#and then panic once I told her that yes - I am actively looking elsewhere and I have a few things lined up already

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

May I request something where Leonardo and reader are really good friends and reader gets kidnapped and turned into a mutant. Leo blames himself, but reader reassures him it’s not his fault and they end up kissing. 💙💙

I'm To Blame [Leo x Mutated!reader]

Being turned into a mutant becomes the least of your problems when your closest friend believes it to be his fault. No one could have predicted what was going to happen; no one can control everything in their life. If only Leonardo would have realized that.

It started as leverage-abduction. The Turtles confront them, or you be pumped full of mutagen. Or worse.

The bait had been set, and the boys had no choice but to take it. Hook, line, sinker. You were held in a Foot-controlled lab, bound next to a glass canister of the ooze, a line in your arm and only the clan scientist in control of the drip standing between you and a possibly grotesque fate. You struggled and squirmed, but it was no use; there was no escape on your own.

There was a crash outside the lab doors, men shouting, guns firing, but bursting through the doors were your four saviors. Your friends, allies, and family. Leo fought his way to the front, a new kind of urgency consuming him as the gravity of the situation hit him. Any closer, and you would be mutated.

"Halt!" a soldier shouted over the clamor, a team of heavily armed men forming a semicircle around you and the scientist.

A hand grabbed hold of the back of your neck, yanking you toward him. He forcefully stretched your arm out and displayed the tube, making a note of their predicament, and the boys grimaced. Raph growled that deep, rage-fuelled rumble, while Donnie felt a shudder run up his spine seeing the canister of mutagen. What DNA the concoction was infused with, they had no idea of. There could have been anything in there. If the dosage wasn't carefully monitored, she could be killed!

"Weapons down, turtles, or this girl will be transformed right in front of you," the scientist said coolly. Leo stepped forward, blade drawn and teeth bared, but a warning shot was fired into the wall next to them. Mikey yelped and ducked into Raph, who blocked him partially with his huge frame. The scientist leaned down and inspected the canister, humming, "It seems like this batch is highly unstable. Is this a game you want to play, mutants?"

"You're bluffin'," snarled Raph, and his hands gripped his sais impossibly tighter.

The scientist raised his brows, his free hand wandering to the activator to the mutagen. One tap of a button, and your humanity would be ripped away. "Perhaps. But can you really be sure?" he inquired almost casually. "Only one flex of my finger, and we'll see."

Clenching his jaw, Raph shifted, lowering his weapons a little.

Leo mentally gauged the man power that was currently present. They could take them, he knew they could!

But Leo couldn't trifle with the canister currently attached to you. Breathing heavily, he dropped his swords, which clanged loudly on the floor. His eyes met yours, solemn, and you broke into a violent fit.

"Leo!" you cried out, lunging forward as he told his brothers to stand down. "Don't do this! Please, please, get out of here!"

He only shut his eyes, and with a wave of his hand, they all let go of their weapons in succession.

"We're not going to leave you!" Donnie yelled in return, his voice shaky.

There was a deafening silence in which it felt like a standoff, the boys panting, trying to formulate a battle plan in their heads. Leo stared at the scientist with one of the most hate-filled gazes you'd ever witnessed.

One of the soldiers in the back turned halfway around and whispered something into his earpiece.

The hefty metal doors right behind them flung open, a line of large men clad in black carrying what looked like modified cattle prods. The rods popped with electric currents as they closed in on the boys, who were only able to whirl around quick enough to meet the electrified weapons, and were instantly stunned. Currents no human could withstand brought them to their knees, Mikey shouting shrilly as he fell forward.

Groaning, Leo kneeled. He turned to the scientist at your side, his eyes darting between you and him. "You got us. Now let her go," he said. His voice was low and raspy.

Hand hovering over the button, the scientist spoke while he looked you in the eye, "You know, we were short of a healthy test subject."

Mikey gasped and planted his palms on the floor, "You can't do that, man!"

The scientist sighed and looked down at you, who was wildly struggling against your restraints. He muttered in a matter-of-fact tone, "But I can." It seemed that after a moment of contemplation, eyes going out of focus as they fell on your face and the tears running down it, he let out a reluctant groan, and motioned to one of the men behind him. "Take her elsewhere. We'll figure out what to do with her once we get these," he glanced back at the turtles, "squared away. Clear?"

"That wasn't the deal!" roared Leo, rapidly surging toward the scientist. Another electric shock was sent through him, but he kept on, and the brothers all followed suit.

You winced as the clamor rose and all hell broke loose, the boys ripping their weapons away from the men, guns being fired—your ears rang and a bullet even whizzed by your head.

Leo came at the scientist with his blade, the cowardly man trying to duck away in time. Two soldiers came up on their flank, one with a semi-automatic, and the other brandishing the electric rod. Except before they could get close to even shock him, Mikey's nunchucks landed a heavy blow on one of their heads, causing him to stumble toward you.

And fell right onto the button.

"No!" you heard both Donnie and Leo scream as the drip was activated, Mutagen flowing through the tube and into your body.

Everything became a blur. Within minutes you mutated, firstly writhing on the floor in agony as the burning liquid coarsest through you. Bones shifted, tissue changed, muscles spasmed. Your senses were temporarily blinded.

"Idiots!" snarled the scientist, backing away from you as you transformed. Raph was occupied holding off the soldiers. Mikey couldn't bear to watch. Donnie didn't know what to do, and Leo was...devastated.

Your strength grew. You broke free from your restraints. The firefight continued, this time aimed at you rather than just the Turtles. But the boys wouldn't let them hurt you. In your panic, you'd almost attacked them—your family. Leo hollered at Donnie and Mikey to get you out of there while they covered you, and seconds later, you were all barrelling out of the facility, alarms blaring, guns sounding, men shouting.

Yes, the Mutagen was highly unstable. You couldn't control yourself. And your body, it wasn't done reacting to the ooze.

You didn't know what happened next. You fell unconscious just after escaping. The last thing you can remember is Leo catching you in his arms. Him helping to carry you back home, to the lair. Your new home. You were one of them, now.

Breathing labored, you sat up on the metal table you had been laid on by Donnie. He'd checked your vitals already. Needless to say, so early in your mutation, things were not looking the best. But you would pull through; he was sure of it.

The first face you sas upon waking up was Leo's, worried. His eyes flitted all over you. You hadn't yet seen yourself.

"Y/N," he whispered, hands bracing against the edge of the table. "This...this is my fault," he said.

Donnie scuttled by holding a light and examined your eyes, then asked you to move a bit to see if there were any anomalies such as paralysis. You had some trouble adjusting to your new form, but so far, it wasn't dire.

Everyone came and went, hugging you, saying their piece about how happy they were that you were okay—as okay as you could have been—until Splinter noticed Leo's distress. He told the boys to let you two have a minute alone. Splinter left himself, as well.

The two of you now alone, Leo had a hard time speaking. He couldn't quite find the words to say how sorry he was.

"This isn't your fault," you drawled, still feeling a little loopy from the whole ordeal.

He leaned in, as you couldn't do much beside sit up. "If you hadn't ever gotten involved with us, this would have never happened," he said, lowering his head. "And now you're…"

He paused, and you finished for him, "I'm what? A mutant?" you asked softly. "Leo, I am so lucky to be alive. And it's all thanks to you." He sighed, not believing your words. "They would have killed me, Leo," you added, and took his hands in yours. He looked up at you, blue eyes meeting your own. Had your eye color changed?

"You didn't deserve this," he swallowed.

"Does anyone?"

He stood up. "This happened because I failed, y/n! As a leader, as a friend—"

Not caring about your current state, you slid off the table, landing on your feet with a thud. Your body ached, but you payed it no mind. Leo went rigid as you closed the gap between you two.

Still holding his hands, you told him slowly, "It is not your fault."

