin Zixuan.

Meng Yao: [grinning] I’m Meng Yao.

Mo Xuanyu: [sheepish] I’m Mo Xuanyu.

Qin Su: And this has been My Brothers, My Sister, And Me! Thank you to everyone, see you next week and remember; send your trash dad straight to jail!

[earthlostgirl]

Here is another Faye and Spike fanfic. Who else?

DOG DAYS

She was making a hell of a noise, but it's not like she could help it. Her movements were slow and uncoordinated. She crashed into a pile of junk that fell to the ground, she closed her eyes, even under her feet the sound seemed far away.

When she turned around Spike was pointing his Jerico at her. She gave a little gasp, startled, and clutched the first aid kit to her chest. Damn silent idiot. Damn blind idiot who didn't seem to recognize her, suddenly his expression changed completely, as if he was seeing a ghost.

"Will you stop aiming at me? Or are you planning to finish me off like a dying horse?" her voice sounded exhausted. She was. She was also drunk, or at least there were traces of alcohol in her system.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked annoyed and scanning her as he lowered the gun.

"I had a happy argument with an idiot about the right to speak out " she replied with sarcasm. "f you'll excuse me, I'm very tired and want go to sleep."

She made a couple of steps, clumsy and slow, but her legs didn't feel like cooperating on her way to the room. She was going to fall to the ground and was doubtful that she could extend her arms to stop the impact. She closed her eyes, ready to take the hit of her life, and maybe lose a tooth, all for show.

Luckily Spike's chest broke her fall.

"Oooh," Faye said as she sensed the smell of tobacco and something she couldn't identify, invading her every sense. " That was fast."

" Were you planning on kissing the floor?" Spike asked helping her to stand up.

"I doubt I can extend my arms," she whispered against the yellow fabric of the shirt, inhaling his scent again. "You smell so good..."

"Can you walk?" the sound of Spike's heartbeat against her ear seemed to lull her to sleep.

"I guess, " she pulled away from him.

Each wince was worse than the last. Spike, who hadn't left her side, slipped his arm around her waist and almost carried her into the bedroom.

She sat on the bed with the first aid kit still under her arm and placed it on her lap.

"Are you going to stare at me like that all the time?" Faye asked trying to open the damn box, she wasn't able to, the pain was excruciating, she'd have to add a broken wrist to the list.

Spike seemed to notice, because he snatched it out of her hands.

"You're a fucking mess ," Spike mumbled angrily.

"Don't yell at me."

"I didn't."

"Your voice sounds so loud then...," Faye just wanted him to leave her alone, lick her wounds and sleep until the end of the world came.

"Don't move," he commanded.

"Where do you think I'm going - on a bender?" she grumbled wryly.

"Shut up, Faye."

Spike disappeared from her sight without another word, but she stood very still, staring at the door, which seemed to ripple.

"First you should wipe off all the blood on your face, " she didn't realize Spike had returned until she heard his voice.

Faye reached out her hand tentatively so Spike could pass her the soaked towel he had brought with him. But he came over to her and squatting down, Spike gently began to run it over her forehead, her cheeks, meticulously wiping the already dried blood from her face. She was incapable of saying anything, except to stare at him in disbelief, his mannerisms were delicate and kind, definitions that in her life she would have dared to put next to Spike. Every time she complained, Spike clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"Thank you," she whispered as he set the towel aside.

Spike looked at her seriously, as he examined her face closely.

" Now what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into?"

"I didn't do anything!" she protested angrily.

"I see," he mumbled in exasperation looking her up and down again

"Your jacket is soaked with blood, take it off."

"No," she protested. "It's okay."

"Don't be a baby," he retorted. "Take off your jacket."

She gave him an indignant look, but the way he was staring at her made her nervous. So she decided to listen to him. She put her hand to her zipper, but her arms hurt and she gave up the attempt.

"It hurts," she said rubbing her wrist.

"Fuck Faye," he replied throwing his hand to her zipper.

Anyway, she had been trying to avoid that moment. Spike's eyes widened as he saw her t-shirt torn to shreds.

"Faye..." Spike was looking at her with an intense stare and his hands trembled as he pulled away from her.

"Don't look at me like that, " Faye snapped upset, covering herself with one arm. "It's embarrassing enough that you have to help me."

"Are you okay?" he looked genuinely concerned and made her shiver.

"Yeah...," he sighed. "Nothing happened."

"Sure?"

"Yeah," her eyes filled with tears, but she didn't want to cry in front of him, she took a deep breath trying to pull herself together and shook her shoulders. "Nothing happened, it was just a horrible night."

" All right... Where's all this blood coming from? Where did you get hurt?" he pulled the jacket away from her shoulders looking for open wounds.

"The blood isn't mine," Faye muttered through her teeth.

Spike looked at her again in that indecipherable way while helping her take off her jacket.

"Do you want to put something else on?" he asked looking in horror at the bruises on her arms.

"Yes, please," she was half naked, covered in blood and terribly tired, she couldn't imagine any worse situation. "Can you bring me another shirt? In the drawers there's got to be some."

Spike stood up, moving over to the closet as she pulled off the tatters of her shirt and finished cleaning herself.

"I cut his throat," Faye finally said looking at the blood stained towel, everything around her seemed blurry, the only vision she was able to focus on was that damn towel. . " He...I couldn't get him off me, he was so much stronger than me..... I had never seen so much blood..."

"He deserved it," he replied earnestly, passing her the shirt.

"Yes..."

Faye felt like crying again when she found herself unable to dress herself. Her ribs ached, everything ached.

"Leave it to me," before she could protest Spike was already pulling the T-shirt over her head and helping to put it on. "I have to examine your wrist."

"I know..."

Spike held her arm gently and sighed in frustration. She tried her best not to complain but the truth was that it hurt like hell. Spike bit his lips angrily as he patted along the length of her arm. The bruises looked really shocking in contrast to the pallor of her skin.

"It's not broken," he said as he rifled through the bandages in the kit until he found a new bundle. After placing a piece of metal to keep it straight, he bandaged it tight. "You should hold it up."

She tried to smile as he began to put away the rest of the bandages in the first aid kit. Spike didn't look at her, he was focused on tidying each and every item inside.

"I've got a anti-bruise cream, it's pretty good..." Spike said with his eyes fixed on the box.

He stood up again and left her alone in the room. She flopped down on the bed exhausted, letting sleep overcome her for good.

When Faye opened her eyes again, she was inside the sheets, but she didn't remember taking off her shoes or getting into them. Bringing the hands to her face, she discovered a pair of band-aids over her eyebrow and cheek. The pot of cream was on her bedside table. Faye sat up and spread the cream as best she could over her arm. She got out of bed, she was thirsty and the pain was worse than before she went to sleep.

She went to the kitchen to drink a glass of water. There was a dim light in the living room, Spike was watching TV in the dark. He turned to look at her. He was inscrutable, she couldn't decipher what he was thinking. She smiled tiredly at him, but he didn't move a muscle in his face.

"Did I wake you up?" Spike asked turning down the volume on the TV.

"No, I was thirsty," she replied raising the glass full of water.

She didn't feel like being alone, but she didn't know whether to stay or not.

"How are you?" he asked, offering a hand towards her.

Her heart skipped a beat and she froze. He blinked as if waking from a dream and withdrew his hand.

Faye sat down next to him and picked up the pack of cigarettes from the table, it was hard to maneuver with only one hand. She bit into the cigarette and before she tried to reach for the lighter the flame appeared before her eyes. She smiled frankly and Spike smiled back.

"What are you watching?" she asked full of curiosity.

"Boxing."

"Oh," she settled back on the couch as best she could. Spike watched her out of the corner of his eye. She heard him sigh and look back at the screen.

The boxing match broke for the news. They had found the body, Faye felt the air around her thicken, her attacker was a notorious criminal. She could barely hear the broadcaster over the pounding of her heart. He had been put in jail for torturing, raping and murdering six women. He'd escaped a few days ago. Spike reached for the TV remote.

"No," her hand was shaking but she still wouldn't let him change the channel.

Faye didn't realize she was crying until she felt the tears on her lips.

"You don't have to watch this crap," Spike said turning off the TV.

Not sure if she had heard him correctly, Faye was only aware of her heart beating. She tried to fill her lungs with air, but failed.

"Faye?"

She couldn't breathe, she put her hands to her chest and dug her nails in, as if she could tear her skin off to make way for oxygen.

"Breathe," Spike held her by the shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "It's all over."

She couldn't speak, couldn't stop crying. She hugged Spike who ran his hands through her hair and placed them on her back. She was choking, she tried to catch her breath again, but all she managed was an agonized whimper. Spike pulled away from her. His confused and panicked expression made her even more frightened.

"Please, Faye, breathe," he cupped her face with both hands. "Don't fuck with me, do it very carefully, slowly."

Spike took a slow breath, not taking his eyes off her. She focused on the small change in hue between his eyes as he tried to mimic Spike's slow, methodical breaths. Tears were still slipping down her face, but she felt herself regaining control. Spike wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled, resting his forehead against hers.

" That' s right," his voice sounded calm. "That's it, a little at a time."

Faye rested her head on Spike's shoulder and closed her eyes, while he kept stroking her hair. Her heartbeat didn't seem to calm down, yet she was able to breathe. She felt Spike wrap his arms around her, pulling her closer. Spike radiated a cozy, pleasant warmth, that comforted her. Faye was grateful for his silence and the way he ran his fingers through her hair. She was grateful he let her cry and that he was there. She let out a barely inaudible "thank you" against his chest. She heard him swallow and laugh nervously. He squeezed her in his arms before releasing her.

"Will you be able to breathe on your own or are you tricking me into giving you mouth-to-mouth?" Spike joked as he gave her one of his unmistakable smiles.

"Ha! You wish you could put your lips on mine," she replied looking sideways at him and plopping down on the back of the couch.

"I quit boxing?" he asked casually turning the TV back on.

"Not a chance, there's a show about cosmetic operations gone wrong on channel 93, put it on."

"I'm not putting that crap on."

"Give me the remote, Spiegel."

"Over my dead body, Romani."

[yoonsshadow]

Strike! - OT7

❥ prompt ; ‘could you please do an ot7 where they all go bowling or to the arcade together? (I also love your eternals series so much!!)’ sent in by @deathbybigsisrory​ 

❥ pairing ; ot7 x fem!reader

❥ genres ; non-idol!au, rom-com, friends-to-[future]-lovers, [they’re not together yet but everyone is very much in love]

❥ themes ; fluff!!

❥ warnings ; none

❥ word count ; 1.7k

❥ note ; Thank you so much for the submission!!! (And also thank you for your sweet words darling xx) I may have strayed a little from the prompt, but I hope you still like it. I haven’t been bowling since I was like 11, so I’m sorry if some details are incorrect. I have never been to an arcade, so I thought this was the safer option. [this isn’t edited]

Somewhere, in the back of your subconscious, is a loud knocking.

It’s a rapid noise, insistent and forceful, but the dream you’re submerged in is far too pleasant to pay it any heed. It will go away eventually.

Except it doesn’t.

As you’re lying in the paradise of a warm coastal beach, mermaids off the coast and dragons in the distant sky, muffled yells are lost in the ambience of crashing waves and mer-song. You are so incredibly comfortable on this beach chair. You think, perhaps, that you’d happily stay here for an eternity.

Eternity does not last very long.

Your idyllic fantasy dissolves the instant hands shake your hunched shoulders, voices now louder in your ear as you are rocked from your sleep. It aches to move, to be moved, but soon you are sitting upright rather than folded over your desk, cheek pressed into papers.

“Hey there, sleepyhead.” Namjoon’s deep timbre vibrates through you; shocks you into clarity faster than your mind is ready.

“Hmrrfh?” Is your unintelligible response. He seems to understand.

Seokjin is crouched beside you, one hand on the back of your office chair, the other on your knee. “I thought you said that you were finished with your work.” You rub your eyes and yawn as he speaks, quickly taking notice of the other figures in the room. “You were supposed to have a break, remember?”

You hum. “I don’t get paid to take breaks, I get paid to have my work done by the deadline. Which is soon, might I add, so I’ll have to rain-check today. Sorry.”

“Nope.” It’s Yoongi who speaks this time. In the next moment, your office chair is rolled away from the desk and into the group of men who have somehow entered your home. Which reminds you-

“How did you even get in?”

“We found the spare key,” Taehyung says, as if the fact should be obvious.

“Yeah,” Jimin adds, “when you didn’t respond to our knocks and calls we thought you might be dead or something. Ggukie damn near kicked the door down when Namjoon-hyung lifted up the doormat.”

“Terrible hiding spot, Y/N,” Namjoon says. You can tell that he’s trying to sound disappointed, but he looks just a little too endeared.

Moving in front of you, Hoseok flashes you a warm smile. His eyes become crescents, his lips a heart, and your fingers twitch with the want to reach forward and caress his cheek. You don’t.

“There’s no way you’re getting out of today,” he says without a hint of malice. “You need a day to relax, and we haven’t seen our girl in far too long. So, will you be coming willingly, or by force?”

