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fruitydiaz-archived · 3 years

Text

nothing safe is worth the drive

post 4.12 treasure hunt fic that i forgot i was working on

set after taylor turns buck down outside bobby and athena's

insecure buck | soft eddie | love confessions

6,513 words

AO3 link

Buck felt like he was floating.

And not in a good way. It felt like he was floating in a way that he hadn’t felt in a while. He felt listless, aimless, purposeless. Therapy was supposed to be helping him, he was supposed to be sorting through this — this thing that he had, this issue with abandonment, this need for everyone around him to constantly reassure him that they wanted him around.

The real problem was that this abandonment thing wasn’t just a single loose thread that Buck just had to untangle and then set right. It was a million little threads all knotted together, threads from his past relationships, threads from his family, threads from his friends, threads from work, twisting and weaving together into this suffocating blanket of shame. He wanted to be needed, wanted to be loved. He wanted it so badly that it made him feel sick, made bitterness creep up the back of his tongue, made his skin itch.

Every session he had with his therapist felt like a battle.

He wanted love but he hated that he wanted it. He wanted to be self-sufficient but he was lonely — he wasn’t strong enough. He wanted something meaningful but he never felt like he could trust it. He never felt like anything was enough — because he never felt like he was enough.

He was supposed to be getting somewhere, he was supposed to be making progress, but lately he’s been falling into the same old thought patterns he was supposed to have left behind with Buck 1.0 and 2.0.

Supposed, supposed, supposed.

Have patience with yourself, Evan. Show yourself the same compassion you’d show a friend.

These things take time.

Have you ever thought maybe you just need to be patient, wait for the universe to come to you?

The thing was — he knew Taylor just saw him as a friend. He knew every time he looked at her, every time Eddie joked about her being his girlfriend — he knew it wasn’t right. But he wanted it to be right.

They already knew each other, they had history. They already knew they had incredible sex together. So the only thing they needed now was the love. And he thought that they could work at it, maybe. He thought that over time, the more that they built on their friendship, the closer they would get to crossing that line into something meaningful.

But it wasn’t right. She didn’t like him that way and, honestly, he didn’t know why he kept trying to push it. Everytime he leaned in, everytime he let his eyes soften and linger, there was a voice in the back of his head screaming at him that it was wrong. But he wanted to ignore it.

Because he wanted it to work. He wanted it to be her. Because he didn’t have any other option.

They’re on the front porch at Bobby and Athena’s and he’s trying — he’s trying, again. It should be easy, he does love Taylor, maybe just not in the way he thinks he’s supposed to, but he can pretend. He can pretend that the pounding of his heart in his chest is excitement, pretend that the way his stomach is twisting is because of butterflies, can pretend the reason his hands shake and his palms sweat is because he wants her that bad.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t. He just wants love.

“I’m glad that we’re friends,” She says, smiling up at him. She knows what he’s trying, and she knows why he’s trying it — she’s called him out on it before.

That’s not what I meant, when I said you should wait for the universe, Buck. You know that.

But he really wishes that it would just work. That things would just fall into place like they do in the movies, that some switch would flip and he’d get what he wanted. But this...this isn’t really what he wants. And he supposes, that’s why it’s not working.

When he heads back into the house, there’s a cloud over him. He can feel it and everyone else clearly picks up on it, with the way their eyes all fall on him, then shift to Taylor, then back at him, then soften with a false sense of understanding.

They don’t get it. Nobody does.

He knows he’s doing that thing he does, where his face hardens, and he stares off into space, absorbed in thought and mentally checking out of the conversation. Eventually, everyone stops nudging him, stops trying to get him to check back in. But Eddie keeps his eyes on him.

Eddie.

Eventually, the crew begins to clear out. Taylor leaves first, of course, thanking Athena and Bobby for hosting, waving a quick goodbye for everyone else, walking briskly out the front door, phone in hand, always with a purpose.

Buck can’t tell if he’s sad to see her go or happy. Her friendship has been something like an anchor for him over the last couple of months — but he keeps trying to turn it into something it's not and the rejection he always knew would come is stinging more than it should.

Her presence is starting to feel like a constant reminder of all the ways he’s failing right now, which isn’t really fair to her.

Eddie and Buck hang back after Hen and Chimney leave, insisting on helping Bobby and Athena clean up a little. He’s not sure why they both linger. It feels oddly domestic, the two of them collecting silverware from a kitchen table that’s not either of theirs — it reminds him of the way Chimney and Maddie will linger in his apartment kitchen after dinner, clearing up and giggling to each other, Buck sitting stunned at his own kitchen table, feeling like an outsider in his own apartment.

They don’t talk much as they help — because Buck’s still brewing under his dark cloud of self-doubt. But Eddie’s nothing if not persistent.

He comes around to Buck’s side of the table and Buck glances at him, hands freezing as he reaches for another fork. Eddie doesn’t look at him, though, so Buck continues what he was doing, a little more on edge now. Their fingers brush once when they reach for the same bowl and Buck shocks the both of them with how quickly he rips his hand away. Eddie studies him for a second and Buck keeps his eyes trained on the table.

Buck doesn’t know what Eddie finds when he looks at him, but he must find something, because he sets his collection of dishes and silverware back down on the table and turns to face Buck, one hand on his hip with a sense of determination. He can practically see the way Eddie’s turning over words in his head, trying to figure out the right thing to say, so he braces himself.

“Why don’t you come over after this?” He asks, his voice gentle. Buck wants to ignore him, wants to finish clearing the table, say goodbye to Athena and Bobby, and leave — go back to his quiet apartment, bury himself under the blankets in his bed, and let his anger and hurt simmer.

But also — God, does he want to go to Eddie’s. He so badly wants to go to Eddie’s and soak up all of the gentle attention he knows Eddie wants to give him right now.

But also — he knows exactly how much that attention is going to hurt when he has to leave, when they have to cap off this week of brief fun and excitement and go back to reality — where Eddie’s with Ana and Buck is alone.

He doesn’t look at Eddie when he speaks, tries to force a casual smile onto his face but he knows it looks more like a grimace.

“What, you haven’t had enough of me yet?” He laughs, aiming for a joke, but he knows exactly how it lands; it’s pitiful and self-deprecating, a thinly veiled challenge. Eddie doesn’t blink, doesn’t smile, doesn’t frown. He just stares, steadily. Buck can feel the facade crumbling under the weight of it.

“Look, Chris is spending the day with Pepa and I don’t have to pick him up until later tonight. If you’re still around, I know he’d like to see you. He misses you.”

It’s a cheap shot, throwing Christopher at him like that. Eddie knows he’d do anything for that kid. And, to be honest, Buck misses him too, fiercely. It’s not exactly like they’ve been spending a lot of time together.

But he’s stubborn, so Buck keeps his eyes on the table, and doesn’t say anything.

After a moment, Eddie adds quieter, “I want you to come over, Buck.”

And Buck feels it all fall apart, right then. Because that’s exactly what he wants, isn’t it? To be wanted. To be wanted by Eddie.

Buck wants to think that he’s good at hiding it, wants to pretend that this burning desire he has to be the center of Eddie’s entire world isn’t written all over his face every damn day. But he knows it is — he’s never been good at hiding his emotions. His sister’s called him out on it, Hen has made gentle, quiet comments about it, and even Taylor saw right through his weak advances, saw them for what they were — a distraction.

The fact that he can’t get a grip, can’t put a fucking lid on this boiling hot need of his, is embarrassing. And he hates that Eddie apparently sees it too. Because of course, Eddie knows that Christopher isn’t his only weakness. The kid gets it from his dad. Buck’s weak for the both of them.

He doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with all of the emotions building up in his throat, so he looks at Eddie out of the corner of his eye, and nods quickly.

The smile Eddie gives him nearly knocks him back off his feet.

A few minutes later, they’re saying goodbye to Athena and Bobby. Well, more like Athena is kind-heartedly herding them out of the kitchen and out the door. Bobby says bye to them in the doorway, pulling each of them into a hug that surprises them both. Buck’s pretty sure that Bobby holds onto him just a second longer, squeezing him tighter, and clapping him on the back with a force that hides some kind of message.

I love you, kid is probably what he’s saying. Buck wants to swallow his tongue.

If he wanted to dig into himself and figure out exactly why he finds it hard to accept that the love from his co-workers — who are like his family — is enough, which his therapist actively encourages him to do, he would probably find that it’s because he believes that these are overwhelmingly good people. These are the people whose hands he willingly places his life into every single day, because he knows they’ll take care of it. They’re people that he looks up to every day, follows their lead whenever he feels lost, takes after them to better himself. And the thing that life has taught him about people like them, is that eventually they see him for what he is, and it’s never enough.

He fights every day not to feel like a fraud in that firehouse. He fights every day to earn his spot — even though everyone keeps telling him he doesn’t have to.

Old habits die hard, they say.

He climbs into Eddie’s truck — he had insisted on picking Buck up for lunch, since Buck drove them to dig for treasure — and feels the cloud over him start to dissipate, just a bit, in the familiar space. Part of him wants to reach out, grab hold of it, and yank it back into place. It’s that stubbornness of his that likes to hold onto the bad feelings, because they always feel safer than hope.

For the first 10 minutes of their drive, they don’t speak, just listen to the sounds of the radio. It’s peaceful, and as they drive Buck feels the cloud of his start to disappear. When he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, he can pretend that he doesn’t want it to stay, and he can start to let it go.

His feelings around Eddie are confusing, especially lately. He knows how he feels about Eddie, though, admittedly, he’s scared to say it out loud. When you voice something like that, give it a name, it makes it more real. Before, it was easy to ignore. Eddie was his best friend, Eddie was his partner, Eddie had his back, Eddie wasn’t going anywhere. He was content to keep that unnamed emotion under wraps for the sake of their friendship. Things were good — why would he want to risk it? Anytime he’s loved someone openly, they’ve left him. He wasn’t going to let Eddie leave him.

But now there’s Ana. And Buck doesn’t want to keep that emotion locked up anymore — not with the way it’s eating away at him. He wants to let it out, let it consume him, and maybe consume Eddie too. But that’s not an option. He can’t love Eddie, precisely because he loves him. He can’t risk losing him any more than he already has.

So he can’t let himself get too comfortable, can’t settle back into that spot he’s had reserved for the last 3 years. Because comfort leads to slip-ups; comfort leads to revealing things he shouldn’t. When they were both tiptoeing around their emotions — that was fine. Buck would slip up, then Eddie would slip up, then both of them would pretend they had no idea what they were dancing around.

Or, at least, that’s how he thought things were going. But, apparently, Eddie had enough of that dance and found someone that was actually worthwhile. Buck desperately wishes he could find someone too, but apparently the only one worthwhile for him — is Eddie.

Buck knows his peace can’t last forever so he’s not surprised when Eddie eventually turns down the radio. He’s been tapping his fingers against the steering wheel anxiously ever since they got in the car. Buck knew he was dying to start probing him with questions — in the most gentle, caring, Eddie way possible.

“Want to tell me what’s bugging you?” Eddie flicks his blinker on, eyes trained on the road, and he asks the question with such an air of nonchalance that Buck almost believes him.

“No,” He says flatly, shifting in his seat. The corners of Eddie’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he hates the fondness that creeps up in him at it. He fights to keep a smile off his own lips — he’s frustrated right now.

“Anything to do with that private conversation you had with your girlfriend out on the front porch?” Eddie asks...and...there’s an edge to his voice. That edge that’s been there every time that Eddie’s brought up Taylor — like he can’t let Buck have one thing. It cuts right through him, and he snaps, just a little. He sits up straighter in his seat and stares at Eddie. He can feel the heat rising in him — the anger, the want — getting twisted in his chest.

His face burns.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” He bites. He’s got more venom in him than he expects, the baritone of his lower register rumbling beneath the surface. It surprises Eddie, enough that the smile falls off his face, and he turns to actually look at Buck.

Buck knows his mask is all but wiped away — he’s clear as day to Eddie, his emotions all there on the surface, for Eddie to see.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting the anger bubbling in Buck die back down a little bit, and turns into his neighborhood. Buck feels himself relax again and guilt starts to settle in, in place of the anger that’s slowly fading. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, apologize, maybe, for snapping — but nothing comes out.

“Do you want her to be?” Eddie cuts in, interrupting whatever unnecessary apology Buck was trying to work out. He deflates against his seat and looks down at his lap. Yes, is what he wants to say. But it’s not really the truth. And as much of a fight as he’s been putting up — he’s really fucking tired. Fighting against Eddie’s not worth it, and he never likes it.

“I don’t know,” Buck says honestly, quietly. His voice sounds smaller than he’d like and he rubs a hand over his face, embarrassed. “I’m tired of being alone, Eddie.”

His voice breaks, and it hurts, and it’s humiliating, but it’s the truth, ugly as it is. Eddie nods, like he understands, which he doesn’t. Buck wants to scream, just a little.

“You’re not alone, Buck.” Eddie turns onto his street and slows down, taking the chance to look over at Buck, slumped down in his seat. He watches Buck roll his eyes, watches his eyebrows jump up and his head tilt like he’s ready to brush Eddie off. “You don’t have to be in a relationship, you know? You can just be Buck.”

“No offense, Eddie, but I’m tired of hearing shit like that from people who don’t get it.”

There’s a pause.

“I don’t get it?”

“No.” Buck’s getting short with him again, so Eddie doesn’t say anything in response. He waits, counts to five, lets his breath even out. He’s not looking for a fight — but that seems to be Buck’s default, right now, and that’s not how tonight’s going to go.

He parks in the driveaway and cuts the engine off, letting the silence settle over them.

“What don’t I get?” Eddie tries again, once he sees that Buck’s backed down a bit.

“It’s not the same for us, Eddie. It’s not the same for any of you. Everybody has someone. Maddie, Chimney, Hen, Bobby, Athena...you. Hell, even Albert had Veronica. I don’t have anyone.”

They stare at each other for a beat, before Buck breaks their eye contact and looks back out the window. His jaw locks like he’s not going to say anything else, and Eddie waits.

He turns his keys over in his hand and drops his head down. He doesn’t understand Buck’s need for a relationship — that much is true. He’s been on about this for months now, probably as long as Eddie’s been seeing Ana. Or — was — seeing Ana. That’s ended now...and he hasn’t really found the right opportunity to bring it up.

Eddie sighs and slips his keys into his pocket.

“Look — you’re right. I don’t know why you want to be in a relationship so bad. You don’t have to put all of your self-worth into someone else’s hands. You’re enough on your own, Buck.”

Buck still doesn’t look at him but Eddie can see the telltale working of Buck’s jaw, the way he clenches it and unclenches it whenever he’s trying to fight back some wave of emotions. He tries to sniff subtly, but Eddie’s watching him like a hawk.

“And, uh, besides, I’m...Ana and I broke up. A while ago, actually.”

Buck’s neck snaps as he turns to look at him, surprise all over his face. Eddie shrugs a little, cocks his head to the side, and smiles, shy.

“Wh — what? What do you mean?” Eddie shrugs again.

“We...we just ended things, man, I don’t know?” The look Buck gives him is entirely unimpressed and it almost makes him laugh.

“I don’t know? Eddie. How did I not know about this?” And — Eddie knows Buck. He can pick apart the layers of anything Buck says in an instance; the fake lightness in his voice, the question hiding another question, the underlying layer of hurt.

How did I not know?

How did you not tell me?

Eddie rubs his jaw with his hand before shaking his head and pushing his side door open.

“Come on, Buck. We’re not having this conversation in the car. We’ll end up here all night.” He jumps out, then turns around, leaning against the frame of the car and looking at Buck expectantly.

Buck stares at him a couple seconds longer, brain still struggling to catch up with him. He looks like he wants to argue. Against what, Eddie’s not really sure, and he’s pretty sure Buck isn’t either.

Wordlessly, he unclasps his seatbelt and slides out his side of the truck. Eddie counts that as a win.

They head into the house in silence, Buck walking straight to the kitchen to grab them some beers while Eddie flicks on the lights and does a general scope around the house, just to feel settled.

When he walks back to the kitchen, Buck’s shoes are off — he left them by the door, next to the pile of Eddie’s and Christopher’s — and he’s hoisted himself up onto the counter by the sink. Eddie’s body warms, the way it does whenever he sees Buck comfortable in his home. He stopped trying to analyze the feeling a long time ago — just accepted that Buck was a part of his home now and when he wasn’t there — it didn’t feel complete.

Buck’s got one bottle of beer in his hands, another uncapped on the counter next to him. Eddie smiles as he walks over to Buck, drifting into his orbit to grab the bottle. They tap their bottles together in a wordless cheer, a habit of theirs they can’t ever break, even with tension sitting heavy between them, and Eddie leans back against the kitchen table as he takes his first sip.

They drink in silence and Eddie can feel the way Buck’s holding himself back, the way he’s refusing to broach the subject before Eddie does. He takes another sip of his beer and sighs, holding it down in his lap, and fiddling with the cap.

“I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t ready. It wasn’t like there was a big problem between me and Ana...it just wasn’t working,” He glances at Buck, who’s watching him with that look in his eyes; the one that always makes Eddie feel pinned in place, grounded in a way that few things do, like he’s the only person in the world. He shifts.

“We both agreed to end things...together. But I still needed some time, you know, to think about...things,” Eddie drops his gaze back down to the bottle in his lap. He pauses, taking the opportunity to take another sip of beer.

He hadn’t been planning to have this conversation with Buck for a while. That’s exactly why he didn’t tell him that they had broken up in the first place. Because somewhere between introducing Ana to Christopher and the last couple of months — Eddie had come to a startling realization.

The moment it hit him was nothing, really. It was a quiet moment. One day his Abuela had stopped by the station to drop Christopher off at the end of Eddie’s shift and Eddie was still in the locker room. He came out to find Chris and Buck talking by the truck. Christopher had just pulled out his latest art project to show Buck and Buck was on his knees beside him, staring at the piece of paper like it was a genuine work of art. He asked serious questions about the subject matter, the colors Chris had chosen — and Chris eagerly answered all of them, laughing when he thought Buck asked a silly question, and Buck would fein offended and then burst out laughing with him.

It was so ordinary, so normal for them, that Eddie didn’t even pause when his heart warmed at the sight or when that fond smile made its way onto his face or when he squeezed Buck’s shoulder as they said goodbye. He didn’t realize until he had made the whole drive home, ate dinner, helped Chris with his homework, put him to bed, and then settled in under the covers that night. Then it hit him all at once.

He was in love with Buck. He wanted to see Buck every day, wanted to wake up in the morning and come into the kitchen to find Buck doing something entirely mundane like drinking coffee, or eating breakfast, talking with Chris about anything and everything while he sat at the table eating cereal. He wanted Buck to come home with him after a shift and sit down at the table with them while they ate dinner and talked about their days. He wanted Buck there for movie nights and beers and birthday parties and bedtime stories and sleepovers and — everything.

So he broke up with Ana. And he spent the last month and a half trying to figure out exactly how to move forward from there because he was pretty sure that Buck loved him too.

But now there’s been all this time and space between where they once were and where they were now — a weird distance between them, a chasm that seemed impossible to cross. And every time Eddie tried to reach out he was met with resistance — because Buck was clearly trying to make something work with Taylor.

Why? Eddie didn’t understand. They seemed friendly with each other, and Eddie tried not to let his jealousy eat away at him, fought hard not to listen to that voice in the back of his head that screamed that he lost his chance, that he’d been replaced. But Taylor was clearly disinterested in pursuing anything else with Buck. And from where Eddie sat? Buck sure kept trying, but his heart didn’t really seem to be in it.

So — it was confusing. And the more time went by, the less Eddie really knew what to do.

And now they’re here.

“Look — nobody knows, except, you know, Christopher...and Abuela, Pepa, my mom, my dad, my sisters — you know,” He waves his hand, dismissively. “But nobody from work knows. You’re...you’re the first one I’ve told...because I want to tell you.”

He doesn’t miss the pleased look that passes over Buck’s face before he forces it down into something slightly more neutral. He stalls, taking another sip from his beer. He looks like he wants to say a couple of different things, or a million different things — Eddie wouldn’t know — but he settles for the easiest.

“How long?”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath and presses his lips together.

“Month and a half.” And there it is, that unimpressed look, again.

“Eddie—” Eddie holds up his hands in defense.

“I know, I know, okay. It’s been a while. I told you, I had...some things to think about.” That’s as vague as he can be. He’s not really sure that now’s the time to say I was trying to figure out how to tell you I love you. Buck blinks, waiting for Eddie to elaborate. When he doesn’t, he rolls his eyes.

“Eddie — a month? What was there to think about, you had already broken up,” Buck’s tone is exasperated but he’s not angry — not like he was an hour ago. Eddie chews on his lip, looking back down at the bottle in his hands and picking at the wrapper on it.

“I had to think about what I wanted,” He says quietly. When he looks back at Buck — he sees the confusion. But Buck stays quiet, eyes flicking over Eddie’s face. They stay like that, suspended in the moment, for a while, before Eddie speaks again.

“What do you want, Buck? Is it Taylor Kelly?”

He’s not sure what gives him the confidence to ask that, to turn the conversation back around on Buck. He tries to keep his voice level when he says Taylor’s name; he’s perfectly aware of how his voice turns to something twisted and bitter whenever he talks about her. She doesn’t deserve it, not really, but he can’t help it. He tries his best.

Buck keeps his eyes locked with Eddie’s and they narrow a little, like he’s trying to figure out Eddie’s play, flipping the switch on him like that. Eventually, he drops his gaze and does a confusing series of tiny head nods and shakes. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“I don’t know — no. Not really.” Eddie nods. He repeats his question.

“What do you want, Buck?”

Buck doesn’t say anything, not at first. He’s distinctly thinking that he’s not drunk enough for this conversation. He’s not drunk at all — he’s barely had half of his beer. He’s not nearly as loose as he’d like to be for this — not nearly as loose as he needs to be for this. But he wants to be honest with Eddie, wants to save this intimate moment, wants to cherish the closeness. This is what his therapist encourages him to do, take the opportunity to open up, not to hide away in the things he thinks are most comfortable, not to shy away from the vulnerability that scares him, to embrace it, and be honest and real.

“I want...someone to come home to,” He starts, and his voice cracks on the word home, but he powers through, even if he has to take another large gulp of beer before continuing. “I...want someone who...will see everything that I have to offer and...it — it will be enough.”

I want you. I want you. Can I be enough for you?

Buck falls quiet again and Eddie takes the risk, stepping forward into the space between Buck’s legs. They weren’t far apart to begin with, the space between the counter and the table isn’t that great, but now Eddie’s breathing his air. Buck chances a look up at him.

“Do you know what I want?” Eddie asks, eyes steady on Buck. He doesn’t dare to breathe. “I want someone that I can count on. Someone who...won’t be scared by all of the parts of me that are broken. Someone who will look at Christopher — and see him the way I see him, the way he is, a kid with so much light and love in him. Someone who won’t just see his limitations — but all of the possibilities of things that he can do. Someone who will love him and support him and never leave his side.”

Buck’s eyes are big and watery and he jumps to fill Eddie’s silence.

“Eddie, no part of you is broken. And Chris — Chris is an amazing kid. It’s impossible not to love him. Anyone who gets to be a part of your lives is lucky.”

And — of course. Of course, that’s how Buck responds. Of course, Buck skips over the quiet declaration, the subtle implications that it’s him, it’s him, it’s him — to reassure Eddie in a way that just proves that he’s everything he could ever want. Eddie nods, rests his fingertips on the counter, just on the outside of Buck’s thighs. His voice drops into a softness he rarely indulges in, a tone he saves just for the people he loves.

“I want someone who will have my back.” He watches the way Buck’s eyes widen, the way he freezes at the words. His eyes jump back and forth between Eddie’s and his mouth drops open, just a bit. Eddie continues.

“I want someone...that I can count on...and that I know, no matter what, they will always have my back.”

The silence in the room is borderline oppressive — the way Eddie can feel it surrounding them, enveloping them like a weighted blanket. He struggles to breathe as he stares back at Buck, waiting. They’ve been playing this game all night. One moves, the other waits, then they move, and the other waits. It’s Buck’s turn to make the move. Eddie doesn’t want to push him — but all his cards are on the table.

“Eddie,” Buck breathes, but nothing else follows. He’s frozen in place on the counter and Eddie knows what’s running through his mind.

It’s fear. It’s fear clawing its way up Buck’s chest, fear pressing down steady on his lungs, suffocating him. It’s fear that has every fiber of his body locked in place — unrelenting.

Buck is one of the bravest people Eddie’s ever met — and he’s met a lot of brave people. He throws himself headfirst into danger every day of his life for the lives of others. He would lay his life down on the line for anyone, no matter who, no matter what, no matter when. And he loves — he loves so fiercely, so bravely, so willingly, despite every way in which he’s been hurt before.

He’s brave not because he doesn’t feel fear — he feels it constantly, but he lives in spite of it, loves in spite of it, fights in spite of it. All Eddie wants is for him to feel safe in this, to know it's real and that he can love and not be afraid of it.