Your faces were only a few inches from each other. Unknowing, he gripped your hands. You swore that you could almost hear his heartbeat picking up as you leaned in, lips hovering over his. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but you stopped that thought. "You understand? Not...your...fault…"

His breath hitched when you gently pressed your mouth to his, at first going completely still. But then he closed his eyes, and his arms found their ways around your torso. The kiss was short and gentle, but he was stricken—only when you parted did he whisper a moment later, a new kind of hope inside, "You can live here, with us. You don't have to worry. You shouldn't ever have to worry, y/n."

"I won't worry, Leo," you muttered, letting your head rest on his chest. "Not when you're here with me."

He held you until eventually, everyone filed back in, Splinter smiling warmly at the sight.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt x reader #tmnt bayverse #tmnt leonardo #tmnt leo

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump day 3

Prompt: imprisonment

Warnings: medical trauma

read on AO3!

A Long Way Down

Bright lights pass in quick variables, and it takes Obi-Wan a moment longer than it should to realize he's lying on a stretcher, oxygen mask strapped to his face and wires and cuffs on every available piece of skin. He groans, catching the attention of Commander Cody who is running beside the stretcher.

"Not to worry, General, we are almost at the med bay."

That is exactly why I am worried.

He reaches up slowly to pull the mask off his face as the stretcher slows, looking up at his Marshall Commander. "Cody... what happened?"

"An explosion, sir. Tunnel collapsed," he pauses. Cody already knows his follow up question. "The men are okay. You... Force-pushed them out of the way."

Well, that explains why my body feels like it has been crushed under a ton of rocks... supposedly it has. 

Obi-Wan has no memory of this, but from the grim looks on the faces of all the troopers surrounding him he suspects he 1. doesn't look good and 2. is as bad as he looks.

"How bad?" he asks as they guide the stretcher into the med bay and stop it next to a bed.

Cody looks at Helix, the medical clone who seems to be trying hard not to make eye contact with him. With the penetrating stare of both his Commander and General, Helix finally looks up from the datapad.

"We're gonna have to dunk you, General."

He blinks, letting the words slowly settle into his discombobulated brain. Usually, he would protest. Make a fuss about being fine, because usually, he is, and medical can put their resources elsewhere. Usually, they would lock the doors as soon as he enters-- he glances over and yes, they did. What am I going to do, run? Obi-Wan is fairly sure both of his legs are crushed judging from the odd angles they are at, so he isn't sure how they expect him to make a break for it.

But today, Obi-Wan just lets his head fall back and he stares at the ceiling. He cannot protest because the tightness in his throat won't let him. He's afraid to open his mouth again because if he does his words will turn into sobs and his men do not deserve to see their General cry.

He can feel Cody and Helix's surprise. He doesn't have to look at them to know they are now even more concerned for him now that he hasn't tried to raise hell about being taken to medical. But they also seem to be relieved, so at least he can give them that respite.

He stares at the ceiling as movement begins to happen around him. Medical troopers pulling at the needles and sensors, inserting new ones. It all fades into a blur of hands touching him gently but firmly, frequent pinches and jolts of sharp pain, and the cool stickiness of applicators against his skin. Obi-Wan just stares at the ceiling.

He is fairly convinced that every medical facility has the same designer. Even the Jedi Halls of Healing have walls that are stark white. Sterile white. So bright they rival the glow of the iridescent lights, which is a design flaw in his opinion. Obi-Wan has spent a lot of time seeing these ceilings-- but not because he has spent a lot of time in medical. There is a reason he doesn't like to end up in the med bay, and the reason haunts him every time there is even a prospect of him having to go to see a healer.

Seven-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi had feet too big for his body. It's like he began to hit a spurt, but only his feet realized that growth was the plan and the rest of his body was still figuring out how to stretch his small stature a few inches taller. It gave him the unfortunate nickname of Oafy-Wan, coined by his age-mates who he didn't exactly consider his friends. His clumsiness wasn't horrible, but it was distinctive enough to cause him a bit of trouble when practicing lightsaber katas and doing his physical activity tests.

On this particular day, seven-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi had already had a very bad day. He fell in the middle of a practice spar in front of everyone. He wasn't even doing an acrobatic move or anything, he just fell over his own feet. The roar of “Oafy-Wan” was the only thing he could hear as he stared at the floor in shock of how quickly everything had transpired. Despite Bant's sympathetic reassurance and his other friends trying to overpower the chant, he spent the rest of the lesson trying to make himself as small as possible.

His pouting continued through the day, even to their long-awaited field trip to the Senate Rotunda. He walked with his creche mates, tuning out of their excited conversation of seeing the massive Galactic Senate chambers and instead focusing on the speeders rushing past just meters away from them. He wished to just jump into one and speed away from it all. Despite his prior excitement for this journey out of the Temple, he now wants nothing more than to go back to his dorm and curl up in his bed.

"Don't trip, Oafy-Wan," a familiar snide voice rings in his ear. He turns to see Bruck Chun, one of his age-mates that often leads the cause against him, sneering at him. "It's a long way down."

They're walking along a more narrow section of the street. Just a few meters to the left there is a deep chasm that goes into the lower depths of Coruscant. So deep he cannot see the bottom.

Obi-Wan brushes him away, in no mood to deal with him. "Get lost, Bruck." His arm presses into Bruck's side, pushing him away, which is not to the pleasure of his age-mate. Bruck's eyes narrow, and he jabs his elbow into Obi-Wan's back.

"Don't push me."

Anger surges in Obi-Wan's chest as he staggers forward. He whirls around and uses both hands to push Bruck into the wall of the building they are passing. A few initiates have stopped now to watch them, but as they stand at the back of the group the mass have not noticed their tussle.

"Funny, it seems I'm doing just that."

Bruck runs at him this time, his anger potent in the Force, and Obi-Wan suddenly has the clarity that maybe this isn't a good idea. He jumps out of the way of Bruck's charge, vaguely aware he is standing at the edge of the street now. Bruck skids to a stop.

"Coward," he spits, just as the Master leading their field trip calls for them to stop lagging.

Obi-Wan avoids Bruck's gaze as he passes by him, pointedly smacking his shoulder into his. Obi-Wan sighs, and turns to join the group.

As he turns, he finds himself suddenly caught in the air stream of a speeder that is too close to the sidewalk. He feels his small body lifted off the ground, and he flails in fear at the lack of anything for him to grab onto. A chorus of yelling erupts, most of them either calling his name or Master Vant. Obi-Wan can see the ground, and he tries to position his feet to land there, but another passing speeder sends him into a tailspin.

And Obi-Wan falls.

Even years later as a Jedi Master, Obi-Wan remembers falling down that speeder shaft. When he thinks about it he can hear the screams of his friends as they watched him fall. He can see them peering over the side. Master Vant running up and raising her hand to reach for him in the Force.

Had she reached him a moment earlier she probably could have saved him. But his downward momentum was suddenly ceased as he crashed against a speeder before she had the chance to cushion his descent. And he was met with horrendous pain and the taste of blood. Much like how he feels laying in the med bay now. Everything afterward was a blur.

"Are you ready, General?" Helix asks. Obi-Wan looks past him to see the bacta tank is all set up. Obi-Wan swallows hard, and he says nothing, but Helix takes that as a yes. His stretcher starts to float toward the tank, and he squeezes his eyes shut as the horrible memories come rushing back.

Choking. Obi-Wan expected to wake up in a reality beyond life-- he truly believed he would be returned to the Force, but instead, he woke up choking. He started to panic before he opened his eyes, and when he finally tried to find the reason for his restrictive breathing the initiate realized he can't see either.