“But-” Your protests are cut off.

“By force it is. Gguk.”

Your vision is suddenly filled by a broad chest as thick arms sweep you from your seat. Gravity has no effect on the young man who now holds you bridal style, nor on the Bambi smile that naturally grows on his face.

“We’re going to have so much fun today,” Jeongguk says, muscles flexing around you as they all begin walking towards your bedroom. You have no doubt that Hoseok and Taehyung already have an outfit planned for you, and you even hear the bath beginning to run.

Your boys never fail to look after you. God, you care for them so much.

[You won’t admit to yourself that you may feel something deeper. Not yet. But one day, perhaps soon, you’ll realise that you don’t have to be afraid of that feeling.]

Retro music swirls around you as your group makes their way towards your assigned lane. Bowling shoes in hand and a competitive spirit growing, a weight seems to melt off of your shoulders.

All thoughts of work, of responsibilities, have simply disappeared.

“How are we going to decide teams?” Namjoon looks around the group, as if calculating a mathematic equation. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

Yoongi scoffs. “We’ll be here forever if we do that. Let’s just do Hyungs versus Youngs.”

While Jeongguk, Taehyung and Jimin are cheering at the quick resolution, you lift a brow at the unbothered man. “But what do I call your team then, Yoongi oppa?”

For a moment, he says nothing, merely ducking his head to hide the rosy tint that dusts across his cheeks. Hoseok is the one who steps in to answer, clapping a harsh hand on Yoongi’s back as if to wake him from a trance.

“We can come up with team names!”

Jimin jumps up and down, wide beam blinding you all. “We are team Young and Beautiful!”

“No, we should be Bold and Beautiful! Like that American hand-wash show,” Taehyung suggests, equally as enthusiastic.

Namjoon sighs. “It’s soap opera, Tae.”

“What about Y/N’s Angels?” Jeongguk seems to be thinking hard, ever competitive even in the sport of picking a team name. “Because we are angelic, and Y/N bosses us around.”

That lands him a swift chop to the neck, much to his giggling delight.

“We are the Young, Bold, and Beautiful Angels,” you decide, rolling your eyes. “And what about your team?”

Seokjin does not hesitate to announce: “We are team Kim Seok Jin!”

Yoongi sighs, but doesn’t object, and Hoseok leans his forehead on Namjoon’s shoulder as if he needs the support to keep standing.

“Thank you for consulting the rest of the team about this decision, Jin-hyung,” Namjoon says, deadpan but not upset.

“You should be thankful that I’m allowing you to use my name at all,” Seokjin replies, hands on hips. “It is, after all, a national symbol of good luck.”

“National...?” You mumble.

Jimin groans out a sigh, easily bored and antsy to win. “Can we just play already? We don’t need to have a board meeting every time we make a decision.”

“Let’s go hold some heavy balls!” Jeongguk then grabs your elbow and drags you to the bowling ball racks, uncaring that you’ve only laced one of your shoes on.

“Do you need me to teach you how to bowl?” Jeongguk’s voice in your ear startles you as you stand in front of your lane, ready to go. The pink ball is heavy in your hand when you turn around to glare at him.

“I know how to bowl, Gguk. Now shoo, I need to concentrate.”

“Yes, but do you know how to bowl properly? Like a pro?”

“I am this close to dropping this ball on your toes, don’t test me.”

“Pleeease? C’mon, just this once?”

Damn him and his doe eyes. “Fine. Just once. But you’re going to buy me a plate of nacho fries.”

“Deal.”

You shouldn’t be surprised when he stands behind you and circles his arms around yours, but you do jolt a bit when his hands touch your waist.

“Some people think that it’s the wrist movement that’s most important, but really, it’s the hips. Even if you mess up the bowl, if your hips are at the right angle, you can’t really go wrong.”

“I’m pretty sure wrist movement is actually pretty important.”

The man has the nerve to shush you. “Angle your hips like this,” fingertips press into the soft flesh over your hipbones, “and then take three steps before you let go of the ball. The trick is to start with your non-dominant foot, so that when you bowl, your dominant leg isn’t in the way.”

Sighing, you humour the youngest and stride away from him, following his steps and then releasing the ball from your grip.

It lands a perfect strike.

Jeongguk walks back to the group with a smug smile and a pep in his step, while you simply chuckle at his pride. Meanwhile, the other boys are glaring at him.

“So,” Hoseok says as you wait for your ball to return so that you can have your second go, “are we all going to be allowed to teach you? Or is this favouritism?”

Heaving a deep sigh, you look up to the ceiling as if it, or any higher being, may give you an answer as to why you’ve chosen these seven as your favourite people.

Deep down you know why, but it’s times like these that make you question yourself.

It’s also times like these that make you feel impossibly endeared.

Night has crept up on you by the time the boys drop you back at your apartment, ribs aching from laughter and cheeks sore from smiles. No tension resides in your muscles, in your bones, or even in your mind; you feel as though you are floating, ears brushing against the clouds, with how light you are right now.

“You have to promise that you won’t do any work until tomorrow,” Namjoon says, watching you dig through your bag for your keys. 

“After a full night of sleep,” Yoongi adds.

Seokjin then says, “And a nice, big breakfast.”

“And plenty of water!”

“And a comforting shower- Or a bubble bath!”

“And you have to take plenty of breaks.”

“Maybe we can drop by at lunch to make sure you eat-”

“Would it be better if we stayed over tonight?”

“Why don’t you just stay with us? We can help you-”

“Guys.” Your voice is sturdy as it cuts through the overlapping voices of seven worried men, all eyes turned to you as you stand in your open doorway. “I appreciate the concern, truly, but I’m a big girl. What happened yesterday - well, this morning - was a one-off. I assure you that I can take care of myself.”

You’re met with silence that sounds an awful lot like doubt.

“But,” you sigh, “maybe you can come over for lunch?”

Gleeful voices whoop into the night air, and you have to bite back your laughter as you hurriedly hush them, wary of your neighbours.

One by one, you give them a hug and a kiss on the cheek as you exchange farewells, peeling the younger ones off of you as you tell them that yes, I really do have to go inside now.

It’s only when you’ve closed the front door behind you, leaning on the wall beside you, that you come to the full, unafraid realisation.

You are in love with them. And you think they might love you back.

End

[shadowworks]

Look Inside

Pairing: Overhaul X Reader

Warnings: Dubcon-noncon, medical kink, drugged sex, mention of needles, mentions of blood, bondage, fingering, this is dark! 

Word Count: 3.8k 

A/N: I decided to try some creepy themes and give second person a try. So we’ll see how it goes. This piece is dark so please mind the warnings!

Huge shoutout to @present-mel for making the beautiful banner and reading over my fic you precious gem! Also thank you @thisisthehardestthing and @hisoknen for your feedback it’s so greatly appreciated! 💜

Someone had shut off the lights in the morgue. 

You happen to notice this when your eyes toil lazily between security cameras at the right time. You freeze on the spot, and quirk a brow toward the shadow. You expect it’ll brighten any second like it usually does, but after those few seconds tick by without change, a weight of dread sinks in your stomach.

Kai Chisaki put orders in place that if experiments are up and running the basement levels are to remain lit. Chisaki and his men are already down below, and the winding pale halls near the morgue are empty.

 You haven’t been called to notify cleaners about another bloody corpse still peeling off the wall, and you can’t find motion on the surveillance camera when you rewind the recordings. It’s in the lower right corner of the camera, and you note the light flicks off without warning. No one enters, no one leaves. 

You study the harsh glow of the screen for another moment, still in denial, still waiting for the lights to flicker on, and stand up from the chair in the office. When not a soul appears by the threshold, all you can do is lean forward with your hands pressed on the desk, dropping your head in defeat. “Seriously? Fuck you.” 

You don’t know who “you” was exactly, but it felt right to say. 

It takes a bit of time after departing the small office, but you find the proper hall in Chisaki’s deeply looping maze...It’s just you don’t want to step out from the elevator. You were ready before, but when the doors split open and the cool air ghosts against your cheeks, you pause. There’s a stillness lingering in the hallway; it’s far too quiet- except for the creaks in the elevator floor from your shifting weight...But, something seems off. 

  Your steps are tentative when you do slip out, peering down the drab hallway. You clearly see which of the rooms is buried in shadow, and frankly you want to whirl back around before the doors close. But you can’t, well, not yet at least. The tap of your shoes hits off the walls, while you tread along on stiff legs. Eventually you come to a stop having reached the doorway. It’s partly open, a slice of darkness hiding what’s deep inside. 

Hold on, this can't be right. The camera— A shudder trails up your spine. It tingles coldly.

You inhale a deep breath. Okay, just do it; just switch the lights back on, it’s fine. It’s fine. Besides, if it were you (which it is) you wouldn’t want to deal with Chisaki’s ill temper over something so minor as a light. 

He’s punished his men for incompetence before, and those who didn’t listen have smeared the walls with their blood, drenching vein red across white. Black-looking goops of muscle plopped on the floor...the consequences ranged based on severity of failure or how stressed he is, really. In fact, one man had the skin of his face torn off for talking back—wait, relax. Focus

It won’t happen. Kai Chisaki is somewhere else in the maze. He’s not aware of what happened.

There’s a member with a quirk which lets him melt through walls; the tiny one with a bone white mask. He probably slipped between the rooms and grabbed something then turned the lights off. But that didn’t explain the door...

It doesn’t matter.

You stretch an arm out, gently pushing the door further open, and light spills onto the tile floor. 

It’s a cold, vacant room. There’s a pungent scent of bleach still lingering from a cleanup, but it hits your nose almost like it happened recently. You can’t see much nor do you want to. And your hand reaches around the door frame, trailing gentle fingers along the smooth surface for a switch—

Only, there’s nothing on the wall. 

“Are you serious? Really?” you huff to yourself, stepping round to search for the light. Sure enough, your fears are realized with one look. 

You let out an annoyed groan, and a, ‘stupid switch’ under your breath. Who the hell designs a room and doesn’t put a switch by the door? 

Your eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark, so you can’t see the precise details on the walls. So this leaves you no choice but to step further in, allowing the brightness from the hall to guide you along.

It’s a moderate room with a vaulted wall filled with metal drawers, all large enough to fit an icy corpse in ‘til the yakuza dispose of them. Then there’s the silver surgical table in the middle of the room. It's empty, but the thing’s embellished. There’s protruding belts attached, and a tray on wheels is parked on the side. On top of the tray is a clean towel and a neat row of surgical tools lay flat across. 

Your brows scrunch together, studying the sharp gleam of knives and the sizes of needles. Why are these out? Kai’s an obsessive clean freak, every little thing needs to be put back and organized. All his masked cronies know this rule, so who the hell did this? That is, unless someone’s using them?

Your back is turned to the glow seeping in from the hall, so you don’t see a gloved hand press on the metal door. There’s a push, and the door slams shut. 

You let out a startled yelp, cupping your hands to your mouth. What the hell…! Your heart’s pounding wildly in your chest; for some reason the room feels colder, you feel colder. 

“I must say this is disappointing.”

Light floods the room from the panels above, flickering with a buzzing noise before they settle. You take a moment. A deep breath, a slow exhale. When the initial shock stops tingling in your muscles, you slowly drop your palms. The voice is male, his tone’s calm, ominous and it carries like chill over your shoulder. You know this voice; you know you have to turn around. But fuck, you can’t stop trembling. When you do, you see a tall figure looming near the wall, a gloved hand still on the switch.

Kai Chisaki. 

“I told Setsuno I needed him in the security room. Do you think it’s hard for him to follow directions?”

You stare at him, anxiously. He isn’t wearing his green coat with the violet plumage trimming on the collar. He’s in his iron pressed, black suit and grey tie; the trademark plague mask covering half his face. 

“Setsuno asked me to fill in. He said he wasn’t feeling well...I guess,” you manage to say it as steady as you can. 

The lanky blond hadn’t given you a clear reason when he staggered towards you near dawn. But if you’re being honest, you didn’t really care.You barely looked his way at breakfast, choosing to stare into your dark coffee cup than at the katana resting on his shoulder. The sword was still wet with blood, and you knew he’d been out all night. Though right now, you sorta wish you pressed him more for details.

Kai mutters something slightly bitter, words that are muffled against the material of his mask. But you hear him sigh, then his tone turns crisper. “No matter. It’s inconvenient, but I can work around these...changes.”

His arm drops to his side, walking from the wall. And unexpectedly- those peculiar eyes you see leering at his enemies, have now fallen on you. 

You seize up in mild panic, the pupils in your eyes shrinking; not knowing what to do. You take a scuffling step or two back on reflex—and knock your hip against the table corner. 

Oww—ow, fuck. Hold on, what’s he doing? Why—Your voice bubbles in your throat as you watch him draw near. Though it’s strange, for Kai doesn’t pull at the rim of his latex glove like expected, rather, the Shie Hassaikai boss happens to steer past you instead. 

...Huh?

Your neck cranes, loose hair spilling over your shoulder. He stops a couple feet away and tilts his head downward in front of the tray, no longer regarding your presence and focusing on his work. 