He takes another calculated risk, and lifts one of his hands from the counter, settling it gently on Buck’s thigh. He jumps, slightly, at the contact but doesn’t move away or go to remove Eddie’s hand. He swallows.

“Evan, I want you.”

And Buck can’t hold it back anymore — the fear, the want, the anger, the love. It comes bursting out of him at once. His face twists up as the emotions rush over him, and he wants to just shut his eyes, block it all out, not let them ruin this moment — but he can’t. The next thing he knows, he’s crying, breaking down sobbing in the middle of Eddie’s kitchen at the simple admission that somebody — not just somebody but Eddie — wants him.

It’s too good to be true. It has to be.

“Eddie,” Buck tries again, struggling to keep back tears. He gives Eddie that look, the one that says you don’t know what you’re talking about — I don’t believe you, and Eddie’s heart breaks.

He reaches his hands up and gently cradles Buck’s face between them; he can’t hold himself back from touching him, not anymore. Using his thumbs to wipe at Buck’s tears, he moves so that they’re eye to eye and Buck can’t look away from him.

“I love you, Buck.” And he can’t bring himself to care about the fact that it might be too soon to say it — because he’s been in love with Buck for years and in their line of work anything can happen to them at any time. If life has taught him one thing it’s that we never know when we’re going to go. And if anything were to ever happen to them and Eddie hadn’t grown the fuck up and taken the opportunity to tell Buck, this man who radiates light like the sun, who’s filled to the brim with love, who wants to give it to anyone and everyone who will accept it, who deserves love honestly returned — he doesn’t even want to think about it.

So he tells him, and he means it, and he needs Buck to know that he means it.

Buck’s face crumples on itself again. Eddie gives him a second to let more tears fall, watches as the muscles in his face move, trying to work out a response.

“Eddie,” Seems to be all he can say. He tries again.

“Buck — what do you want?”

He pauses and the tears keep streaming down his face but then he looks at Eddie, wide-eyed, and Eddie sees it — the moment that it clicks for Buck. The moment he realizes that this is real and if he wants it he can have it.

“You.”

Eddie nods, trying to keep himself from breaking down crying too, but he’s not sure it’s possible. They’re both exhausted, running on the carbs and coffee from Bobby and Athena’s and little to no sleep. But he’s grateful for anything that got them here, finally.

“You have me,” Eddie says, and he means it. “Me, Christopher, we’re yours, Buck. You’ve always had us.”

“Eddie,” Buck sobs and he’s clinging to Eddie’s shirt like it’s a lifeline. “I love you. And I love Chris. And I can’t lose you, not again, I can’t—“

“You never lost us, Buck,” Eddie shushes, pressing a solid kiss to his forehead. “Never. You might have, you know, been a dumbass once or twice. But we’ve both made mistakes. And here we are.”

Buck nods and looks around, blinking like he just realized where they were. He looks back at Eddie, eyes red from tears but a soft smile on his face nonetheless.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to make out with you on this counter.”

And — it’s tame, by his standards and Buck’s, he’s well aware of that — but something about that admission leaves him winded. He’s too startled to even respond for a second before he breaks out laughing.

It’s an effective tension cutter, and Buck laughs too.

“Really?” Eddie chuckles, letting his head drop so he can stop staring into Buck’s eyes for five seconds and breathe.

“Oh yeah,” Buck says, sniffling. He slides his hands up Eddie’s arms. “Here, and on your couch, against the wall...in your bed.”

He tacks the last part on with a kind of shyness that Eddie’s not used to hearing in Buck’s voice — especially not when it comes to sex. He looks back up again to find Buck’s eyes on him, still a little guarded and unsure.

He recognizes that a simple declaration of love isn’t enough to wash away Buck’s self-doubt — it’s not enough to fix either of them. But they’ll work on it together.

Eddie swipes his thumb across Buck’s cheekbone.

“We can do all of that, Evan,” He promises, smiling at the gentle gasp that leaves Buck at the sound of his given name.

“You know, I normally don’t like it when people call me Evan,” Buck says, dropping his hands to Eddie’s waist and letting his fingers dip under his shirt, feather-light against his skin. “But there’s something about the way you say it.”

Eddie hums in acknowledgment, bumping Buck’s nose with his and pressing gentle kisses along his jawline. Buck sighs and shrugs one shoulder.

“I dunno. It makes me feel good.”

Eddie pulls back again, eyes shining, and he smiles at Buck.

“I always want to make you feel good,” He says, and Buck tilts his head to the side, face flushing as the sweetest smile grows on his lips.

Eddie closes the space between them and presses his lips against Buck’s — gentle, at first, like a promise to keep him safe.

They kiss in the kitchen for a while, their hands lightly traveling over their arms, their backs, their chests, their thighs — a sweet exploration of something familiar and new all at once.

They kiss until they get lightheaded and Buck starts to feel like he’s floating again.

But it’s different this time, better — because they’re doing it together.

#funny how i simply cannot stop writing about them #911 fox #buddie #writing #al talks

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e-milieeee · 4 years

Text

what if we already are (what we’ve been dying to become)—Marichat

Summary: Hawkmoth’s defeat should mark a joyous occasion for Paris’ superheroes, but instead, Chat Noir finds his entire world breaking apart.

(Marinette’s determined to help him build it back together, piece by piece.)

Notes: i... forgot to post this? reveal fic with uH angst and some healing and tears ahHAHAha whoops

Or read on AO3

The whole world was made of fire—suffocating, terrifying fire—yet Adrien was drowning.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Even as the rest of them apprehended Hawkmoth (no, not Hawkmoth: Gabriel Agreste, his father), Adrien didn’t help. Pieces of glass from the battle littered the ground, chaos spread all around, unfurling inside him, and the yawning pit of horror and fear and disbelief opened wider.

Hawkmoth was his father.

He watched as the butterfly pin was taken, watched as Hawkmoth was led away, watched as his father’s lips moved, addressing him in words that didn’t reach Adrien’s ears. Plagg, who had hovered a little ways away after he had released his transformation, flew up to Adrien and nestled in his hair. If he offered any words of comfort, Adrien didn't hear them.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, drowning and drowning and drowning like there was no end to how deep the water could drag him down. The only breath of air was when the familiar sight of red and black dropped into his line of vision and Ladybug’s hand rested on his shoulder.

“Adrien,” she said.

Adrien. His name seemed to ring in his ears, growing louder until his head felt like it was going to burst. Adrien Agreste. She knew. Ladybug knew who he was.

Adrien Agreste, son of Gabriel Agreste—son of Hawkmoth.

The water once again dragged him under, and Adrien felt himself whisper the words of transformation before he was fleeing as fast as he could. Glass cracked under his feet like bones. Ladybug’s shouts for him to stay only made him run faster, and then Chat Noir was scrambling blindly through Paris, wind tearing at his face and guilt tearing even more viciously at his heart. He didn’t know where he was going, but all he knew was that he needed to get away.

For a very long time, the city blurred for Chat. Something seemed to carry him along, kept him going until he reached his destination.

There. The school. Perched on the roof, Chat looked down. Ladybug’s magic had fixed everything, it seemed, because not a brick was out of place. The crack that ran through the courtyard was gone. Everything was the same, even if nothing was anymore.

Inside him, a hurricane of emotions continued to swirl, each demanding their own share of his misery. They mixed and danced until Chat couldn’t tell them apart, but it didn’t matter. After all, they were only there to serve as a reminder of who his father was. And, as an extension, who he was.

Chat blinked, expecting to feel a prickling in his eyes—anything—but no tears came. Gabriel Agreste had always been a quiet, driven man, even when Emilie was still alive. But there had always been memories of better days, when his father had put aside his work to lift him up on his shoulders, running around the house and laughing while his mother chased them with a broom. There was the time his father had attended his piano recital, watching fondly with his mother tucked in the crook of his arm, standing up to clap when Adrien finished. There was the time they had decided to bake together as a family and eight-year-old Adrien splashed a bowl of melted butter over Gabriel by accident and received a bowl of flour over his head as revenge.

Such warm memories, once treasured pieces Adrien clung onto. Now they were tainted with new ones: seeing his mother in the glass coffin; Hawkmoth’s detransformation falling to reveal his father; the way he had attacked Ladybug, his friends and him.

A soft zing sounded behind him, and Chat whirled around in fright and surprise. Ladybug stood, blue eyes like the sky, even though the sky today was covered in a dark, angry grey.

A wave of terror swept over Chat. What did she think of him now that she knew the boy underneath the suit? It had always been Chat Noir which he favoured over Adrien Agreste. Who would she see when she looked at him? Her partner Chat Noir, or Adrien the son of Hawkmoth? Or maybe Chat Noir, son of Hawkmoth?

“Stay away,” he managed to croak, scrambling to his feet. Above their heads, thunder clapped and lightning streaked. A storm was on its way. “I’m—I’m—” The words caught in his throat, refusing to come out.

Ladybug raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Adrien,” she ventured, and he flinched back violently. She tried again. “Chat. It’s okay.”

“You know who I am.” The words were shameful, and he wished desperately they weren’t true.

Ladybug’s blue eyes remained locked with his, anchoring his feet to the ground, not letting him flee again. Then, without looking away, she whispered, “Tikki, spots off.”

As the bright pink light of her transformation faded, the first drops of rain began to fall as well. Before him stood Ladybug—no, not Ladybug. Before him was Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Chat’s breath caught in his throat. His father momentarily forgotten, he took in the sight of her: black hair tied by red ribbons, brilliant blue eyes. The shape of her face. The sweep of her bangs, which were beginning to get soaked by the rain. Everything about her was so, so familiar.

How had he been so blind? Marinette, bringing the class pastries from her family’s bakery. Ladybug’s kind smile as she spoke gently, softly to akuma victims. Marinette, laughing as she kicked his ass once more in Ultimate Mecha Strike. Ladybug, whooping as they raced across Paris. Marinette, full of warmth and love and determination and a kindness that extended to everyone. Ladybug, always selfless and brave and beautiful.

Of course. Who else could Ladybug be but Marinette?

And how vast the chasm between them. Marinette Dupain-Cheng didn’t deserve Adrien Agreste as her partner.

The thought swept through him and seized hold of his heart. With all the willpower he had left, he ripped his gaze from hers and turned to run again.

He only managed a single step forward before a hand latched onto his wrist. Before Chat could go anywhere, Marinette was tugging him back, rain streaking down her cheeks like tears. She said, “Stay.”

A choked gasp left him, and with it, all the struggle dissipated. Chat let Marinette tug him towards her, collapsing into her arms as she wrapped them around his body, tight and unrelenting. The storm threatened to tear him away, but she clung to him so strongly that he was anchored.

“Chat,” she repeated. “Adrien. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he told her. “It’s not. You—you know who I am. I’m—my father—Hawkmoth’s my father.”

Marinette didn’t let go of him. The smell of apples and vanilla all around her—it was Ladybug’s scent; Marinette’s scent.

“And you,” he continued. “You’re Marinette. How was I so stupid?”

“You’re not stupid,” she replied. Slowly, she removed his hands around her, only to put him at arm's length so she could meet his eyes. “You are every bit the person I would want you to be, chaton.”

“You don’t need to say that to make me feel better.”

A laugh left Marinette as well, but it was quieter, maybe a little sad. She gave his shoulder a little push down, and Chat sat at her command. His body felt too numb, too out of control to resist. “Let me tell you a story. About you.”

About me. What good story could there to be tell about him? What a tale they could spin; Paris’ protector finding out the person Paris needed protection from was his own flesh and blood.

“When I first met you,” she began, “as Adrien Agreste, I hated you.”

The rain continued to splash down, and Chat felt his heart grow cold. Of course she did. Because how could Marinette, light incarnate, love somebody like him? All those days of pining after Ladybug, and he had never realized just how far apart they truly were.

“Then,” Marinette continued, “you gave me your umbrella when it was raining, and I fell in love with you.”

His breath caught in his throat. When he looked at Marinette’s eyes, they were wide and serious.

She fell in love with me.

“Why?” he whispered.

Marinette placed a hand on his cheek, letting the rain gather on her palms as it streaked down both their faces. “Because you were kind,” she replied. “Because you were generous enough to give a stranger your umbrella when it was raining. I began to notice you more after that, and I realized that you were so… you shined so bright. Even though you were famous, you were still humble. Even though you had the best grades in the class, you never bragged about it. There’s never a person you’ve been unkind to, even though they were unkind to you. The more I knew you, the more I loved you.”

The words repeated in Chat’s head like a broken record. “You loved me,” he echoed. “You loved me. As Adrien.”

“Yes,” Marinette agreed. “I loved you as Adrien. And I loved you as Chat Noir, as my partner and my other half. Except I didn’t want to admit it because I thought that I could only be in love with Adrien Agreste. Now that I see you, I don’t know how I could ever have imagined it to be anybody else.”

Chat continued to stare at her. Marinette met his gaze squarely, determination written all over her face. Every word she had said was the truth, no matter how ludicrous and outlandish and surreal it sounded. Just like the truth that his father was Hawkmoth, but this—this truth spoke of a kinder, more hopeful reality.

“Do you love me still?” he finally asked. “After you know who my father is?”

“I don’t care who your father is,” Marinette replied immediately, firmly, before he could even start fearing her answer. “You are not your father, and you’ve more than proven that to me. You’ve more than proven that to everyone. Especially yourself, Adrien.”

He breathed. For the first time since he had found out Hawkmoth’s identity, he truly, deeply, breathed. Then, “Plagg, claws in.”

A flash of light later, it was Adrien standing in front of Marinette. He searched her face for any signs of regret, any disgust, but all he could see was understanding and kindness.

“Adrien.” Marinette’s voice was barely above a whisper. She raised a hand to his face again, wiping at the water that kept on dripping down, drenching his clothing. “You have no idea how happy I am that it’s you.”

She pulled him into another hug and this time, Adrien let himself fall right into it. Her arms remained tight around him, and even as the storm around them raged, the one inside seemed to quiet down ever so slightly.

“None of us care that Hawkmoth’s your father,” she breathed. “It doesn’t matter. It won’t change the fact that you’re loved, Adrien. Just know that.”

Loved. The word pierced through him, finally breaking the dam he had been labouring so hard to hold up. He wept into Marinette’s shoulder out of pain and fright and relief and happiness all at once. Loved. It shattered something inside him, something already broken, and broke it so completely, so wonderfully. And Adrien realized that he believed Marinette—believed wholly with all of his bruised, fractured heart that what she said was true. That she loved him, as Adrien Agreste, as Chat Noir, as Gabriel Agreste’s son.

“It’s okay,” Marinette repeated yet again. “And it’s okay if you’re not okay.”

He sobbed until the tears ran out altogether and even after that, Adrien clung to Marinette like a lifeline. She didn’t let go either, hands soothing against his back, whispering quiet words that Adrien could finally believe.

Adrien was the one who pulled back that time. Marinette smiled at him, her face radiant, and he tried to mirror it. “Look,” he said. “I got your clothing all drenched with my tears.”

She wiped wet hair out of her face and laughed. “Looks like I did the same to you. Seems to me that we’re even on this one, kitty.”

Surprised delight unfurled in him hearing her call him that nickname. Then Adrien was smiling wider, more genuinely. His father was still a weight on his heart, but Marinette was there, holding his hand and not letting him carry it alone.

“I’m glad it was you,” Adrien admitted at last. Thunder rumbled, directly above their heads. “But at the same time, of course it was you.”

“Yes,” Marinette agreed. “Although look at how dumb we were. We couldn’t look past our own crushes to see the person we loved loved us right back.”

The person we loved. Adrien’s heart still stammered at that, leaped and soared and sang to hear such words from her. He wasn’t sure he would ever, ever hear it enough.

Marinette’s laugh suddenly cut through the air. It chimed like bells. “I would get so nervous around you,” she recalled. “I would stammer, freeze up, and could never look you in the eye. To think you were Chat Noir the whole time, and I was turning down the same boy I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence around because how hopelessly in love I was. Isn’t it ridiculous?”

“I can do you one better. I spent so much time convincing myself that you were just a friend and I couldn’t be in love with you because I loved Ladybug, but you were Ladybug all along.” Then he paused. “Wait. That means those pictures in your room…”

Adrien watched as Marinette’s face turned a dark shade of pink. “... they weren’t for your so called designer purposes, were they?” He feigned surprise. “Why, did you have a crush on me, m’lady?”

She smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

He sighed. “I guess all the times I professed my love to you might’ve not actually been for vain. It’s truly touching.”

“Shut up,” Marinette growled, now crimson. “You insufferable cat—”

She broke off, seemed to remember something, then scrunched her face into an expression of determination. Before Adrien could figure out what was happening, Marinette snatched a handful of his shirt and tugged him down to her height, lips brushing over his.

It was all over in a second. Adrien gaped at her like a fish out of water and Marinette tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a shy smile spreading across her face. “For what it’s worth,” she murmured. “Maybe it’s—maybe it’s too early to say this, and it’s okay if you don’t return the sentiment, but I want to spend my life with you. With Adrien and Chat Noir. As Marinette and Ladybug.”

This time, it was joy that bloomed through his chest, full and bright. “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes. Me too.”

Marinette’s smile was the sun, her eyes the sky, and Adrien’s world was bright and clear despite the rain. She held out a hand to him, and he took it.

It’s okay if you’re not okay. The road to healing was a long one, and Adrien knew that it wasn’t overnight that he could finally come to peace with the fact that his father had been Hawkmoth. It wasn’t overnight that he could understand the reasons, to forgive and let go. But that was okay.

Broken, he might be. But broken could be fixed, and if anyone could help him do so, it was Marinette.

End notes: This is part of a set of three loosely connected drabbles (that all work as standalones). Here’s part one.

Fics masterlist here!

#miraculous ladybug #mlb fic #chat noir #ladybug #marinette #marichat #my writing #angst!!#hurt and comfort #whoops lol

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notfeelingthyaster · 4 years

Text

Imagine (inspired by the incomplete fanfic Son of Underworld) (2/5) (Son of Hades! Percy AU)

Check the other parts in the masterpost - read the warnings before proceeding. Good reading!!

After the worse summer, Percy goes home.

Luke's proposal keeps swimming in his head - the blonde is not wrong, but Percy has been scammed before - he remembers once that a "friend" convinced him to be a lookout for him to do something shady at the Dean's Office and then put the blame on him.

And he was blamed - Percy is black, and black kids are never the innocent ones - but now he knows better.

Being a child of the Underworld gods is not that different from being black.

Percy is comfortable with his skin though - his mother is incredible, and most people at Camp are mixed up. Charles is African-American. Selena's father is Muslim, and the Stoll's mother is Jewish (half the reason they are year-rounders). Clarisse's mom is from Nicaragua. Michael Yew has a Brazilian grandma with Japanese heritage.

He isn't friends with most of them - Charles is like a big brother to him and Michael Yew taught him how to shoot an arrow, but Clarisse is at most a good spar partner and nor the Stolls nor Silena care for his company very much.

Percy tells himself that he doesn't care.

He packs his bags - a blue and red backpack and a few surf shirts from the amusement park where he destroyed a pool and made the ground swallow mechanic spiders, both the Minotaurs horns, now fashioned into very cool knives, his Warhammer and his ax slung across his back. The only sweater he has, the one he came here with, the blue one, is warming him up to the chill of autumn.

Chiron asks him if he doesn't want to stay. He touches the willow standing in the furthest shore of the river, the one that marks the barrier of Camp Half-Blood. It used to be Thalia Grace, daughter of Poseidon.

Chiron looks to him with pity. He doesn't need to know that Percy is planning to murder Gabe Ugliano.

Percy goes to do that. He travels, by car. He has enough money - he has money appearing in his pockets all the time now, his father must be truly guilty.

Then he opens the door of his old apartment - but Gabe is not there, in the living room. There's just his mom, on the couch.

His mom

Alive

Percy cries, and they hug, and then they trade stories. She tells him she was asleep in Olympus, and Zeus gave her back when the bolt got to his hands.

He is less angry. But the heavy weight of indignation seats in his stomach.

There's no time for it now: Percy is going back to Yancy Academy - his grades were not bad - and Gabe is now a very charming statue for someone very rich (later, he will discover it was Persephone who bought it).

He tells her everything, safe in her arms, no shirt, no gloves. His mom can touch him everywhere - not even a cell in his body would attack her.

He is so touch starved he keeps sleeping in her bed for a week, and, at night, he cries. Percy has horrible nightmares - he is just twelve and he has killed.

He tells her about his meeting with his father in hushed whispers at an evening where the sky is blue and pink - just how he likes it.

Sally almost goes to the Underworld herself smack sense in her ex-lover, but she knows Persephone would do so for her.

Percy tells her about Luke - not about the Rebellion, lest any gods hear him, but about Luke and Alabaster and Ethan and those kids, alone in a Cabin of rejects.

She says she is going back to college - and that she'll do her best to go see him every weekend at Yancy.

He tells her about his powers. Sally doesn't like the risks but say he should start practicing for his own safety.

They cuddle and Percy clings to his anchor like a lifeline. Percy wants to go to the Underworld again sometime - more to play with Cerberus than to do anything else.

He takes the bus reluctantly - he offers to stay and go to public school, but he knows his chance lays at Yancy.

Percy study Math. He is in seventh grade now - the real Math is here, the financials and calculus and they keep putting him in "Gifted and Advanced" classes for it.

His English still sucks. Biology, for all that should be easy for him, its way too boring - he prefers dead bodies, thank you very much.

He excels at Math and Health&PE (which summer camp took care), passes with acceptable grades in World History, Geography and Social Studies (he nails a project about demographics with some really helpful ghosts), does badly in Science and fails tragically at English and Literature.

They call him a genius - and a genius has areas they specialize in. His grades in math are enough to push him to the eighth grade.

At weekends, when his mother can't come to see him, he locks his dorm and practices his shadow traveling and his powers over the earth and metal manipulation.

His shadow traveling is a mess - once he ends up in Ukraine, and panics trying to come back, just to end up in Wyoming. Again.

Thrice, he manages to reach the underworld. It's winter - Persephone is somewhere down there, but he doesn't want to see his father. He plays with Cerberus when he has some energy - the first two times he just cuddles up with the dog and sleeps a little.

The last time he goes to the Underworld, it's the last day before summer break - he still has not made any contact with his dad, he still doesn't know if he wants to join Luke, he still doesn't know if he wants to go back to CHB.

He goes back to his Mom's house with a hellhound puppy and makes kitten eyes until she lets it stays - if he trains and feeds him and whatnot.

He has dreams about Grover in a bride's dress. It freaks the hell out of him because there's a cyclops in it.

Percy is crossing the street with groceries when he sees a cyclops. He doesn't give the creature a chance to see him - he goes to his room and start packing - it's too dangerous for him, and he can't lose his Mom again.

He cuddles his Mom and the puppy - which he named Blackjack - and calls Chiron.

Chiron is sending Annabeth - apparently, something happened to the borders of the camp.

Percy decides to help, for Annabeth, for Grover, for the small kids at Cabin 9 and 11, and the newbies (there's one, Will Solace, who isn't even eleven yet and he has been there for a year).

He packs his colorful sweaters (rebelling, but in the opposite direction of his father’s aesthetic), put his puppy in a leash (it's bigger than a mastiff now, but all dogs are puppies) and wait for his best friend.

She meets him with an expression of someone who is announcing a funeral - Grover is lost in his searches for Pan.

Percy thinks the little tremor that shook his building it's a good enough hold in his powers, nothing is broken and no one is dead, so it's fine.

He hugs Annabeth and feels warm inside. Health classes covered changes in his body, but he didn't expect to be that quick. Annabeth is taller than him by at least five inches and much prettier.

He picks up his Warhammer and his ax (how does the mist occlude that? do everyone think he is doing cosplay?), throws a duffel bag in his shoulder, his loyal puppy beside him.

"Are you getting into the dark vibe, Corpse Breath?"

"Shut up Annie"

The camp is being attacked - they get a weird taxi thing, pay extra and are given three random locations in the mainland.

Percy doesn't forget the names. There's Agramonte, in Cuba; Okeechobee, in Florida; and Pic La Selle in Haiti.

CHB is being attacked when they get there - by bronze bulls no less. Percy goes to battle with a weapon in each hand, like a war god.

Clarisse does way more damage than him, bashing bull metal skulls left and right like a master. But he kills one of five and does damage to other two.

She claps him in the back - he is glad he has a sweater on, even if it is a horrible shade of brilliant orange.

Charles and him take the weapons to the Forge to correct any damage. Charles hugs him and then starts gushing about Silena.

Charles and Annabeth takes him to see the new Camp Director.

It's Tantalus.

Percy laughs so hard he almost falls down, and Dionysus looks bored - but Percy isn't dumb, he sees mirth in his eyes.

He wants so badly to do a smart comment. He wants to see if his powers can rip a ghost that his father reinstated. He wants to taunt Tantalus.

"What are you laughing about, metic?"

"Nothing, you remind me of someone."

But Percy fends off other questions, and sits at the Cabin 11 table obediently. He wants to startle that man so badly he won't ever sneer at Percy anymore.