He tries to thrash around, but his movements seem to be restricted somehow. Like he is tied up, but he can't feel bounds. His body just isn’t listening to him, which is even more terrifying. He tries to blink through the thick goo that seems to be covering his eyes, but it won't clear. It burns instead. He's trapped in a senseless prison, and he lets his panic radiate outward into the Force. He needs someone to hear him. Find him. Anything.

The Force responds with a collective feeling of shock. He repeats his plea for freedom, and finally, he hears something. Distant talking. Yelling, actually. Frantic. There is the deafening sound of suction, and then Obi-Wan is falling again. Slower than before but in his mind's eye he sees his friends staring down at him. Laughing at him. Oafy-Wan! They cackle. It's a long way down.

He hits the floor. The gel material that once encased him sloshes everywhere. His body curls into a ball and he feels many pairs of hands grabbing him and positioning him onto his back despite his protests. The touches are not comforting. Their goal seems to be to push him right back into the place he just escaped, and he begins to sob in terror. The voices are blending together as his vision begins to tunnel again.

"...sedative wasn't enough."

"How did he wake..."

"Get him back under!"

It was explained to him by one healer that his IV fell out of his arm. Another told him that the dosage was too light. A third said the adrenaline caused his metabolism to spike, making the correct dosage go quicker. Obi-Wan isn't sure why he woke up while in the bacta tank that day, but he suspects knowing the reason wouldn't have changed the panic he feels every time he has to take a dunk.

Obi-Wan grabs Helix's arm as he is about to inject his IV. The medic freezes and looks down at him.

"You have my correct doses from the Temple, correct? For the general anesthetic?"

Helix blinks before nodding. "Of course, General."

"And you know Jedi tend to metabolize quicker as well? You will have someone monitoring my consciousness?"

"Yes sir, we have detailed training from your healers on Jedi care. We will ensure you receive the right dose and don't get too much anesthetic."

He nods with wide eyes. His medic is slightly off in the reason for his inquiries, but it is comforting enough.

Even so, as the drugs begin to take him under he can't help but feel like he is seven again. Faded conversations of the medical troopers become the hushed words between Jedi Healers. The same fear of waking up within the tank again grips him with an iron fist around his already-intubated throat.

Never again could he look at a bacta tank and see it as an innovative medical advance. To Obi-Wan, it is a torturous prison that causes his fear to shamefully make an appearance.

He is positioned into the tank. The transperisteel doors close around him, and already he can feel his heart rate elevating. Why am I not asleep yet? Why am I still awake for this? Am I to do this conscious?

The bacta starts to fill at his feet slowly. He feels the urge to lift his legs and climb away from the rising gel, but his body has already separated from his mind. He cannot slam his fists against the doors and beg to be let free. Cannot scream with the tube down his throat.

As the bacta reaches his knees, he finally feels the heaviness reach his eyes, and Obi-Wan says a last plea to the Force to let him stay asleep for the entirety of his imprisonment.

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2021 #febuwhumpday3 #imprisonment #medical trauma #panic attacks #obi-wan kenobi #initiate obi-wan kenobi #i interpreted imprisonment very loosely as you can tell #star wars #ao3

[mymoodwriting]

Kindness Goes A Long Way

F!Reader x Sicheng

Genre: Post Apocalypse AU

Warning: Fear, Revelations, Minor Self-Harm

Words: 2K

Chapters:

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Epilogue

Prompt: The end of the world is hard to accept as it is, but it’s even harder to be alone. It seems fate had brought you to Sicheng, someone who can definitely survive in the abandoned waste land that had become of Earth. You then find yourself with a group of others, and you might just have a chance at survival. The only problem is there’s something off about the group, something they’re not telling you, and it might mean the difference between life and death.

    You opened your eyes, everything so in focus and full of color. You laid in a bed, wrapped up in the sheets, comfortable. As you sat up you became aware of how strange you felt. You were disoriented, but you had no idea why. You couldn’t remember what happened and how you got here. When you stepped out of the room you realized you were in some house. It seemed empty, and it was very quiet. You walked down the halls, hoping to gain some familiarity, but you didn’t. Instead you found what seemed to be the front door, and reached out to open it.

“You’re awake.”

    You stopped, a hand reaching out and taking yours, turning you around. Your eyes met Sicheng, and it brought a smile to your face. You hugged him tight, a sense of security present as long as he was around.

“What happened?” You asked. “I don’t remember.”

“You took a pretty long nap, nothing to worry about.”

“I feel weird though.”

“That’s normal. The surgery went well, so you just need to adjust.”

“Surgery…”

“Yeah, I should show you the basics.”

    Sicheng sat you down on the couch, talking you through the changes in your body. He took your hand and pressed your fingers against the side of your head, letting your eyes project a screen. It was full of data, your data, about your body and the functions of it, both organic and inorganic. That’s when you realized you weren’t even breathing. There was a lot, but Sicheng didn’t wanna overwhelm you.

“We can be together now.”

“We can?”

“Yup, no more outside issues, just the two of us.”

“So this is home?”

“Yes.”

    A little house tour was necessary, tickling at a sense of familiarity. Afterwards Sicheng took your outside, wanting to show you the new world you’d call home. It was all just so peaceful, and beautiful. The people would greet you, and everyone just seemed so happy, like you. Sicheng was telling you about the town, and the things to do, but your gaze fell elsewhere. Someone in the distance felt familiar, and you wandered over to them.

“Hello…”

“Y/n!” Haechan cheered and pulled you into a hug. “Hi! Hello! I’ve missed you so much.”

“Haechan… hi!” You hugged back. “It’s so good to see you.”

“When did you get up? I thought you’d be recovering.”

“I guess I heal quickly.”

“Y/n!” Sicheng ran over and grabbed you, slightly pulling you away. “Don’t run off like that.”

“Sorry, I just saw Haechan and wanted to say hi.”

“Ah, you recognized him so fast.”

“Yup. Where are you living?”

“A few blocks down, we should hang out.”

“Yeah!”

“Well this is cute and all.” Sicheng began. “So we can make plans later. I’m taking y/n around now.”

“Oh, okay, have fun, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.”

    Sicheng took your hand and started pulling you away, ignoring you as you waved to Haechan. You followed Sicheng, happy to see an old friend, but something started tugging at the back of your mind. You looked around at the world, and it just started to feel wrong. Sicheng didn’t notice, but you were trying to figure this out, and that led down a certain path.

    All of a sudden you were getting flashes of the past. About being in some underground place, an attack, everyone around panicked and frightened. You didn’t understand it, or what was happening, but your head began to hurt. You stumbled in your steps, trying to steady yourself. Things were starting to come to light, and the world around you was no longer rose tinted. Sicheng was trying to talk to you but his voice was an echo in the distance. You were freaking out, having this information all hit you at once. Then it really hit you.

    You looked down at yourself, suddenly horrified by your situation. This wasn’t right, something was taken from you, something was forced on you. When you stabilized a bit you shoved Sicheng away and ran off to the only place you could, the place you called home. You locked the doors behind you, a strange silence filling the air. You rushed over the bathroom, looking for something sharp, and then quickly cutting into the palm of your hand. You didn’t bleed, instead you watched as the wound slowly healed itself.

    You tried to check for a pulse, but you didn’t have one either. Your eyes finally looked up, seeing yourself in the mirror, and seeing this blue glow in your eyes. The panic made you cut deeper this time, until you could see the metal beneath your skin, and finally come to grips with the reality that you were no longer human. You left the blade in, preventing the wound from healing, curling up on the floor. You were scared, but on the outside you were calm. If you could cry you knew you would be right now.

    A knock at the door scared you, Sicheng begging to be let in. You couldn’t do that, but then again you didn’t know if there was anything you could do. You didn’t want to be there, you didn’t want any of this to happen, but there was no going back. Sicheng knocking got more aggressive, you knew he was worried about you. With all your memories surfacing, nothing holding back, you knew he did care for you, but you didn’t know how you felt in return.