You stand there awkwardly, just listening to the clinks of metal fitting together in Kai’s grip. You’re not fully understanding though, should you leave? It looks like your job’s finished now that your boss is here. Besides, you’re pretty confident Kai doesn't want you here if he’s occupying the room. 

In the long pause between you two, your mind’s made up which prompts you to retreat back and aim towards the door. They’re slow, careful moving steps. 

“Well, you seem busy...I should probably hurry back and watch the cameras,'' you say dismissing yourself. You’re partial toward the comfort of the smaller office, and any chance you have of leaving the macabre storage space you will eagerly take it. 

You don’t make it to the gleaming doorknob—because Kai’s voice holds you still. It isn’t loud, but it grips the room. “No stay. There’s no need for you to leave so soon.”

A mix of fear and confusion read across your features. Kai has never spent a moment alone with you. In fact, you aren’t actually part of the yakuza. The only reason you’re associated with the fallen crime syndicate, is because the former boss offered you odd jobs as a favor. You needed some work to keep from struggling and he had taken a liking to you, sort of how he did with Kai. But then, the leader collapsed. 

Now you aren't sure where you stand. Chisaki is in charge.

“I believe there’s something you can do for me. Will you have a seat on the table?” 

You aren’t sure if you heard him right, or fully grasp what he means. He says it so casually-  but you know better; it’s a demand. You’re just not sure why.

“I’m fine. Really. I should be going-“

“Are you defying my order?” Again, he says it so nonchalantly. This time Kai turns his head over his shoulder; the look he gives is almost impassive, yet there’s a menacing gleam in the yellow of his eyes.

“What? No, I was…! Right.”

You don’t exactly drag your feet, but you do stand hesitant before the edge of the table where countless bodies have been dissected. So much blood, so many organs harvested on this very table.

“I won’t ask you again.” 

You turn around robotically, eyes pointed downward as you hoist your hips onto the metal. The table’s surface is icy, it numbs your fingers the longer you lean on it, which only makes you fold them against your thighs. 

“Roll up your sleeve.” Kai says by your right, holding up a purple band. Your gaze flicks up immediately, nervously, a silent plea for mercy. As if somehow your glossy and delicate eyes will make a difference. But it does nothing toward Kai’s stoic stance. He simply waits, and his own steely eyes narrow back.

You drop your head with a wince; just do as he says. 

You comply, pushing up your long sleeve. Though you make a point not to help much more than that, leaving your arm limp at your side. 

Kai doesn’t seem to notice or care and proceeds to wrap the rubber around your arm. You grimace, unpleased as his fingers skim your arm, and again when he brushes you with a wet cotton swab. 

“You need my blood?” You ask evenly. 

His eyes don’t leave your skin, “Not necessarily.”

“A lot of effort for, ‘not necessarily.’” You say, not too dryly. 

“You’ve seen my work before, you should know by now I take great care in everything I do.”

Kai rotates between you and the now rolled over stand, dismissing your light jab. He sets up the port for blood to flow; all in a well practiced motion. It certainly makes you wonder how many times he’s done this before. 

“I’m curious, when was your last doctor's appointment?” He asks suddenly, hands already prepping the next instrument. The other needle probably, but you don’t want to play as his patient. He isn’t your doctor, for fucks sake.

“A while.” You answer. 

“A while,” he repeats with a subtle chuckle under his covered breath,“Has anyone told you before you’re a feisty one?”

You bite your tongue and refuse to meet his side glance. When you don’t reply back, he carries on with a sigh. 

“I’ve had quite a long day you see, so I’m afraid I’ve exhausted my tolerance for stubborn little girls.”

Suddenly, his hand is squeezing your shoulder, and all too quickly you find yourself thumping against the cold metal, your horrified eyes staring up at the bright ceiling. The next thing you feel is buckles fastening, pinning you against the table by your waist and elbows. 

You're flooded with tingling panic, voice cracking from strain, “Hol—Hold on one second. Please, just one more—”

“—You know they say you should never let the lamb see the knife? Their fear tampers the meat, and ruins the flavor,” Kai gives a sharp tug on the last belt. “But I find yours all the more intoxicating, my dear.”

You stammer, words of protest mingle together as you attempt to be heard, “I don’t understand, why are you…Just stop. You need to let me go!”

Your teeth clench together in a rage that fills your chest. You’re not thinking rationally, your nerves are unhinged. And in your adrenaline high your leg curls up, thrashing a viciously blunt strike toward the point of his beak.

 Before it can connect and batter the bridge of his nose and mark his cheekbones, Kai’s arm flexes quickly. Your foot stops mid air as he catches your ankle with constricting force. 

“Do I?” He asks with a title of his head, there're subtle creases in the corner of eyes, you can imagine his mouth settles in a cold smile beneath. 

In that moment you freeze up. Your lash lines burn, stinging with fresh tears glossing your doe eyes. You don’t breathe, you don’t dare to expand your lungs. Your only thought is begging him not to burst open your calf. 

“You shouldn’t be giving commands. You work under me now,” his nails dig in your flesh, and you know those indents will marr your flesh.“Meaning you’ll have to bear with me while I continue.”

Kai doesn’t loosen his hold, briefly watching your pained expression. But he favors dropping his gaze below to study the stretch of your thigh, your exposed and parted groin. It’s then his nimble fingers reach to unclasp the button of your jeans and he gently pulls down the zipper. You cry out, jerking against the belts, but he isn’t fazed. 

“One of our new drugs is supposed to relax its victims...recently it’s been ineffective if the heartbeat’s racing too quickly, though we’ve made modifications to counter this. My plan was to stage a fight with Setsuno, until...you graciously took his place.”

Kai lowers your leg, both hands roaming across to the edge of your jeans. He still studies you, and decides to push up your ribbed sweater, letting the cold bite of the morgue chill your hips. His latex fingers trace lightly across your pebbled skin, skimming down the dips to your thighs. 

“Yes, this will do just fine. You’re pretty enough,” he muses, softly.

He then tucks his hands into your waistband, yanking them down your legs, before they fall to the floor with a plop. The seamless panties slip off easily, as well. This sends a small prickle through you, and, no, this can’t keep going! The fight in you surges, pushing your knees together to shield your groin. Only Kai doesn’t like that. 

There’s something cold and dangerous in his glare, a threat that twists at your stomach. He’s warning you; don’t make this worse for yourself or you’ll make him snap. And you didn’t want that...You watch both his hands clutch your knees, he doesn’t waste time and he yanks your legs apart, taking in your pretty cunt.

Angry tears trickle down your cheeks in response. Your throat burns from holding back a sob, “Chisaki, please. If you would—“

 Without a moment of hesitation, Kai knowingly finds where to touch you first. A little too skillfully for a false doctor, the pad of his thumb presses against your soft, sensitive nub, stroking tight circles with focus. Your breath catches, falling heavier while he sinks his pad deeper in the forming slick, building steady pressure.

“Still so stubborn, what good will that bring you?”

A broken moan spills on your shaky breath, all against your better decisions. His other hand settles between your legs, and a finger plunges inside your heat, curling upward and massaging the rougher layer of flesh. A sharp gasp inhales into your lungs. He isn’t stopping, no, Kai’s gloved finger moves with vigor the more your pleasurably laced cries pour out from your lips, how desperate they become.

He pushes in a second finger, and then a third thrusting in, stretching you and soaking your walls with your arousal. This causes you to push your hips further against his latex hand. 

“Kai, you fucking bastard!” you sob out, formalities be damned as your back arches. You can feel the building pulses in your cunt tense up, losing yourself to your superior on an icy slab in a fucking morgue. 

“You curse my name as though you’re not enjoying this,” Kai mocks.

 His fingers pump deeper, tightening your abs and your lips fall open. His matching rhythm on the bundle of nerves surges in a crash, sending a hard orgasm that shivers through your body. For a moment, just a little moment, your cares fade away. 

You're left breathing deeply, staring up at the ceiling as your chest rises and falls. The euphoria lasts a moment longer, but only for so long. Reality sets in as you lay there, and much too soon, the warmths gone. 

Kai takes advantage of this.

With your chin tipped up toward cabinets lining the ceiling, Kai unfastens his thinner belt. It’s only when you feel him hook under your knees and pull at your thighs that you snap your head up in startlement.

Kai’s venomous eyes stare you down, “I suggest laying back down little girl, we’re not finished yet.”

“Like hell!”

A second flare of rage strickens across your features, a hard glare that doesn’t unyield, especially as he unzips and withdraws himself from formal slacks. You know he’s relishing in your disdain for him, and this makes you thrash on the belts, hoping to force them apart. Of course, Kai did a good job of fastening these fuckers and simply chuckles at your attempt. 

“You’re still not understanding the position that you’re in,” He slips a hand in his pocket, and pulls out the wrapping of a condom. Taking his time, tearing it open, rolling the rubber down his thick length with precision.

 When Kai’s satisfied, his arms reach for you and grab at your hips, giving them a sharp yank forward. He leans in with a darkly low voice, “You can’t escape me. You’re mine to do with as I please.”

“...You lean any closer and I’ll spit in your face.” There isn’t any bite to it. It’s a calm, empty threat and loses all its appeal as a single tear spills down your cheekbone.

A huffing noise emits from his mask, with his lids narrowing in mild disgust. You catch the words “filthy woman,” rasped low and nasally before he does lean back, wrenching at the skin around your hips. 

When he’s all settled Kai lines himself to your heat, in a slow motion he draws himself inside. You almost don't hear it, but from the mask you note a soft hitch in his breath. He gives shallow pushes and pulls on your hips, an experimental dip that splits you in a painful stretch before he pumps fully into you. They’re slow, long strokes, filling you to the brim.

Another strained gasp rips from your wet lips, and your hands impulsively spring out, clenching the black cloth of Kai’s sleeves. His hips snap quicker, and your breath picks up with him. Heart pounding to his thrust; you can feel the beats in your neck. 

And all of a sudden you hear the sound of plastic clasping together, the squeeze of an injection clip the shell of your ear. Your eyes snap open in horror. What—?

Kai locks on your facial features, his deep pumps lessen though the slapping of skin doesn’t stop. “You’ve been too tense. Why don’t you relax for awhile?”

When did he..? 

He prepped it. The syringe must’ve been tucked away. He did have this all planned. You were just the unlucky one who walked to the table and sealed your fate. 

The serum he injected into your bloodstream has fast results it seems. The tension in your muscles slack against his thrusts, allowing him to carry your body closer and take more of his length. You feel the tension in your wide eyes soften, slowly falling half lidded and weak. 

“That’s a good girl, you're taking to the drug faster than I thought,” he muses a little breathless. Right after he sets the syringe back down, a gloved hand reaches for the strap fastened around his head and pulls. The mask slips off.

It’s at this point he hikes his knees up onto the table and pounds in deeper, letting your walls suck him in. Your body’s folded, and Kai treats your body in any way he desires.

You manage to pull your head from his sharp eyes, your cheek bouncing slightly against the icy metal to Kai’s rhythm. The drawers for the deceased are taken in.

You stare intently. 

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

“No.” He manages between breathes, his voice is heavy and laced with lusting growls, “This is merely a precaution. In the event...ah, in the event you overdose...well. You’re in the right place.”

Your head lolls back to Kai meeting his delicate face which is now flushed. You realize this is the first time you’ve seen him behind the mask. He’s beautiful. Soft featues that compliment him so well. If only he wasn’t so cruel...

“In fact, hah, if you survive...I think this will be the start of something new in my work.” He manages the last bit with a shaky chuckle. 

You see him smirk wickedly, and all you can do is watch, because it doesn’t stop. The only sound in the room is the liquid squish of sex, your mixed heavy breaths. And you hope, god do you hope in your hazy state, feeling a numbness taking hold of your body, that you leave this room alive.

[sunnysviolin]

Omotober Day One- White Space

You can also read it here. This is a continuation of Omori Continues

“Behind that door lives the small child that is the real you. The small child who hurts too much and feels too much and laughs too loud and always believes... true love involves unlocking the many padlocks on that door, taking him by the hand, and guiding him- Joybell C.

“We may never know exactly when or how this began, but if we acknowledge this little one, he will somehow know that we are listening to him.”- Bonnie Badenoch

Omori existed, and then he didn’t.

Sunny had held him, and he had closed his eyes. He stopped existing when he closed his eyes, but that was normal. He didn’t exist a lot of the time, only when Sunny closed his eyes.

Except nowadays when Sunny closed his eyes, Omori still didn’t exist. There was no lightbulb, no door, no neighbor’s room, no headspace. It was just Omori, not existing, but still there. He didn’t know where “there” was, but that was where Omori was now.

In “There”, he had lots of time to think, so Omori thought. He thought about his friends, and he wondered if they were still waiting for him in their technicolor tree house. He thought about Mari and her picnic blankets, about her gentle smiles and cheerful attempts to help him. Omori thought about a lot of things, but the thing he thought about most was Sunny.