He knows just the people for the job. They aren't in any way close, but they all up for mischief. His opportunity comes with the chariot race announced - Percy corners the Stoll Brothers.

"Let me race with you" He starts, and they look surprised by any emotion coming from him in their direction (Percy smiles were reserved for Annie and Grover and Luke and Alabaster and Ethan).

"I want to startle Tantalus and you want victory - I can give you any chariot, if you let me swarm the whole road with skeletons"

The Stolls look at one another, and mentally say something, before doing a random coin toss.

"I'm racing with you" Says Connor.

They mark a time to see the chariot in the next day. They take the whole Cabin 11 with them to prevent attention - Percy is not letting this game go.

Percy gets a chariot directly from the underworld, black obsidian (not Stygian iron, way too rare) and silver, with blue gems that glisten under the sun, a Helm with wings marking its front.

There are four horses pushing it - skeletal horses, incapable of feeling pain or thirst.

It's the first time Percy feels like he belongs - this is a competition, and he is going to win.

Connor and Travis have an array of contraptions and grenades and smoke bombs.

They arrive at the start line at last, for maximum impact. No one is expecting this - they're waiting for Hermes' old chariot, a rickety thing that should be scrap years ago, with any Pegasi they managed to gather in the stables.

They forgot something: Percy exists. It's normal, and Percy it's okay with it in this instance.

The Stymphalian Birds appear - and are countered by his skeletons hitting their spears and swords on their shields. None of them hit him, and the Cabin 11 arrives at first followed by a disgruntled Clarisse after she fought at least 20 skeletons.

Tantalus tries. He really tries to accuse Percy of cheating, but it's pointed out - with approval of Dionysus to boot - that the Demeter kids used their vines to place third and Pollux and Castor did the same to get the fifth spot - just behind the giant contraption that was the Hephaestus chariot.

Clarisse is not happy with the second spot and the silver laurels, but she claps him in the back anyway - Ares is the god of war, not bad sportsmanship.

The Hermes Cabin is in euphoria - Apollo, who placed last, after Aphrodite since they unleashed a dozen doves with a sleeping potion in their faces, it's doing all of the Cabin 11 chores for a month - and they are having a feast of the gods.

Just that night, Percy sacrifices a big pomegranate for Hades and one for Persephone - forgiveness, can you imagine?

He sacrifices to Hermes, as always, for taking the small kids. He sees the joy in their faces - and while Percy is a person reserved to his friends and now he is mostly stoic Perseus, son of Hades, forge gremlin, he always hugs the kids that have nightmares.

It's not what he wanted - it's weird to be touched. It's weirder to have someone want to be next to him. Percy is a cactus, he is prickly. He never smiles. He misses his mom - she would know what to do.

But the little kids trust him. Lou Ellen is unclaimed since the ending of last summer - Percy doesn't know if she has someone to return to.

Those kids at Cabin 11 deserve more then a couple of teens taking care of them. Those kids deserve better, they all deserve better.

There are seven-year-old children there. They barely know how to read. Percy teaches - Annabeth teaches history and myths and Greek, but is he who takes on math to the younger ones, the ones who barely know how to multiply.

He considers staying year-round. They all had Chiron - but it isn't enough. It isn't a family. It isn't. Percy is not their family either - he doesn't overestimate himself - but at least he cares. Not because of their godly blood, but because they are children.

He still hates touch. He is never without his sweaters and gloves. He never smiles at anyone that isn't Annie or Grover or Luke or Alabaster or Ethan.

These days, he only has Annie.

He misses Luke, and he wants to scoop all of these children and take them with him to Kronos, away from the gods. But for what? Another master to fight for?

Was Luke the one who poisoned Thalia? Would he do the same to Percy if Percy denied him?

A mission is issued to go after Golden Fleece - it's in the same place Grover is, it's what Annie and Percy agree on.

Percy is a calculating boy. He deals in numbers, in measures. He is completely oblivious when it comes to feelings and anything that's more subjective than an equation.

But she thinks he likes them. Her and Grover, and those little kids that follow him around sometimes.

She likes the way her yellow hair contrasts with his dark skin, the way his curls flop in his forehead. She likes the specks of green in his eyes. He is her best friend. It's not the love she has for Luke, but it's something akin to admiration.

Percy and Connor are chosen to go on the mission - and Tantalus tries and bullshits some reason for them to go alone, but Percy shakes his head.

"The oracle said, three people"

He is bullshitting them. Tantalus makes him take Clarisse, and Annabeth stays behind.

"I doubt you can get in the sea of monsters without crossing water, eromenoi"

Perseus laughs and laughs, and his eyes are dark as the night without moon. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his soft blue hoodie, and motions for Connor and Clarisse to follow.

Before he leaves, he kisses her cheek softly. It's going to be okay. He will bring Grover back.

He shadow travels the three on them for the closest location the Grey Sisters gave him. It’s difficult, even with a hellhound. He aims for Okeechobee and lands in Miami.

Percy needs to sleep for at least a day, so they use the time to reach their destiny by car. Connor is a very adept child of Hermes, and soon they’re on the road in a red old pickup.

“So Corpse Breath is the hammer, and you’re the polishing stone? Fitting” snorts Clarisse, and just like that, they are bonding.

Percy expects them to trade shitty childhood stories and stupid hobbies or badmouth their deadbeat godly parents, but that was another trip, with very different people.

Clarisse La Rue is sixteen. Her favorite weapon is a javelin or a spear, but she will always prefer hand to hand combat. She loves Led Zeppelin and thinks Silena’s white hijab is the cutest thing in the world. She speaks Spanish - a relief because Percy barely speaks English.

Connor Stoll is fifteen. He prefers gas bombs to grenades - and he does a mean Molotov. He did graffiti until he was twelve. He thinks the Gardner Sisters from the Demeter Cabin are both cute - but Pollux got hot during the winter.

That’s how Percy discovers bisexuality - in a stolen car with a giant hellhound, a girl who has arms larger than his thighs and drives like a grandma and a boy who is two seconds away from spontaneous combustion.

He thinks that explains Luke and Annabeth - but he doesn’t voice it.

Percy doesn’t smile to them for a long time - he knows not even muscular spasms are free of charge.

He stays stoic until they stop to sleep - and Connor has wings in the back of his underwear and its the most ridiculous thing ever.

They reach the city and wander. They do encounter someone - Hecate herself.

She says to Percy it is her last favor - and he knows she already left for Kronos. Luke’s drachma burns in his pocket. She opens a wall of stone - a passageway the Huntresses use sometimes.

“My son waits for you” his quest mates pretend not to hear it - and he pretends nothing is happening. At least Alabaster is okay.

They walk across the cave for what it feels like a day. He is almost sure Hecate has plans to kill them when they find the exit: In an island spa.

A girl comes and analyze them. She looks at them with a kind smile - but Percy knows smiles have prices.

They go meet with the owner: C.C. He doesn't recognize her, but Connor takes one look at those weird guinea pigs and tap Percy's hand twice.

It's a code: Danger.

They are patient. Clarisse is looking at the flimsy girls with their togas and golden braids - she is not going with them.

C.C. Apparently accepts that Clarisse is "more male than a female" like gender is something defined by dresses and makeup.

As soon as the girls are out of the room, Percy taps Clarisse's hand, and she runs her spear through C.C.'s belly. The woman bleeds ichor - but disappears in a cloud of golden sand.

They go through her things for money while Connor explains that he learned about her from Charles. Charles's first mission almost ended up with him as a guinea pig. At least now they know they are in the right place.

Percy takes all her money and their weapons back. He straps as many knives he can throw in his pants and belt: One can never have enough weapons.

They find some hoods and sneak out to the boats on the beach. Connor steals again. Percy hates water: But the Sea of Monsters is beyond Poseidon's direct control, and Percy is going to hole himself up until they get to the next island.

He vomits. He is so seasick, it's not even funny. He hates boats. He hates large bodies of water. Anything bigger than a pool, and he is out.

Clarisse thinks it's funny. She laughs at him - and weirdly, he smiles back a little. The daughter of Ares plays with Blackjack, and they bond.

They are not friends - but they would kill for each other. They find it weird they had no godly intervention from Olympus - but then, Percy remembers he is just a son of Hades, and the Olympians hate him.

He burns food to Hecate. He doesn't burn food to Hermes, who appears in everyone else's quests, but avoid his own son's.

None of them has enough hubris to try and listen to the sirens. Clarisse's fatal flaw is bloodlust and Connor's is arrogance - the idea he can do anything, steal anything, and he'll never be punished.

They don't hear anything. Their next stop is the Isle of Polyphemus.

This time around, Connor is Nobody, Clarisse sneaks under a sheep to save Grover, and Percy gets the Fleece. They try to escape through a passageway that Percy's powers say lead to Haiti, but the cyclops colapses it with a boulder.

Percy hates cyclops.

They shadowtravel. Percy isn't any better at it, and with Grover tagging along, it's pretty obvious what happens, even if he is wearing the Golden Fleece like a giant blanket of strenght.

They end up in Wyoming. Percy sleeps for a week: he is starting to flick, like a ghost, and the magical sheep skin can only help so much. In this week, apparently, they meet the Party Ponies.

Chiron takes Percy in his back to CHB with the Fleece, but his friends stay behind because the centaurs won't let them mount, and they can't keep up on feet.

Clarisse, Connor and Grover meet Luke, Ethan and Alabaster in their way to an airport. It goes badly, but no one dies. They tell him Ethan only has one eye now, and that Luke looks tired and mad.

Percy thinks joining Kronos might be a bad idea. But then, he goes back to Camp, save the tree, and things don't change. The kids are still kids, alone and sad.

Will Solace was claimed. He says he misses Cabin 11, and some of his brothers don't want him to talk to Percy anymore.

It hurts. They try and keep contact for the following week, but peer pressure pushes Will away. Percy doesn't blame him.

The tree spits Thalia, daughter of Poseidon. She has black hair with green accents, green eyes, uses heavy makeup, and looks like a "Hades spawn" should look.

Percy likes her. He has no need for being the leader, and he has Annie and Grover (and Luke, and Alabaster, and Ethan, he thinks). Annie and Luke love her, so she must be amazing. He tries.

Thalia doesn't like him. She hates Hades, the one who killed her. She doesn't trust him or the fact that he never touches anyone.

Perseus tells himself he doesn't care. And suddenly, Thalia goes from "could be a good friend" to "better stay away".

The Camp celebrates Thalia. He is the hero, he brought the Fleece back, he is also a child of the Big Three. But they hate him, just like the kids in school hate him for his skin colour.

Annie has no time for him. Grover goes back to his search. He doesn't think he is going to join Kronos, but the drachma is still in his pocket.

He goes back to his mother, and then, to Yancy.

This summer, he was the hero. But no matter what, he was still the son of Hades.

103 notes · View notes

uhhhhyandere · 4 years

Text

heheheehehehe

no wedding yet. I really do be messing with the plot a lot, and making it when i shouldn’t but... i can’t help myself. ;p

it’s totally true that light can be the sweetest person in order to convince anyone, and i exploit that like a bitch. as always, writing for fun, not perfection!!

word count: 5.4k

“I’ve been seeing you a lot more.” Rose mixed her drink with the spoon, but her eyes were happily trained on you. “It’s a good thing! Don’t get me wrong. You surprised me when you called to meet up. Usually, it’s me, then you say we’ll see, then you call me back later. It’s a nice change of pace when you call, but I know you’re busy with wedding planning and being happy.” You crossed your legs, slipping your hands under your thighs to warm them up from the ice of your own drink.

“I think it’s probably because when the amount of stress in my life tripled is when I realized I need a break,” is what you said, and what Light told you to say if you were ever questioned on why you were suddenly so social after he allowed you the freedom to leave without permission. Perhaps he was finally tired of the calls throughout the day while he was working, or maybe there was a semblance of trust beginning to form. That, or he finally noticed that you were beginning to fester in the confines of your home and wants your spirit to lift once more, which is all the more amusing to you that he may think that would be feasible.

“Well, I don’t know how much I can do to help. I mean, I’m sure Light’s doing his part, right?” You laughed.

“Plenty.”

“Then, do you need anything at all? From me? Or mom?” As pins and needles in your hands began to spread, you removed them and stretched them out on top of your thighs.

“Can you tell me about your life?”

“Huh?”

“Your life. You know. Sato, your new apartment. Your sex life. I don’t care. Anything. Everything. I just need to look into someone’s life that isn’t my own,” because frankly, you were worried Light had something up his sleeve, and you knew, you knew, you would only bring yourself more misery if you drowned yourself in your thoughts. Your sister leaned back in the cushion and smiled to herself.

“Well, it was our three months last week. Nothing compared to you, but it was nice. I’ve never been the one for… commitment, really, but—I don’t know—seeing you and Light, it makes me think that ‘Yeah I want that,’ and it’s a nice change to hookups.” She cut herself off. Her eyes stuck on a crack in the wall below the window. With her lips parted, she sighed, and a sudden sadness fell onto her face. Her fingers played with the wood of the table for a few moments before she opened her mouth to speak again. “Sorry, I was just thinking about Oliver. Reminds me of him.”

“What does, specifically?”

“Commitment. He slept around so much in college, but, when he settled back in the US and met his partner, it was like he changed. That connection, he felt it immediately, and, right when he was brave enough to take the next step…” Rose wiped beneath her eyes, being careful to avoid the mascara on her bottom lashes. It seemed that her eyes were only watering though. “Well, you know.” Yes, you did. “I’m scared. What if I find that and then it’s just… taken away from me? It’s easy when there’s no feelings involved.” She shook her head and hid her mouth behind her hand. “Sorry. I’m supposed to be distracting you from the stress, but I’m just adding to it.”

You allowed the table to fall into silence. Every time you’ve seen Rose since Light gifted your freedom, there was a small, small voice in the back of your mind that told you to tell Rose the truth. Sometimes just parts of it, but you knew that you couldn’t unwrap a small piece without, over time, exposing it all. Even so, what harm could Rose really do with that information? She’s never ceased her devotion to Kira, and you remember it was a defining factor in Sato when she started talking to him. Would she see Kira different knowing he is not some omnipotent god descended from wherever to distribute justice on the human world? Losing her belief was too much of a risk in exchange for information she didn’t need to know.

Information she deserved to know.

“Double date.”

“What?”

“Why don’t you and Sato and me and Light just go for dinner or something? I don’t know him well, and it might be a good idea to try. I mean, when I get stuck up in the past, I try to appreciate the present by doing something. I think it’s what they all would want.” Lying comes too easy. Little did she know the dead you thought of most likely wanted you as dead as them, and, wherever Misa was, you were sure she wanted the same.

“They all?”

“Huh?”

“You said they all, as in plural.” You shook your head.

“Oh, yeah. Well, Light’s dad, coworkers he’s had who have passed, Oliver.” She folded her hands over mouth.

“I completely forgot. I—you’re right. We should set that up. Soon, and I mean soon. As in this weekend or the next? I know Light’s schedule is insane, and yours, too, with the wedding. Oh, and I’ll tell Sato that Light is okay with our beliefs, so there’s no issue there. You know, with Kira.” You shook your head.

“No, no, it’s fine. It was my idea. He makes his own schedule most of the time unless something particularly nasty comes up. I’m sure that he’ll be free. He tries for weekends off but… he’s a workaholic.” Rose laughed into the brim of her cup.

“Sounds like him. I’m sure Sato will be free too.”

“What does he do, if I may ask?”

“Oh, he’s a lawyer. He used to be a public defender, but now he’s moved to elder law since Kira first appeared.” She paused. “You know, I think that he could use it too. His stepbrother died a while back, and he looked up to him like they were blood brothers.” You nodded. “Speaking of which,” she raised her wrist, “I told Sato that I would meet him after his appointment to go to that—um—botanical garden, I think? I don’t know. I’m excited.” You watched her hurry to collect herself. “Are you coming?” You shook your head.

“No, I think I’ll stay for a bit,” you checked your own watch, “Light won’t be home for a little while anyway. You go have fun. Let this chained old hag stay here.” Rose scoffed.

“’Chained old hag’, my younger sister who is planning the best day of her life says. Call me when you talk to Light and we can set up that date. Bye! Love you!” By the time she was wishing you well, she was halfway towards the door. You smiled to yourself. No, you would keep her in blissful ignorance despite what she deserves. It only added to your list of shit deeds. Nothing new.

You dug into your back pocket and pulled out your cell phone you turned off for the duration of your coffee date and decided you would leave it that way. You could people-watch for the next half hour. Hell, you probably could for the next five hours and not even know. You could hardly remember the last time you had watched the passersby with no worries, or at least, with all of your worries suppressed to normalcy.

With each one that passed, you grew more and more envious. Though every person had problems, stressors, issues, you were sure that you would trade anything to have the struggles they are having, so blissfully unaware of the reality that is around them. How easy it was for them to simply perish from this world in forty seconds, and they didn’t even know. Too busy worrying about exams and deadlines to even care. You released a shaky breath and thought about how you would do anything to have calculus be your biggest problem.

Too little, too late. The time for self-pity has long passed. Still, you permitted yourself some time to wallow for the sake of “self-care.” To cry against the headrest of the coffee shop chair until it was three minutes passed the time you wanted to leave was a fine enough method. It gave you enough time to fix yourself so Light would never know the difference.

Though, he was nowhere to be found as you walked into your house. The only indication he was home was the muffled movement from the floor above. Before you moved to go up the stairs, the number of objects on your kitchen counter drew your attention. Multiple white binders with swatches of silk sticking out from the edges, different plastic flowers, multiple—.

“Oh my fucking god,” you muttered, dread dropping into your core like an anchor. You had a fucking meeting with your wedding planner today. You ripped your phone from your pocket a finally turned it on. Fifteen text messages. Eight calls. You were dead. You dropped the device onto the counter in order to cup your face with your hands and groan.

“Oh, nice of you to come home.”

“Light, I am—I don’t—I don’t know—.” He shushed you with an open palm. Your hands linked on the edge of the counter behind your back. Biting your lip, you kept your eyes on him, ready to take whatever he was planning to give. Light sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Stop looking at me like a wounded dog. I haven’t even said anything yet. When I allowed you your freedom, I didn’t mean to free your head from your brain either. I looked like a fool with her after calling you eight times. She asked me if everything was okay between us, if we were fighting. Do you know how annoying and more importantly embarrassing for me it was? Have you ever, for once, used your brain for anything outside of what is in front of you? Where were you, anyway? With your sister, again?” Light scoffed. “No wonder your head isn’t working as well as it used to.”

“Rose is not stupid.”

“She’s certainly not intelligent. Why have you sought her out so much, anyway? If there’s something wrong, you should be talking to me. She may be your sister, and she may think she knows what may be going on, but she never will. Rose can never bring you any comfort when she’s so in the dark. The only person who knows, who can bring you a semblance of peace, is me.” You clenched your teeth.

“Then why not tell her, then? Everything.” He scowled and a single brow rose in challenge. “She deserves to know at least how our brother and father died.” Your throat clenched, but you remained steadfast. They always say tears is how you convince someone of anything, but tears were only a sign of weakness to Light. He sighed, shoulders falling. Closing the space in between you, he brought his hand to delicately cup your jaw.

“The guilt is eating at you again. Y/N, if you decided to tell her that, you would need to tell her everything. You would risk losing all connection with her, just as your brother did when you told him.” He leaned in so his lips began to trail up your jaw, across your cheek, and towards your ear. “Not to mention the potential obstacle it could pose to me, and you know I don’t hesitate when it comes to anything that could stand in my way.” He placed a small kiss behind your ear. “Is that something you are willing to risk in order to alleviate your guilt? Is it really worth it?” His hand that was on your jaw traced up your cheek, fingernails lightly dragging across your skin. He tucked your hair behind your ear and moved his face, so he was looking directly into your eyes again. “I won’t waste my breath telling you what to do. By now, you should already know, which is why you have this freedom in the first place because you know better.” With a sigh, he retracted, leaving only his hand in your hair. “Still, should you decide to do something stupid, I won’t think twice before cleaning up your mess. Decide if you’re ready to go through that again.

He took his hand back and walked around to begin to stifle through the binders. Turning around, you helped him spread them all across the counter and the table.

“What did I miss?” Your voice was quiet, still nervous to tempt out a side of him you didn’t want to see. Light’s eyes jumped around the binders.

“You’re lucky we didn’t need to make any decisions today. I brought home everything. Color swatches, food options, flowers, music, venues, cake, everything,” You sighed. “Not to mention dresses.”

“Please don’t even mention it. I’ve always been more of a jumpsuit kind of person.” He met your eyes briefly. “I-I mean in general! No, I’ll be wearing the big, whitey giant. Just don’t even know where to start, and not just that, with everything. It’s so much. Do we even have a budget in mind yet?” He shook his head.

“Money shouldn’t be a problem.” You furrowed your brows, but he said it as easy as someone who was talking about the weather. “What? Don’t look so mystified. As long as we don’t decide to make this a royal wedding and invite the Queen, we don’t have any foreseeable problems.” In your time since you quit your job, you realized that you haven’t thought about money at all. It wasn’t really an issue that was… “in front of your face.” You scowled as Light’s statement replayed in your head. You used his card if you went anywhere or bought anything, and yet you haven’t even thought to check the bank statement.

By god, you were turning into a trophy wife. Maybe, if you knew what that really was. Whatever you were turning into, it didn’t settle right in your stomach.

“Then we should decide the vibe.”

“The… vibe,” he repeated skeptically.

“Yeah. Do we want it to be rustic, or classy and formal? Or modern? Minimalistic? Classic? I don’t know. Then we could decide colors to go along with the theme, and then flowers would follow. We work from the outside in. We just need to figure out the attendance before picking a venue. Then the date. Then—yikes, this is a lot.” You ran a hand through your hair. “Do you care?”

“What do you mean, ‘do I care?’”

“I mean, I don’t know. Sometimes guys are like ‘I don’t care,’ and—I don’t know I watch a lot of TLC and HGTV.” Light brought a hand to your waist and pulled you into his side. He rolled his head in your direction.

“Do you really think I am anything like those guys on TV?” You pushed his head away.

“Yeah, sorry. Stupid question. So, what about—.”

“Formal.”

“Huh?”

“The ‘vibe.’ Formal.” His fingers drummed against your hip. You shouldn’t be too surprised he would want it to be professional and classy given he’s been dressing for his job since high school. Though, if you wanted to pose an argument, could you? Not that you minded the formal idea, but maybe your freedom has given you some of your courage back to test your limits.

“What about rustic? Like country-side.”

“You expect me to be married in a barn?”

“Rustic does not mean getting married in a barn,” you laughed. “It’s what I’ve always imagined my wedding would look like. Maybe a sunflower field or horses. Outside under a huge oak tree on a summer day.” A smile grew on your face picturing it, but as Light remained silent, it fell into a pensive frown. Your brother would have walked you up the aisle. “Though, I guess nothing has really turned out as I’ve imagined.” Whatever moment of courage flared in you moments before died. “Formal is fine. Then the colors should coincide.”

“Gold and black.” You grinned quietly.

“Yeah, that’s—um—on theme. It’s-it’s good. I’m going to go get a pen and paper to write this all down. I think there are notebooks in the drawer in the closet.” You tore away from his side and sped to the closet. Shutting the door behind you, you released your wet and shaking breaths in the darkness of the small space. Warm tears spilled down your cheeks, and you laughed because you had no idea why you were even crying. Still, you wrapped your arms around yourself and silently squeezed your eyes shut to push them all out. The door opened behind you, flooding the closet with light. “I’m sorry. I s-swear I’m not crying. I’m not I’m—.”

Arms wrapped around your own. Gently, he guided you to move them to allow his own to take their place. He nudges his head to slot between your neck and shoulder, but he, for once, does not say anything. He need not to. This was to comfort you, sure, but you knew better to think it was a sign of care. He had to do this. To be his true, ugly self all the time would simply eradicate the pretty picture he paints that distracts you from reality. Light had to convince you that there was something there that was not twisted, raw possession. Maybe there was a time it would have genuinely worked too, but the time has long passed. All there was left to do was believe in the known lie that this was love.

And that went both ways. What you felt towards him… you called it love, but even that would be too simple. Fear. Hate. Loneliness. Were they parts of love as well? If so, then maybe love was the right word. It had to be. You couldn’t be marrying a man you hated, that you feared. You had to love him. That was the only… it was the truth. All those years, you did. You’ve loved him all this time. It was the truth. You loved him. You would pledge the rest of your life to him. That was the truth. It was. It was it was it was it was it was it was it was—.

“I love you, Light.” A kiss to your neck was your only answer.

No more planning was done that day. Once your tears dried, Light led you to the bathroom upstairs by hand in silence. You followed his footsteps as he brushed his teeth, washed his face, and stepped back into the space of the bedroom. Your eyes followed his form as he opened the drawer in the dresser and placed yours and his pajamas on top. He changed himself first, unbothered by your shameless staring. Then, he turned to you.