“Y/n!” Sicheng slammed his fist against the door. “Aish… y/n, I’m taking manual control… I’m sorry.”

    Sicheng leaned against the door, eyes blue and projecting a screen. He really didn’t want to do this, but it was in place just in case. He accessed your systems, activating a manual override. His words confused you, but when you saw your own eyes project a screen, you could see what he was doing. You were trying to stop him, but you had no idea how, so all you could do was feel your consciousness slip into a fog. Sicheng calmed you down and had you open the door. He immediately pulled you into a hug.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

    He noticed the blade in your hand and quickly removed it, making sure you healed. He watched you for a moment, then pressed a kiss to your head. It was too soon after all.

♥♥♥♥♥

    Sicheng took you back to the lab. Ten was always there, so he could just walk in with you. Although he knew what was coming. Ten didn’t even look away from what he was doing.

“I told you it was too soon to take her home.”

“Shut up.”

“What was it? The system?”

“Her memories. I need to go over them.”

“Figured. I don’t know why you thought it was a good idea to take her out. She’s always been strong willed.”

“It’s why she deserved to live and be here.” Sicheng laid you down on one of the tables. “It wasn’t entirely my fault anyway.”

“Isn’t it?”

“She ran into Haechan.”

“Oh, well he’ll be fine. A full memory reset and reconstruction works wonders, but you’re also too stubborn to do that with her.”

“Her bioengineering degree is important, we can’t mess with that, you know this.”

“Yeah, I just like to tease you.”

    Ten stepped away from his desk to examine you. The two of them went over your recent memories, seeing what happened and what went wrong.

“I told you there were flaws in the reorganizing of her memories.”

“Like what?”

“The haven, we were all there for a while, it’s already a mess without touching it. You tried to cut corners but not everything was taken into consideration.”

“Just get to the point.”

“You need more time. You need to take this slow, and work through her memories properly. It’s not much you need to rework, but reworking is still a delicate process.”

“I know…”

    Sicheng took your hand, it was a nice little moment while it lasted. He had you slip under, into a deep sleep like before.

“You know… you could do a partial reset.” Ten suggested. “Start at where you met, leaving the bioengineering stuff untouched.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Guess you did some stuff you want her to remember too.”

“More or less…”

    The door opened and they both turned to see YangYang, come in. They greeted him, and he soon took notice of you on the table.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Just a minor issue.” Sicheng assured. “Nothing too problematic.”

“She’ll come around you know. Emotions are hard to bury, and you two certainly had your moments. Pull from those if you need to.”

“Thanks, I’ll take that into consideration.”

“What brings you here anyway?” Ten asked. “Need a deep scan?”

“Not for me. I’m afraid my girl has been busy while I was away, I’d like you to look her over.”

“Ah, sure thing. She must be glad to have you back home.”

“Very, I missed her too.”

    The others left, leaving Sicheng along with you. He pulled up a chair, already missing you, but knowing it’d be worth it in the end.

♥♥♥♥♥

    You opened your eyes, soft breaths escaping your lips. A fog in your mind was slowly drifting away. You didn’t recognize where you were, it seemed familiar, but at the same time it didn’t. You sat up, staring down at your hands. Little bits of information would appear in the corner of your vision, you seemed to be functioning properly. You moved to stand up, shaking a bit once you were on your feet, but you didn’t fall.

“Hey…”

“Sicheng.”

    You tried to rush over to him, but you only took a few steps before falling to your knees. You laughed with Sicheng, who helped you get back on your feet.

“Easy, take it easy.”

“I was excited to see you.”

“I can tell. Are you okay?”

“Heads funny, but that’s normal, right?”

“Yup, got a little ways to go to adjust.”

“Where am I?”

“The lab.”

“Oh, how long was I out for?”

“Weeks, change like this takes time. It’s good to have you back with me now.”

“Me too.” You hugged him. “Hope you weren’t too lonely.”

“You were with my all along.”

“Yeah but I wasn’t all there was I.”

“True.”

“So, what can I do?”

“A lot, but we’ll take things slow. We have a lot of time ahead of us.”

“What about… everything else…”

“The world’s always changing, whether we’re a direct part of that or not. You still need lots of rest too. We should get you home.”

“Home?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I’ve had one in a long time.”

“Well you have one now, let’s go.”

    Sicheng took your hand, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You left the lab with him, seeing that the sun had nearly set. At night the world came alive in a different way. You walked the streets with Sicheng, listening to him talk about all the possibilities that awaited you. For once you could be really grateful for meeting him, and grateful he saw something in you that was worth protecting. All you had known before was loss and pain, now you could heal.

“Everything’s so peaceful.”

“It is, and one day, the whole world can be this way. We can travel to all kinds of places.”

“That sounds fun.”

“It does, and you gotta help us do that.”

“I know, and I will do what I can.”

“Good, I really wanna see what you can do.”

    You came to a house, Sicheng getting the door for you. When you walked in it just felt like home. There were signs of someone living there before, so it was easy to know that this is where Sicheng would spend his time, and where you would spend yours going forward.

“It’s nice… it’s home…”

“I’m so happy to finally have you here.” Sicheng hugged you tight. “Love you.”

“Love you too…”

#nct #wayv #winwin #ten #yangyang #kun #lucas #hendery #xiaojun #dong sicheng #chittaphon leechaiyapornkul #liu yangyang #qian kun #wong yukhei #wong kunhang #xiao de jun #haechan #lee donghyuck #nct au #wayv au #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios

[theyanderespecialist]

Android Love (One Shot) Android Oasis Symmetra X Rich Chubby Female Reader

[Hello My Sexy Readers, I am here with a new chapter and in this one it is going to be a bit longer as it is a LONG WAYS To make. I hope you all enjoy this was requested off of Quotev by https://www.quotev.com/saitamasensei where reader is a teenage 18 or 19 and she is well off rich. In this one shot it is not omnic as they are in the real world and Andriods of Overwatch characters is like the most expensive merch you can get that is what this and I hope that you all enjoy now lets do this!]

(No One's POV)

It was a sunny day in (Home Town), birds are chirping and kids are playing. Not to mention a young wealthy woman was running through the city park, she has been for about two hours now. And she feels like she is going to drop dead. Why oh why did she have to be so chubby, she just wants to look nice in photos and not like a beach whale. Was that to much to ask!? She collapses on the bench drenched in seat and takes a drink of her water. She decided that, that was enough exercise for one day. She then gets up and stretches. Maybe a quick walk through the city on the way back won't hurt.

She starts to make her way home, the long way. When she sees a shop she has passed many times before. It was an android shop. One with all your favorite fandoms androids. She never had one before and she felt like burning some cash. She pushes the door to the shop open and goes to look at the many androids. She saw a sign for Overwatch ones and walked over. Their was so many to choose from. One caught her eye and yes it was expensive but it also had a sign that said.

"Must buy or will be scrapped."

(Name) did not want the android to be scrapped and so she purchased that specific one and then would have to wait one day or so to have it shipped to her home. The manager told her know returns and she rolled her eyes there was no way she would return this. She took the catalog with her and headed home to read up on the android she bought. She never played the game overwatch before so she knew nothing of the characters. Or there skins.

The one she bought was Oasis Symmetra. She learned about the characters Symmetra and the skin itself. It was stunning. (Name) wonders why no one would have bought it. She shrugs her shoulders gently and looked into it more before falling asleep on the couch. Tired from the long job she had taken earlier.

-Elsewhere-

A Android was being shipped to her owners home, she never been bought ever though she has been on shelves for years. This Android was excited to be able to meet the person who bought her and was determined to keep her safe and sound no matter what. Once she was brought to the house inside her rather large box the man delivers her and she can hear the box being open.

"You are so beautiful." She hears and the Android wish she could move, but she has to wait until she was activated.