Sunny had hugged him, but that wasn’t normal. Omori was used to hugs from his friends, tight squeezes from Basil (almost too tight sometimes) and side grabs from Kel. Omori thought he knew how hugs felt. They were nice, but flat. It was like looking at a picture of a delicious food. It was delectable, desirable even, but underneath that initial thought, there was no substance. It was just something that happened to him.

But hugging Sunny felt, for lack of a better word, like something...more.

Omori didn’t really like Sunny. He spent most of his time trying and succeeding in forgetting that Sunny even existed. Sunny had created him, but Sunny was bad. Omori was supposed to be the good parts of himself that Sunny hid away, because Sunny knew he couldn’t be trusted around good things without hurting them.

Omori wasn’t Sunny, Sunny was a monster, but he knew that he was Sunny’s creation just like everything in headspace was. Did that make him Sunny? Did that make him a monster too? It was easier to just try to stab the older boy than try to wrap his head around all of that. But then Sunny made him feel more.

Omori had never really felt more before, only certain little moments of it during the worst parts of his existence. When he went past just scared, past AFRAID and into STRESSED OUT. When he went past his normal limits and became not quite Omori and not quite Sunny either. He had thought that anything more than what he was had to be bad, because the only time he was more than Omori was when he was hurt or scared. That was why they were all in headspace, wasn’t it? A safe place to lock all the darkness out and only leave the good?

But Sunny’s hug had been more, and Sunny was more, and he had made Omori feel warm for the very first time since he had woken up in White Space on that night.

Omori didn’t know what to make of it, how to try and rebalance what he thought he had known with what he knew now. In the “There” that he was still existing in he tried to find a way that it all made sense, but he couldn’t. There was no reconciling Sunny the Monster with Sunny the Boy. Could they both exist? Then what did that make Omori?

He was There, and There was nothing.

Then There was White Space.

Usually right before he opened his eyes, Omori always had the same two thoughts. Welcome to White Space. You have been living here for as long as you can remember. This time he didn’t think of a thing. One minute he existed “there” and the next he was back in White Space.

Mewo slumbered in the corner of the white rug, and his laptop began the process of booting back up all on its own. He had his box of tissues, full now instead of almost empty, and-

His sketchbook. It was new. Omori could tell you every exact detail of the things in White Space down to a tee. He could tell you where the dents were on his laptop, the exact spot where Mewo loved to be scratched under her chin, even the number of tissues that perpetually existed in his box.

His sketchbook was supposed to be dirty and beaten up, the paper was supposed to be crinkled at the edges. It was a sketchbook filled with drawings that scared him, drawings he knew that he had done, but also had no memory of ever doing. They were only the surface drawings, and Omori was frightened by them because he knew what lay underneath.

This sketchbook was sleek, black leather with crisp white pages, his name embossed in gold on the cover. Next to it sat an open pencil box, clear plastic blue filled to the brim with sharp colored pencils. Omori stood up from where he had been sitting on the blanket, and walked over. He kneeled by the new items and picked up the box, inspecting its contents.

He had never had blue before, or green or purple. A full glossy rainbow of options was peering out at him, waiting to be used. Omori shut the box, the box clasping shut with a neat snap that echoed into the white. Omori jumped at the sound, startled. The only sounds he ever heard in here was Mewo, the knife falling, or his laptop booting up. He opened and shut the box a few more times, just to hear the new sound again. Then he put it down and picked up the other new item.

The sketchbook was heavier than his other one. He ran a finger along the letters of his name, the gold glinting and soft to the touch. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to open it, it was so beautiful the way it was. Seeing the drawings inside would ruin it.

Omori didn’t want to see them, to have to look at Sunny’s nightmares, or the fragments of Black Space he could never fully purge from his mind. Maybe he didn’t have to look, he could just keep the book sitting here on his thighs until Sunny awoke again and took him back to the There.

A familiar sound came from behind him, and then Mewo was brushing against his leg, sitting in front of him and pawing at the book. Omori raised a hand and pet between her ears, giving one long stroke down her back the way she liked and then a small scratch under the chin. She purred and then gave another soft meow, asking him her standard question.

Waiting for something to happen?

Omori hummed and gave Mewo another long stroke, taking a deep breath and steeling himself for what was to come. He closed his eyes when he flipped the cover of the book open, feeling on the page with his fingers. On his old book he could feel the shape of the pencil marks, the harsh jagged lines of black and red that marred his memories. He couldn’t feel anything. There was nothing under his fingers but paper. Omori opened his eyes.

The page was blank. He flipped through the pages, his pace slow but gathering pace as it went. Finally he reached the other cover, white turning to black. The entire book was blank. Was it...for him? How did it exist?

Did Sunny make it for him?

Sunny had never made him anything before. Sunny had just created the things he wanted, or chosen to protect the things he didn’t want to ruin. Sunny had never made anything just for Omori before. Mewo made a soft noise and picked herself back up, going to his side again and lying down against him, her neck stretching so her little head was in his lap alongside the book.

Omori was frozen, his mind swirling and racing. This had never happened before, and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He was so used to the monotony of headspace, of repeating the same journey over and over. It all always happened the same way, it had a formula.

The formula had never been interested in his happiness before. He had just assumed Sunny couldn’t care less.

Eventually his legs started to cramp up, and Omori changed positions, lying on his stomach with the sketchbook sitting between his arms as he stared at it. Mewo wasn’t happy about this change, but she took advantage of it and jumped onto his back, kneading his muscles with her paws until she was satisfied and then lying back down. Once she was settled, Omori decided to gather his courage and test it.

Slowly he reached towards the blue plastic of the pencil box, not taking his gaze off the sketchbook. He kept his eyes glued to the page, expecting at any second for the white to vanish and for the horrors of before to replace it.

But they didn’t. Not even when he opened the box and took out the deep purple pencil and put it against the paper. The first stroke was just that, only a stroke. It wasn’t a picture, it wasn’t even an idea. It was just a stripe of purple on white. He stared at it and waited, but nothing changed. Mewo continued to sleep, the pencils sat in the box, and the purple stayed.

With constant pauses of hesitation, Omori flipped to the next page and started to doodle, switching pencil as he pleased. He ignored the red and black, but every other color was up for grabs. Soon enough he had a scene of the playground with all of his friends, Mari’s picnic blanket checkered with blue instead. Once he was done with that, something unexpected happened.

A blinding joy struck Omori, starting at his center and spreading up to his head. He was smiling, nearly giddy as he looked down at his drawing. It wasn’t like being MANIC, it wasn’t an overwhelming emotion that clouded everything around him and left him vulnerable. It was just happiness, clear in his mind and wiping away the fears that left him guarded. He flipped to the next blank page and dove into another drawing, fingers working at a rapid pace to make the next one.

He wasn’t sure how long he had spent drawing, time was always funny in White Space, but eventually his attention was coaxed away from his drawing and to something else new on his blanket.

It was a tiny plastic ball with circles cut out of it, inside he could see something golden. Mewo awoke when he shifted, and she let out a soft trilling noise, hoping down from her spot on his back and towards the ball. She sniffed it and batted it with a paw, a soft tinkling noise filling the air around him. Mewo was entranced, her pupils growing big and black as she pushed the ball again to hear the bell and her tail swung back and forth.

Omori watched her play for a while, and then he turned back to his book to draw what he saw. The sound of her ball rolling around in the background filled the empty air, and the JOY was joined by happiness for Mewo that she also had a new gift to enjoy.

Things began to appear in this fashion. Time passed in the too slow too fast way it always did, and new things would show up. His new sketchbook filled up quickly, and the moment it did there was another next to it. Omori was afraid at first that his drawings would disappear, but both books stayed side by side.

Soon enough he had a shelf too to put his completed books on, and his colored pencils were joined with markers. A blanket appeared, smaller than the one he was sitting on, but infinitely more luxurious. It was a rich blue with tiny white dots that looked like stars. Mewo enjoyed this gift just as much as he did, and she spent her time either dozing on its soft surface or playing with her small collection of new toys, the tiny bell ball continuing to be her favorite.

Omori liked all of the new additions to White Space, but if he had to choose a favorite, it would be his new light. The dark bulb that had hung above him was gone, the Black Space within it no longer hidden, but eradicated for good. In its place, Omori had a string of twinkling sea angels, hanging on nothing but the air. They swam above him when he lied down under the blankets with Mewo, swaying in an invisible breeze.

The more things were added, the more Omori felt. These were things with color, with sound and feeling. Things that made him feel more. White Space was no longer just where he existed. Now it felt...more like home.

[yostressmininggirl]

how about Karl receiving clock? Please angsty <3

Anon, you got me <3 Sorry this took longer to publish than it should, my laptop keyboard wouldn't work and I'm trying to get funding to get it fixed,,,

Box of Memories × Part Two

Don't Forget!

minecraft:clock (carved details in the back) / Karl Jacobs / In his hand, there it lays

Trigger warning: blood.

Clocks are often neglected and considered mundane with how easy it was to predict the time using the sun.

But there are many mundane things that the majority of the population easily brush away that Karl finds great attachment to, and time, clocks are no exception.

Glitchy in appearance, and carved in the back is a random string of numbers that he was sure is a specific time: Don't Forget! 11:11:21

Sadly the significance nor the origin of the item had been lost in memory, and his library had already grown so huge that he couldn't possibly look through them all just to unearth the story of where it came from. But it bothered him, goodness, it bothered Karl every moment he was reminded of the clock's existence.

It bothered him that he felt so compelled to bring the clock with him everytime.

It bothered him that there's an obvious red stain that he's sure wasn't his.

"Karl, please, listen to me right now," said man startled out from staring at the infamous clock in his hand to look back up at his one and only fiancé, who looked so done and yet pleading almost. "You've done nothing but fiddle with that clock all day! I'm worried for you, Karl, that clock isn't doing you any good."

Sapnap made a move to grab Karl's closest hand, which just so happened to be the one clutching the item in their current argument, "NO!" The smack resounded through the empty lot of Kinoko Kingdom, and the fireborn man staggered back with bewildered eyes, hand still raised from the slap it received.

"Karl -"

"Don't you DARE touch it!"

"That's it! I'm confiscating that stupid fucking clock so you can focus on yourself -" And the scuffle started there. Shoves and desperate reaches, clothes being pulled and protests being screamed - one particular hasty grab for Karl's hand smacked the clock out of his hand -

plummeting from the second story house to the cobbled road with a loud smash.

"NO! Nononono," it only took an enderpearl for Karl to reach the broken clock. Laying still on the ground with broken shards of glass around it, the hour hand detached from the minute, the whole casing split in two to reveal clockwork. "Oh god, please no."

When Sapnap reached where the broken clock once laid, he watched a broken man curled up in himself with the remains of a clock in his hands. Wailing apologies to the unknown, crying crystal tears of remorse, Sapnap had never seen Karl so broken and bruised.

This image will haunt him forever, starting the day that Karl had disappeared after that fight.

"Don't forget!" The white noise of a ticking clock was the first thing that came to his mind upon opening his eyes, back to the scene of glaring white. The In Between. And he found himself sat on the swing where the giant tree was.

Karl's body felt heavy, bolted to the seat, "Didn't I escape this place already?" He blurted out in hushed panic as his muscles tensed, and his hand gripped on a shape that he'd been used to.

The clock, the familiar golden clock, laid on his palm in its wholeness. Barely scathed, almost as new as the first time he didn't remember, its hour and minute and second hands fully-functioning. The time traveller breathed a sigh of relief. Albeit the clock looked glitchy, wispy.

"When you reached the Other Side, you'll have to go back your world for a bit," the same disembodied voice startled Karl to attention, harshly turning to the tree. No, not the tree. There was someone at the other side of the tree. "I'll have to distract the In Between to buy you time, to make sure it doesn't follow you through."

"But what about you?" The words flew past his lips like clockwork, and he heard you giggle.

He wants to stand up so badly, to see you, to finally confront you. But his body just wouldn't work, it won't listen, it won't MOVE -

"That's what the clock is for, dummy!" His blood ran cold, and he felt his heartbeat pound against his eardrums. Slowly, the minimal ticking of the clock started to rise in volume, until it was all so incredibly loud. "When you get back as soon as possible, you need to turn the clock's hands to the time etched in the back. That would align the time between the dimensions, and open up a path to help me escape."

There are so many things he wanted to ask, force his throat to croak anything!

Who are you?

Why are you here?

Where are you?

What happens if he took too long?

"I'll do my best!" He didn't, Karl knew for sure he didn't. Whoever this person was, whatever help they gave him, he didn't do his best. It was another life he failed to save.

"Don't cry, Karl, we'll still see each other again on the Other Side," crying? For once in this space he felt no resistance in his actions as he felt for his cheeks, confirming the moisture failing off his chin on to his clock. Why was he crying? Why was he crying? Why was he - "I love you, Karl."

"I love you too, (Y/N)! Take care, okay?" His crying, both flashback and current, mixed into pools of morbid anguish at the realization. His breathing morphed into borderline choking as he tried SOMETHING, anything! To see this person, a name so foreign yet aches the back of his mind.

"And remember,"

his head turned back to focus at the tree when a movement caught his peripherals.

A hand placed on the bark of the tree, a leg stepping out of the obstruction.