With unmatched gentility, he gripped the hem of your shirt and slowly brought it up to your abdomen. You rose your arms to help him disrobe it. He walked around you and unsnapped your bra, throwing it alongside your shirt. Back in your view, Light motioned for you to raise your arms, and he slid your long pajama shirt down your body. Before moving to your lower body, you stepped back and discarded them yourselves and put on your own bottoms. There was a small smile on Light’s face as you turned back to him.

Despite it being the early evening, you both settled in next to each other on the bed. Light reached for the remote and began playing a movie you both had already saw from a time far different. You did not question a single thing as you nuzzled into his embrace. The warmth of his body was no lie even if the lips that sought yours were. The kisses were long. They were short. They were deep. They were shallow. They were consuming. They were fluttering. They were right. With his hand behind your head, Light devoured you, but he did no more. He did not move to your neck. His hands did not deviate below your shoulders. His show was… real. It was. When he would push far, he would filter back to shallow. When his teeth nipped too hard, his tongue would follow to soothe the pain. It was all him. His taste. His scent.

He did not do this to Misa, to Takada. This was for you. You were his. No one else could have ever said so and told the truth. You smiled into the next kiss, turning your head to take him deeper. For all the fighting, the confidence those women had that he was theirs, and where are they now? Where has their confidence gotten them? Burned. Removed. Gone, yet here you were, alive. In a game you never wanted to play but was the front runner, you won. They got themselves killed or wherever they are. It was the truth. It was. Lips parting from his for air, you let yourself immerse into the brown of his eyes. Chests rising and falling together, breaths intermingled, this was right. It was. This was the God of the New World, and this was Light Yagami.

It was.

“Gold and black,” you said. “With hints of purple.”

“A double date?” You stared up at him the next morning, head nestled into the cusp of his arm and shoulder. “With your sister and her boyfriend?” You nodded.

“Impulsive idea, but it’ll look good when she tells my cousins and everyone. PR, you know? Not that you don’t already have a lot with my family who hasn’t even met you, but she talks to them a lot. Might help the day of. Might not, but… I would appreciate it. Her boyfriend is a lawyer.”

“Oh?” You nodded.

“His step-brother was too, but he died. We think. He’s missing, but he thinks that he’s dead. Well, that’s what Rose told me, anyway.” You fiddled with the fabric of his shirt that lied over his chest.

“What is his name?”

“Sato.” When you look back up again, Light was hyper-focused on the ceiling. “Do you know him?” He scoffed, moving his hand that was near your back to come forth and flick you in the forehead. You lost your head cushion in the process as he moves to get up. “She wants to set it up this or next weekend, if you’re free.” Light’s muscles flex as he stretches.

“Saturday is fine.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll call Rose, then.”

The restaurant was one you had heard of many times but haven’t had the chance to go to yet. It was a more casual setting, but it was packed. However, Light used his magic to get a booth in the far corner. You slid next to him. “I don’t know how you do this.”

“When will they be here? I don’t like to wait for people.” Thoughts of your forgotten wedding planning appointment sail through your mind.

“Rose is always late, but she’ll show.” Light hummed in response and pulled at his jacket sleeves. It was only five minutes before you saw your sister happily heading towards your table, a stressed man of her age following behind. You and Light rose to greet her with a hug that you knew Light hated.

“Hi, Y/N. Light! It’s been so long. How are you?”

“I’m alright. How are you?”

“Amazing. Anyway, Y/N, Light, this is Sato.” You did a double-take at Light’s expression but shook it off as you greeted him. “I’ve told him a lot so, don’t be surprised of how much he knows of you two.”

“All good things,” Sato reassured. The four of you sat at the booth, and the waiter was immediately present to ask for drinks. “Though, it is great to meet the brilliant Light Yagami. Your work on that missing persons case was astounding. Who would have thought to connect the sister to the missing luggage and the misplaced car? I read over the case file.” Light smiled and laughed.

“Thank you. I try not to talk too much work outside of it, but that was a nasty case.” Rose groaned.

“We get it. You’re smart, Light. We know.” The waiter returned briefly with the beverages. “You’re lucky that you’re nice, or else I would have beat you up in college.”

“College?”

“Light, Y/N, and I are all alumni of To-Oh, though they’re both a few years younger than me.” Sato looked impressed at the three of you. “It’s where their love blossomed.” You shook your head and hid your face behind your sleeve. “Don’t get embarrassed, Y/N! It’s true. Anyway, Light, what are you up to these days anyway? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Wedding planning. Work. Nothing unusual, except maybe the wedding planning. That’s not really usual, is it?” Light laughed. Silence followed as you all scrutinized the menu. Light leaned over to you. “Do you want to split this?” Your normal answer would be absolutely not, but the gleam in his eye was unmistakable. Without even looking at the menu item, you nodded. “Alright.” The waiter returned to take the orders before leaving once again. “So, you’re a lawyer?”

“Yes! I used to be a criminal lawyer and did public defense here and there, but I’ve moved to elder law. A lot less stressful for the most part.” Your fiancé leaned forward, placing his chin in his palm.

“I see. Why the switch, if I may ask?”

“Oh, it’s no big deal. Criminals are dealt with without much help from lawyers. There’s a bigger force than judges and courts casting justice. Staying in the business is just financial suicide, especially with crime down the way it is.” Sato’s face fell. “My step-brother too. He was a criminal lawyer, but he disappeared a while ago. He was my biggest influence growing up. Couldn’t get a case without it reminding me of him, so I switched as well.” Light’s eyes did not move from his own.

“That’s a shame. I’m sorry. I lost my father as well, and Y/N and Rose lost their brother, but that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? The dead wouldn’t want us to cease our lives because of them. I know my father wouldn’t, at least.” Sato nodded.

“Same for Mikami.”

…What?

Light leaned back in the booth. It was nothing to Rose and Sato, but to you, it said mission accomplished. He crossed his arms and gave you only a second-long glance before focusing back on the company. You, though, you were choking on air and frozen to your seat. Though you’ve never met Mikami, having only seen him outside of the warehouse that… day, Light told you about him, and about he was almost the reason for his death should your father and you not been involved.

“…Y/N. Y/N!” Rose’s shrill voice cut you from your thoughts. “Thought we lost you there. Something on your mind?” You shook your head and laughed nervously. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you dared not look at Light.

“No, sorry. Wedding things. What were we talking about?”

“I was talking about my step-brother and Light’s dad. Both of them were men of justice. I could see where you get your motivation and talent from then. Having your father as chief of police must have been a strong pull in the criminal justice path.”

“And your brother. He sounded like a good man.” Sato shrugged, scratching his nose with the crook of his finger.

“Yes, he was. He’s one of the main reasons I believe in what I believe in today. He loved Kira. Worshipped him, and when he died, I started to think the same. There was foul play in my brother’s disappearance, and I just hope that Kira has brought them to justice.” Your fists clenched under the table. Light placed a soft hand on your shaking fist and tightened his grip as you refused to loosen yours. “There’s simply no evidence. He was doing nothing different. Acting the same. Then one day he moved plans because he had somewhere he had to be. Then he was just gone.” Light’s hand was at the point of hurting your own, so you finally loosened your fist. He still did not let go.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Sato.”

“Has it crossed your desk, Light?” Rose asked. “Sorry. You’re with the NPA, so I thought maybe you would have seen it.” Light shook his head.

“When was this again?”

“January. A little more than a year ago.”

“It must have been around the time… something happened.” Oh, around the time you watched his brother and all your ‘friends’ die? Light must have sensed your discomfort and moved his hand from yours to grasp your thigh and rub back and forth. “It was a rough patch for me. I took off a lot of time then.”

“Oh, I had no idea. I’m so sorry. I remember I didn’t see either of you until the funeral, and even after…”

“Please, forget we said anything.” Sato finished for her. Light smiled and waved him off with his free hand.

“It’s fine. You didn’t know. Still, I can look into your brother and see what I can pull. If I can help you find closure, then I’ll do my best.” With an earnest voice and an award-winning smile, he even had this man he just met looking at him like he had a halo and wings.

“I… really appreciate it. I can’t believe you’re actually as nice as they say. You know, sometimes highly accredited detectives can be… dicks. Thank you,” Sato’s gaze turned to you, “and congratulations to you both! I forgot to say before.” You grinned politely but could not speak.

“Ah, thank you. We’re still in early planning process, but we’re getting there.” He nudged you with his shoulder, and once again you grinned politely. “Anyway, how did you two meet? I hate to just talk about ourselves, though I can go on forever…”

You hardly spoke through the dinner, only responding when you were directly addressed. It was a good thing Light and you split a meal, as you couldn’t stomach more than a few bites. Light would squeeze your thigh when you had to respond. For the rest of the time, you were zoned out, focused on the cracks in the table, the movement of the servers, and anything else but the interaction between Light and everyone’s brother’s murderer. When it was getting too obvious your attention was purposely away from the table, you played with Light’s fingers that were on your thigh until Light offered to handle the bill and you were on your feet wishing your goodbyes.

“Are you okay?” Rose whispered as you hugged. Wordlessly, you nodded. “How are you, really?” You sighed.

“I’m fine. I promise.” You glanced to her boyfriend and your fiancé who both waited for the two of you. “Light will take care of me. Don’t worry.” Reluctant, she nodded and followed the men outside of the restaurant where you went your separate ways. You watched Rose lean happily into Sato, hands interlocked, while Light had a simple hand on your hip with his back poised and straight.

“You knew.”

“Of course, I knew.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You found out, didn’t you?” You exhaled through your nose.

“Was it because of what I said? About telling her?” Light did not respond. Parting from you and entering the driver’s seat, he did not regard you until he put the car into drive.

“Telling her was out of the question in the first place. The rest was a problem that solved itself. You know now, at least, of what would happen the moment you tell her a single thing. Risking her happiness, her and his life.”

“But not mine.” It slipped before you could even think about the words you just said. Light pondered them, eyes narrowing in thought as he weaved through traffic.

“But not yours. Never yours.” You did not know whether his words were the truth or more pretty lies, but you opted for the former. It brought you comfort, after all.

“Do you like the idea of dark flowers with gold details?”

#light yagami x reader #yandere light yagami #yandere light yagami x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere death note #Death Note #light yagami #tw: yandere #tw yandere

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bibliocratic · 5 years

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post-160, jonmartin (cws in the tags)

Martin shivers, a whole body shudder that gallops through his system as the sleeping bag is unzipped. The backdraught is ungodly and he groans vocally as the movement allows a Baltic gust of air to infiltrate the confines previously occupied by the muggy sleep-thick warmth he's been slathered in.

“Christ, Jon,” he complains, trying to yank the material back around him, giving it a bit of a petty tug on his quest to return to the dozy weight of almost sleep he was happily bubbled in.

“Oh hush. It's not that bad,” Jon replies in a grumbling rhythm, showing no remorse, the arse, and Martin winces and hisses like he's been caught by spitting oil as Jon's frigid ice-cherished body curls around him like a bracket. He snuggles in like he's trying to unsuccessfully burgle his body heat, knees pressing into his back. Martin kicks him with a double-socked foot to complain at this flagrant abuse of privileges.

“Nothing out there?” he mumbles into the angled pillow of his own arm. Thought Jon would be up for a while yet with his thoughts, on his usual pretence of 'checking the perimeter'.

“All quiet,” says the stiflingly-close bundle breathing into the back of his neck, making the skin feel sweaty with condensation. Martin stretches out a little before coiling up again, feeling bony fingers clench at his hips before encircling his waist like a particular committed lock.

Martin doesn't say anything else. The warmth wreathes about his limbs. The small fire they're letting die for the night is still warm enough to throw out a mild corona of heat.

Jon is apparently in a restless mood. His long hands and fingers tracing little idle circles like an spirograph at the skin he can reach. Martin's stomach, his pyjama-covered thighs, his hips, like he's trying to smooth the skin out.

“Would you settle down?” Martin says, mumbling, mildly grumpy. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

Jon's lips are at the curve of his neck, mouthing softly. Not even kissing, maybe he's too tired for it, just motioning his lips over the skin. He's a looming question-mark shaped man, towering over Martin by half a foot, poor posture giving him a natural stoop, and his hold makes Martin feel enclosed, bound up in the intimacy of the space.

“Sorry,” he says, without sounding sorry in the slightest, almost cheeky. He bestows another kiss that is not a kiss to Martin's neck, scraping a little with his teeth.

“Sleep,” Martin repeats, groggy but firm, and traps the soft, unblemished skin of Jon's hands in his own.

“Fine,” Jon still sounds inordinately pleased with himself, but he seems to calm. Burrowing himself so close Martin's running out of room. Arms grip around him, winching tighter.

“Sleep,” he parrots Martin.

Martin tries. Really he does.

Something is stopping him. Some sensation of calm let out when the cool air swept in. There's a prickling at the seat of his spine.

He fidgets a little, before he turns over, extricating himself from Jon's vice with difficulty, thinking that the change in position will improve things.

Jon's staring at him with a considering smile that curls the edges of his lips like the end of a spiral. They've a solar-powered camping light set up nearby, shaped like a lantern, stolen from a gutted B&Q, and the illumination begun to dim hours ago. Martin watches the artificial light highlights Jon's pale white skin, the upshot of scrubby blonde hair like sun-dried grass already sticking up at the back in a cowlick.

They're so close that Jon's eyes are crossing a little to look at him.

“They'll get stuck like that,” Martin chides roughly.

“Hmm?” Jon asks. He doesn't blink.

“Your eyes,” Martin repeats. “You keep them like that and they'll get stuck.”

There's a pause, and then Jon's eyes snap up to normal like they're elasticated, seated dead-centre as bullseyes. His face beams in a wide smile that rips up to the same level as his ears.

“You're so funny, Martin,” he breathes. Delighted, a childish light ringing in his big green eyes. “Tell me another joke.”

Something fizzes at the bottom of Martin's chest. He wonders if he's eaten something off.

“Errr,” he starts, and it's harder when he's just so close, so crowded up against him. “Jon?”

“Yes, Martin?” Jon replies. He says his name as though he likes how it feels in his mouth, the flavour of the sound, the way it travels down his throat. It's the same way he said it on their first date, when he introduced Martin to his parents, when they got married.

“Can you...” Martin tries to clear his throat of the stifling air. “In my wallet. There's something... something I found earlier. I want to show you.”

“A surprise?”

“It's your birthday soon,” Martin says – August, his brain supplies with a dull clunking mechanism of recollection – and Jon pauses a beat before his lips curl back four-fold like petals and he says happily, like he's touched Martin's remembered.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is soon, isn't it. I'd almost forgot what with everything.”

The cold air siphons in as Jon clambers out. Raking through the bags with his long bony fingers, before he gives a triumphant here we are! and bounds back into the warmth of their cocoon, shivering from the chill, making an exaggerated brrr noise. He passes Martin the worn-down wallet before burrowing up against his side, heated like a furnace as Martin flicks it open.

“It's a surprise,” Martin reminds him, and Jon whines good-naturedly, spoilsport, but moves his head from where it lay on Martin's shoulder. Studies him unblinkingly with those eyes.

“Have it your way then.”

In the wallet section where he might have kept notes if paper currency still existed, Martin pulls out a folded paper. It crackles as he rights it into the bent photograph it is. Studies the fixed and frozen memory there; himself bundled up in two fleeces topped off with a cagoule slitted and damaged by unnatural rains, a slightly fire-singed bobble hat pulled down to smother hair that's been left alone to grow out into a frizzy unkempt afro, holding out the Polaroid camera at arms length to fit them both in frame. The thin-lipped but genuine smile of the man next to him, short, dark stubble maturing into the promises of a beard. Brown eyes faintly sunken, tired but happy, his arm anchored against Martin's. They took two pictures like this one, assurances, Jon had called them, and Martin knows Jon won't have it with him now if he asks to check.

Martin's hand doesn't shake. Doesn't look at Jon, at the man he went on a first date with to a pub where they had the football on too loud and someone was being rowdy at the fruit machine, and Jon ordered a whisky even though he told Martin later he hated the stuff, just wanted to impress him; at blonde hair he knows, has loved, has combed between his fingers while they've watched Jon's pretentious BBC Four documentaries; at green eyes he's seen sleepy and happy and angry and thrilled. Jon who is tapping his elongated fingers against the fabric of the sleeping bag almost impatiently, whose eyes are too yawning, too flattened for the well-boned structure of his face.

Martin has a knife in his pocket. He always has a knife in his pocket these days.

“Did you kill him?” he asks, almost breathless, more silent than sound.

“Hmm?” Jon replies, and Martin stabs him in the throat.

Jon skitters backwards out of the sleeping bag on legs that are fast becoming not. Cradling his throat, gargling out a confused 'Martin?' even as his eyes slide further down and off his face.

Martin's staggering up too, wondering if he has time to go for the cricket bat on Jon's side, the one he's abraded with roofing nails, the cross heads of screwdrivers. The knife feels too small in his fist and Jon looms, spine splaying out of his skin like a tent pole pushed through canvas, and he asks Martin? even as he stretches as though rolling out dough.

“Did you kill him?” he repeats, and his voice does not, will not, tremble.

Martin, the voice strings out like a melted chewy sweet. The bars of confectionery that stuck in Martin's teeth when he was a child; the sound drags and droops and pulls and echoes and it is not kind any more.

It reaches out again, and he thinks manically that it might be going to hug him when something hard and solid and remarkably identical to what a cricket bat decorated in roofing nails and screwdrivers might look like if someone swung it into marshmallow.

Jon screams and the sound cuts and it swings around with a freakish rotating of its legs in time to be struck across the cheek, sending its nose and freckles and one side of its mouth slopping off to one side like a ship near cap-sizing.

“Get down,” Martin is told and he feels his body submit, drop and hunker down despite itself, and so he does not see what makes the thing that is not Jon howl like wind scratching at a windowpane, like a sound trapped between stations, doesn't listen to whatever wordless command is shouted that undoes it loudly and aggressively from its mockery of life.

“I – Martin,” comes the voice again. Unsure now. Braided through with worry and exhaustion. “Please, I'm sor- ….Y-you – you can get up now.”

Martin's body can move again. He stands, legs shaky, feeling like a nerves been trapped somewhere under the skin. The cold is pimpling the flesh of his arms. He observes the dark-skinned, dark-eyed man in front of him. Cricket bat painted with gore along with the front of his coat. Martin doesn't let go of the knife, and the man doesn't ask him to.

Martin holds up the picture. Compares the awkward smiling man of his photo, lower half of his face almost lost to a thick scarf, pock-mark scars trailing over his cheek and up to edge onto his forehead, to this midnight terror decked in the aftermath of violence. Panting, a large slash across his forehead like he's been attacked, the wound which even now is sucking closed.

The man doesn't move. Waits for Martin to bridge the gap. There are two sets of memories wedged and warring in his head, and both of them are so real and it hurts, rifling through stuffed in remembrances of weddings and birthdays and picnics, Jon drunk off cider and his serenading more like caterwauling; Jon ashen, a machine breathing for him, his skin splintered with the ricochet of masonry and plasterboard and foundation stone; arguing over money and house prices and their cramped flat in Dagenham; Jon, his trousers soaked and stiff with sea-salt as they tramp across an desolate beach; sleepily swaying against one another like tired skittles in a game of ninepins at their station as they wait for the early morning commuter train.

And it's not, it's so real but they aren’t, not all of them can be, not when the corpse of their architect is hollowed out and ripped up, the air of it hissing out underfoot.

Jon – Jon whose scars decorate him like medals, Jon who is holding himself like he's hurt, Jon who drops his bat in a heartbeat when Martin closes the gap and grabs him, trying to shake off the false memories like water droplets – Jon shivers like he's frozen, and his hold is a grasping gripping panicked action. Martin, he says as though a placeholder to a hundred different things. His voice is low and raspy and ever so soft.

Jon, who is the realest thing Martin knows.

Martin holds him until he can trust in that again.

#jonmartin #tma #cw the stranger #cw doppelganger fuckery #tw body horror #cw dubcon touching #the magnus archives #post-160 #finally!#the not!jon I've always wanted to write #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #cw memory alteration

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simon5264317 · 4 years

Text

Week 7 - Physical Model Making

This week’s tasks were in my opinion the most enjoyable of the semester. I really enjoyed how easy and therapeutic it was to work with foam and seeing the finished product gave me a great sense of achievement, substantially more than simply finishing a drawing.

Shampoo Bottle Orthographic Drawing

The orthographic drawing was quite easy given how much practice we have had so far in the semester. Small details in orthographic drawing such as the thickness of lines, appropriate spaces/gaps and such have almost become second nature to me and I no longer need to look them up. The hardest part of this drawing was freehanding the grooves, however I found that drawing the curves by anchoring my elbow and rotating my wrist produced the smoothest curves.

Shampoo Bottle Model Making

I used a hacksaw to cut out a rectangle the same size as the shampoo bottle, however there was an issue where the top frame of the saw impeded me from cutting all the way through the foam block. My solution was to remove the saw blade and wrap both ends with a thick cloth before sawing away with my hands again.

I drew out 2 positive and 2 negative side view templates on thick 500gms paper before cutting it out using scissors. These templates were stuck to the foam using stickytape which was stuck in a loop with the sticky side facing outwards. The card templates were instrumental in helping me model the shampoo bottle out of the initial foam block however I unfortunately forgot to photograph the templates and by the time I was done modeling the foam, the templates were mostly creased or torn.

My workspace was a small wooden table in the living room. I used a large wood chopping board as my work surface and had a mat underneat it to prevent it from sliding whilst catching some of the waste, foam particles and off cuts as to not make a mess. The tools which I used mainly consisted of a hacksaw used to cut off larger chunks of the foam block, a half-round hand file to create the outer curves, a scalpel to cut grooves and sandpaper.

The groove which runs across the front and back of the bottle was created by first making a light 5mm incision using my scalpel, before cutting away at the sides of the initial incision at a 45 degree angle leaving a triangular cross-sectional cut running across the front and back surfaces. I then used the half-round file again to smooth out the groove however the roughness of the teeth on the file slightly ripped and damaged the foam. Therefore I ended up using rough sandpaper to smooth out the groove before going over the entire model with a finer grit sandpaper to polish and smooth out the the model.

The lid was modelled seperately from the main body using offcuts from the initial foam block I cut out. A circular template was stuck into the top and and the shape was achieved using files and sandpaper.

Overall I am happy with the final model, however there were slight imperfections on the surface of the foam which could have fixed with fine grit sandpaper. Additionally the general shape of the model could have been a bit more complex and sleek rather than a boring straight side. This interestingly enough reminded me of a point made in a previous lecture some weeks ago where it was stated that model making gives you a better sense of what the final product will look like compared to intial concept art and orthographic drawings. My concept art for this bottle design looked really nice however the physical model was quite bland. In hindsight having experienced this step in the product development process, I would definitely revisit my design by incorporating erganomic curves on the sides of the bottle.

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tysonrunningfox · 5 years

Text

Ripped: Part 13

Hiccup is....so stupid guys, so dumb. A moron. An idiot.

Ao3

It’s not the season for frozen yogurt. Astrid’s heat is still on, finally keeping the fog from spreading icy fingers up her windowpane at night. She’s still wearing fuzzy socks around her apartment to keep her corresponding heating bill down, and so she shouldn’t be disappointed that there was no frozen yogurt. Especially when there are bigger things to worry about.

Of course it’s all wrapped up in Grimborn, like everything is lately. She knows Hiccup said no Grimborn, that they’d talk about other things, but untangling it seems dangerous, like pulling a seedling from dirt too early.

The first knock blends in with the drums in the single headphone she’s wearing but the second is out of tune and she sits up straight, yanking the earbud out by the cord. She’s not scared, she’s just aware that she lives alone at a historical murder site potentially being targeted by a potential copycat murderer.

The third knock is quieter, an almost hopeful tap-tap-tap, and she freezes.

What kind of murderer knocks?

Definitely not someone so rigorously loyal to Viggo Grimborn’s techniques, which her current paper’s research has tangentially confirmed to unanimously be surprise attacks. But techniques change.

Including victim’s techniques, she thinks to herself as she walks quietly to the door, grabbing her umbrella from the plastic hook by her coat. Stabbing would be deadlier but she’d have more force with a swing and she chokes up just above the curved handle to look through the peephole.

It’s Hiccup, chewing on his lip, nose blown out of proportion by the curved glass.

“Shit,” she tosses the umbrella aside and pulls her bangs out of their clip before adjusting the oversized tee-shirt that feels suddenly inadequate. Softer than she’s sure she can be without quiet stacks or heavy brick walls to dampen it. She told him that she likes him and that introduces enough vulnerability on its own without trying to change the subject between them.

She checks the time and he knocks again, even softer this time, like he’s giving up.

“What?” Astrid’s voice comes out too harsh as she yanks open the door, frazzled like a hastily thrown umbrella.

“Hi,” he raises his eyebrows and looks her up and down, inquisitive and pale, a plastic bag in his hand. “Am I interrupting something or—ah shit, it’s late, isn’t it?” He checks the time on his phone, “is it? I forget—“

“No, I mean it is late, but it’s fine,” she tries to flatten her bangs and it doesn’t quite work, and his lips quirk up in a maddeningly personal smile. He looks tired. “Just working on a paper, what’s up? How was…”

His text made her snort and she still feels guilty about it. Guilty for laughing at something so clearly not funny and strange because it made her miss him in a way she didn’t expect. She wanted to see his face when he sent it instead of hearing it second hand, wanted to see his wide-eyed processing, but it doesn’t look like he’s processed it at all.