Soon she was and she could see who bought her she was beyond stunned.

(Symmetra's POV)

I looked through the small "Eyes" I have, they were not really eyes but small hidden camera that could see for me as I could not see past my helmet which cannot be removed. What I saw stunned me more than anything, it was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, granted I never seen any other woman before in my life. She smiled at me and if I could I would blush. I stand there waiting for her to say something, though I did not like it, I seem to like being in control and I do not like not being in control, that was for sure. I hated this and just wanted to grab her and kiss her deeply. That is all I want and I did not care what it took she would be mine and mine alone.

(Back To No One's POV)

(Name) smiled softly. "It is nice to meet you, Symmetra, my name is (Name) (Last Name), I hope that we can be goof friends." She tells her new android and hopefully life long friend.

Symmetra froze, this beauty wanted to be her friend. Not just owner, it made her feel all fuzzy on the inside.

"I would like that My dear." Symmetra says.

(Name) smiles more and blushes she has never been called my dear before. It was nice and sweet and she liked it very much. It made her feel all warm all over.

They started to talk and get to know each other more. They had a great time talking and having a good time. (Name) told Symmetra she had to go for her daily jog. Symmetra did not want to her Dear to leave but had ideas. Maybe if she made her something to eat her dear would love her more. She nodded and (Name) left and Symmetra got to work on making a dish for her. While she was doing that she also picked up a bit, after the food finished and she plated it (Name) came back and had a huge black eye. This made Symmetra make a screeching sound in worry.

"Are you okay!?" She demanded to know setting (Name) down at the table and getting a bag of peas.

"I am okay, just someone grabbed me and robbed me." (Name) says holding the bag of peas to her swollen eye.

"I WiLL KIlL ThEM!!!" Symmetra says glitching a bit.

"It is okay Symmetra." (Name) says. "Really the police will handle it."

Symmetra did not believe this for one second. They had dinner and Symmetra knew she has to control her dear much more and her plan for it had to be moved up. So while (Name) was getting ready for bed Symmetra pounced. She pinned down her dear one and tore off her clothes. (Name) confused did not understand until Symmetra kissed her.

"Mine you are mine!" She says possessively taking off her own andriod clothes and started to kiss down her dear one's chest.

"mmmm Symmmmmetra...~" She moans as she is pleasure by her android.

Her android wanted them both to feel good and so she started to rub them together but it was useless as this Android was made without a vagina so it was doing nothing for her.

Symmetra cries out in frustration and laid on top of her dear one who soothed her. Symmetra guessed she would need a new plan. That is when it hit her as her dear one fell asleep she now know what she would have to do and she will do it. She got online and order what she needed and waited patiently for it to be delivered. Once it was Symmetra got it ready and walked over to her dear one and started to stuff her inside it. She will now have to rely on Symmetra for absolutely everything.

(Name's POV)

I wake up in a panic as I am being squished into something. I screamed and kicked around but it was so hard to move. Felt like my entire body was weighed down. I open my eyes and see I am in some type of suit. I am helped to sit up and look to see Symmetra smiling down at me.

"It is okay you are okay." She tells me.

"What did you do??!??" I ask slightly panicked.

"No one bought me and everyone passed me over..." She says.

I nodded slowly.

"I just want to keep you safe, I love you and do not want you hurt, you chose me, and I am not going to let you be hurt ever." She says. "Please just let me."

I looked at her and my anger melted away and I kiss her. "Thank you, I can never stay mad at you."

She kisses me back and we fall on the bed just making out for what seemed like hours.

-Time Skip, Brought To You By: Symmetra in this being into Bondage, Damn right boy it is all about that sweet sweet control-

It has been two weeks and me and Symmetra are walking through the park. I am still getting used to my android suit. It is heavy and hot and I had to rely on Symmetra to take care of me sometimes. But she is so sweet and she never seemed to mind. I was also much happier now. I smile at her and then hear someone shout at us.

"Hey! Your the bitch who got me arrested!" A man says and I looked to see the man who had mugged me. "I am going to kill you, you worthless slut."

before anything else can happen Symmetra was on him bashing his head into the cement. I pulled her off of him and next thing I know and ambulance has arrived and I was being threaten to have Symmetra scrapped, I defend her and so did others and now we were allowed to be let go. I take Symmetra hand in mine and she shudders. I am curious on why she did that. Is she feeling okay?

(Symmetra's POV)

I never felt anything like I had felt when she entwined her fingers with her left hand. What had been that. We made it home and she says she is going to shower. I nodded and helped her out of the suit. I waited for her and looked at my left hand and started to rub the fingers and I felt the pleasure once more. Is this what (Name) feels when I eat her out? I was suddenly struct with an idea and walk into the bathroom. I look at her and licked my lips. I get in the shower with her and she looks at me confused. I put on of my left hand's fingers inside her and she moans as do I.

"Oh~" I moaned as my circuits jolt with pleasure.

"Wait~" She pants as I finger her. "You mmmmm~ You can feel that~?"

I nodded and bit my lip as it felt so good and she clenched around my fingers making me cry out.

"Oh (Name)~" I moan. "Your so tight~"

She blushed and started to ride my fingers and I could feel how wet and tight she was and I knew that she was mine and mine alone. I finally can make a form of love not just to her but with her. I love it and I loved her we made out as I finger bang her stretching them inside of her.

I grab the towel and shred it tying her hands above her head to the shower head. I am going to show her just what I can do for her. I continue to fuck her with one finger but then add another.

"You like that~?" I ask her going rougher and abusing her clit with pleasure.

"Yessss~" She moans out and rides my fingers the best I can.

I smirked. "I am going to wreck you~" I tell her and I do just that making us both have our orgasms they may be different but we both received pleasure for the first time and I am never letting her go.

My love may be android love. But it is love none the less.

[YASSSSSSSSSSS Another chapter done, now I will not be doing ones like this often but I still hope you all enjoyed and stay sexy my friends!]

#yandere #yandere symmetra #yandere overwatch #yandere one shot #one shot #Overwatch #Overwatch Skins #symmetra #oasis symmetra #android symmetra #symmetra x reader #chubby reader #rich reader

[kingreywrites]

I’ll breathe again - Chapter 1

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 2451

Summary: Rapunzel fell. She cried out and felt her wrist crack painfully under her weight. But it didn't matter - nothing did, not when the attacker collided roughly with Eugene right as she raised her head back up. Eugene didn't allow himself to fall, only taking a single step backwards, but Rapunzel saw how his face contorted excessively with pain.

Warning: Stabbing, blood, and general angst but with an happy ending.

Note: I’ll post the second chapter tomorrow :) This takes place post-series and yes, Eugene meets a dagger again!

Read on ao3

Rapunzel first noticed that something was wrong when she saw Eugene chatting with Stan at the edge of the ballroom. Well, what appeared to be chatting - but Rapunzel knew her husband and Captain of the Guard well enough to be sure that he wouldn't distract one of his men during an important event if something wasn't wrong. Even now, all dressed up in his beautiful royal suit, she could see his calculating gaze taking in the numerous guests, as he kept smiling while talking to Stan.

This was Captain Fitzherbert talking.

And if it was worrying enough that he would go to one of his men in the middle of a party in which he wasn't supposed to act as a Captain, it meant trouble. Eugene said one last thing to Stan, who nearly saluted before he thought better of it, and disappeared to go inform the others. Then, Eugene slowly made his way back to the centre of the ballroom, unnoticed by most - and, as the husband of the Queen, that was no easy feat.

"Is everything okay?" Rapunzel asked, her tone even as she went to his side, hoping to keep the casual facade.

"Ah, a little security problem," Eugene smirked, extending his arm to her, "it should be solved soon. Can I offer you a dance, your majesty?"