"my instructions,"

The enigma of his savior slowly pulled away from the tree's shadow, turning to meet his eyes with a wide smile.

"Don't forget."

Karl screamed back at the distorted voice, accompanied by your visage bloodied from head to toe, as he jumped out of his seat on the swing. Stumbling on his own two feet, he watched as he hits the ground -

The world shifted from its blinding white to that of the Other Side's darkened atmosphere. Alone with nothing but the crackles of fire to accompany the white noise of the once ticking clock, Karl sat on the pavement to recollect his breath.

Slowly, the time traveller raised his hand where the circular object still held against his palm.

Laying still with its layer of broken shards, the hour hand detached from the minute, the whole casing split in two to reveal its dismantled clockwork. There's no saving it.

There's no saving you.

Karl weeps with nothing but the comfort of the Other Side, to mourn for the loves he lost. From the company of three lovers of which all he'd lost from the spiral of his memory.

[spenciegoob]

The 4 Types of Manipulation

A/N: hey hey hey cuties... just thought I’d drop in to tell you I love you and Harry Styles at the Grammy’s, oh and Miley Cyrus in general. Okay that’s it.

Summary: Spencer has to interrogate an unsub, but she has a few tricks up her sleeve.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Unsub!Reader

Category: Not fluff, but not angst... angsty fluff? fluffy angst?

Content Warning: mentions of murder, manipulation, mentions of sex in the form of flirting, mentions of drug use, mentions of emotional abuse

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.8K

____

Nobody dared to take a breath out of place, every profiler was packed into the room watching with careful eyes at the sobbing girl in the interrogation room through the glass. No one knew what their first step should be, but I guess there’s a first time for everything, right? Winging it was not something anyone in the BAU enjoyed doing, each case needed a thought out plan.

But they’ve seen this unsub before, they know the profile, the history, they know her. So why was she crying so hard that the weight of her head became unbearable, leaving her only option to sob into the crooks of her elbows as best as she could with wrists cuffed to the table?

Nobody knew, except for Spencer Reid.

Emily was hesitant, as expected, to blindly send in one of the best agents she’s ever seen into the room that with each tear shed slowly morphed into a lion’s den. Reid deserved better, she knew that, especially since the last time they dealt with an unsub like this one, Spencer had to be so far out of the loop that the case almost broke him.

He put up a good fight though, and if the determination set in his eyes wasn’t enough to inform the unit chief that she was not winning this argument, his deviance to storm through the door, startling the young woman chained down definitely did.

Why was it always Spencer?

Tears:

“P-please, I didn’t do anything.” Those were the first words anyone’s heard her say since the arrest, even if they were separated by sniffles and choked out sobs. 

Spencer just stared down at her, not taking the risk to further entertain the stuttering girl with wet cheeks and tired eyes.

“I promise I’m not a murderer. You have to believe me, please.” That promise whispered so quietly made with unbreakable eye contact urged him to take a second to reevaluate the situation.

She was apprehended in place of Jacob Hughes, the man they had originally been looking for. There was a chance she wasn’t complicit, a chance she was innocent. Maybe Jacob placed a hair of hers at the latest crime scene because he knew they were closing in.

Or maybe she is just as sick as he is. 

“Prove it,” Spencer said, his tone loud and assertive, leaving no room for argument. She didn’t plan on fighting his demand anyway.

“I- I haven’t seen Jacob for days. He drugged those men, and did h-horrible things. Those poor men.” This struck a nerve, everybody could tell, even the one person in this interaction that wasn’t a profiler. 

Spencer’s shoulders tensed for a millisecond, but she saw it. She saw what her words were doing to him, after all, he used to be one of those poor men she felt so sorry for.

Another loud sob echoed off the concrete walls before she bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath.

“I can’t believe he mur... did that to them. H-how could he?” Spencer watched as the young girl looked up to him like he held the answer to the million dollar question. He studied the way her eyes bounced around his face, looking for something, anything to relieve some confusion when it came to her fiancé.

“Jacob Hughes is what we call a vindictive narcissist and a sadist. He receives pleasure from hurting others, and in this case, drugging and torturing men because he feels he’s been wronged his whole life. The question, however, is why. I know you know, just like how I know you’re aware of his crimes.”

It was a blow so low it could’ve come from hell itself. Spencer regretted it immediately when he watched the way her whole body stiffened at the mention of her knowledge, but he had to be certain no matter the fallout.

“I-I still don’t understand. I’ve never seen him hurt anyone.” Denial, guilt and fear all jam packed into 3 little words that had his heart dangerously close to breaking. The sorrow in her eyes believable enough that Spencer left his standing position between the suspect and the door to sit directly across from her.

She watched his movements with careful eyes, only stealing glances from her peripherals before returning to her cuffed wrists.

“Maybe you’ve never seen him physically hurt anyone, but we know what he does to you.” It was the first and only time Spencer let any emotion, as fake as it was, show in his responses. How could he not try when the girl resumed her sobbing at the implication of her past deception from the man she loves? 

“You know nothing,” she whispered back, her tone laced with defensive anger.

“I know everything.” Was he challenging her?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Was she challenging him?

“You know what it means.” Yes, he was.

“Do I?” Yes, she was.

The two stared at each other for the entire tone shift in the stuffy interrogation room. The other profilers on the other side of the mirror had no knowledge of how thick the tension had just become because unlike Spencer, they weren’t standing in the middle of it.

Small sniffles were the only noise breaking through the quiet until suddenly, they just stopped.

“Ugh, fine! You win this round. My eyes are starting to hurt from all this goddamn crying. Do people actually cry this much when you arrest them?”

Spencer leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms to clearly convey just how unamused he was with the girl’s antics. She watched him intently, picking apart every move down to the muscle trying to search for any indicators that her little performance worked even a fraction of what she was hoping for.

And she got her wish in the form of the agent’s fingers tapping lightly at his sides under perfectly muscular, if she may add, arms, because any other movement would have been too obvious.

Spencer Reid was getting nervous, because the second her facade faded, he lost the upper hand. She just had to get him trapped in here.

“Oh come on. Not even a ‘good job’? I wasn’t expecting full blown applause, but some appreciation for that show would be nice.” Still, Spencer gave her nothing. He needed her to keep talking, and filling silence was a sure way to make certain she did just that.

“I’ll tell you what you need to know, but first you have to admit that I had you fooled for a second there.”

Lies:

“No.” Unexpectedly, instead of getting frustrated with Spencer’s refusal to play along, she just smiled brighter. This was exciting to her, and it was getting on his nerves.

“What gave it away? Did I look to the left before I spoke or something?” Spencer kept his mouth shut. “Come on, what’s my tell? Enlighten me.”

She copied his movements as Spencer leaned over the cool, metal table slightly, eyes racking over her face, lingering on certain parts for longer than others.

“No.” At this, she huffed back in her seat, leaving the close proximity that would later be used as a secret tool against the doctor before he had the chance to catch on. 

“If you’re just going to shut down every single one of my proposals, then why am I here?”

“You’re here because you’re a suspect in a series of 7 murders in the past 5 weeks.” She perked up at his words, amusement dripping from her features.

“Finally, Doc has something more to say than just ‘no.’ Tell me, was that so hard?”

“No.”

“Ugh!” Rolling her eyes would be giving ammo to the enemy, but the urge to do so was quite strong. In fact, she almost did until she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the one way mirror.

“I’m serious when I say this,” she said, looking directly into Spencer’s eyes so he couldn’t accuse her of lying. “If you take the cuffs off, I’ll answer everything.”

“No.”

“Please! They’re seriously starting to hurt. I put 100% into that performance, and now it’s coming back to bite me in the-”

“Fine!” Spencer stood up carefully, not walking around the table until he was certain the girl wasn’t a flight risk, or worse. When he did finally make his way over, she sat completely still, not taking her eyes off where his fingers grazed hers as the handcuffs unlocked.

A breath of relief escaped her as she rubbed her wrists with the opposite hands, eventually feeling the blood fully return to all 10 fingers.

“Thank you.” It was so vulnerable and raw that it knocked Spencer back for a second. They locked eyes, and something deeper than he was ready for passed between them.

He didn’t know what it was, all he knew was that he hated it so much that he tore his eyes away immediately to return back to his original spot seated across from her.

“Answer me this-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Neither of them spoke for far too much time, and Spencer was growing more annoyed by the second.

“What?” It came out harsh, and mean, and downright cruel, but he couldn’t care less.

“Oh nothing, I just wasn’t going to answer anything. I really just wanted to fix my hair.” And, in being true to her words this time, she secured her hair into a messy bun using the elastic Spencer didn’t even realize was missing from his wrist.

“I’m putting the cuffs back on.”

“No wait,” she pleaded, halting Spencer’s move to get up. “They really did hurt, I wasn’t lying about that.”

“I don’t care.” He made his way over, forcefully grabbing both of her wrists before securing the handcuffs back on. Spencer only regretted his actions slightly when she winced at the metal now back to pressing into her skin.

“Yes you do. It’s your biggest flaw.” Instead of answering, Spencer just returned to his seat, leaning back with crossed arms. He didn’t need to listen to a psychopath tell him his flaws.

“You care too much,” she continued, not minding if he was listening or not. “It gets you hurt, other people hurt. I wish that wasn’t the case. You deserve better, Doc.”

Spencer didn’t engage, opting to gawk tiredly at the suspect, and watch the way her eyes flicker across his features, gauging for a reaction. She wasn’t done.

“Hey, okay, fine. I’m just messing with you,” she laughed, finally breaking her serious facade. “What? A girl can’t joke around while she’s being accused of murder?”

“Accused? Or caught?”

“Accused.” It was final, her tone immediately dropping to a fiery rage. Her defenses were up, and Spencer was never really good at playing on the offensive team.

This time, it was Spencer’s turn to analyze, watching the way the blood rushed to her cheeks with her rising anger level. How all of a sudden her eyes lost their playful glint, giving him the chance to fully see the soul buried deep in them. For a split second, she was completely unveiled right before his eyes.

Spencer, clearly not anticipating just how long the girl in front of him could hold her own, used his last bullet.

He placed the crime scene photos in front of her.

“You know who did this.” It wasn’t a question, he saw it in her eyes. Spencer watched the way they remained stoic even after looking at the bloody walls, and vacant eyes of the deceased.

“No.” Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Who are you protecting?” Her head shot up at his question, eyes flashing red before she blinked it away again. Subconsciously, she started to pick at her fingernails.

“No one.” It was a lie if he’s ever heard one. 

Fear:

“You’re lying. Who is it?” 

“I’m not lying.” She wouldn’t even make eye contact with him. Instead, she gave her undivided attention to her shaky hands confined to the table.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Enough! Who are you protecting?!” At this, Spencer stood up and slammed his hands against the table with a strong amount of force that she flinched hard enough to further irritate her wrists.

He felt awful, the bouncing back and forth between them should have given him enough indicators that she wasn’t lying out of spite. But he couldn’t back down, he had her cornered and her only way out was to tell the truth.

“No one.” She wouldn’t look at him, even as she whispered. “Please stop.”

Spencer truly believed that he had her in a bind, an inescapable one at that, but it wasn’t the truth. Oh no, what the profiler failed to realize was she had him where she needed him.

“I have no information to give you,” she whispered before tagging along. “I’m sorry.” It was the first time she apologized for something Spencer could have seen as an inconvenience.

He believed her, too.

“I shouldn’t have yelled.” That was his form of an apology. Spencer wasn’t going to go any further with it, even if she was coerced into lying by whoever the true unsub is, she was still getting on his nerves.

Her hands were still shaking at this point, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Spencer just slumped back into his seat, settling into the silence between them until ultimately he was either called out of the room, or she gave him another indication that her game hasn’t ended.

A loud sigh bounced off the walls. “I don’t care that you yelled in my face. You think it’s the first time a man’s done that? You’re not special, Doctor.”

“I never said I was.” So the game carries on, but this time, she didn’t smile at his sarcastic response. Leaning back in her chair, she huffed a breath before continuing.

“You really want to be though, don't you?”

Lust:

She was pushing his buttons, trying so hard to dig under his skin till she was unremovable. She wanted Spencer to leave this room with her on his mind for the rest of his days.

She was close too.

“No, I don’t,” Spencer deadpanned, trying to keep a cool tone. If he continued to hand her the ammunition she needed, he would be left defenseless.

“Oh come on, loosen up. I was just joking.”  A smirk grew across her features, a thought crossing her eyes. One Spencer knew would not be in favor of his win tonight. “I could help you with that, you know.”

“No, I don’t know.” He did. Spencer wasn’t going to lie to himself and say that the woman sitting across the table wasn’t extremely attractive; she was. He just would never admit it aloud.

“I have a feeling you like to get rough, don’t you, Doctor?” She asked, sitting up and crossing her legs. The stare shared between the two of them was a mix between passion and anger, meeting in the middle to create a new kind of emotion.

“Is this fun for you?” She left out bait, and Spencer was stupid enough to fall for it. Emily once said that a pretty face slashed his IQ in half.

He couldn’t help but agree.