He shrugs, “I brought you something.”

“That bad, huh?” Her dry laugh makes his lip quiver and he steps forward too purposefully to be abrupt, wrapping wiry arms around her shoulders and pulling her into his chest. The plastic bag crinkles against her hip and he rests his cheek against her temple. He takes a deep breath like he’s centering himself, hand curling in her shirt.

“Sorry, I didn’t—” His voice is a little thick and she moves instinctually, arms curling around him, one hand almost daring to stroke his lower back. He’s a sturdy kind of fragile, asking directly for and taking what he needs, and she doesn’t want to disturb it. She doesn’t know him well enough for that yet.

“No, it’s fine,” she rests her forehead on his shoulder, wishing he hadn’t done this in the hallway where she feels invisible eyes on her door, “Snotlout with self-tanning lotion, huh? I can imagine the trauma.”

“You have no idea,” he exhales, cool breath ruffling her hair as he steps back, pulling the bag between them and opening it by both handles. “But I got you something.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” she reaches down and pulls out a plastic wrapped square of folded cloth.

“I did though,” he grabs something else he apparently left leaning against the wall and hands it to her. “You asked for this.”

“A curtain rod?” It’s a better weapon than an umbrella, she guesses, “why did you get me a curtain rod?”

“Because I’m starting up tours again,” he pulls a drill out of the bag and pulls the trigger, making it spin with an excited, approval-seeking smile. “Sound-proof curtains. Or not soundproof, sound-blocking. Your idea, and not a bad one—“

“Get in here,” she grabs the collar of his tee-shirt and pulls him inside enough to shut the door behind them.

“I saw your uh, single chair,” he spins slowly, looking around her place and taking it in the way he does archive aisles, “was red, so I got red curtains, but—“

“You’re starting tours again?” She ducks down to meet his eye when he starts tinkering with his drill instead of looking at her, “you realize that’s…”

“A way to pay my bills?” His smile is a grimace.

“A really stupid idea, right?”

“The curtains are 84 inches,” he strides uneven across her living room and reaches above her window, notching the drywall with his thumbnail, “so if the rod is right around here—“

“Hiccup.”

“The selection of curtain rods in stores open this time of night was…odd, half of them looked like—“ he’s bright red when he glances up at her, “well, not particularly ornamental, so I went generic. This will take five minutes,” he holds his hand out for the curtain rod and she sighs.

“This is sweet, or something,” she’s worried and tired and hates how she’s obviously getting in the way of the one thing he’s thought of to feel better about his own situation. And it is sweet, and combined with his hopeful expression and capable hand around his power tool, it’s hard to say no. “But I’m never going to get my security deposit back if you drill into the wall.”

“Oh, I talked to Gobber,” he assures her, marking the other side above the window and frowning to himself, hand on his chin, “I forgot my level—“

“Hiccup, you can’t restart tours,” she gets close enough to grab his shoulder, but his face stays focused on the window until she moves her hand to his cheek to turn his head. His eyes don’t follow and she snaps, “look at me.”

“Five minutes,” he nods, finally looking at her with fleeting focus, “Gobber said it was fine.”

His jaw flexes against her palm and she presses her thumb against his lips to shush him.

“If you’re installing curtains, will you talk to me about this?” She moves her thumb, trying to ignore the tingling flair in her stomach.

He nods and she lets him go, crossing her arms and watching him take the curtain rod out of the package, throwing the instructions over his shoulder and examining the small bag of hardware that came with it.

“You good with that height?” He revs the drill again as he turns around and holds a screw against the drywall.

“Sure,” she couldn’t care less about the curtains, “so, what—“

“Ok,” he talks over the drill as he seats the screw, “so I know I said no Grimborn, and I meant it, as in we don’t always have to talk about Grimborn. I want to talk to you about other things—“

“It’s fine.”

He looks over his shoulder at her, holding a screw in his mouth and managing a muffled sound that she thinks is supposed to be, “really?”

“I don’t have anyone else to talk about it with,” she shrugs, “and since it’s your fault that I care at all…”

He takes the screw out of his mouth and mounts it on the opposite side of the window, “my fault, huh?”

His tone reminds her of the other things she’s blamed him for, most notably knocking encyclopedias off of the archive shelf. He took that blame easily, but it was probably softened. He’s not sexy now, he’s frazzled and trying and obviously exhausted, but she wonders what would happen if she said it anyway. Then again, everything he said at Gruffnut’s bar when he was being as awkward as physically possible makes her think he’s not particularly interested in her apartment as anything other than a pit stop on a Grimborn tour.

But here he is putting up curtains so it isn’t anymore…

“Absolutely your fault. If you hadn’t been so annoying with your tours that I wanted to demolish the mystery, I would have learned to hate Grimborn just how Fishlegs did, by dealing with a constant onslaught of weirdos come to attempt to steal papers.”

“Well, I’m selfishly glad that didn’t happen,” he takes some hardware from the curtain rod box and hangs it over the screws, lining up another screw to anchor it into place, “but I still…I’m going to sound crazy—“

“I’m used to it,” she shrugs and he gauges her expression before drilling in what she thinks is the last screw.

“You mentioned the Ryker theory to me, you know, back in the days when I only got to talk to you if I annoyed you enough that you leaned out your window to yell at me,” he nudges her with his elbow on the way back to the bag, where he starts unwrapping the curtains themselves. “How much do you know?”

“He was a cop tangentially involved with the case,” she takes the trash from the curtains from him before he can throw it on the floor and walks it to the trashcan. “If I remember right, he spent some time in custody for the murders but was then found not guilty.”

“The umm, the evidence,” he gestures at his feet—foot—and bites his lip like he’s unsure he can trust her with what he’s about to say.

“Yeah?”

“It was sent to Snotlout, addressed to him with a middle initial, and he doesn’t tell anyone his middle name because he hates it—which he’s one to talk but—“

“Do you think whoever’s doing this is trying to make it look like it has something to do with Snotlout?”

“You know the Ryker finger, right?” He shakes the first curtain pane out and sets it on the back of her chair to take off his jacket. She doesn’t think she’s seen his arms before, and her eyes dart between faded freckles, tracing over lean muscles that attest to wild gesticulation as a viable workout routine.

“It came with a note,” she nods as he pulls out the other curtain pane and bites his lip, uncharacteristically quiet at her admission of Grimborn knowledge. “What?”

“I told you this package did too,” he busies himself with unfolding, “well, umm, I took a picture of it—“

“You took a picture of it?” She’s too loud and she wishes for the first time that he’d hurry up with the sound insulation. “Are you crazy? You took a picture of a…a foot that someone sent to—“

“No, no, not the foot. I avoided the foot, I just took one of the note. A few to make sure I got it, it was kind of…damp with—whatever, it was blurry, so I got a few,” he pulls out his phone and shakes his head, “I haven’t had time to look at them yet because Snotlout wanted to get a drink, understandably, but…well, it’s definitely Comic Sans. We’re clearly dealing with a sadistic lunatic.”

“We?” She tries once again, just as futilely to tame her hair, and he shrugs, filling out the shoulders of his faded red tee-shirt better than she would have guessed, “so, sadistic lunatic, what was your first clue?”

“The murder and mutilation was a start but the font choice really drives it home,” he laughs and holds his phone out to her, “do you want to—“

“I thought you said you haven’t looked at it yet.” She’s seen him with new Grimborn information and the idea that he’d willingly let her see something first again is kind of flattering. Flattering enough that she struggles to squelch her growing curiosity with horror.

Apparently there really is a threshold, at some point horror can’t grow anymore and the surplus transitions into a call to action. And if there’s a Ryker finger allegory, what are the chances this is all a coincidence?

Hiccup’s face says more than statistics do.

“I trust your interpretation,” his eyes are too big, too trusting, and she gets that he’s nervous to read it but even more nervous to admit to it, “or I guess I trust you to have an interpretation I can argue with.”

“Sure,” she takes his phone and sits down in her chair, “I’ll have a look while you finish up.”

“Thanks,” his crooked grin is relieved and brighter than he’s been since he got here. Relieved even.

“No problem,” she squints at the blurry but clearly Comic Sans letters and tries to ignore the reddish smudges on the bottom right of the screen, jumping when Hiccup’s warm hand lands gently on her shoulder. “What?”

“Sorry, you’re just sitting against the um,” he tugs at the new curtain and she leans forward.

“Oh, I guess it really does match the chair then,” she clears her throat, trying to ignore the heat rising to her face as his thumb brushes the side of her neck, “good eye.”

“I’m glad you don’t hate it,” he laughs, “it did feel a little weird decorating your apartment for you, so really, if you hate them I can—“

“They’re fine,” she insists, sighing in twisted relief when the warmth of his hand disappears and he’s back across the room messing with the curtains.

She breaks the cardinal rule of looking at pictures on other people’s phones and swipes to the next picture, quickly zooming in on just the note before she can see anything else. This one is clearer, the blur from the damp paper instead of the camera moving and she holds his phone closer decipher the words:

A shiver runs down her spine as she reads it through a few times, trying to make sense of words that are almost right. The capitalization and strange cadence read like a Grimborn letter but the ‘lol’ sets it apart as modern. New. Ongoing.

“So, what do we have here?” Hiccup’s voice appears suddenly in her ear, his arms folded on the back of the chair, forearm pressing her braid against the back of her neck.

“A…really creepy note,” she leans into him instead of away, both irritated that he brought her into this and glad he didn’t have to do it alone.

“Here,” he kneels behind the her, chin nearly touching her shoulder as he cranes his neck forward to read the blurry text. His lips move along with what he’s reading, brows knitting together in a deep frown. Even as he’s pale and still, his arm is warm on the back of her chair and she looks at him to avoid looking at the note anymore. His jaw muscle twitches and she remembers kissing him, as out of place as laughing at his text. “That’s…a modern Ryker letter, isn’t it? I guess Comic Sans is the new misspelling due to lack of education.” He jokes but it falls flat against his pale face and sharp, serious expression.

He looks for her opinion, too close to look that deep into her eyes, gaze darting up to her messed up hair and down to her shirt, pausing to read the words on it. It’s from a national park in her hometown and she clears her throat, trying not to think about the note and how she can see a day or two’s worth of stubble on his chin when he’s this close. About how he’s warm and honest and this is the first time they’ve ever been truly, absolutely alone.

“I agree,” her voice is smaller than she expects and she clears her throat, “but it has the misspelling too. The All Right,” she points to the text on his screen and he reaches over her shoulder to grab his phone back.

“Well, it was a right foot,” he swallows hard and weighs the fact, or maybe the fact that he said it so frankly, his arm shifting against the back of her neck. If he feels her goosebumps, he doesn’t say anything. “Thanks for looking at that for me.”

“With you,” she acquiesces, “you just gave me a head start.”

“Still, I—really, sanity check, but looking at Snotlout getting that note, objectively…” He wants to be wrong and it’s not something Astrid is used to, “it looks a little Ryker, doesn’t it? Especially with the fact I keep finding the bodies, it’s like someone knows Snotlout will show up right away.”

“Isn’t that another reason it’s stupid for you restart tours?”

“I told you I’d probably do something stupid if this got worse,” he snorts, “plus, the charming Mr. Grisly has apparently hired Heather as the expert consultant on the case and I just…I know how she’ll twist things, I—someone has to keep putting the truth out there in its full, unglamorous glory.” He scrubs his hand over his tired face, “anyway, what do you think?”

“I don’t see how giving historically accurate Grimborn tours could help anything,” she looks at him, letting her temple lean on his forearm, “but I get that you can’t sit there and do nothing and that’s…commendable.”

“I was actually asking what you thought of the curtains,” he tries to tuck an unruly lock of her bangs behind her ear and her heart stutters at the gentle drag of his fingertips. Her hair doesn’t stay where he put it and the corner of his lips twitches, fascinated and endeared at her expense.

“They’re fine.” She doesn’t look at them, too focused on the way Hiccup’s hand curls around the back of her neck and pulls her in halfway.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but she doesn’t give him the chance, turning partially in the chair to kiss him. He hums against her lips, not shocked this time but content, wound down from the twitchy mess he was earlier. Tired in a way that goes too well with her pajamas and the quiet room, comfortable even as he strokes the side of her neck with his thumb and deepens the kiss.

Despite the unexpected and hectic drama of the last couple of months, Astrid hasn’t regretted anything about her move or even choice of apartment, especially considering that it brought Hiccup to her. But right now? Right now she wishes she’d put up a far bigger fight about taking the couch, because she wants nothing more than to pull Hiccup closer, but there’s no room.

And they’re alone.

“You are going to have to look at the curtains,” he breaks the kiss just long enough move around the chair and kneel in front of it.

“Sure,” she wraps one heel around the back of his legs, knees on either side of his hips. His shoulders are sharper without his usual layers, his arms flexing under her grip when she guides his hands to her sides, “they look fine.”

“You know, I hate to ask,” his touch is too cautious on her waist as he leans in to kiss the side of her neck, evidently distracted.

“Then don’t,” she pulls at his hair and he pauses, looking at her levelly even as he breathes too hard. “What?”

“You know this chair is approximately where the original apartment front door was,” his hand is on her hip, just under the hem of her shirt, jarringly warm against what he’s saying.

“Oh,” she swallows hard, the creepy note and everything Grimborn in her brain warring with her pounding heart and flushed face. Hiccup’s eyes are a similarly conflicted storm of overthinking emerald green and wide, hectic pupils.

“And I was just shoving my foot in my mouth at Gruff’s, that’s not—I mean your living room should be less drafty with the curtains but—“

“Do you want to move?” She points over her shoulder towards her bedroom and his eyes widen.

“You mean—I,” he clears his throat, hand sliding from under her shirt to a more innocent rest halfway down the outside of her thigh, “like to your bedroom?”

His panic is external and she does her best not to take it personally, letting go of his hips with her knees and rubbing his upper arm, half pat on the back and half awkward urgency to get out of her chair and move it across the room.

“You had a hell of a day, Hiccup, it’s fine—“

“What?” He laughs, scratching the back of his neck as his face turns bright red, nearly matching the new curtains she can see out of the corner of her eye, “no, it was a totally normal—we just don’t know each other very well, this is just a typical day for me. I’m used to um, all the police stations and serial killers and—“

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” she pushes frazzled bangs away from her forehead and tries not to look disappointed or confused or any of the things she’s feeling. Warm, tired, jittery.

“No, I think I do,” he quirks a theatrical eyebrow and she recognizes the smile of a tour guide thrown off base, following a joke back to something like confidence, “because you see, Astrid, I’m not that kind of boy. We haven’t even had our first date yet, how could I expect you to respect me if I put out before the first date?” He slides his hand back up her thigh and under the hem of her shirt, fingertips reaching around trace the notch of her lower spine and make her shiver.

She glares at him, “maybe the first date was just you decorating my apartment.”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules on this one,” he holds his hands up and stands, using her shoulder for balance, “installing curtains is a way better first date for me than frozen yogurt, but this is a societal standard.” He offers her his hand and she accepts help up, ignoring her still wobbly knees. “I can’t just lump a first date in with my occasional handyman duties,” he squeezes her hand before letting go and starting to collect his things.

“Right,” she finally looks at the curtains, sliding the heavy material back and forth, “this is just what would have happened if I’d reported the loud lunatic in the courtyard doing tours to my landlord and asked for some curtains to be installed.”

“I hope not,” he hesitates just a second before kissing her forehead and stepping back with a hopeful, embarrassed expression, “I’m not the only handyman Gobber hires, you know. Probably the most unprofessional, but also—not to toot my own horn or anything—probably the one you most want to see with a plumber crack, so…”

“Is that an offer?” She tries on his method of joking to dispel the slight sting of rejection, even if she understands it. Even it’s an illusive later instead of a no.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t a tease,” he puts on his jacket and looks around, obviously checking that he collected all his things, “I…it’s late, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Sure,” she waves him towards the door, fidgeting again with her pajamas. “Thanks for the curtains, I’ll pay you back or—“

“No, don’t,” he runs his hand back through his hair, “I borrowed the money from Snotlout anyway, not that it was a lot of money, and I meant it, it’s a present. Now you don’t have to put up with me quite so much.” He’s hopeful in a way that makes her want to lash out, to take back the closeness that went off track.

“Putting up with you isn’t so bad,” she sighs, “most of the time.”

Hiccup bites his lip, letting it go slowly with those charmingly crooked teeth, and sighing, “I just want you to know how much I’m going to be kicking myself about this for… approximately forever?” He laughs, “really, I just…police station grime and—“

“Why would I buy the cow when I can get the frozen yogurt for free?” She punches him on the shoulder, probably too hard, “I’ll talk to you soon. Before forever.”

“Yeah, I’m going to—“ He points at the door with an awkward hand wave and slips into the hallway before he can say anything else.

Astrid breathes for a second before locking the deadbolt and moving her single chair to the other side of the room. It doesn’t look bad with the curtains.

#ripped #httyd fic #hiccstrid fic #modern au #serial killer tour guide au #tw comic sans #mild discussion of murder?#that's the whole fic though

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fic-for-fic-sake · 6 years

Text

The Professor

you’re a college student and starting a new semester and you have professor laufeysons class, He’s your creative writing professor. You start having very vivid sex dreams of him and use those to fuel your writing. But when you’re in class you swear he gives you knowing glances as you squirm in your seat and find yourself wishing you were asleep so he could take you like he had done so many nights before. One time because you’re tired and flustered and forgot to hand in an assignment you accidentally send him your latest very very vivid fanfic. He calls you into his office to discuss your latest work...multi-chapter because knowing me I couldn’t make this a one shot. Smut in every chapter, not sorry about it.

Part(s): 1

Part 2: NSFW Warning

Going through the rest of the day was torture. All you wanted to do was get home so you could release all the pent up pressure you felt between your thighs. You were about to head home when your phone buzzed with a calendar notification reminding you that you had your night class today.

You audibly groaned which earned you a few confused looks from the strangers around you. You huffed and turned back around and headed towards class. You hated this, you had your night class once a week and of fucking course it would be on today of all days.

Once you walked into the room and found a seat in the middle of the lecture hall you pulled out your phone to look at your schedule to see just how long this class was. One glance told you that it went from 6-9. Three fucking hours. You debated skipping the class but knew that would only come to bite you down the road so you stayed put.

By the time 8:50 rolled around you were practically white knuckling your desk. Masturbating was literally the only thing you could think about. You couldn’t focus on the professor and what she was talking about and to be honest, you didn’t really care. All you cared about was remembering where your vibrator was and praying that you remembered to charge it after the last time you used it.

When your professor dismissed everyone you practically bolted from your chair to the exit. It normally takes you a half hour to walk back to your apartment from class, you made it to your door in 20 minutes. You opened your front door so violently you were surprised it wasn’t ripped off its hinges. You ran into your room and pulled open the drawer that contained your vibrator.

In one swift motion your pants were off and you were on your bed. Your fingers were already working on your swollen clit and you let out a sigh of relief. You began rubbing your clit faster and faster as you turned your vibrator on. Ever so slowly, you began to insert the vibrator into your slick heat inch by inch. Your hips bucked at the sensations caused by your hands and the vibrator. The vibrations made you moan aloud and at that moment you were thankful that you lived alone.

Your eyes were closed in pure bliss and you felt your head fall back on your pillow as you continued to play with yourself. You could feel your walls begin to flutter around the vibrator and you knew you were close. You rubbed your clit with determination as you felt your climax fast approaching. The only sounds in the room were your panting and the hum of the vibrator. You were so close your legs were shaking when suddenly you no longer felt the sensation of the vibrator. Come to think of it, you didn’t hear the noise of it either. Thinking your vibrator died at the worst possible moment, you sat up and opened your eyes and came face to face with Professor Laufeyson. Wait, what? What the fuck? How did he get in your apartment?

“P-p-professor Laufeyson?” You asked, your voice laced with confusion, “What the hell are you doing here?” You questioned as you pulled your blanket up over your half clothed form.

“I’m here because I saw the state you were in, in my class and I intended to rectify the situation.” He said calmly like he was talking about the weather.

The situation? Wait, he knew you were horny in his class?

“How did you get in my apartment?” You asked cautiously as you moved up on the bed trying to create distance between the two of you.

“The same way I got in your dream last night, I know you must remember that pet.” He answered with a gleam in his eyes.

So, he knows he was in your dream? This day just keeps getting stranger.

You were about to ask him another question when he put a finger up to your lips to silence you.

“Shh pet, there will be enough time for answers later. But right now, I came here with a purpose and I intend to see that through.” He said in a hushed tone as he slowly began to lower the blanket that covered you.

You wanted to tell him you needed answers now damnit, but just like last night you felt hypnotized by his presence. He was intoxicating. Plus, he did say he wanted to help you with your current predicament.

“Let me see you.” Professor Laufeyson whispered as he pulled the blanket all the way off of you and tossed it on the floor. He stood up and walked around to the foot of the bed towards your feet. Slowly, he grabbed your ankles and pulled harshly so that you slid halfway down the bed. You let out a yelp of surprise.

“Now pet, there are a few ground rules we must go over.” Professor Laufeyson dictated as he slid his hands up your legs until they reached your knees.

“Number one, in here you will address me as sir, am I understood?” He questioned as he slowly parted your legs so he could admire your glistening wet pussy.

“Y-yes sir.” You responded quietly, too focused on what he intended to do with you.

“Good.” He smiled as he lifted one of your legs in the air and began to kiss it from ankle to mid thigh, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

“Number two,” He began as he repeated his previous actions on your other leg, “is you will not speak unless spoken to. The only sounds I want to hear come out of that mouth are those delicious moans of yours. Am I clear?” He asked seductively as he lowered himself onto his forearms and positioned his mouth directly in front of your core.

“Yes.” You let out breathlessly, focusing solely on his mouth and where you currently needed it.

He let out a harsh growl as his teeth nipped the inside of your thigh, “Yes, what?” He articulated, arching an ebony eyebrow at you.

“Yes, sir.” You declared, raising your upper body on your elbows to see more of him.

Apparently satisfied with your compliance he lowered his face and licked a line up your sopping wet center. You moaned your approval which spurred him on. He went to work sucking and licking your clit. Your hips bucked up to meet his mouth and one of your hands planted itself in his onyx locks in an attempt to anchor him to you. This only made him suck harder as he brought up one of his hands and slowly let a finger play with your outer folds. You moaned as he gently parted your lips and carefully inserted one long finger inside of you. You screamed in pleasure as your upper body fell onto the mattress, your arm not being able to support you anymore.

Your legs tried to clench around his head but he brought up his other hand to pin down one of your thighs. He quickly sank another finger into you and began to pump them faster. He gently grazed his teeth along your clit, causing a surprised yelp to escape your mouth. Your hand that wasn’t in his hair found the headboard behind you and grabbed onto it tightly. Your back bowed off the bed from all the pleasure professor Laufeyson was giving you.

His mouth left your clit and began to travel up your body. When his mouth reached your left breast he gently nipped it before sucking it. He continued his assent north until he found the sweet spot where your neck met your collarbone. His fingers curled inside of you and your hips bucked at the sensation.

“You know Y/N” Professor Laufeyson said in a husky voice as he continued to pleasure you, “After you left my classroom I almost came to you right away. You were in such a state when I saw you it was intoxicating. I had to fight the urge to take you in the middle of the classroom.” He confessed as his fingers moved impossibly faster inside of you.

His confession and his tone of voice was quite possibly the most erotic thing you had ever heard. You swore you grew wetter just thinking about him taking you in front of everyone.

“I was determined to fuck you into oblivion tonight.” He continued, “So imagine my disappointment, when I come here and find you doing what was to be my job.” He said as he withdrew his fingers from you and completely separated his body from yours.

You were left a wanton mess without him. A thin sheen of sweat covered your body and you swore your body would explode from all this pressure and no release it was being put through. You went to clench your legs together when suddenly professor Laufeyson was kneeling in between your legs, effectively keeping them apart.

In his hand you noticed your vibrator and your eyes widened in shock. What was he planning to do with that?

“You think this, toy can fuck you better than I can?” He questioned as he held up the vibrator in disgust.

“N-no sir.” You replied cautiously. You were afraid to say the wrong thing and be left on the edge by him again.

“Interesting, because that’s not what it sounded like when I saw you. It looked to me like you were content with this object. In time Y/N you’ll come to find that I wish to be the sole source of your pleasure.” Professor Laufeyson stated as he dropped your vibrator carelessly on the floor.

“Let this night serve as a reminder pet.” He started as he stood up and headed for the door, “You will not touch yourself unless I permit it. Otherwise, your punishment will be more severe than this.” He said with a mischievous glint in his eye as he opened your bedroom door. He took one final glance at your ruined body before swiftly leaving your apartment.