"If it is so nicely asked, how could I say no," Rapunzel laughed, revelling in the warmth of his arm around her waist. "By the way, Johanna is actually quite nice once you get to know her!"

"Jo- you mean ma'am the duchess of Bitterness land?" Eugene sputtered dramatically, ignoring her playful glare. "That woman managed to make eating cake sad, who does that?"

Rapunzel laughed again, and started explaining how she had found that the duchess had a secret passion for hourglasses, and that by catering to it, she had managed to secure a trade deal quite easily. The ballroom was packed with important guests, and she would soon have to try and mingle again, but having Eugene near her felt like a breath of fresh air. Though, she could see he was still worried. He smiled and nodded at the right times, but his mind was elsewhere, and his eyes strayed behind her once or twice.

"So?" she asked to get his attention back on her. "What's this little security problem?"

Eugene grimaced, looking behind her again. "One of the people here doesn't fit the guest list. I'd know, I've reviewed it enough to know it by heart. I told Stan to evacuate him, but I don't know, I've got a bad feeling," he finished, his eyes finding hers this time, worry evident in them.

"I'll be careful," she answered before he even asked it of her. She got on her tiptoes to kiss the corner of his mouth quickly, wishing for a moment they could be alone in their bedroom. "I promise."

His eyes softened, and he squeezed her hands in his for a moment, before smiling. Someone called her from behind him - a representative of a little principality, she remembered - and she was already missing Eugene, even though she hadn't left him yet.

"Duty calls," she said.

"Duty calls," he repeated softly.

She should have stayed a little more. At the time, she had wanted to - had wanted to gaze into those eyes she loved so much a moment more, had wanted to hold him a little longer, had wanted to kiss him deeply until all his worries dissipated and all he could think about was her. She had wanted all of that but, since she became Queen, she knew to put her responsibilities before her wishes. She wanted to stay, but she didn't indulge in her desires, sure that she would have the occasion later on.

She should have waited. But she didn't.

Rapunzel went around Eugene to greet the representative. Her back turned to his, she didn't see the sudden movement in the crowd. She heard it when someone cried out from being pushed, but she tensed a fraction of second after Eugene - just a fraction of second, nothing more, but it was enough to change everything.

Eugene was the first to see the shadow running through the crowd; he was the first to understand that the attacker was going straight toward Rapunzel; he was the first to react. Right as she was turning back toward the noise (too late, too slowly), he pushed her harshly to the ground with his shoulder.

Rapunzel fell. She cried out and felt her wrist crack painfully under her weight. But it didn't matter - nothing did, not when the attacker collided roughly with Eugene right as she raised her head back up. Eugene didn't allow himself to fall, only taking a single step backwards, but Rapunzel saw how his face contorted excessively with pain.

Time froze.

The attacker scrambled back, falling on his butt before getting back up to get away, but Rapunzel didn't see him. She didn't see anything, but the dagger in his hand, the dagger that had been extended in front of him, and that was now covered in blood - a splash of red into this man's hand. The blood could only have come from one person, she knew, but her heart refused to accept it, beating loudly in protest and drowning out every other sound. Eugene was still standing, his back to her, but she felt slowed down, nearly frozen on the spot. Time resumed its course.

Eugene crumbled.

He fell backwards, one of his hand on his stomach, and collided harshly with the ground, a breathless yell escaping his lips. The ballroom exploded into a flurry of activity, the noise nearly deafening, but Rapunzel didn't care. She crawled to Eugene in mere seconds, but it was too long, far too long, and his blood was already soaking the ground and her pretty dress.

She felt her heart beating in her throat and choking her as she took in his pale and pained expression, his eyes tightly closed as his muscles tensed against the pain. That was when she saw the wound on his stomach, Eugene's blood slowly seeping through his clenched fingers.

"Eugene," she gasped, terrified. Her memories of medical training kicked in and she immediately put pressure on the wound with both hands, drawing a shaky moan from him as he relaxed unnaturally, too limp now. Her own wrist was pulsating with pain, probably broken, but she didn't care. "I'm sorry," she whispered frantically, "I'm sorry, please Eugene, stay with me."

Her pleading made him open his eyes, and she could have sobbed right here and there at the familiar expression if she wasn't worried her tears would blur her vision too much. She had seen him like this once already - wasn't it enough? She could see the brown of his eyes shining through the tiny slits, unfocused and glossy, but always seeking her out.

Biting her lips, she pushed harder on the wound and one of his hands reflexively tried to knock her off him with a moan, but the movement was uncoordinated and weak. The hand landed on her sleeve, making the purple fabric darker, before it feebly fell to his side again.

"Ra-Rapunzel," he croaked out, breathless. "You… you 'k?"

"I'm fine," she whispered, swallowing harshly against her emotions, "I'm perfectly fine, I promise."

He coughed, pushing against her arm again without force, and she stopped his movement easily. Too easily. He wasn't supposed to be like this. Eugene was strong and- and confident, and the best Captain of the Guard there was and- he shouldn't be this limp, this weak, this pale, bleeding out under her hands without even being able to talk.

"Eugene," Rapunzel pleaded, her right hand going to cup his cheek gently, trying to get him to look at her. She ignored the blood she was herself smearing on his chalky skin, ignored  the way his eyes were dulling, ignored his shallow breathing or the slick warmth under her other hand. "Eugene, please, I know it hurts but you have to stop moving."

"Captain!" It was Stan who had yelled that, but Rapunzel realised with a start that she was surrounded by multiple nervous guards, all staring blankly at their fallen Captain. Stan slide to his knees on Eugene's other side, his hands joining her.

Eugene cried out again, a tear escaping him, and she had to bit back a sob again. She brushed the tear off, but left blood in its place, again. She thought she might be sick.

"Pete," she said harshly, making everyone jump at her unfamiliar tone, "go fetch the physician. Half of you, go take the guests to safety. The other half, go arrest the attacker that should never have been here in the first place!"

The end of the sentence was a yell, and she would have felt guilty if she wasn't feeling Eugene's irregular breathing under her hands.

"Your Captain needs you," Stan added, "don't just stand around!"

They were met by a chorus if ayes as each guard scrambled to his assigned position - though Pete had been gone as soon as she asked him for a doctor. The entire scene seemed surreal. Rapunzel felt like years, centuries even had went on since Eugene danced with her - how long had she been standing here, stained by his blood?

Not even two minutes, at most.

Eugene whimpered under her, his face grey as chalk and contrasting sharply with the blood she had left behind. She could feel her eyes burning, could feel the panic burning inside her, but she had to try to comfort him, had to be there for him. She would break down later - for now, he needed her.

"Rapunzel," he coughed again, her name always on his lips when he was worried for her safety. Even when he was the one he should be worried about.

"It's going to be okay," she whispered, leaning down toward him, feeling how her dress was clinging unnaturally to her because of the blood. "I am not letting you die again."

"Ah," Eugene laughed, but she could see how damp his eyes were. He was scared - and she was too. "Is- Is-"

"Everything is under control, Captain," Stan said when it was evident that Eugene wouldn't be able to finish his sentence. "No one was hurt beside... beside you."

"Good," Eugene croaked, seemingly more aware for a moment, his eyes focused on Rapunzel's.

For that moment, the chaos around them didn't matter anymore - his eyes held the universe inside of them, a tenderness that almost choked Rapunzel with emotion. She whispered his name again and he smiled, a soft, resigned smile, that tried to tell her that everything would be okay.

"Good," he said again, "because I- I think I'm gonna pass out."

"Cap-"

"Eugene!" Rapunzel exclaimed at the same time his eyes rolled back and his head lolled to the side. She shook him as gently as she could, vision blurred by the tears she couldn't keep at bay anymore. "Eugene, wake up!"