“Undo these cuffs, and I’ll show you what fun is.” She was toying with him now, and they weren’t going to get anywhere, but Spencer couldn’t find it within himself to get up and leave. She had him by the...

“I’m going to get that confession.” It was like he was five years old again, arguing on the playground with the older kids about how their insults didn’t make sense.

“What’re you going to do, punish me?” She asked, the last words in a hushed whisper. When Spencer’s cheeks grew hotter, and his eyes darker, she knew she had him.

“You do like to get rough! My, my, Doctor, you're keeping me at the edge of my seat here.” She let out a boisterous laugh before really digging the knife deeper. “Is that why you kept the cuffs on?”

Before he could snap back, the door flew open and Emily stood there with a tablet in her hand. “You need to see this.”

Spencer got up to leave, thankful for the reprieve even if he did have to return to the interrogation after speaking with Emily. He almost made it to the door before a voice called out behind him.

“Wait!” She called after him, the cuffs rattled when she instinctively went to reach for Spencer. “Aren’t you going to answer my question, Doctor.”

Playing chess his whole life, Spencer had never once played a game where Checkmate presented itself unexpectedly. He was always at least three moves ahead in his mind, seeing the inevitable end before he even began his gameplay. There was a first for everything, because his last move suddenly arose.

“No.”

_____

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[sidespart]

The Fall of Romulus Part 5

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue     Chapter 1   Chapter 2  Chapter 3 Chapter 4

The first time Virgil had seen Patton, it had been on the battlefield. The larger man was on his knees, three men wearing the same uniform as Virgil strewn around him, fresh blood gushing from deep gouges on his face. He’d looked up at Virgil like he expected to die, his eyes bright with relief.

The first time Virgil had seen Logan, he’d barely been more than a kid. Even skinnier than he was now, drenched to the bone in his threadbare apprentice robes and shaking with rage. He’d thrust a handful of coins across the table at Virgil and Patton, newly minted heroes for hire, and demanded they kill his master.

The first time Virgil had seen Roman, he’d been singing to a horse.

It wasn’t even his horse.

Virgil had wanted a break from the noise of the tavern and the simmering tension between his companions. But standing in the dark in an unfamiliar town had been unappealing and so he’d ducked into the taverns small stables. The hayloft was more of a glorified shelf, set close to the ceiling, but standing amongst the horses meant potentially having to explain himself to the horses’ owners and so he’d clambered up and shimmied his way into the narrow space, ducking down out of sight.

He just wanted a few minutes peace. Long enough to figure out what to do.

Logan had accepted a job. Without consulting either Patton or Virgil. It was a simple enough assignment -to transport a crate full of merchandise to a town on the other side of the mountain pass. So why could the townsfolk not deal with that themselves? Because the pass was full of bandits. Obviously.

Logan said they needed the money and he wasn’t wrong. Patton said they needed a break and he wasn’t wrong either.

They had been travelling from one skinflint town to the next for what felt like an age…but half the reason travel was taking so long was that right now they didn’t have enough coin to even to rent horses. Which meant Patton was going to end up dragging the gods-forsaken chest the entire way. Which was going to aggravate the hip injury- which he still refused to acknowledge existed - and leave all of them vulnerable to attack, since Logan wasn’t winning any fights unless it was a debate and Virgil…Virgil did better with the element of surprise.

Looming out of the darkness, his eyes glowing purple and his crossbow held aloft – Virgil had watched many an enemy turn tail and run at the sight of him with great satisfaction.

Actually aiming that crossbow, in broad daylight, at attacking bandits and successfully hitting one? That seemed less likely to be satisfying for anyone. Except maybe the bandits.

So now there was a stalemate, both Patton and Logan bristling at each other over their meal. Both waiting for Virgil to be the tiebreaker.

Hence the hiding in a hayloft.

Maybe if Logan had just talked to the them instead of making decisions for everyone-

“Who’s the prettiest girl in this stable? Is it you? I think it is!”

Virgil froze.

“My lady fair is pale as night and strong as all the stars that bright th- hey!” holding his breath, Virgil slowly turned his head until he could see the man below, who was currently trying to tug his sleeve out of the mouth of a blond mare. It was the bard from the tavern. Even without hearing his voice, the bright white outfit and ridiculously flouncy red jacket gave him away.

Virgil frowned. It was still relatively early in the evening and the bard had had a good audience – even Patton and Logan had looked away form their argument to appreciate his tune. Why leave now?

“Okay, okay you don’t like the classics.” The bard was back to petting the mare’s nose, “but you’re still stunning despite your terrible taste. And a beautiful horse deserves the most handsome of riders hmm?”

Virgil rolled his eyes and relaxed back against the hay. The movements of over the top performers were none of his business.

“That you singing back there?”

Virgil tensed again.

Two men were blocking the exit. Both big, broad and wearing matching insincere grins.

The one who’d spoken had a knife in his hand. The bard apparently didn’t notice and stepped away from the horse with his arms spread wide.

Under the dim shaft of moonlight spilling from the stable door, the silky material of the bards jacket seemed to shine.  It highlighted his pockets, where the thin material was sagging under the weight of his bulging coin pouch

“Always a pleasure to meet my fans!”

He gave them a cheeky bow, his pockets jingling as he moved.

Virgil resisted the urge to bang his head against the ceiling.

If this idiot wanted to get himself stabbed was it really Virgil’s responsibility to intervene?  What would Logan call this – natural selection?

“Must’ve made a pretty penny.”  It was the second man who spoke, he leaned carefully against the stable door as knife-guy stepped forward. “Nice voice like that.”

He looked pointedly at the bard’s jacket pocket. The bard took a half step back, almost disappearing from Virgil’s view.

“Your town is very generous.”

“Yeah. Good people” The second guy smiled. “Drop it.”

Virgil heard the bard sigh, deep and theatrical. But, much to Virgil’s relief, he threw the bag down on to the ground between them. Murder, Virgil was probably morally obligated to try to stop. But if the two robbers just took the bag and ran? Well. Patton was constantly asking Vigil and Logan to keep out of trouble so he could hardly disapprove.

Knife-guy grinned dumbly and reached down to his prize. Virgil tensed himself, he wasn’t going to be able to leap gracefully into action form his confined hiding place but he could potentially…roll onto the guy if he tried anything.

He didn’t get the chance.

As soon as the wannabe thief bent down the bard was on him. A blur of white and red shot out from beneath the hayloft, slammed the butt of a sword – had he always had a sword? – down on knife-guys skull sending him sprawling to the ground.

The second man let out a shout but before he had chance to take more than a step forward the bard was there, sword swinging though the air before coming to rest less than an inch from the man’s throat.

There was a pause whilst the man just gaped at the bard. Breathing heavily.

��You have a choice. Leave now, with your head still attached or…”

There was a yell and Virgil cursed himself for being distracted as knife-guy barrelled towards the pair, weapon raised high –

Only for it to instantly be knocked out his hand by the bard’s sword. The big man let out a high pitched yelp as blood spurted from where his fingers had been moments before, the knife clattering to the ground. The second man aimed a swing at the bards head but he dodged low, springing back up to deliver a punch of his own to the man’s throat, which left him gasping for breath.  

At this point, knife guy clearly decided he’d had enough, running for the door with his bleeding hand clutched close to his chest. The second thief, seeing his backup flee, shot the bard a venomous glare and hurried after.

And then there was quiet.

“Sorry about that.” Virgil startled – was he talking to him? “My precious babies.” No. The bard was heading back towards the horses, who had been remarkably unconcerned throughout his ordeal.  This gave Virgil his first proper look at his face.

He looked young. Not much older than Logan. And tired.

“Did those mean old robbers scare you?” he cooed “Not to worry – your hero is here to save the day!”

With the bard facing the horses, Virgil took the opportunity to squirm out of his hiding place, managing to land lightly enough on the stable floor behind him.

“Hey.” He said.

The hero’s shriek of surprise was so loud that the horses reared up in their stalls.

 After hasty explanations, Virgil had hired him as extra muscle for their trip. It’s wasn’t t an ideal solution, but the knowledge that there would be extra protection around for Logan and Virgil eased some of Patton’s tension. And since Sir Sing-A-Lot  had pissed off two would be thieves who were presumably still in town somewhere, he was willing to leave quickly and for cheap which suited Logan.

He met them the next day about a quarter mile out of town, performance outfit replaced with something moderately more travel worthy and sword strapped to his side. Virgil had suggested he stay the night at the tavern but he had shaken his head. Said if he went back in there the bartender would insist he stay to play another night – and then he’d have to let him down, which would be far too painful to bare.

Virgil privately thought skipping out halfway through the night was probably letting him down worse, but whatever. One mans loss is another man’s gain.

It was only when he’s was making the introductions that he realised Roman hadn’t brought his horse. Which led quickly to the realisation that there were three would be thieves in the stable that night.

Virgil spent most of the first day with his eyes fixed on Roman, waiting for him to betray them and skip off with the loot himself. But as the hours past and the bard did nothing suspicious he slowly started to relax.

It was only going to be three days.

***

Three years later, Virgil was growling to himself in his mother’s language as he swept his eyes across the room again, finding absolutely nothing. Not that he expected to -the small room wasn’t exactly flush with hiding places. All he had managed to unearth in the first frantic search was one of Roman’s notebooks, tossed under the bed with its leafy bookmark a few inches away. Patton had carefully put both away in his own coat pocket, a look of abject misery on his face as his hands ghosted over Romans drawings.

The thing was. It wasn’t like adding Roman to the group had instantly fixed everything.

But-

But Patton got sad sometimes. And Virgil, he’d been through a lot of the same stuff as the big guy but he didn’t know how to reach him when he got like that. Virgil was pretty sure he actually made things worse. But Roman – Roman distracted Patton without even trying half the time. He’d sing, weave a story out of nothing, disappear down a side street and reappear with a gaggle of kids and two puppies he seemingly conjured out of nowhere. The two of them had the same bright energy and when they got together they laughed loud enough to banish any shadow.

And Logan – Logan had this need to prove himself. All the time. He needed a challenge to throw himself against or he wilted. Patton hated arguing and Virgil frankly didn’t have the energy but Roman? Roman loved it. The two debated everything, from poetry to politics and threw themselves into preparation with more gusto than seemed healthy. The first big blow up they had, Virgil had looked over at Patton, panicked, before realising both men were grinning ear to ear. Relishing the debate in a way that Virgil didn’t really understand.

And as for Virgil himself…well actually he had always been perfectly fine and Roman basically drove him crazy.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was, the four of them worked better as a four. They balanced each other out. Even if they sometimes went too far and hurt each others feelings, they always apologised and moved on. And even if having four meant that their could never be a tiebreaker and every decision had to be discussed around and around until someone gave in…that was just what family was like.

And now Roman was just going to walk away from them? Without even saying goodbye?

Unacceptable.

“This is all my fault.” Patton wailed for third time. “I never should have left him alone.”

And on top of everything he’d upset Patton? Virgil was going to find their wayward bard and bring him home. And then kill him.

“Tell us what he said again.” Logan demanded imperiously, notebook and pen at the ready as he stared Patton down.

Virgil sighed and answered for him:

“He told him he wanted to leave the city. And now he’s left the city.”

Logan frowned. “The city gates are closed at sunset – unless he had a royal decree he would have been unable to leave last night.”

Virgil grit his teeth, “Okay, so, assuming he didn’t know that – because none of the rest of us knew that – he left the inn to try to leave the city.”

“So then why leave the inn at all?” Logan continued, pacing up and down the limited floor space and utterly ignoring Virgil “Why not just wait till morning? It makes no sense unless.” He paused at the window. “Unless he was taken against his will.”

Patton and Virgil exchange wide eyed looks. Virgil was normally the one jumping to worst case scenarios, not Logan. “You, uhh, you got any evidence for that one Lo?”

“He left his sword.” Logan pointed. “Amongst almost all his other possessions – he told Patton he wasn’t safe and then he leaves without taking a weapon? It’s illogical.”

“I’m not sure he was thinking logically.” Patton said softly, looking at Romans neatly piled possessions. “You didn’t hear him guys he – he sounded so scared.”

Virgil flinched. Fingers flexing uselessly. “Okay. Okay so. What spooked him? Something in the forest?” He asked, thinking guilty of Romans thorn scratched hands after he’d got himself lost trying to escape Virgil foul mood. “He was totally spaced out last night.”

“He seemed fine this morning.” Patton said  with a frown “Logan?”

“He was fine before we saw The Crone.” Logan murmured, “he was, if anything, too effervescent. But when we left he seemed…” he trailed off, adjusting his glasses before glaring defensively at both of them “he didn’t say anything so I can’t be sure – but, he was very quiet. The Crone was northern so I thought perhaps homesickness? But I don’t believe he was scared. Not until the episode.”

Virgil nodded, Logan had already described the episode – Romans sudden sprint through the city street and subsequent panic attack – in detail, although he’d been unable to pin point what had set him off.

“Um I’m sorry …The Crone?” Patton looked horrified, “Logan, do you mean our customer?”