Tags: @mayorofzillyhoo, @malanix, @drakesfiance, @kinghiddlestonanddixon, @kcd15 @lokixme

#loki x reader #loki x me #loki imagine #loki professor #loki fanfic #the professor

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anthonybrxdgerton · 6 years

Text

A Discovery of Witches reread

Last week I re-read A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness and it took me a long time to do it; I had to pause every few pages (sometimes paragraphs) because of the choices characters made I didn’t agree with. I will be doing my reactions about episodes as well (as soon as I re-watch them) and comparing the show to the first book.

My reactions, notes and everything under the cut. There are some trivia I forgot about, some minor changes book vs tv show, some stuff referencing the next books and what not.

BEWARE OF SPOILERS FOR THE BOOKS. IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE BOOKS, DON’T READ THIS POST. Enjoy!

[ a discovery of witches | shadow of night | the book of life | time’s convert ]

the book takes place in 2009 in the span of 40 days

miriam and marcus have very different taste in music (The whole area seemed unoccupied, although from somewhere there came faint strains of a Bach cello concerto and something that sounded an awful lot like the latest hit recorded by the Eurovision song-contest winners);

marcus wears converse and he's BLOND (so are nathaniel and satu);

the killings that occurred at the time (a.k.a jack’s doing) were the reason matthew thought that vampires are going extinct and are not able to sire anyone else;

Patience, alas, was not the strong suit of Bishop women - you can clearly see that in the books as well as in the show;

sarah and rebecca's mother's name is joanna ��(which only matters to me because it’s my name too);

matthew came to oxford at 1989 (when he met hamish);

matthew was 37 eyars old when we was re-born as a vampire and baldwin was in his late twenties or early thirties. marcus was in his late twenties and diana is 33.

marcus is into red-heads (but phoebe is not a red-head, which will be notet later by baldwin or matthew (i don’t remember which)) ;

"I asked if you were hungry.” Why he continued to do so was a mystery—when was I not hungry? #relatable, I’m Diana here;

“I love your hair,” he murmured. “It has every color imaginable—even strands of red and black.” which will be important later on when diana’s hair change

matthew knows how to knock the cork off with a sword (and now i feel robbed that we didn't see it)

both matthew and hamish won all souls prize fellowship

"What’s your name?” I asked, smothering a smile. “Timothy,” he answered, rocking back on his heels. He was wearing mismatched cowboy boots, one red and one black. His eyes were mismatched, too—one was blue and one was green. “You’re more than welcome to check your e-mail, Timothy.” “You’re the one.” He tipped his fingers at me, pivoted on the heel of the red boot, and walked away. - i just love Timothy, okay? He’s a sweetheart PLUS he is somewhat important in The Book of Life

ashmole 782 has been missing since 1859 but gerbert had it a thousand years ago and “it is a strange book, is it not, Diana? A thousand years ago I took it from a great wizard from Toledo. When I brought it to France, it was already bound by layers of enchantment."

diana's fingers were already colorful (mostly blue) especially when she was angry/stressed

Somewhere in the center of my soul, a rusty chain began to unwind. It freed itself, link by link, from where it had rested unobserved, waiting for him. My hands, which had been balled up and pressed against his chest, unfurled with it. The chain continued to drop, to an unfathomable depth where there was nothing but darkness and Matthew. At last it snapped to its full length, anchoring me to a vampire. - matthew could feel the chain if diana wanted him too. I think she weaved it subconsciously without realizing she’s using her weaver’s powers at the time

Matthew also knew his faults, anger chief among them. Typically, Matthew’s rage was so destructive that once the poison was out of his system, he disappeared for months or even years to come to terms with what he'd done - first reference to the blood rage

matthew used to be friends with marquis de lafayette

when marcus was dying and matthew told him about vampires, marcus thought he was tormented by a demon

“Holy God,” Marcus said softly. Staring at the picture, he tried to imagine what it would be like to receive a photo of his own father ripped to pieces and tossed into the dirt to die. - a.k.a. WAIT TILL SHADOW OF NIGHT AND NOW I'M CRYING I JUST LOVE MATTHEW AND MARCUS’ RELATIONSHIP SO MUCH OKAY

Matthew wore his pilgrim’s badge only when he was afraid he was going to kill someone or when he was thinking of Eleanor St. Leger—or both. - i wish they kept it in the show too especially since it created the tree of life in bishop’s house

My aunt was good with spells. Emily wasn’t but could fly for short distances and see the future.

Matthew’s books were arranged not by size but in a running time line. Those on the first bookshelf were so ancient that I couldn’t bear to think about what they contained—the lost works of Aristotle, perhaps? Anything was possible. - headcanon that he has books from a Library of Alexandria (maybe he got them from Philippe or Hugh or Godfrey?)

“It was spring, you were bored, and so you got up one morning and went to Italy to make war. Your father had to beg forgiveness from the king on his knees”. now I NEED TO KNOW WHAT MATTHEW HAS DONE

“Perhaps, but one thing hasn’t changed in all these years. Whenever there’s a crisis, there’s a de Clermont nearby.” - it should be their motto, really

diana has visions too - i know it's obvious but i completely forgot about it since the show didn’t include it at all except for episode 7 when everybody saw the past

Matthew was unusually tall for the time, though not as tall as he became once he was a vampire - being reborn as a vampire not only makes you stronger but bigger and taller too.

His mother strode forward and slapped him, hard, across the face. “How dare you ask that question?” i need to see it, WHY DIDN’T YOU INCLUDE THIS, SHOW?

marcus is "good at wheedling information out of people."

“And you are going to give me gray hairs—long thought impossible among vampires, by the way—with your courage, your firecracker hands, and the impossible things you say.” - i just like it and i wonder if deb already knew that diana would do that for him in the book of life?

Baldwin had him by the throat before the words were out of his mouth. Their heads close together, one dark and one bright, they rocketed to the far end of the hall. Matthew’s body smashed into a wooden door, splintering it with the impact. - friendly reminder that Baldwin is a much better fighter than Matthew and the show SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF MAKING HIM WEAKER

Vampires didn’t usually get all of their names (5) when they were reborn but over the years.

One reason the de Clermont family was so long-lived was that each member had different skills in a crisis. Philippe had always been the leader of men, a charismatic figure who could convince vampires and humans and sometimes even daemons to fight for a common cause. Their brother Hugh had been the negotiator, bringing warring sides to the bargaining table and resolving even the fiercest of conflicts. Godfrey, the youngest of Philippe’s three sons, had been their conscience, teasing out the ethical implications of every decision. To Baldwin fell the battle strategies, his sharp mind quick to analyze every plan for flaws and weaknesses. Louisa had been useful as bait or as a spy, depending on the situation. Matthew, improbably enough, had been the family’s fiercest warrior. His early adventures with the sword had made his father wild with their lack of discipline, but he’d changed. Now whenever Matthew held a weapon in his hand, something in him went cold and he fought his way through obstacles with a tenacity that made him unbeatable. Then there was Ysabeau. Everyone underestimated her except for Philippe, who had called her either “the general” or “my secret weapon.” She missed nothing and had a longer memory than Mnemosyne. - i really like it and i wish it was in the show too. That being said I really am interested what are the talents/skills of Verin, Stasia and Freya.

A helicopter,” Baldwin said. “It was waiting in Clermont-Ferrand to take me back to Lyon. - does Baldwin have a house there?

”Fancy seeing you here, Miss Bishop”. It was what he always said when I sneaked into his study at home or crept downstairs late at night for one more bedtime story. FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT STEPHEN TOLD HER THE SAME THING IN LONDON TOO

Let me know if you need anything, Ysabeau.” Baldwin brushed her cheeks with his lips. - WERE THEY ENEMIES? FRENEMIES?? I THOUGH THAT HATED EACH OTHER WHAT IS GOING ON I NEED ANSWERS ESPECIALLY THAT YSABEAU SAID SHE HATES HIM IN BOL AND THAT HE TRIED TO BANISH HER FROM JERUSALEM ONCE

Marcus was Matthew’s son. He was my son. / When the door swung open, Marcus’s blue eyes met mine with a twinkle. “Hi, Mom, we’re home!” I JUST LOVE IT, OKAY, WE NEED MORE OF THEM IN THE SHOW

Marcus prefers whiskey even though all of his family loves wine

One morning Marcus turned on his heel and stormed back to the house, leaving his father alone in the old apple orchard. “Diana,” he growled in greeting before streaking through the family room and straight out the front door. “I’m too damn young for this!” he shouted as he left. - I LOVE YOU MY BABY DRAMA QUEEN

Gerbert had always wanted to be included among the Knights of Lazarus, and my father refused him time and time again. - which is why he sent Juliette to spy on Matthew and it gives interesting layer that he told about The Knights in the show. He’s so bitter loool

Stephen Proctor could timewalk into the past OR into the future hence why we saw him in the 1x01 - he wasn’t just a hallucination, he probably timewalked into the future to make sure Ashmole 782 is safe

also, at the end of the book, right before they timewalked, Matthew noticed that there are some annotations in his “Doctor Faustus” copy he made that he didn’t remember putting them there. - is this a sign that 16th century Matthew somehow subconsciously remembered Diana or his fight with Kit or something? I wish that was explained too because that’s interesting.

this is so long I’M SORRY. Overall, I had very hard time re-reading this book especially when Matthew was so possessive and controlling. I wanted to punch him every time he said or did something. Show!Matthew is definitely more bearable and les creepy. Also, I love the familiar/platonic relationships between Marcus & Matthew, Marcus & Diana, Marcus & Miriam, Miriam & Diana, Sophie & Diana, Sarah & Marcus and more. Too bad the show didn’t care about those relationships too much. As for the romantic relationships, I wish I knew more about Miriam & Bertrand, Philippe & Ysabeau, Sophie & Nathaniel too.

#a discovery of witches #all souls #diana bishop

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junkyardlynx · 5 years

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Ch. 3

The stench of death rolled out in thick, cloying waves as we stepped inside. The sanctuary’s design consisted of a long hallway leading into the safe room proper, and the reason for that was simple. It was a choke point to funnel the enemy into one confined space, turning a hallway into a killing field. The automated magical defenses had bisected, burnt, bludgeoned and blasted apart what looked to be dozens of bodies.

Human bodies.

A wave of nausea rose in my throat. I swallowed it down and knelt by a severed head, it’s eyes glassy and accusatory. My hand trailed over it’s sunken cheek, running over a thin line of scar tissue that pulsed weakly with fading magical energy. Index finger following the design, I heaved a disgusted sigh and stood back up.

“Thralls. Deplorable.”

Sarisa’s voice split the murky atmosphere. It was laden with revulsion and tinged with pity, which mirrored my sentiments. As a practitioner of the necromantic arts, I held a special hatred for those that bent the mind of living creatures into thralldom. We raise the bodies of the dead, but only after seeing the spirits off in a proper manner, allowing them their deserved rest, returning them to the cycle. Thralls had their very minds and souls sundered and no rest would find their spirits without the intervention of a skilled necromancer or shaman. Like myself.

“…I’ll watch your back, Jeal.” Sarisa whispered quietly, and I nodded an affirmation of thanks.

I extended my right arm and splayed my fingers out. Exhaling slowly, I sent tendrils of magic into the earth and began to inhale, the physical realm fading further with every moment. The world bathed itself in ghostly ripples as a chill permeated my body - the spiritual realm knew that the warmth of life did not belong on this side. I would make it recognize my authority over such matters.

I emanated a wave of energy through the tendrils anchoring me to the ground, and the world seemed to recoil in horror as I parted the veil. The hazy shapes of the spiritual realm solidified, replacing ripples with bodies. They rose like wilted flowers under a healing rain, piecing themselves back together.

They screamed.

The scream of the damned, the broken and the violated tore through spiritual and physical space, threatening to rip Sarisa and I apart. A lesser mage would be undone. We were not lesser. Thunderous crackles of red lightning splashed from underneath my feet, snaking out to shackle the ghosts by the throat. Their mouths taped, but there was no sound.

“Sleep, children of man. Return to ash and silence.” My voice laced with sovereign power, they acknowledged my command. Such was the nature of overwhelming force. The anguish left their forms and their bodies slackened as stillness settled in the room. A moment - perhaps a minute, perhaps an hour - passed and their forms dissolved into the ether as the red lightning crackled out of existence. I relinquished my grip on the spiritual world and slipped back into the physical plane.

"Good job, Kel'thuzad."

Come on, dude. I hate that nickname. Why is that everyone's go-to Necromancer nickname? Never should have skipped school to play Warcraft with her and Thomas.

My senses reminded me of the carnage that remained as I rejoined my body proper. I closed my right hand, still extended, and swept it to the right. From somewhere between here and nowhere, a cataclysmic wave of fire appeared and swallowed the broken bodies. Only ash and silence remained as promised. Rolling my shoulders, I stepped back and looked at Sarisa.

"You're not mad about the Kel'thuzad thing, right?"

"Maybe I'll find a cow's skull and wear it as a hat next time."

I nodded with a sort of crooked smile, jerking my thumb down the hall to indicate that we should continue.

“So those thralls were used to exhaust the defenses in your safe house. I suppose that's the only way to get fifty healthy men to throw themselves at a deathtrap, other than the promise of money or a blushing bride. Next time you need to count on there being more than fifty people, obviously. What a rookie mistake.”

We approached the heavily warded door that lead to my sanctuary. The only problems being that the wards had been deactivated and the handle was snapped off, with the door melted shut. You know. Minor things. Misplace your keys, forget to brush your teeth, find your magical sanctum invaded. A basic Tuesday. Closing my eyes, I reached my senses out into the room before us, searching for any magical presences. There were four, and they were strong, but apparently unaware.

I kicked the door apart, metal screeching as it separated from fused metal. Reaching my hand into a black and red void, I pulled my lance from the Wound and immediately thrust it forward. It found purchase in cloth and flesh, and a distinctly human scream filled my ears. With the lance still stuck through the body of one invader, I shifted my weight to my right foot and pushed off the ground, narrowly avoiding a blade of condensed wind. An abyssal heat soaked my brain as I heard a grunt of exertion from Sarisa, who had been glanced by the arc of the wind.

Rational thought left me. I had a reputation for calm and collected behavior, but it wasn’t like I didn’t feel and didn’t ache. It wasn’t like I was happy to leave my mother and father to an unknown fate. It wasn’t like I accepted any of this as righteous or good. It sure wasn’t like I’d let anyone hurt someone I cared about. Especially not her. You fill a cup too full and-

With an almost inhuman roar, I discharged pure magical energy through my lance as I came down from my leap. The struggling mage thrashed wildly, wracked with pain before his body literally exploded, sending crackling viscera across my study. Without pause, my weapon stabbed into the earth and I used it as a pole to vault in the direction of Sarisa and her current attacker. With no weapon in hand, I formed a blade of pure malice, giving my anger physical form as a dagger, ripping into the man’s side. As I jerked it upwards and felt the hot blood on my hands and face, I registered the appearances of the invaders with an almost detatched curiosity, as if I was an observer to this one-sided carnage and nothing else.

40s to 50s. Male. No hair. Brown eyes. Short, peppered goatee. White shirt, brown slacks. Currently in eighteen pieces.

30s to early 40s. Female. Blonde bob cut. Mole on neck. Blue eyes. Athletic track uniform, red. Screaming at six pieces of 40s to 50s male.

Late 20s to early 30s. Male. Crew cut. Five o'clock shadow. Brown eyes. White shirt, brown slacks. Clawing at the ethereal blade in his side. No longer clawing. Head missing. On the ground.

Late 20s to early 30s. Female. Shoulder length black hair. Frameless glasses. Green eyes. Grey pencil skirt, blue blouse. Casting a barrage of wi-

My mind swallowed the photographic details in that same abyssal rage from before as I dropped to one knee, my right hand flung out, crafting a barrier from ether. I had channeled a large amount of magic today, between the casting of Xiyir from miles away and quelling the anguished dead, and so my nerves screamed at me for rest. Thankfully, the mage was weaker, and the blades of wind scattered on my aegis, allowing Sarisa to follow up. She kicked off the earth and traced a graceful arc past the mage, arms trailing almost lazily behind her. A series of wet thuds brought two hands and the top of a skull covered in black hair to the ground. One final thud followed soon after.

Recognizing that the only enemy left was reduced to a sniveling puddle of fear, the black heat leaked from my brain and cold calm took over. Pulling my lance from the earth, I cut a Wound and placed it back inside as Sarisa and I approached the woman on the floor. Sarisa’s injured hip had stopped bleeding, and it was then that I realized she had decapitated the man attacking her the moment after I cut into his side. She rotated her wrist and a thin wire wrapped back around it, returning to it's form as a simple bracelet. Man, I forgot how deadly she was with that wire. Made my rage feel silly and pointless. We came to be side by side in front of the bob cut blonde, who was scrambling backwards madly.

“You people are fucking crazy! Stay away!”

"You forced your way into my sanctum at the cost of some fifty-three people. I don't think you get to say that."

Her voice was desperate, but it was familiar. As her palm landed in a pool of fresh blood, she slipped, and her head slammed into the concrete, directly underneath one of the dim incandescent bulbs. It only took a moment to recognize who she - and the others by association - really was.

Sarisa took action before I did, grasping the collar of the woman’s track suit and hauling her to her feet. With a rough shove, the sole survivor found herself trapped. A choked sob wracked her body as she failed to meet our gaze.

“Miss Lewis, I believe you and the rest of the teachers are - were? - trespassing. I doubt this is an intervention about our school work, so you should probably inform Jeal and I about the situation. Quickly. Calmly. Kindly?” Sarisa’s voice was molten gold being poured over the volleyball coach’s head. She gasped an assent and rambled for a moment before beginning to speak. I'm sure Sarisa felt the same sense of emptiness that I did. Everything was going to hell today. Probably quite literally.

Steeling our hearts, we leaned in to listen.

#writing #my writing #fantasy #magic

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xreaderfic-land · 6 years

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What Lies Beneath Part 18 Red Hood (Jason Todd) X Reader

Summary: Coming back home to Gotham after several years was a tough choice, but you needed to put the past behind you. You blame yourself for Jason’s death and hope that with a medical degree you can have a second chance at saving the kids of Gotham’s streets, but the past won’t stay buried. As the Red Hood invites himself into your life and the little safe bubble of a lie you call life bursts you’re left struggling to cope. Your secret studying of toxins used by Gotham’s villains is sure to land you in hot water eventually, but you’re always up for a challenge. Life is a game of survival and it’s time you joined in.

Co-Author: @inkteller-17 Tags: @jason-todd-rh @totallynotashieldagent @exotiicqueen494 @dragons-of-the-usa @shadowsndaisies @e-equals-mcommunism-squared @icycoldbeanieweanies @peppermint-17 @theskytraveler @wintersb0ner

Tags CLOSED DUE TO STORY COMPLETION Word Count: 7,175 WARNINGS: Language, Descriptions of Physical Violence

Catch Up Here

—— —— —— —— ——-

Your head rolled to the side as you waited for Joker to begin his stupid villainous spiel. Joker paced back and forth in front of you. His hands tucked behind his back while he watched you carefully.

“Get on with it already,” You spat.

Joker froze mid-step. He turned his rather large grin upon you.

“You know why I had to bring you here, right?” Joker asked.

“Because I was close to ending your virus?” You asked with a hiss.

Joker smiled. “Feisty one, I see,”

“Just get on with it, will you?” You growled.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Joker asked.

“You’re wasting your time and your breath, clown-boy,” You said in a low growl.

For that remark, Joker backhanded you. Your head snapped to the side and your mouth filled with a familiar copper taste.

“Insults won’t get you anywhere,” Joker informed you.

You spat a mouthful of blood on the cement next to his shiny black shoes.

Joker scoffed before stepping away from the blood. He continued to circle you. You sat perfectly still. You knew you had to keep him busy. The only way for you to get your hands untied was to keep his attention elsewhere.

“My virus was my baby, you know? I worked very hard on creating her,” Joker said.

“You mean you had Scarecrow working hard on it?” You shot back.

That earned you another slap. This time you felt your lip split. Your tongue flickered over the ripped skin.

“I told you insults will not get you anywhere,” Joker repeated himself.

You picked your head up.

“You already had your fear toxin, so why the virus?” You asked him.

Joker clapped his hands together.

“I’m so glad that you asked,” Joker grinned.

You rolled your eyes.

“The fear toxin brought fear, I’ll admit that, but it wasn’t driving everyone crazy. I just wanted someone to feel just as crazy as I do,” Joker explained.

“You’re criminally insane, no fear toxin or virus is going to make them seem as crazy as you,” You told him.

Joker turned on his heels to face you.

“I saw your symptoms, Joker. Fatigue, dizziness, hard time breathing, tremors, and weakness. Sounds like the common flu to me which also means that your virus wasn’t as powerful as you thought or my stupid little cure wouldn’t have worked,” You said.

Joker’s lip curled in disgust.

“It also causes hallucinations. You forgot the most important part,” Joker said.

“Right, making people see things that aren’t real, that’s real clever,” You scoffed.

You were infuriating to him. How could you not see how hard he had worked? There was only one option left. He was just going to have to show you how clever he really was.

You could tell that Joker was having a complete conversation with himself. You were able to free one hand and then work your other hand free. Keeping your hands behind your back you reached forward to try and dig for the pocket knife in your back pocket.

“I know that you haven’t had a taste for the real thing so I’m going to change that,” Joker said with a sinister smile.

Your head snapped up. You watched as Joker practically skipped over to the table and he lifted a giant needle. You gulped. You were going to have to react fast on this one.

Slowly, Joker made his way towards you. Your hand wrapped around the pocket knife and grasped it tightly. You were waiting. Once Joker was in arms reach you lunged forward. Your feet were still tied to the chair, but you used your upper strength to swipe at him.

Joker was expecting that. He easily knocked the small knife from your hand and then grabbed you around your waist pinning your arms to your sides.

“I didn’t realize you were this stupid,” Joker hissed in your ear.

Leaning back you tried to create as much space as possible as your teeth ground together. A sudden idea had you smiling.

“I’m dumb enough to outsmart you,” You seethed.

Jerking your head forward it smashed against Joker's hard enough to have him staggering back. The restraints still anchoring you to the chair met their short limit as Joker kept most of his hold on you.

A hiss of pain left your lips as your knees buckled before smashing against concrete. A heavy door was thrown open followed by several footfalls nearing you.

“No,” Joker’s cold order had the footfalls stopping, “she’s mine.”

Peeking through your hair you managed to process two of Joker’s goons who’d apparently come to his rescue stopped just a few feet away. As you prepared to rock back on your haunches Joker’s foot shot out to connect with your shoulder sending you back against the floor.

Rolling slightly you watched as Joker readied his foot for another kick. You waited until his foot got close enough before reaching out and grasping around his ankle.

With a harsh tug, you had him off balance and crashing down to your level. Scrambling you drug him toward you just enough to smash your fist against his grinning face.

The satisfaction of finally returning a blow had you raising your arm once more as his sick laughter filled your ears. As your fist shot forward for another blow Joker suddenly caught your hand and pulled you back down against him.

With one of your arms pinned between the two of you and the other locked up trying to regain space between allowed Joker to wrap his legs around your waist.

Your mind raced to recount any defensive maneuver to escape the tight hold.

“Jason put up the same fighting spirit as you not so long ago,” Joker cooed.

Your teeth ground painfully together as you renewed your efforts to struggle free to which Joker tightened his hold even more.

“You’re a little sloppier than he was though,” Joker spoke with nostalgia in his tone.

“I’m going to make you swallow your fucking teeth when you let go,” You promised.

Joker giggled, “I am really going to enjoy seeing you try.”

As Joker spoke he used his free hand not effectively holding you down to jam the needle into your neck. A cry of pain left you as the needle bit into your skin.

It didn’t take another moment before the cool liquid forced into your body suddenly felt like fire.

Gasping at the sensation you barely felt Joker throw you aside as he climbed back to his feet. Your hand flew up against the injection site as your eyes squeezed shut.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Joker laughed, “That one I had made special just for your annoying ass. Turned up the fun for you and even added a few things that I’m not even sure about. It’ll be like symptom roulette for you.”

Curling onto your side you tried to focus just on breathing as the fire in your veins spread throughout your entire body. Your lungs felt on the verge of seizing up as your heart rate pounded in your ears.

Your brain decided at that moment to remind you of all the possible virus strains you’d once had written down in your lab. Panic set in allowing adrenaline to dull some of the pain as you rolled to your hands and knees.

The fight or flight response shifted into overdrive as you yanked hard enough at your leg restraints to snap them from the chair. Climbing to your feet you sprinted toward where you thought had been the door.

Several surprised hollars hit your ears spurring you to run faster if possible. Your entire body screamed at you with signals to both do anything to survive and curl up against the pain.

Your shoulder smashed against the metal door throwing it against a nearby wall as you stumbled into an alley. Pouring rain soaked you through as you stomped blindly in any direction that was away from Joker.

Thunder shook the ground under your feet as you stumbled against a wall. Your eyes blurred from the rain and against the pain coursing through you making it hard to tell where exactly you were.

A familiar motor reeved in the distance making hope fill you, even if it was connected to Jason.