"Your majesty…" Stan tried, but she ignored him. She ignored everything, but Eugene's slack face and the terrifying realization that it was happening again, she had seen him like this before and she couldn't do anything-

She shook her head and pushed harder against the wound, wishing she could put the blood back where it belonged. Eugene twitched, nothing much, but it meant that he was still feeling something and Rapunzel would take it.

To her right, the physician finally arrived, Pete following him awkwardly as he carried alone a stretcher. Rapunzel dried out her tears with her shoulder, telling herself harshly that her husband wasn't dead yet, and that she would wallow later. She put her hand on his neck to feel his pulse, remembering these medical courses she had insisted in attending, and despite his clammy skin and too quick rhythm, the fact of the matter was that Eugene was still alive.

Eugene was alive. And she would do anything to keep it that way.

She had to get her hands off his wound to let the physician do his job, but she helped load Eugene onto the stretcher, finding a modicum of comfort in the warmth he was still emitting. Eugene was still alive, she repeated herself, and he'll get better and then they'll dance and kiss and be with each other again. She couldn't accept any other scenario.

"Your Majesty," a guard said hesitantly as others raised the stretcher, "we- uh, captured the attacker."

Rapunzel sucked a breath through her teeth, looking away from Eugene for the first time since he went down. She didn't want to leave him, but she still turned toward the man that did it all, heart beating fast as fury coursed through her veins. He wasn't as big and as shadowy as he had seemed before. He was even pretty banal, and was now vaguely resisting arrest, surrounded by two guards. When he saw that she was looking at him, he spat on the ground.

"Hope he dies painfully," he sneered, and the anger that flooded Rapunzel was searing hot, tearing through her self-control easily.

In one swift movement, and before anyone could even think to stop her, she stole a nearby guard's sword and went to point it directly at this guy's neck, pressing until she drew blood. Her breathing was heavy, her head buzzing by the sheer hatred she was feeling, but her hands were steady.

"You better hope he survives," she growled, pushing the sword harder, "or else, you won't like what I'll do to you, I promise you that."

He didn't even dare swallow, and the rush of satisfaction Rapunzel felt was exhilarating. She liked to see the fear in his eyes, liked to know that he felt what must not even be a tiny fraction of the terror that inhabited her. She tightened her grip and the pain that climbed up her arm was like a bucket of freezing water above her head - a reminder that Eugene was still… Rapunzel lowered her eyes, toward that hand that was pulsing painfully with her heart, bruised and bloodied, from her fall and from Eugene. Her dress was still darkened by the blood that was dripping from it and Rapunzel couldn't help but feel unbearably cold. She let the sword clatter to the ground and stepped back unsteadily, before straightening herself and ordering the guards to put him in a cell.

Her hands were shaking now. She hoped nobody saw them.

She took another step back, then raised her dress ungracefully and ran after her husband.

He was the one that needed her right now.

#tangled #Eugene Fitzherbert #Rapunzel #tangled the series

[mlqcconfessions]

Hi I absolutely love your headcanons. I have epilepsy and these can take many forms for me (full on seizures, absence seizures (looks like I've zoned out) and muscle spasms where I drop things and break them (I will cry cause I feel like my body is betraying me). I have anxiety and although I'm 4 years seizure free I always have a fear of 'what if today is the day' and having to remember to take my meds everyday. Can I have a HC of the boys taking care of MC with epilepsy and how they help her.

Although I’m not too familiar with the technical side of epilepsy, I did have a close high school friend who would occasionally get seizures during classes. I did a little research on my own time! Hope you enjoy it!

MLQC Headcanon - The closest one to you

Victor

You weren’t afraid to tell him about you having epilepsy (he didn’t want you to hide anything from him, anyways)

He wants you to describe everything to him (if you feel any pain, what medications you take, what he could do to help, etc)

He hires a professional to be your temporary carer

He didn’t like the fact that he wasn’t the one closest to you anymore

But with the way he is now, he won’t be that helpful to you

And he KNOWS that (that’s what makes it so frustrating)

He spends his free time between work to study up on epilepsy (and how to be a carer)

You’re worried that he’s dedicating so much of his precious time (and you know just how Victor feels about time)

“Have you forgotten who I am?” (he’s so cheeky sometimes)

He finishes clearing documents at a demonic speed (Goldman reiterates, I TOLD you he was an alien)

In the meantime, he does the simple tasks (ones that don’t require extensive knowledge)

He is ON YOU when you’re taking medications (Time is literally of the essence, MC)

He has a chart by his office desk with your details (so he knows what time, how many, how often you need to take the pills)

Because he can’t always be with you, he orders the professional carer to be by your side at all times (but makes him maintain a private distance that won’t make the CEO husband angry)

You haven’t had seizures for quite a while, but it’s always on the back of your mind

Victor knows that you’re worried about this (it makes him upset that there’s nothing he can do about it)

Although he can’t prevent future seizure from happening, he does his best to reassure you that he WILL be by your side to take care of you

“I don’t believe you, Victor” (this is your chance to make him BEG)

He doesn’t say anything for while, but picks up his phone to call someone

You can faintly hear the voice on the other side of the line

“Goldman, gather up all the employees in the building and have them meet at the main lobby” (....sorry sir, but can I ask just why...?)

“Victor, what are you—”

“Well, my wife here doesn’t believe me when I say I’m going to be by her side always” (....and....you want me to gather everyone because.....)

“Because if I actively proclaim my love to her in front of a crowd, she’ll trust my words” (he’s looking at you, smirking)

“Victor, you wouldn’t!”

“Try me”

The line hangs up (Goldman doesn’t get paid enough for this)

Kiro

He’s heard of it, but knows NOTHING about it (except a little about the seizures)

He’s scared when you talk about your past experiences

“And are you okay now?” (he has these puppy dog eyes)

“Well, I haven’t had these seizures for quite some time now” (omg you just want to hug him and kiss him all over)

Savin notices Kiro reading a lot more during schedules

Wait. Kiro. READING????? 

Yes.

Sunshine boy is trying so hard to understand what epilepsy is

So he bookmarked all these articles online to read on his spare time

But God help him, he doesn’t comprehend what these words mean

He figured it was easier to just talk to a professional about it

Later in the week, he wants you to come over to his house on his day off

When you go inside, his entire house has been fortified

No more sharp edges, no more hard floors, security alarms set in every room?

“Ta-dah!” (Kiro proudly shows off his new home)

“Kiro...what....what’s all this for?”

“I think your apartment is too dangerous for you to stay by yourself” (he ushers you to sit down)

“It would be fine if I can regularly go to your house, but Savin said that’s too risky” (and risky it WAS, with all the fans following his every move)

“So I decided the best option was to bring you to MY home!”

Although it’s a little sudden, you can tell that he’s genuinely worried for you

“Haha...thank you, Kiro” (you get up to hug him)

“You’re welcome, MC” (he squeezes you even tighter)

“You’re free to use this house as you please. You can even change the interior here!” (No, that’s okay Kiro)

“When I can’t stay here during work, I’ll send my stylists over to check up on you” (he smooths your hair down)

“But don’t get too along with them! I’m going to get jealous!” (he puffs his cheeks out what the heck, that’s adorable)

You reach out to kiss his nose

“Don’t worry, you’re the only one I can get this intimate with”

He immediately picks you up, and you’re dangling over his shoulders

“Well, I don’t think that’s intimate enough” (sunshine? More like sun-KISSED)

Lucien

If there’s anyone more familiar with how epilepsy works, it’s Dr. Lu Lu

He knows more than you?

He doesn’t think it’s necessary to hire a professional carer (he’s the best carer, wdym)

He’s prepared to the fullest 

You tell him that it’s been a while since your last seizure

“We can never be too sure, MC”

Although you haven’t moved into the same house yet, he frequently drops by your apartment (he doesn’t leave until the next day)

During lectures he always looks back at you (to make sure you’re doing fine)

AFTER lectures he makes sure your........physical form is in top condition (SFW if you know what I mean)

He worries that you’re overwhelmed with work sometimes

Offers to lessen your load by helping you edit videos

He’s actually good at making videos? (Youtuber in the making?)