“I. Uhm.” Despite everything Virgil couldn’t help but grin the flush of embarrassment that quickly took over Logan’s face. “She was from the North” Logan told them with great dignity, “Roman has told us many time that it is considered rude to ask a strangers name on first meeting.”

“But, did you…know she was form the North? Before you started calling her crone?” Virgil couldn’t resist teasing.

“Logan that is so rude!” Patton said, giving his best disappointed dad eyes.

“SO rude.” Roman ginned  “honestly Patton – Virgil - this kind of behaviour reflects poorly on you as parents. I personally think you should send him to bed without supper.”

And Patton laughed, a secretly pleased smile at being compared to a parent and Virgil rolled his eyes and shrugged Romans hand off his shoulder and Logan let out an offended humph before reminding Roman, again, that he was only a few years older than him and if he was a child Roman was too and a brat besides – an old and well-worn argument that made all of them laugh, tension broken.

Except it wasn’t. Because Roman wasn’t there.

Instead Patton’s exaggerated disappointment mellowed into real sadness as he glanced around the room again and Logan hunched his shoulders, burying his face in his notebook. Silence filled the room.

“I’m going to uh, look outside again.” Virgil jerked his thumb awkwardly to the door and set off without waiting for a response.

Definitely kill him, Virgil thought. Once they were sure he was okay.

**

Apart from his unusual eye colour, pointed ears and a youthful complexion well into his thirties, Virgil had inherited very little from his mothers people. But his night vision was undeniably better than his fully human companions.

Not that it was doing him much good right now. Didn’t matter how good your eye sight was if there was nothing to see.

It was easy enough to track Roman from the open window, down the wall of torn climbing plants to the ground, but after that the trail immediately went cold. If this was a small town with a dirt road there would at least be footprints, but on the cobblestone streets of the well-to-do there was nothing to follow.

He could be anywhere.

Virgil kicked a pebble with a snarl, sending it clattering across the square. Reluctantly he started to prepare himself for the long climb back up to their room, when he was distracted by a faint whinnying.

The tavern connected to stables.

Huh.

Well….he knew Roman had been prepared to steal a horse before…

Quietly, Virgil slipped around the corner and into the stables. This was a far cry from the glorified shack where he had first met Roman. The ‘stables’ was more of a courtyard, with various coaches and waggons parked in the centre, and an enormous number of stalls ringing the outside. Virgil guessed it was shared between the tavern and the several other buildings that bordered the square.

His heart began to race.

He hadn’t really expected to see much – how would he know, after all, if a horse was missing? But with this much money in one place, there had to be a guard. Someone who might have seen Roman pass through.  

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his expectations low, and began to search.

**

“Virgil. Did you kidnap a child?!”

Virgil winced. The force of Patton’s disappointed dad glare was a lot less funny when it was directed at him. “I mean,” he tried “is it kidnapping? She lives here! It’s not that bad!”

“I would say it’s significantly worse that calling a woman a crone in the privacy of your own head.” Logan muttered under his breath. Virgil glared at him.

“And I don’t live here,” the girl offered brightly “I just work in the stables.”

They were in the inn’s kitchen. Somewhere that they were absolutely not allowed to be. But between cancelling the promised performance, negotiating a week’s stay in an already overbooked establishment and then almost immediately afterwards cancelling that too and the panicked interrogation of the few remaining customers when they’d first discovered Roman missing; Virgil didn’t think the inn’s landlord could really get more irritated with them.

Although the whole kidnapping thing was probably not going to help.

“Here you go sweetheart.” Patton said, pushing a mug of sweet tea towards the girl and taking a seat next to her. He did not offer Virgil or Logan a cup.

“Thanks Mister Pat!” She smiled sweetly up at Patton before turning away from him and sticking her tongue out at Virgil. Virgil gestured wildly between the girl and himself but Patton just sipped his own drink, nose in the air.

Virgil slumped in his chair, glowering.

He’d found her sleeping in one of the empty stable stalls. The space was clearly being used as a hut for the stable boy – or in this case girl – with a small wooden bed pushed against the back wall and a desk covered in half cleaned riding gear near the entrance.

Elated to have found a possible lead he had rushed towards the bed and shaken the occupant awake immediately. And released in one horrifying instant that he was a fully grown man shaking a literal child who probably couldn’t even see him in the darkness.

She yelled.

He yelled.

She threw a horseshoe at his head.

He had managed to bundle her half way back to the inn - one hand clamped over her mouth despite the fact that she was biting him - before Patton appeared, ripping them apart with a growl and then blinking a Virgil in complete confusion when he realised who the would be kidnapper was.

“I – we – just want to ask you some questions.” Virgil said in his calmest I-am-not-deranged-I-have-just-had-a-very-long-day voice “Okay, um, sweetheart?”

All three of them stared at him.

“’Sweetheart’ sounds odd when you say it.”

“I know it does Lo’.”

“It might be the tone of voice.”

“I know it is, Lo’.”

“I’m Lucy.” Said the girl. Lucy sat back in her chair, swinging her legs back and forth. “Are you gonna’ pay me? The last guy gave me five gold pieces.” she grinned at them expectantly.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Okay well, that’s ridiculous.”

“We don’t have much money.” Patton told her, “but I can make you another tea?” She considered him for a minute but was clearly already besotted with her ‘rescuer’, so she just smiled and held out her mug.

“Now,” Patton asked gently as he poured a refill. “What guy is this?  And…what did he ask you to do for that kind of money?”

She shrugged, unconcerned. “Just some rich guy. He wanted to know how many people had come in today, and then for me to let him hang around in my hut until his friend got there.”

“So you left your post?” Logan said disapprovingly. “What time did he arrive? What did he do? What friend was he meeting?”

“He paid me five gold pieces so he could sit in a shed” she told him. “If the guy wanted a horse he could have just bought one. And I just went and sat on the roof anyway, the market was way too busy.”

“Smart.” Virgil said. She glared at him, just long enough to let him know that his approval meant nothing, before continuing.

“He came just after four o’clock, that’s when Tommy goes home and I take over. And he didn’t do anything. Just sat there all grouchy. Then he left with the pretty guy.”

“Pretty?” Logan asked sharply, making Lucy giggle.

“Yeaaaah he had pretty eyes and a lute and really cute short hair. He was way better looking than the rich guy. I think he was a musician.” She sighed.

The three men glanced at each other, excitement building.

“Was he being taken by force?” Logan asked, steepling his hands “Could you see any sign of a struggle? Was he restrained in some way?”

“Logan don’t scare the kid for fucks sake.”

“Oh sorry, the one you kidnapped?”

“Guys.” Patton’s glare quelled them both into silence. Lucy took a long sip of tea, thinking before answering.

“He just walked up to him and they left together right away. I couldn’t hear nothin' but, they didn’t have time to say more than hello before they left.”

“So much for that theory.” Virgil muttered, disappointment settling in his chest. Not that he wanted Logan to be right, that Roman had been taken away by force but- this meant he really had just decided to leave them.

Logan wasn’t convinced. “A physical struggle is not necessarily required to move someone against their will – he could have been coerced.”

“How coercive can you be in one sentence??”

“If he was lying in wait and recognised him instantly the obviously we can assume they knew each other.” Logan told him snottily “Groundwork could have been laid beforehand.”

Virgil frowned, he hadn’t thought of that. But Roman hadn’t arrived until well past four – how had the mystery man known to come to this particular inn?

“Can you tell us anything about the first man?” Patton asked Lucy, “What he looked like or – ooh how about you draw a picture of him!” he produced Romans notebook from his pocket and opened it too a blank page.

“He was just some old rich guy,” she insisted “he was wearing one of those fancy patchwork coats. Pink and blue, and he had dark hair…” she shrugged. ”I don’t remember anything else, sorry Mister Pat.”

“What about an emblem?” Logan asked.

“What’s that?”

“A symbol of his house. Lots of rich people have them, maybe on a bit of jewellery or embroidered on his clothing?”

“He had a cape clasp with a pattern on it.” She said doubtfully, “it wasn’t fancy though just- here – “ she took the note book from Patton and hastily scribbled three interlocking Vs, the largest in the centre.

“We can go to the library and look for it when they open.” Logan told them brightly “If it’s one of the noble houses in the city we should be able to find an address.”

“And we can go see the cro – the customer too” Patton added putting a hand on the scholars shoulder, “Logan says Roman seemed down after they left- she might know something.”

“Right.” Virgil nodded absently.

“One of us should go to the city gates before they open,” Logan continued, “If he still intends to leave the city we can watch for him there.”

Virgil thought of the hordes of people making their way through the city gates. Spotting one man in amongst that throng was going to be near impossible. And even if they found a symbol that matched the child’s drawing, there was no guarantee they would be able to track down the owner. And from Logan's description, Roman hadn’t left his sight whilst they were at The Crones house, what could she possibly tell them that they didn’t already know?

And even if they found him. What good was that, if he truly wanted to leave? It’s not like they could order him to stay.

He felt one large, warm hand land on his shoulder and squeeze gently. “We’ll find him.” Patton told him reassuringly. At the table, Logan was scribbling in his note book again, eyes bright with excitement as he continued the barrage of questions at an amused looking Lucy.

Virgil nodded, and did his best to smile back.

It had been a long week on top of a long month of traveling, and none of their leads were things they could follow right now. They needed to sleep. Get enough rest for a full day of bard hunting in the morning.

And then, well.

If Roman wanted to leave he could leave.

But he was going to damm well explain himself to his family first.

Virgil glanced at Lucy who was watching them with open curiosity.

“I don’t suppose we could convince you not to mention the whole…kidnapping thing to the land lord right?”

She smiled at him. “That’s gonna cost you more than tea.”

Vigil sighed.

chapter 6 

[dracowars]

forbidden | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x slytherin!reader

word count: 3,6k

summary: where y/n and draco have to endure a very special type of detention

a/n: welcome to my first ever one shot. i hope you enjoy it! please let me know if there are any mistakes.

warnings: none

universe: harry potter

Honestly you weren't really surprised that Professor Snape gave Draco, Harry and Ron detention for nearly blowing up the whole potions classroom when fighting over the ground unicorn horn, an important ingredient for The Antidote to Common Poisons.

But what you weren't expecting was that Snape gave you detention as well, just because you sat in the center of it. Any attempt to convince him otherwise was useless.

And now here you were, in front of Hagrid's hut, the moon shining bright, the only light coming from the hut and your dim lanterns. You'd rather be in any other place you can think of. Everywhere except here. The sooner it ends, the better.

Yet the three idiots next to you still yelled at each other for what already feels like hours. Not even Filch nor Mrs Norris, who escorted you here after curfew, could bear their stupidity any longer, so Mr Filch knocks against Hagrid's door and runs off with a malicious giggle, but not before wishing y'all good luck, of course. You, for your part, could really need it.

"Can't believe I have to spend detention with you again, Potter", Draco spat, his voice full of disgust. The whole day he'd told you about how Harry and him already had detention in their first year at Hogwarts. That time they were lead into the Forbidden Forest and since you are now at Hagrid's hut in the middle of the night, you can already imagine exactly what your detention consists of this time.

Goosebumps spread all over your skin when you only think of the Dark Forest. Yes, you were sorted into Slytherin but that doesn't mean that you can't be afraid. You were, in fact, scared of many things but going into the Forbidden Forest was definetely very high on that list.

Draco noticed your change of behavior while listening to his story of his 11 year old brave self and suddenly had fun frightening you. Not that you were already scared enough of only the thought to go into that damned forest.

Even though he promised to protect you all the way, you were sure that when they were in first year Draco was the first to run and leave the others for death. But he would never admit that and maybe, just maybe, he actually grew up a little bit since then.

You've actually known him since you can remember. Your families, both pureblood, are very close, they even went to Hogwarts together in their time, which let to you and Draco being childhood friends. So when you went to Hogwarts yourself, you were happy to have your best friend by your side and when you got sorted into the same house, Slytherin, you couldn't have been any happier.

Eventually these long years of friendship turned into something more in your fourth year. (Maybe already earlier, you weren't quite sure.) Neither of you wanted to admit it at first but you were meant to be. Anyone could see it from a far. Everyone shipped you since first year and now, in sixth year, you are a happy couple for nearly three years with just a few minor disagreements here and there.

"Ah. The usual suspects", Hagrid mumbles as soon as he spots you after opening the heavy door, Fang, his over-sized Boarhound dog, directly running in Harry's direction. "I don't know why I thought it would be someone else. Feels just like yesterday that we went into the Forbidden Forest, right?"

Hagrid's mention of the Forbidden Forest makes shivers run down your spine right away. This reaction of your body didn't go unnoticed though and you feel the warmth of Draco's body as he scoots closer to you.

Despite Draco's cold demeanor outward, he has a very pleasent warm body temperature. You found out about this feature when you started becoming 'more than just friends' over the years. And now it is hard to imagine life without this warmth.

"I thought getting into sixth year would finally safe us these kind of detentions", Ron whines which Hagrid only response to with a laugh. "No matter what year you are in, Ron, there is nothing more beautiful like an adventurous walk through the forest in the middle of the night. Trust me", Hagrid smiles proudly. "What do we have to do this time?", Harry asks, also not very fond of the idea to go into that forest again.