A lone headlight bobbed up and down as it crawled along the street several blocks ahead of you. Pushing from the wall you mentally screamed at your feet to move.

As you and the bike made slow progress toward each other you shouted for Jason hoping he’d hear you over the rain.

“Jason!” You throat stung as you screamed his name.

You watched as the bike skid to a halt as it rounded a corner. You could make out Jason straightening away from the bike’s gas tank as he scanned through the rain.

Another block or so and you’d be in range for him to see and hear you better.

Inhaling you readied to shout again only for it to come all whooshing back out when something connected flat against your chest. Your feet struggled to keep up as whatever had hit you sent you backward.

As your back connected with the cold ground your vision swam. When it finally cleared enough you made out Joker’s goons encircling you from above before Joker himself peered down.

A smile lifted Joker’s lips, “Oh no you’re not allowed to leave me quite so fast little one. You see since Jason has been away from me I’ve been lacking fun in my life, and you’re going to be his stand-in.”

With another cruel laugh, Joker took enjoyment in kicking the side of your already bruised head. As his foot made contact your vision blackened once more.

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

Clawing your way back to consciousness was spurred on by the unbearable heat radiating from your body and constant pull on your ribs.

Moving to readjust your arms to alleviate the pain only resulted in the sound of metal clinking. Peeling your eyes open you were gifted a reason for being unable to find a more comfortable position.

Your hands had been handcuffed together and fed to a chain drilled into the ceiling. A heavy breath left your lips as your muscles weakened at having to hold your head up for too long.

With your head now propped against your raised arms, you could make out restraints also tethering your feet barely to the floor.

Balancing your weight between your arms and toes made your already firing pain receptors go non-stop. A groan left your lips when your one leg slipped a bit forcing your weight to bare down on your wrists.

“I tried to be nice and allow you a chair to sit, but after your little stunt I think I prefer you standing.”

Joker’s faux painfilled words sounded from behind as he slowly rounded to your front.

You swallowed hard upon seeing the long thin metal piece he nonchalantly swung between his fingers. Joker studied your expression at seeing the crowbar in his hand.

“Ah, you like this?” Joker looked at the bar appreciatively, “It’s an old favorite of mine. Created some good memories with it. With Jason.”

Joker’s tone made your stomach drop as he circled behind you once more. You could feel him standing directly behind you.

“I have to say I’m a little disappointed with you. Your little escape attempt forced us to relocate as to ensure our continued bonding time.”

“Let me down and I’ll bond with you a whole lot more.”

Your words lost some of their impact when they come out laced with weariness. Joker clicked his tongue at your words.

“Bad girls aren’t allowed to play back,” Joker spoke while the crowbar tapped off the concrete allowing a metallic sound to echo around you.

Your fists opened and closed as you struggled to free your hands. You could feel the skin already on the verge of breaking against the biting metal cuffs, but it still paled in comparison to everything else going on internally.

Joker hummed to himself before a small chuckle left him.

“I have just the thing to make our game more fun. Well fun for me and a tough lesson for you.”

You felt Joker draw nearer to your backside before something covered your eyes sending you into wakeful darkness. Shaking your head you tried to rub the blindfold from your eyes but Joker was much quicker in tying it off tight.

You felt Joker step back, “I’ve heard that taking away sight makes bodily sensations much more intense. And you being my special guest I want you to enjoy all the best surprises possible.”

“Joker you fucking-” You started.

Your words morphed into a scream of pain as what you could only assume to be the crowbar smashed against your thigh.

Instinct had you jerking your leg up before it stopped short as the chain hit its end. Your weight wobbled between your one other leg and overhead arms.

Breathing had already been a taxing effort but managed to become even more so.

“That’s for giving my poor fellow men such a hard time when gathering you.” Joker spoke lowly.

You barely managed to tuck your mouth against your arm to muffle the next yelp of pain as Joker sent the bar against your other leg.

“That’s for spitting at my shoes.” Joker sneered.

Tears clogged your throat as each swing Joker took had you already constantly firing pain receptors jumping to a new level of searing heat. The sound of Joker’s laughter bounced off the walls around you.

“Oh and let’s not forget to repay you for the general pain in the ass you’ve been!” Joker said this time with more glee.

Joker’s gleeful shout was mirrored with several swings smashing against your ribcage. White burst behind your scrunched shut and blindfolded eyes in pain. The sickening feel and sound of your ribs snapping ricocheted in the air making it harder to hold in your screams.

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

It felt like hours had passed before Joker had eventually let the crowbar drop to the floor before tearing your blindfold off and fucking off to someplace else. Tremors shook your form pulling on old and new wounds.

Your vocal cords felt numb and were surely torn, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.

Blinking slowly you tried to stay awake. If you fell asleep you weren’t overly confident you’d wake back up if the blood matting your clothes to you was anything to go by.

A shuddering breath jarred your ribs making you whimper.

“Y/n?”

A familiar voice called your name drawing your eyes up from the floor. Your eyes widened at the sight of Jason slowly advancing toward you with concern in his eyes.

Your body straightened a bit in shock, “Jay?”

Your hoarse voice had you cringing as Jay continued forward with his hands up. Jay’s eyes scanned your form.

“I’m going to get you out of here.”

You shook your head vigorously, “No, Jay get out of here. He could come back--”

“It’s okay, doll. I’m not leaving you. Remember?”

Jason’s soft tone had tears springing to your eyes. After everything you’d said before you left the manor you weren’t sure you even deserved his bravery or kindness.

As Jason got within a foot of you a loud bang echoed through the room. You watched as Jason’s mouth dropped open, his eyes wide.

His gaze dropped to his chest the same time yours did.

Deep red blossomed across the center of his chest until the Red Hood symbol was indistinguishable.

“No,” Your voice broke as Jason relooked at you, “No. Jay, please!”

Blood slowly dribbled from the corner of Jason’s mouth as his knees buckled. As his form fell against the floor you yelled at him.

“Jay! Jay, please no, Jay!” You pulled frantically at your restraints, “Jay look at me! Come on, please! Stay awake! Jason!”

The sound of cold laughter had you looking up across the room with hard eyes.

“You fucking asshole! I swear to God I’m going to fucking kill you!” You shouted through tears.

Joker rocked back on his heels with more laughter, “You’ve got to be kidding me! He’s your biggest fear?!”

Joker wiped a tear from his eye, “Oh this is just too good.”

His words had you blinking in confusion. Joker simply waved his hand around the room, Looking around you failed to notice anyone else besides the two of you.

Jason was nowhere to be seen.

“But--But he was--” You stumbled in disbelief.

“Not here my dear. No one is coming for you here. Nor will they find you. So long as I see fit you’re stuck here to entertain me with all your fun little sounds. Which by the way I forgot to mention your bones, when they snap, sound just like Jason’s used to.”

“You sonofabitch!” You yelled.

Joker looked at you seemingly bored before checking his nonexistent watch, “It would seem I have another matter to look after. Do be a dear and enjoy yourself in my absence. I promise when I get back we can have another round with good Ole Mr. CrowBar.”

“Come back here, Joker! Come here and face me!”

Your shouts were answered with a metal door slamming shut before a lock engaged.

Your ribs painfully protested against your heaving breaths as silence descended upon you once more. Disbelief still had its teeth deeply embedded into your brain as you looked back down to where Jason had last lain.

What remained in his place on the floor was a small pool of your partially dried blood.

Swallowing thickly you realized that what you’d seen had been a hallucination caused by the virus.

A very realistic hallucination that had been real enough to fill your sense with Jay’s smell. The telltale hint of leather and cigarettes.

Your brain worked unhindered by the throbbing in your skull in an effort to try and believe what had happened. The image of Jay’s shirtfront staining red made bile rise in your throat.

You wished for the ability to erase memories, or even to just fall unconscious until Joker tired of you. You couldn’t handle even the suggestion of being forced to watch Jay fall again and not being able to help him.

Losing him the first time had been hard enough.

“Y/n?”

Tears blurred your eyes as you forced yourself to look at the floor.

“Hey, it’s going to be alright. Look at me doll.”

Tears finally brimmed over as you looked up at the form of Jason. Jay gave a soft smile.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not,” your sore throat worked around the wet words.

“Don’t say that. Of course it--”

Jay’s words were cut off this time as you watched what you assumed to be a hallucination of Joker smash a crowbar off the side of Jay’s head.

As Jason fell to the floor Joker rose the bar upwards before sending it back downwards. You shut your eyes against the sight, but the sound of Jay breaking still processed.

“Y/n, help me!”

A choked sob jarred you, “Please stop.”

For the next several hours those two words would become a new mantra as each new scenario of Jason falling played out before you. Jason always just in reach but never close enough for you to save.

Eventually, the virus would morph internally ensuring that the hallucinations and pain remained as fresh and painful as the first time.

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

Selina had gotten the call. The call that made her heart drop to her stomach. Y/n was gone. Her apartment was trashed. Jason was frantic. Bruce and the others were already out scanning the streets for her. For any sign of her or who could have taken her. Jason had brought up Joker, but Tim easily pulled his brother from that thought.

But Selina knew better. Selina knew that that sick clown was up to this. Selina hoisted herself up on the edge of the window. Half of the window was missing. Carefully, Selina was able to squeeze herself past the broken glass and drop down into the warehouse. Her shoes made no sound.

Selina looked around the large room. It was empty. She didn’t hear a sound. Selina knew that technically wasn’t a good thing. Staying close to the walls and using the shadows to her advantage, Selina slunk across the room. She had an idea of where Joker possibly had Y/n tucked away.

As Selina made her way down the hall she could hear Harley’s high pitched voice. She may hate that Harley couldn’t see past Joker’s sick ways, but if she was here that meant Joker was busy giving Selina the perfect opportunity to find Y/n and get her out of this hellhole.

The very last room on the left Selina poked her head around the corner. There Y/n was. Tired. Beaten. Bloody and broken. Selina’s stomach turned at the sight of her. She didn’t deserve this. The kid was only trying to do what she thought was best. She wanted to make a difference. Selina couldn’t blame her.

Sneaking into the room Selina crept her way over to Y/n. She reached out and gently grabbed Y/n’s face in her hands. Y/n woke with a startled gasp. Selina immediately covered her mouth with her hand.

“Hush now, you’re safe,” Selina cooed.

Y/n screamed into her hand. She was mumbling and stumbling over her words. Selina was able to make out that Selina was fake.

“Y/n,” Selina said sternly.

Y/n only tried pulling her head away.

“Y/n, look at me! Look at me right now!” Selina ordered.

Slowly, Y/n brought her head up so she could look deep into Selina’s eyes.

“I am not a hallucination. It’s me. You’re safe now, okay? I’m going to get you out of here,” Selina said.

“You’re a fake,” Y/n said once Selina removed her hand.

“Yeah and you’re Queen Elizabeth,” Selina hissed as she quickly made work at Y/n’s ties.

When Y/n was slumped against her, Selina quickly picked her up bridal style.

“Jason,” Y/n muttered.

“I’ll get you to him, I promise,” Selina said.

“Joker killed him,” She cried.

“Shh, no he didn’t,” Selina said as she moved out of the room and quickly making her way out of the warehouse without getting caught.

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

They were coming up empty-handed. None of this made sense. How could she just up and disappear? Jason really thought that it was the Joker that took her, but Tim had helped him search her apartment. There was no calling card. Joker always left a calling card. He enjoyed showing off and bragging too much to forget.

“Gordon is going to put his best men on this and help find Y/n,” Bruce said over the communicator.

Jason rolled his eyes.

“He’s trying to help Jay,” Tim said from next to him.

“What I want is to find Y/n,” Jason growled.

“We’re all doing the best we can. You just have to believe that,” Tim said.

Jason shook Tim’s grasp from his arm and then stormed away. Tim yelled after his brother, but Jason completely ignored him. He was absolutely over it. His family wasn’t getting anywhere. It was time that he took things into his own hands.

Climbing onto his bike he tugged on his helmet. He’d find Y/n by himself. Jason no longer had the patience to be a team player. He was never good at that sort of stuff. Flying down the road, Jason took a sharp right. He’d find Y/n one way or another he’d bring her home safe.

Jason’s phone began to ring. He pulled up the call in his mask to see Bruce’s name. Rolling his eyes Jason ignored the call and continued on his way.

Again, Jason’s phone rang. This time it was Dick. Couldn’t his family get the clue that he didn’t want to talk to them? That he didn’t need their help?

Jason pulled down a side street and began looking for any of the kids that they had recently helped. Maybe, just maybe somebody had seen or heard anything about Y/n and what could have happened to her.

As he scanned the common areas Jason was beginning to come up empty-handed. The longer time went on the chances to find her alive were beginning to dim and Jason was slowly starting to lose hope that he was going to find her.

------

Across Gotham, Selina had dragged Y/n to one of the shadier motels. She was able to get her inside unnoticed and then Selina began working on cleaning her up. She stitched her wounds and bandaged everything else up.

Y/n dozed in and out of consciousness as Selina tended to her. Selina knew that it was going to take days for Y/n’s body to fight the toxin. Without the cure, it was going to be a long process. Selina was worried that Y/n wasn’t strong enough to fight off the toxins or that this time Joker had perfected his virus.

“Selina,” Y/n croaked.

Selina turned from the window to hurry over to the bed. She dropped onto the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” Selina spoke softly.

“Is it really you?” Y/n asked, her voice was thick and hoarse.

“It’s me. I made you a promise. You’re safe,” Selina said.

Y/n closed her eyes trying to hold back the tears.

“Y/n, Joker gave you a rather large dose of his virus. I’m afraid that you won’t be able to get past this,” Selina explained.

Selina could tell that Y/n was trying to think of something. She could see the hard look of concentration on her face.

“My place,” Y/n began.

“Has been destroyed,” Selina pointed out.

Y/n shook her head.

Finally, she opened her eyes to look at Selina.

“I was smarter this time,” Y/n said.

Selina couldn’t help but smile.

“In my closet is a safety lock box. It has a few of my last cures and my notes,” Y/n began.

“Y/n,” Selina interrupted.

“You have to go get them, Selina. My cures won’t cure me 100% but it will at least help me feel better,” Y/n explained.

“I can’t just leave you here,” Selina said.

“Yes, you can, I need you to go,” Y/n told her.

Selina sighed. She could tell that Y/n was beginning to lose consciousness again. She was right if Selina didn’t go now things could get worse for her. But she also knew that she couldn’t leave her alone. Y/n could throw up and end up choking on her own vomit. Selina knew the only thing she could do. She had to call for backup.

Selina walked into the bathroom and closed the door as quietly as she could. She dialed the familiar number. It rang and rang before going to voicemail. Sighing heavily, she called again and again before Jason finally answered his phone.

“What?” Jason snapped.

“Come to the old Motel on Hardwick Lane,” Selina said.

“What?” Jason said in confusion.

“Just get here,” Selina hissed before hanging up on him.

Selina cracked open the door to look over at the bed. Y/n was back to being out cold. Selina walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains. Several long minutes went by when Selina finally heard the familiar sound of Jason’s bike. Selina stepped outside of the motel room and flagged down Jason.

He yanked off his helmet and then walked over to where Selina stood.

“What the fuck is going on Selina?” Jason demanded.

“Come with me,” Selina said.

Jason had no other choice but to follow her inside of the motel room. Selina quickly shut the door behind him. Jason scanned the room. His eyes stopped at the bed. His heart dropped and his stomach rolled. Jason quickly looked over at Selina.

“How? Where?” Jason stumbled over his words.

“Joker,” Selina simply said.

Jason hurried over to the side of the bed. Carefully he dropped down next to her. She let out a small whimper. Taking her hand in his, Jason stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. His throat felt thick as he held back the tears. Y/n was covered in bruises. Blood stained her skin and her clothes. Jason could see where Selina had bandaged most of her wounds.

“Jay she’s really sick,” Selina said.

Jason finally looked over at her.

“Did he inject her with the virus?” Jason’s voice cracked as he asked a question.

“With double the dose, Jay. I have to go, she says that she has some cures hidden away at her apartment,” Selina said.

Jason shook his head. “I’ve been in her apartment. It’s trashed,”

“She had a backup plan, Jason. I know where it’s hidden and along with her notes,” Selina explained.

Jason said nothing as he looked back over her. Her hair was soaked from sweat. He could feel her shivering, but she was hot to the touch. Her lips were beginning to turn blue. Jason closed his eyes.

“I’ll stay with her,” Jason finally said.

“I won’t be gone long. Call me if she changes or gets worse,” Selina said.

Jason nodded.

Selina quickly slipped from the room. Alone, Jason crawled into the bed to lay next to her. She may be sweating, but Jason couldn’t go much longer without having her in his arms. Curling up behind her, Jason pulled Y/n into his arms.

Several minutes went by when she began to stir in his arms. Jason sat up and looked down at her.

“Y/n,” Jason said softly.

He watched as her eyes began to flutter open. They were glazed over and she looked up at him in confusion.

“Jason,” She whispered her lip quivered.

“Hi doll,” Jason greeted with a grin.

“Please, I can’t do this again,” She cried.

“Do what?” Jason asked.

“I can’t lose you again,” She replied.

Jason was confused.

“Doll, you never lost me in the first place,” Jason said.

Even though her body ached, Y/n slid away from Jason. He tried grabbing her arm to keep her from falling out of the bed.

“I won’t be fooled again, Joker!” She screamed.

“Hey! Hey! It’s me,” Jason said.

Panic had already settled in. With a quick jab with her elbow, Y/n hit Jason in the jaw. He released her and she fell out of the bed with a thud. She cried in pain, the blow hardly did any damage to Jason. He sat on the bed in confusion as Y/n hurried to her feet. She stumbled a little and reached out towards the wall to steady herself.

“Y/n, it’s just the toxins talking. You need to calm down,” Jason said.

She furiously shook her head.

“I refuse to watch you die again,” She said.

Slowly and carefully, Jason climbed off the bed. He held up his hands in surrender so she could see that he meant her no harm.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I am not going to die either,” Jason said.

“Liar!” Y/n roared before lunging at him.

Jason wasn’t expecting that and she caught him off guard. She shoved her open palm upwards catching him in the nose. He heard the sickening crunch of his nose and the immediate warmth from the blood. Swearing, he stumbled backward and ended up tripping over his own feet. Jason let out a deep growl as his ass came into contact with the hard floor.

“Fuck,” Jason swore as he popped his nose back into place.

Y/n stood there in shock. Her vision didn’t blacken like last time. He didn’t disappear like all of the other times. Could this really be Jason?

“Jay?” She whispered.

Jason looked up at her.

“Is it really you?” She asked.

Wiping his bloody hands on his jeans he nodded.

“It’s me, baby, it’s really me,” He said.

She let out a long sigh of relief. Falling to her knees she crawled over to him. Ignoring his bloody hands and his still bleeding nose, Y/n crawled into his lap.

“I’m sorry,” She said.

Jason only wrapped his arms tightly around him.

“It’s okay,” Jason said.

Y/n nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck and took in a deep breath. The familiar scent of him filled her nostrils and it brought immediate relief. Letting the tears finally fall, Y/n closed her eyes and just sank into his warmth.

Jason kissed the top of her head and just rocked her back and forth. He sat on the floor a bloody mess, but he didn’t care. She had dropped off after a few minutes and he didn’t dare move as he didn’t want to risk waking her up.

Fifteen minutes later, she woke with a start.

“Shh, you’re okay,” He said.

You looked up at him.

Jason looked down at you.

“Hey you,” He said.

Their conversation didn’t even get to start as the door to the motel opened. Selina quickly slid inside. She froze at the sight in front of her.

“Whoa, what happened?” Selina asked.

“Just a little misunderstanding, but we’re both okay now,” Jason said.

Selina knelt down and checked Jason's nose.

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up and I’ll administer the cure,” Selina suggested.

Jason helped you to the edge of the bed. He squeezed your hand before disappearing into the bathroom. You looked over at Selina.

“Did you find everything?” You asked.

“It was all there,” Selina said pulling off her bag.

She pulled out your notes and set them on the bed next to you. Next, she pulled out a few viles of the cure.

“Give me 50cc,” You said.

Selina looked at you with wide eyes.

“It was a double injection of the virus Selina, we need to try and counteract it,” You explained.

Selina nodded. Jason was just coming out of the bathroom with a clean face as Selina was filling the syringe with the cure.

“Whoa, that’s a lot,” Jason snapped.

“I know what I’m doing,” You shot back.

Jason fell silent. He dropped down next to you and laced your hand with his.

Selina lifted your sleeve and then cleaned a spot on your arm. You squeezed Jason’s hand just as Selina poked your skin with the needle. You let out a small hiss. You watched as the clear liquid disappeared into your arm.

Slowly, Selina pulled the needle out. She quickly covered the spot with a small band-aid. You were feeling tired again. You leaned your head against Jason’s shoulder.

“Your dad has been blowing up my phone,” Selina said

“Shit, I forgot,” Jason said.

“Forgot, what?” You asked looking up at him.

“Everyone is out looking for you,” Jason answered.

“Oh,” You said.

“Stay with her. I’ll go, keep him and your brothers off your trail,” Selina said.

“Thank you, Selina,” Jason said.

Selina nodded.

“Call me for anything,” Selina said.

Jason nodded in return.

Selina kissed your forehead.

“Keep fighting. I’ll be back soon,” Selina said.

You grabbed her arm before she could turn away. She glanced down at you.

“Thank you,” You said.

Selina gave you a soft smile.

“Anytime, you’re family,” Selina replied before quickly leaving.

The two of you sat in silence for a long time. Jason wanted to know what happened. You knew that, but you weren’t quite sure if you were ready to relive everything that happened with Joker.

“I’m sorry,” Jason’s apology broke the silence.

You looked up at him in confusion.

“Why are you sorry?” You asked him.

“I should have known that Joker wasn’t done with you. I know better that he’s a psychotic piece of shit,” Jason explained.

“Hey,” You said cutting him off.

Jason refused to look down at you.

You grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you.

“You are not to blame for this. Creating this cure was my decision, Jason. I knew what I was getting myself into. Especially, after discovering that Joker was behind everything. I kept pushing. Not you. Me.” You told him.

Jason swore and got to his feet. Your hand slid out of his as he began to pace back and forth.

“I’m going to kill him once and for all,” Jason snarled.

“No!” You practically shouted.

Jason stopped pacing and looked at you.

“Hey, it will be alright, I know what I’m doing,” Jason said.

You shook your head.

“Jay, it’s different this time, okay?” You said.

Jason knelt down in front of you.

“Jason, I need to tell you something,” You told him your hand came up to cup his cheek.

Jason placed his hand over yours.

“What is it?” Jason asked.

“Joker knows our fears, Jason. He used mine against me and he’ll use yours against you and the same for everybody else,” You explained.

“Y/n, what happened?” Jason asked.

You knew you had to tell him. You took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“You have to promise to stay calm and that you won’t storm out of here on a mission,” You said.

Jason mulled the decision over. Right now he would have agreed on anything and everything for you.

“I promise,” Jason said.

So you began to recount what had happened. You started with coming back to finding your apartment once again trashed. You told him how you tried fighting Joker’s goons off, but you weren’t strong enough to beat the three of them. You explained how you woke tied up and trapped in a room with Joker.

The more you explained what had happened with Joker you could see the anger setting in Jason’s face. His hand curled into a fist and he began to shake when you told him how he used a crowbar on you. Jason got to his feet and paced while you continued on.

You filled him in on how he injected you with a larger dose. That your fears come to life in hallucinations. You told Jason how you had to watch him die over and over again which made you feel like a piece of you was dying every time you had to watch the life leave his eyes.

“There were so many times that I wanted to give up,” You told him.

“You’re too damn stubborn for that,” Jason said with a smirk.

You couldn’t help but smile.

“But there was just enough hope left in me that I knew that if I kept holding on that I’d be able to see you again. To see Dick, Tim, and Damian. I also knew that if I gave up that there wouldn’t be anyone out there to perfect my cure and to beat Joker all together,” You said.

“You beat him this time, Y/n. And together we’re going to bring him down,” Jason said.

You gave him a sad smile.

“Look at me Jason, I am in no condition to continue this battle,” You told him as your body began to shiver again.

Jason held back his concerns. He watched as you crawled to the top of the bed so you could slip under the covers.

“That’s fine. You be the brains and I’ll be the muscle. That’s how we work best anyways,” Jason said.

You forced a smile to keep yourself from whimpering in pain.

“You’re not going to be able to take him down yourself, Jay,” You told him.

“Then I’ll bring backup,” Jason said.

“You’re not a team player,” You reminded him.

“For you, I will be,” Jason said.

You coughed as you slid further under the blankets.

“That’s a lot to ask of your brothers. From your family,” You replied.

“They love you Y/n, you know they’ll do it,” Jason answered.

Jason noticed how you gasped several times as you struggled to breathe. You were sweating again.

“Can we talk about this later? I need a nap,” You asked.

Jason sat on the edge of the bed.

“Of course,” He said softly.

Jason noticed how the left part of your face began to twitch. He watched a spasm roll down the left side of your body.

“Could you get me some water?” You asked, your throat was suddenly dry.

Jason shot off the bed and into the bathroom to fill up a glass. When he came back into the main part of the room you were already sleeping. Setting the glass on the nightstand, Jason took a seat next to you once again. The symptoms were coming back in full force. Your body wasn’t sweating the toxins out and it looked as if your body was rejecting the cure.

What the hell was he supposed to do? You were sick. There was a good possibility that you could die. Being cooped up in this motel room wasn’t going to help you either. You needed real help. More than what he and Selina could do for you. Star City was on the outside of Gotham and he could drive you there, but at the state you were in Jason worried that you wouldn’t make it that far out of town. Swearing, Jason left the motel room so he didn’t wake you.

Dialing Dick’s number he waited for his brother to answer.

“Where the fuck are you?” Dick demanded.

“Hi to you too,” Jason snapped.

Dick sighed. “Seriously, Jay, where are you?” Dick asked.

“I need you and the others to meet me at the Manor in fifteen,” Jason said.

“Why?” Dick asked.

“Stop questioning me and just do it,” Jason growled before hanging up.

Shoving his phone into his jacket pocket, Jason went back in. He knew he had his bike, but he was determined to get you to the Manor in one piece. Wrapping you up in the blanket, Jason picked you up and carried you out.

Using one arm, Jason was able to get on his bike and keep you cradle against his chest. Revving his engine, Jason pulled away from the curb and sped through Gotham. Every time you whimpered in pain, Jason looked at you. He could tell that you were fading. He went even faster and prayed that the police were busy elsewhere.

Once he made it through Gotham, he hit the max speed on his bike as he raced back towards the Manor. At the Manor, Jason parked his bike and with you still in his arms he ran up the stairs. He pushed open the massive oak door.

“Bruce! Alfred!” Jason shouted.

The two men came around the corner with his brothers hot on his heels.

“Y/n,” Dick gasped.

“Hurry, she’s dying,” Jason hissed and everyone split apart running around trying to gather everything they needed as Bruce lead Jason down to the Batcave with you still in his arms.

“Stay with me,” Jason whispered as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #selina kyle #joker #batman #what lies beneath #reader imagine #reader interactive #reader is female

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gylisaa · 6 years

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So I get asked to do a tattoo blog ALOT, and while I don’t see myself as tattooed enough to warrant one – all of y’all do, so here we go.

My first tattoo, the one considered to be the ‘gateway’ tattoo.

My first tattoo! I drew myself, mistakes and all when I was 17, and my best friend Hannah treated me to it on my 18th birthday and she got the same tattooed on her other arm. Best friends 5eva. So no underage tattoos here guys! Not for lack of trying…>:)

Now, if I HAD got tattooed underage, I can honestly say I would have been lumped with a monstrosity for life – I drew up my own design of a trad style anchor, with two swallows either side – doesn’t sound that bad right? Well I wanted it in traditional garish colours, and no where other than my lower abdomen. Let’s just say thank fuck for tattoo artists who check ID and don’t just ‘take my word for it, my mum said I’m allowed one and I’m deffo 18.’

I had the tattoo bug from a very early age, didn’t help that we were regulars at festivals like The Bulldog Bash – a motorbike, music and booze festival run by the Hells Angels, which happened to be a stones throw from our front door. My other best pal Naomi, got her first tattoo there, underage ! And it was me who got called the bad influence!!

Anyway, I fucking love art, so much so I wanna be the art. Is that so strange?

My next tattoo was on a whim, with an old friend of mine in London, we filled up on chocolate vodka, decided to get ‘matching’ hand tattoos and she ended up with an ace of spades, while I ended up with a tiny anchor that has since spread so much it needs explaining every time I show it. Scratcher tattoos, for the win!

On my right hand, a tiny anchor tattoo sits on my finger! Yes, that is an anchor.

My third tattoo, and my first proper learning curve, was that some tattoo artists don’t just ‘know’ what you want! I was besotted with Valerie Vargas style tattoos at this point, having just discovered her work in several tattoo mags, and so when Ryan and I booked a day session I showed the guy a picture I liked and said ‘I want something like that, please.’

19 years old, and shy AF, he showed me a stencil briefly and slapped it on my upper arm, I have a mole on that arm (about where your TB jab might be) and he’d positioned the design – that I’d hardly seen – so the lady’s face had a huge mole on it!

I asked if he could move it, and he scrubbed my arm roughly and moved the stencil. By now I’d seen the design and it wasn’t what I wanted. Feeling too rude to say so and ask for a new one to be drawn up, I sat through an hour or so knowing I hated my tattoo.

Here’s the lesson I have since learnt…

TATTOOS DON’T FUCKING COME OFF!

They are on you FOR LIFE.

That is what you are paying for. A permanent mark. A permanent design that you will look at – FOREVER. If you don’t like it – speak up ! A tattoo artist doesn’t want you to be unhappy! They want you to love your art, on paper, and on skin. It’s their job, and generally – their passion too. Communicate! Be specific, your artist will want to work with you to get an end product you are happy with living with, and they are happy scarring you with.

So yeah, here she is, and she’s remained untouched since that fateful day. Sorry hun.

A few centuries later, had a spell of homelessness, living on the dole and finally getting our acts together and adding to the clan – Lily was born. And upon her ejection, it was time for another tattoo.

I got my second and third finger tatts on Ryan and I’s anniversary, so as an ode to my two loves of my life, I opted for a heart for Ryan (hint hint, I would like a ring) and an L for…Loopy Lily the First. This is one of those photos that at the time I thought was beautiful and now she is grown look back on and think ..urgh Potato Child.

Sorry babe, you are beautiful now.

On maternity leave and with money and time to kill, the arm began to fill up. This was done at Dust n Bones Tattoo in Plymouth, by lovely Robin!

Brightened up the peg something chronic!

Then! Fate struck, and two ‘brummies’ immigrated to Looe one fine day in 2017, (infact, TODAY! Two years ago!) Ryan noticed a shop being refit whilst on a job, and Lo! The Vault in Looe came into our lives, bringing with it two of the best people ON THE PLANET. Melanie Allen (then Bates!) and Cat Allen. We even made them a song. But let’s not go off on that tangent.

Ironically, most of our friends in Cornwall are not Cornish natives, not sure if that says more about Cornwall being The Place To Be, or if it means Cornish folks are…weird AF.

Anyway! Ryan went in, introduced himself (and me, although I was none the wiser a friendship egg was being laid.) And booked himself in for a hand tatt. Long story short – we go there for all our tattoos now, I recommend them to everyone I know – even Aussies, y’never know when one may be visitin’. And frankly, if anyone else were to touch me with a needle I’d feel like I was cheating.

In 2018, Mel and Cat invited us to be part of their wedding, and we were blessed with being a part of their happiest ever day – what an honour!

The hand tattoo that started it all, and our place settings at M & C’s wedding!

And so, here are several tattoos laid upon me by the one and only Catherine Rope Head Allen.

Crystal Ball, the runes mean success, luck all that kinda shit.

Friday 13th tattoo, lucky ol’ 13! Ryan got one too, and he tattooed one on Cat!

A birthday tattoo, and yes I drank tea as it was stabbed into me!

My finger tattoos, and not to sound like a pussy but these are up there with most painful tattoo! I love Cat but when she tattoos me sometimes I’d like to punch her.

One for the Foot Fetishers

Oh, my most recent tattoo is the swallow on my foot, and I nearly forgot to mention my own mishaps – tattooing ‘Love Hate’ on my toes on Christmas day, probably not my greatest idea, but it was funny at the time. And what’s life for, if not for laughing.

Another ‘home job’ a sugar skull on my thigh. Hurt like fuck and Ryan did a line too. A blurry photo honestly does it justice.

The rest of my arm, a crescent moon which was done by Robin at Dust N Bones, which i got ‘cus I liked it. (Life aint always deep and meaningful!) and then following a few successes with my blog and writing in general I got a writing hand, with the word ‘Mother’. This was my own design and tattooed by the wonderful Cat! It actually covers over some scars which was pretty poignant – like making an ugly reminder of a hard time into something that I am proud of and truly self-made. I’ve done well since that period of life, and now whenever I see my arm I am reminded of it.

Lucky Horseshoe – Freshly done! This tattoo was a nod to my first love Amy (RIP), Also Ryan tells me I am supernaturally lucky (that’s true!) and he recently got a tattoo that said ‘Fuck Luck’. So its an ode to being a ying/yang. He’s unlucky, but I’ve got enough luck for the both of us.

Excuse the shite photo, but have you ever tried to take a photo of the bottom of your arm?! This piece was just a gap filler I decided on, on the day. Super bright and colourful dagger and rose.

So… I THINK that is it! Theres another anchor on my ankle, stabbed into me, by me. It’s not too bad actually! I’ve got another tattoo booked this weekend – so we will have to wait and see what that is!! I’m sure I’ll document it all on Instagram…so be sure to check that out! ( @Rocknrollmother_)

I’ve popped a link in above to The Vault’s Facebook if you wanna have a nosy at Cats most brilliant work – I am not the greatest advert for her amazing talent. Their Instagram is here.

That said! A few of you asked for more tattoo blogs, so there will be more to come! Watch this space for a walk through of Ryan’s tattoos! (Wayyyy more interesting than mine) And tattoo etiquette – a guide to getting your first, third or the rest of your tattoos! Etc. If there’s anything you’d like to read, drop a comment or message on my social media.

Thankyou for reading, I hope you enjoyed it (:

My Tattoos! So I get asked to do a tattoo blog ALOT, and while I don't see myself as tattooed enough to warrant one - all of y'all do, so here we go.

#cornwall tattoo #looe tattoo #tattoo #tattoo blog #tattoo care #tattoo guide #tattoos #the vault

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thorne93 · 6 years

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Curious Conundrum (Part 24)

Prompt: You’re John Watson’s sister. One day you decide to visit your brother for lunch, only to meet the infamous Mr. Holmes…

Word Count: 1468

Warnings: language, flirtation, sexual innuendos (maybe? idfk), murder/crime/case related stuff, angst, jealousy…

Notes: Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong Not only did she beta, but I literally couldn’t have written half these scenes without her help. She contributed majorly, even wrote some parts of scenes. I am forever in her debt.

Also, this starts AFTER Season 2, episode 1. I don’t follow all the episodes, but it does follow the timeline and hit some major events : )

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As with all things in life, the things you want to focus on took a backseat. John and Mary were engaged, and they were planning their wedding. In a horrible attempt, John asked Sherlock to be his best man. And to your great shock, Mary asked you to be Maid of Honor.

“Me? Why me?” you asked, perplexed. You knew Mary had a few close girl friends that she could’ve chosen.

She put her arm through yours as the two of you walked along the shops. “Because you’re John’s sister, I really like you, and not to mention, if I don’t make you Maid of Honor, then some other woman has to walk down the aisle with Sherlock.”

This thought hadn’t occurred to you, but now that it had, your blood started to bubble.

You grinned widely at her and said, “I think you’re going to be a great addition to the family.”

At this, she laughed merrily and the two of you went into shop after shop where she tried on probably a hundred dresses. You liked Mary, always had. Well, at first, of course you were skeptical, she was dating your big brother after all. But you could see the effect she had on him, a way she had with him. She was compassionate, yet stern. Something you think John needed in his life.

The two of you had become pretty good friends, in the few times she had stopped by to check on you during your dark time. Sometimes she came with John, watching after you. Other times she came on her own on her way from work. But either way, it was an incredibly sweet gesture, seeing as most people don’t go try to check in on their boyfriend’s little sister when she’s depressed. But Mary wasn’t like most people. She was kind-hearted and forgiving, but not a woman to be reckoned with and you really liked that about her.

After you and Mary had finished, she still hadn’t found a dress. You assured her the look wasn’t over and her dream dress was out there somewhere. You launched into full on Maid of Honor mode as you worked with her to see what all she still needed to get done. You asked her what she wanted John's help with and what she wanted your help with.

So far, it seemed she and John would pick his tux, their rings, the church, the reception, and the food. That left the dress, veil, accessories, shoes, flowers, decorations, and the bridal party attire.

With all of this, you focused on your real job and the wedding, trying to be at John and Mary’s every beck and call. If it was any other time, it would’ve been fine, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized this was bad. Being Mary’s Maid of Honor gave you an excuse to avoid Sherlock. Trying to wiggle out of hanging out, helping on cases, coming to his apartment to spend the night. You always gave an excuse that you were either surfing the web for tips, shopping online, or putting together lists.

You couldn’t help but be prone to not want to be around him. Being around him hurt almost as much as when you thought you’d never see him again. Something about those haunting blue crystal eyes, those long fingers, that notorious coat, his dark curls -- something about them turned your stomach when you saw him. Anxiety and fear would rip through you every time.

One day, this would be a dream. One day, you’d wake up in an asylum, realizing you’d finally snapped. One day, he’d really be gone and your poor heart would just stop beating.

Sherlock continued to try though, he kept pushing slightly. He wanted to give you your space, but he worried if he let up too much, you would feel like he’d disappeared again. So he kept at it, reminding you constantly that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. Yet, while he was continuing to try and push you, he had his own Best Man duties he had to attend to, which just caused the chasm to grow even further.

Moving in together had even been put on hold because you weren’t ready to leap just yet, and finding the time to do all of that would’ve been impossible. At least until Mary and you were out looking for her dress once more, after you’d looked at flowers, centerpieces, table cloths, and chosen the wine to be served.

The saleswoman was fussing over Mary’s train as she eyed herself in the mirror, then you as you walked around her, assessing how it fit her body.

“Just think, Y/N, this might be you someday!” she said with a giddy grin.

At first, you had no idea how to respond. Marriage? The thought had crossed your mind before Sherlock’s little… event, but now… you could hardly stay in the same room without feeling anxious. It’s not that you didn’t want to. When you thought about it -- Sherlock in a tux, waiting for you at the end of some aisle, all your friends and family there, it sounded quite nice. Even fast forwarding through domestic living. The two of you working cases, solving crimes, helping the justice system just to come home to each other. Someone to lean on… Well, isn’t that what anyone wanted in life? Someone to love and be loved?

You laughed softly. “I’m not sure Sherlock’s the marriage type,” you noted. He had already made leaps and bounds to even date you, then kiss, then have sex. Marriage might be asking too much of the poor man.

“I think any man is marriage material if they find the right girl.”

“I suppose,” you hummed.

“Speaking of, how’s the moving in going?” she asked.

“Moving in? I--uh--”

Shit, you forgot you told her.

“You haven’t started yet have you?” she asked and the saleswoman stepped away to grab something.

“Well… I…” you began feebly, no excuse coming to your head.

“Y/N,” she began in that motherly, chastising way she had. “You can’t put it off forever.”

“I don’t want to. I just… I need time.”

She pressed her lips in a line, nodding before she hugged you. “I’m not going to tell you or make you do anything you aren’t ready for, but I also feel like I should remind you that the man is trying. The least you can do is try to meet him in the middle.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“So what’s got you hesitant? Do you think you don’t love him any more or?”

You shook your head. “That’s not it. I love him too much. I’m just scared that… well that I’ll get too close again and he’ll hurt me again.”

She bobbed her head understandingly before she took your hand. “Marriage is unpredictable. You don’t know what challenges lie ahead, what obstacles you have to face, but knowing you’ll have someone by your side to face them with makes it all worth it. The nerves, the anxiousness, the worry, it’s all worth it in the end. So I want you to think about the fact that life is short, and if you spend all this time pushing him away, you may wish you had never done it in the first place.”

Your head hung at her words, chewing your lips.

“I’m not trying to talk you into staying with him, or moving in, or anything of the sort,” she continued, peering at you gently. “I just don’t want to watch you two miss your chance. You’re a lot like John, you let the pain of your past stop your happiness of the future. Take it from me, you don’t want to do that. You don’t want to live in the past. It never does anyone any good.”

“You’re too wise,” you remarked with a slight laugh.

“You’re about the only one who thinks so,” she joked lightly.

But her words sunk in to you, deep. They dropped anchor and latched on. She was right. All of this pushing Sherlock away had only been hurting the two of you, the last thing you wanted to do.

After going through all these beautiful and sentimental things for the wedding, you’d been pushing down bubbling feelings for Sherlock. You’d forgotten how happy it had made you to see him after a long day, or how thrilled you were the first time you kissed, or how euphoric your nights could be with him.

You didn’t want to forget any more, you didn’t want to dwell anymore. You wanted to live, in the present, with Sherlock.

You decided to go home that evening, and start packing, ready for a new life, a new chapter with Sherlock.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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bubmyg · 7 years

Text

endearment - myg (aspects: 2)

a/n: i’m soft for min yoongi, that’s all you need to know about this. this is tooth rottingly gross and fluffy. you might wanna know that too before diving in idk. based off the prompt “do you always look at me like that?”

Word Count: 1,721

[gif creds here]

The standing mirror was a cheap piece, lined in thin mahogany balsa wood that frayed where you’d hauled it into your bedroom. You hadn’t bothered to hang it, nor fix it from the last time it slid haphazardly down the wall to settle at more of a acute angle with the thick throw of your carpet. Because of this, you were easily able to catch the sudden movement beyond the curl of your bare toes.

Black sock clad feet framed the natural slope just beyond your heel, a familiar pair of arms locking easily across your waist. You hummed as feathery soft tendrils tickled at your neck while chapped lips sponged at your shoulder.

You continued to fiddle meticulously with the clasp of your watch, murmuring fondly, “Miss me?”

“Always,” Yoongi grunted against your skin, the thick vibration of his timbre eliciting goosebumps that ruined your indifferent disposition. His grip on you tightened when you leaned for the dresser to deposit your watch and bracelets with the remaining disarray of your jewelry. He anchored you against his stout torso as if your figure would disappear into the carpet below if his palm released any pressure on your stomach.

The gentle tune in the back of your throat died with a fond flutter as you swallowed, tucking your chin to your chest as you pressed your thumbs against the undersides of his wrists. That was enough for his palms to roll, gladly accepting the lace of your fingers over his knuckles as his chin slotted to the dip in your shoulder. When you tore your gaze away from his pale skin clutching at your own, you found him already staring at you through the mirror.

Yoongi was silent, watching you quietly as you bit the inside of your cheek, an attempt at clawing away the sudden aggressive thrum to your heart. His obsidian rich eyes stunned you into putty, particularly when his lips tugged into a toothless smile. But then did his gaze leave yours, soft gaze ducking under crescent shaped eyelids as a light pink dusted his cheeks.

Instead, he preoccupied his lips by sponging a kiss to the side of your neck. “Do you always look at me like that?” He inquired lowly, the vibrato of his tone etching just outside the shell of your ear.

Your mouth ringed subconsciously, drawing in a sharp breath as you lightly squeezed his palm. “Like what-” You nudged him lightly with your elbow, “-with my eyes?”

His hands slid from yours, falling flat across your waist as he slowly rotated you to face him. You took pride in the continue flush to his skin even past the pointed glare through his eyelashes as his chin tilted. Tongue in cheek, he released the tension in his shoulders as he sighed, “You know what I mean.”

Embarrassed and shy Yoongi was a treasure, yet, you genuinely were unaware of his reference seeing as you’d done nothing but unattractively struggle with your watch before glancing at him through the splotched glass of your ten dollar mirror. Amused, you lightly drew the back of your knuckles to rest against his cheek, “No, I don’t. But you’re blushing-”

He swiftly tucked his fingers around your own, securing your hand into a ball that he drew back against your side. When his gaze returned to yours from the trek of his actions, your next playful retort died into the cavity of your chest. There was something deeply emotional, void of any amusement yet stuffed full of a confusion meshed in fond.

Yoongi had definitely never looked at you like that before.

“I hardly think I deserve for you to look at me like that,” He confessed after a moment. His eyes trilled from your own as he continued to speak, “Like every ounce of love and affection you have rooted in that much too big heart of yours rests solely on me.”

You were frowning now, “You know I love you-”

“I know,” Dark eyes flicked back to your own, yet it was his articulation that stole away your breath this time, “Sometimes, I just don’t know why.”

Your mind reeled for a split second before you were scoffing. Lightly, you placed your palms against his shoulders and pushed. “Sit down,” You deadpanned, eyeing the tangled mess of sheets perched at the end of the mattress.

His step back was hesitant through his gurgled protest of, “-what?”

“Yoongi,” Another muted step back and he was watching you carefully under tousled blond. You sighed shakily, your emotions catching in your throat as you whispered, “Sit down. Please.”

Pouted pink lips drew into a thin frown as he shuffled backward, perching delicately atop the unflattering mess of white sheets and the black duvet. His legs involuntarily swung to cross at the knee, hands folding across the exposed bit of skin from his ripped jeans. You didn’t speak, simply shaking your head as you placed his hands in his lap, gently nudging his legs flat so you could clamber rather ungracefully into his lap.

“What are you-” His inquiry died when his hands lifted to steady you, clammy palms catching on your skin just underneath the hem of your blouse. He allowed you to settle yourself so that your eyes were just above his before he spoke again, voice trembling, “What are you doing?”

You were shaking your head again, placing your index finger against his pursed lips. “Hush,” You scolded, taking the opportunity to swipe a kiss to his suddenly wrinkled nose, “I have some things to tell you.”

“I don’t need you to-”

You kissed Yoongi’s mouth this time, a chaste peck that had him chasing after your mouth with another unintended pout. Your teeth cut sharply into your bottom lip, suppressing the unabashed giggle that threatened to escape. “I suppose I’ll start with that,” You hummed, poking happily at his rolled bottom lip, “Your stupid pout. I love it. Have I told you that before?”

“I-”

You delicately danced the tip of your fingertips up the rise of his cheeks, sliding your fingers happily through the soft locks of hair just beyond his red tipped ears. “I love you hair too. The black and the mint and the blond. All of it. I wish you’d let me play with it more.”

“You can do whatever you want.”

You ignored his comment, “What about your cheeks? Have I told you how much I want to just squish them sometimes? I love how squishable they are. Especially when you’re being grumpy about something.”

Yoongi was clearly trying to suppress an embarrassed smile at this point, tongue returning to the sanction of his back molars as your hands continued their downward spiral to rest on the crook of his shoulders. Your eyes weren’t on his, yet instead focused on the elegant dip in his porcelain skin just under the off center collar of his t-shirt. Your thumbs pressed into the junction of his collarbones, prepping yourself with an exaggerated intake of breath, “I love your body, too. Your stupidly great legs and your stupidly tiny waist and your stupidly comfortable tummy. All of it.”

Past a thick swallow did he attempt to choke, “What, are you only with me for my-”

The flick of your eyes cut him off, drowning the sarcastic response with the embarrassment that immediately flooded from him. You were looking at him like that again, the bright adoration filling him to the very core with warmth, content, happiness.

He still wasn’t sure he deserved it.

“But most of all, I love you,” You felt the tears springing behind your eyes as your grip faltered against the cotton of his shirt. “I love that when you get embarrassed you do that thing with your tongue and your hands on your neck. I love your silly little dances and those cute noises you make when you get overly excited about something. I love when your face scrunches up because I know you’re not actually mad.”

“I love your heart. I love how much you absolutely adore and care for everyone around you, how accepting you are. I love how incredibly intelligent you are, how calculated you are with your words, how that transcends into your unbelievable work ethic. I love how passionate you are, at home, in the studio, on stage, all of it.”

You beat him to the sudden part of his mouth, overlapping whatever speech was about to emit with a gentle hand to his jaw. You didn’t recognize the tenderness that leaked with your words, your speech so faintly soft that it wouldn’t have been decipherable if it weren’t for your intimate proximity.

“Every single part of you deserves to be loved and I’m thankful everyday to be the one that gets to remind you of that.”

A startled oomf! fueled by the breath you weren’t aware you’d been holding emitted as you were crushed against Yoongi. You recovered, easily looping your arms around his neck to bury your face against the crook of your elbow and his shoulder. His arms bracketed your waist, anchoring you to him as he had not fifteen minutes ago in front of that stupid mirror.

“I love you so much,” His voice muffled against your skin, lips pressing to every piece of skin he could reach. You revealed in the affection, happily allowing him to pull back to cup your cheeks and shower them with delicate presses of his mouth. His cheeks were still flushed hot as he paused momentarily to properly look at you, thumbs easily casting away the fraction of unwanted tears that tracked the slope of your nose. The slightest sliver of a smile developed past the unabashed glimmer in his own irises, “This doesn’t change my mind, though.”

You frowned at him to which he was grinning fully now, teeth and gums and crinkles and all.

“I definitely don’t deserve you.”

You glowered at Yoongi, folding your arms tightly to your chest under the bend of his elbows as he continued to cradle your face. “I guess I forgot something,” You huffed, poking your tongue out at him.

“What?”

“Your stupid gummy smile. I love it. I can’t be mad at it. Or you. It’s infuriating.”

“So you are only with me for my looks-”

“Min Yoongi-!”

#bts #bts scenarios #bts reactions #min yoongi #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi scenarios #bts imagine #yoon #idk what else to tag this as im-#aspect series #my writing #this is so gross and cheesy wow i kind of love it #bc i jsut wanna profess my love to yoongi #:-(

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