Even though you were friends with Draco for so long, you actually liked the golden trio. You don't have much to do with them, only a few courses together, but you don't hate them at all. In your opinion they are actually very kind, which Draco, obviously, doesn't approve of.

"Not much, in fact. A creature was hurt last night and I really don't know which one it is. All we have to do is to find the injured creature", Hagrid explains while taking a huge crossbow, leading you right to the entrance of the forest. "Not very challenging, is it?"

"But you do know that there are werwolves in there, don't you? Besides all the other.. dangerous animals that thirst for our blood", Ron complains, while Draco seems to have laid eyes on the crossbow.

"What weapon do we get to defend ourselves?", he interupts Ron's expressed thoughts and points to the weapon, which Hagrid answers to with a sigh.

"You're a wizard. I don't think you need any other weapon than your wand, Malfoy", Hagrid scoffs and goes past him. "Now. Since I'm able to learn from my mistakes, not like others..", he mumbles the last part. "Harry and Ron, you will go this way. Draco and Y/N take the other direction. Please make sure to not hurt anyone or anything."

"A-Anything?", is the last word you hear Ron mumble as you started walking in the different direction. Or more like Draco pulling you behind him into the Dark Forest.

You tighten your black cloak around yourself as you shiver. The Forbidden Forest seems to be even scarier in the night. Even scarier than you expected it to be in general. The only sounds you can hear are your footsteps on the mud, caused by the rainy weather these days, and here and there something that sounds like a very aggressive raven.

"Snape should have just deducted our houses points and not let us go into this dumb forest again", Draco mumbles in front of you while leading the way, not really knowing where to search either. The dim warm light of the lantern he holds up makes his hair shine bright and is the only thing that makes you feel at ease a little bit. Something familiar.

A sudden crack behind you, sounding like a branch that has been stepped on, makes you stop in your tracks abruptly. "What was that, Draco?", you ask, the fear in your shaking voice clearly audible.

"Don't worry about it, love. I'm sure it was just a stupid animal. Let's go on", your boyfriend responds and takes your cold hand in his again.

As you kept going through the tall trees for a few minutes you realize that you've gotten very far into the Forbidden Forest already. All you can see now are trees and not even the moon shines through the dense leaves over your heads anymore. The thick layer of fog around you doesn't make the weird feeling in your stomach better either.

Draco keeps strolling around, searching for any evidence for an injured creature and you turn around, still feeling anxious of someone - or something - following you two.

Your heart stops as the lantern, that Draco held up seconds ago, falls to the ground with a loud crash. Your whole vision goes black and darkness surrounds you. A few bats, startled by the noise, fly away.

"Draco?!", you shout and don't dare to move a single muscle. Your breath is so slow, you don't even know if you're still breathing at all. Another sound is heard from your right and you turn around, only to face more darkness.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy! This is not funny at all! Do you hear me?!", you yell again while getting your wand out of your pocket. Pointing it forward, you quietly say: "Lumos."

As soon as the light erupts from the tip of your wand, blinding you for a brief moment, a white, light-lit face appears right in front of you.

"BOO!", the face shouts directly at you.

You let out a scream, stumble back a few steps in shock and rest your hand against your fast beating heart. The next thing you hear are the echoing laughters of your boyfriend.

"You should've seen your face!", Draco laughs and throws his head back. You swallow heavily and take a few moments to calm yourself down, a tear on the edge of falling. "I hate you so much!", you yell at him and hit his shoulder a few times as anger replaces your fear. "You know exactly how scared I am, dumbass!"

"I could not not take this opportunity, love", he giggles, making the blood in your veins boil. But before you can scold him any further, he stops laughing all of a sudden and his suddenly widend eyes are locked on a point directly behind you. "Y/N.. Don't turn around, okay? Don't move", he whispers and points behind you with a slight head movement.

"I'm not that pathetic, Draco. I'm not gonna fall for that again", you roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest while turning around. As soon as you did, it feels like all life left your body at once.

Two round yellow eyes, emerging from the sinister undergrowth, are directly fixed on you. A small cone of moonlight falls through the rustling leaves as a slight breeze passes and the creature in front of you turns out to be a werewolf.

Your breath gets caught in your throat as the wild creature comes closer, snarling. "RUN, Y/N!", Draco's loud shout makes you flinch and he grabs your hand, knowing that it is too late to not make any noise, pulling you closely behind him. You nearly stumble over all the sticking out, large roots on the ground but the adrenaline that rushes through your body makes you run as fast as you can.

"Stupefy!", Draco casts the Stunning Spell and shoots it at the creature while running. A jet of red light emerges from his wand but misses the werewolf by a few centimeters. It is now catching up with you even faster than before. "Damn it!", Draco curses.

Your legs already start hurting from how fast you were running. You see a dim light between the trees in front of you and a glimmer of hope runs through you. As you get closer by every second you realize that it's not Hagrid, as you hoped, but none other than Ron and Harry. The confusion is clearly written on their faces.

"RUN!", you tell them, grabbing their hands as you pass them to pull both of them with you. It doesn't take them long to realize what you were running away from.

"Bloody hell!", Ron whimpers beside you and lets the lantern fall to the ground. By now the four of you lost every sense of direction and the only thing that keeps you from giving up is to not get torn into pieces.

Again you take a look back over your shoulder to see how close the wolf has come and in this exact moment of unwariness, you trip over and fall to the ground with a cry. Immediately you try to straighten up but a sharp pain runs through your body and leaves you whimpering in pain.

"Stupefy!", Harry now attacks the beast and actually hits it this time. The wolf falls back a few meters through the air and lands on the ground with a thump, motionless.

"Y/N! Stand up, come on!", Draco helps you up and notices your pained expression. From that moment on your fear is reflected in his eyes. He bends down and frantically picks you up in his arms. Unfortunately, the werewolf has recovered from the spell quickly and is running towards you again, growling and barking dangerously.

But before you can escape this time, another creature that you can't really make out because of the darkness at first, suddenly throws itself on the wolf, fighting a bitter fight with it. You can only stand there and watch in shock.

"Buckbeak!", you can hear Hagrid's voice from the distance and the majestic hippogriff lets go of the much smaller animal, which is now also winzing in pain and then finally leaves you alone.

"What did you do?! How did this happen?", Hagrid scolds you as soon as he arrives, his eyes fixed on Draco immediately. You bite your lower lip to hold back tears as you let yourself sink down from Draco's arms and onto the ground with his help.

"The werewolf attacked us out of nowhere", you explain with a quiet voice and touch your ankle, regretting it right away as you hiss in pain. "It was noone's fault, Hagrid."

"This is exactly the reason why students shouldn't go into the Forbidden Forest, you-", Draco aggressivly starts but you pull on his sleeve, making him look at you. His facial expression softens at your action.

Buckbeak stands close behind Hagrid and observes the situation curiously. Hagrid sighs loudly, his breath becoming visible in the cold air of the night, and pets Buckbeak gently.

"Fine. Let's get you out of here first and then we will look at the damage", Hagrid suggests and Draco and Harry help you stand up again. "I c-can't walk", you hiss after placing your injured foot on the ground, withdrawing it straight away.

"Come here, Y/N. Buckbeak will help", Hagrid waves you over to him and before any second thoughts could cross your mind, you were already seated on the hippogriff's back. While you're still busy with getting comfortable on the creature you unexpectedly feel a pair of hands sneak around your waist closly from behind. Draco had jumped onto Buckbeak as well, with Hagrid's permission of course, and whispers an apology in your ear.

Finally you are able to relax a little while you feel Draco's chest against your back. A cozy warmth emanates from him that has always made you feel at ease and the cold air surrounding you makes it even more comfortable.

With a whistle from Hagrid Buckbeak sets itself in motion and leads you out of the forest, directly back to Hagrid's hut. You had completely lost every sense of time while you were in there. While to you it seems like several hours have passed, it was probably just one.

Draco jumps off in front of the hut and helps you get down, his grip very strong on your hip. You gently stroke over the soft head of the hippogriff and smile weakly at it.

Draco doesn't waste any time and takes you to the warm hut, where he seats you down on one of the chairs and carefully places your leg on his thigh. While watching your boyfriend take care of you so caringly and gently - a side not everyone knows of him - you don't even notice that a few tears finally found their way over your cheeks, which you were able to hold back before. Everything that happened tonight hits you all at once in this moment.

Eventually, Draco's gaze meets yours and he immediately pulls you into a warm, firm and loving hug. "I am so so sorry, love. I shouldn't have scared you. If I hadn't been this stupid, then we wouldn-", he stumbles over his words but you place your index finger on his lips softly. "I'm okay, Draco", you smile at him, even though your ankle doesn't feel anywhere near okay.

"I told Madam Pomfrey what happened and she will be able to heal it quickly, and even though she wasn't very happy that I asked for her help at this hour, she would like to see you at the Hospital Wing", Hagrid tells you as he comes back into his hut, Ron and Harry curiously looking past Hagrid and at you. The guilt is clearly written on Hagrid's face.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help but somehow I just couldn't come up with the right spell!", Ron rants while he and Harry approach you. "How about we help you get into that hospital wing?", Harry offers their help with a smile, which you gladly agree to. Draco on the other hand throws a disapproving look at him, his protective boyfriend instincts very active after what happened today.

Still, he lets Harry help him get you out. Your arms are each wrapped around their shoulders so that you can at least hobble and not have to be carried.

"I will talk to Professor Dumbledore about getting rid of these kind of detentions", Hagrid utters, looking to the ground in shame. Buckbeak senses Hagrid's sadness and lays his head on his arm. Releasing your arm from Draco purposely to tap Hagrid's shoulder soothingly, Draco holds you tightly at your waist in an instant, still afraid that you could lose balance any second and fall again.

"Please don't worry, Hagrid. It's not your fault", you try to cheer him up. "Thank you and also you, Buckbeak." At the mention of his name, Buckbeak turns to you and it almost looks like he actually understood what you said, lowering his head a little as if he would bow.

"I hate to admit it but I guess I have to thank that.. chicken of yours as well, Hagrid", Draco clears his throat. "Thank you for rescuing us."

You know exactly how difficult it is for Draco to thank someone. He rarely does, only because he never really learned how. However, the few times he actually does, you can't help but feel warmer inside. This is what distinguishs him from the evil guys.

With these last words and a nod from Hagrid's side, Draco leads the way into the building and they help you to the first floor, Ron opening the doors for you. You arrive at the Hospital Wing, where Harry and Ron seperate from you and go back to their common room.

Madam Pomfrey treats your sprained ankle and only half an hour later you are dismissed from the Hospital Wing. It feels like you've never hurt yourself in the first place, but Madam Pomfrey still wants you to rest and take care of yourself. Your boyfriend clearly agreed to that and insisted on carrying you back to the Slytherin common room, where you arrived only seconds ago.

It is already so late in the night that not a single soul is in the faint green room, everyone fast asleep for hours in their comfortable beds. You feel exhausted after this eventful night and tiredness is slowly overcoming you.

"Where do you think you are going?", Draco's determining voice asks you with a hint of reproach when you were just about to make your way to the girls' dormitories. "To sleep?", you deadpenned.

"You won't go anywhere except my prefect room. Oh, and you will most certainly not go", he commands and before you know it, you're in his strong arms again and on the way to his room. If the way wasn't so short though, you could have fallen asleep right there in his arms, your cheek on his shoulder and one hand against his warm chest.

Despite telling him that you are fine for the tenth time now, he still insists on taking care of you. He borrows you your favorite sweater of his - although you don't quite understand how it found its way back into his closet because the last time you checked it has been in your room - and softly puts you to bed under the thick dark green covers out of silk.

What you don't know, however, is how much he actually blames himself for what happend tonight. He feels guilty because it should have hit him and not you. After all, he accidentally lured the werewolf into your direction by frightening you. He knew you were scared, you told him before. Nevertheless he thought it was funny to scare you. And now you got hurt because of him.

He climbs in beside you and pulls you closely to him, your arm wrapped over his waist and your head on his chest. He gently runs his fingertips over your delicate skin and through your hair. You feel his steady heartbeat beneath you, softly inhale his scent and close your eyes.

"I love you so much, Y/N. I'm sorry for everything", Draco whispers barely audible and places a kiss on your forehead, then another one on your temple. "I love you too, Draco", you absently smile and put your hand on his jaw, lift your head slightly and then give him a kiss on his chapped lips. "And please stop apologizing, alright? It was not your fault."

You can clearly see that he thinks about whether or not to reply but you beat him to it. "Listen. I don't blame you at all. It was a misfortune, nothing more and nothing less. All I need is your company right now. I need you by my side, Draco. Always", you explain and give him a genuine smile in hopes to make him feel better and to finally stop blaming himself.

He replies with an equally genuine smile and gives you one last kiss before he pulls you even closer, as if he's scared of losing you. Still, after your kind words, he actually feels better now and he smiles to himself when noticing your quiet snoring.

And that night Draco definetely made sure you wouldn't have any nightmares at all.