You sometimes ask him to brew tea for you (it helps you relax)

He has a designated cup in his house just for you (when you’re not there, he places it in the display case)

You’re not actually interested in drinking tea

You just like how elegant he looks when he’s brewing

The soft smell of chamomile and lavender in his room is so calming

You fall asleep on his couch while he’s gathering some materials in another room

He’s slightly startled when he doesn’t hear your voice anymore (he quickly sets his papers down and crouches next to you)

Your cute snores make him laugh (he records it for future reference)

When you wake up, you’re back in your bed

“Lucien?”

He peers inside the door, pushes up his GLASSES, (yes I am a Glasses Lucien freak) and smiles at you

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t plan on dozing off like that”

“No worries, I was able to keep myself entertained”

“Oh? What were you looking at?” (you step out to the living room, finding a stack of albums on the table)

???

“You were adorable in this zebra onesie” (LUCIEN PLEASE)

Gavin

He’s dealt with plenty of rogue evolvers during his missions

Most of them had seizures while their evols were going out of control

How different could it be? (Birdcop has never been more wrong in his life)

He’s so taken back when you explain epilepsy to him

The way you describe it makes it sound so terrifying?

He listens inventively to the first aid procedures

He follows through pretty smoothly, actually (damn right, he’s Agent B-7)

You notice that he’s a LOT more attentive towards you

He was always like that before, but it’s to a greater extent now

If you’re quiet for a minute, he starts to panic

“It’s okay, Gavin! I’m okay” (you have to stop him from busting down the bathroom door)

He doesn’t like it when he has to leave you to go on missions (especially ones where he doesn’t know when he’ll get back)

He assigns Minor and/or Eli as your bodyguard (for all locations EXCEPT your apartment)

Anna is responsible for watching over you when you’re home

He calls/texts you so often (it’s like he never left)

His mind is elsewhere during work (but he never fails the missions, because he’s AGENT BIRDCOP-7)

Something you don’t know is that Eli and Minor are required to send photos of you once in a while (something about him being unable to trust their words)

WORST. PEOPLE. TO. ASSIGN. THIS. TO.

Eli takes photos with himself in it (and the focus is not even on you)

Minor always takes them while you’re moving (he only manages to capture your afterimage)

Anna to the rescue, honestly (that’s an entire photoshoot)

The first thing he does after returning is checking to make sure you’re okay (he hugs you after his checkup is done)

“........Gavin, what are these gashes on your arm?”

“....so......what do you want for dinner tonight?”

F

I don’t know why, but I always make Lucien’s headcanons somewhat nsfw

I can’t help it, he just does that to me

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc gavin #mlqc lucien #mlqc kiro #mlqc imagine #mlqc imagines #mlqc headcanon #mlqc headcanons #mlqc fanfiction #mlqc fanfic #mlqc fluff #victor #li zeyan #lee taek eon #zen #gavin #bai qi #baek gi #haku #lucien #xu mo #heo muk #shimon #kiro #zhou qilou #ju girak #kira #mr love #mr love queen's choice

[princegabriel]

Someone requested Don’t Let Them See You Cry with Buddy. I didn’t take down your name, I’m sorry! If this was your request and you want to be tagged, please let me know and also sorry this took so long! Thank you for the prompt! @badthingshappenbingo

If You’re Alive

by princegabriel/ FaintlyMacabre

Rated: T

Characters: Buddy Aurinko, Jet Sikuliaq

CW: Both active and passive suicidal ideation is discussed, though only briefly. This takes place both before and after Buddy's surgery to replace her eye, hence the tags for eye trauma and surgery. Nothing darker or more violent than in canon, but please be aware if you find these subjects triggering.

-

Her head felt stuffed full of cotton when she awoke amidst beeping machines. She blinked and it felt wrong. On her right side she felt the glide of eyelid over eye but on her left she felt no such thing. She’d known, of course, what this surgery was for and what it would entail, but she still had to fight a wave of panic rising in her stomach. She touched a hand to the bandage and she could feel the tiny vibration of an aperture opening and closing.

At this, she felt tears sting her remaining organic eye. It was all over now: her days of quiet self-destruction, her days of waiting for someone who would never come home. She would never stop hoping, of course, but it would be the kind of hope that would be interred somewhere deep, present but never blooming.

“Buddy.” His voice came from her left, which must have been why she hadn’t noticed him.

She turned away. “Yes, darling?”

“How are you feeling?”

The laugh she choked out was watery, much more fragile than she would have liked. “Oh, right as rain, at least until the painkillers wear off.” Lying down was about what her energy level afforded, but she wanted to curl up in a ball, make herself a smaller target for whatever hurt would come next. Make her tears less obvious.

“Would you like some help?”

She would not, but she had to admit that in her current state, sitting up on her own would tire her out enough that she’d just have to lie down again. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

He came around to the right side of the bed and pulled her up easily; when she started to sway, he sat down next to her to let her lean on his shoulder. At least he was on her left. Could she still cry on that side? It seemed unlikely but she didn’t know.

“It’s laughably inadequate, but I believe I should thank you,” she said, just about getting her voice not to shake.

“I do not believe ‘should’ comes into it,” he said. “Change is difficult, and if you do not thank me I will not hold it against you.”

“No? Well, that’s no good.” She was trying so hard to sound steady, but her resolve was stretched almost to breaking. “I think I’d rather you get angry at me.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you,” was all he said. It hadn’t been 48 hours since he’d hauled her down from the top of the lighthouse, but already that span of time felt longer than the two years they’d known each other.

---

She didn’t look up until his shadow fell over her. Even then, it took a second.

“Ves—“ It wasn’t Vespa. “I know you—”

“Yes,” he said. “The bar is usually open by now.”

“High stakes to brave for a drink,” she said. She couldn’t remember his name, but she also couldn’t summon the energy to worry about that. “Sorry, darling, but I don’t think we’ll be opening today.”

“I expect not,” the mountain of a man standing over her said. “I would be very interested to know why you are up here if you would like to tell me, but that can wait. Will you come back down the lighthouse?”

“No, thank you,” she said. “I’m waiting.”

“Whomever or whatever you are waiting for, you will be better able to receive them if you are not dead. Please come back down.”

“Listen very carefully, because I’m only going to say this once,” she said. She tried to stand, realized she couldn’t, and decided that remaining seated would better underline her point. “I am staying here, and while I can’t make you leave, I’d enjoy my wait better if you were elsewhere.”

“All right, I will leave.” Before she could enjoy her victory, huge hands were scooping her up and depositing her on a huge shoulder. “You are coming with me. At least, until we get back to the ground.”

“Put me down!” she tried to shout, but it just came out a rasp. She pounded his back with her fists, but while the impacts reverberated through her hands and arms, he didn’t seem to feel them at all.

“I will put you down once we are back on ground level,” he boomed in a voice she could feel through the not-yet-ruined side of her face and torso. She wanted to scream, but her throat closed up, and all she could do was watch the steps climb up and away from them, up to the place where she needed to be.

-

Later, when he’d repaired the door and she, with shaking hands, had made them both tea, he told her about the eye he wanted to give her, and she asked him:

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you do this for someone you hardly know?" she said. "Why do it at all? I can count on one hand the people I’d do this for, and I wouldn’t even need the other four fingers.”

“Perhaps you do not remember the first night you saw me in your bar.”

“I believe I’d find it exceedingly difficult to forget a patron who seemed just as likely to shoot themselves as me.”

“Hmm. Then you do not understand the value I now place on my own life.”

“You had a gun to your head, darling,” she said. “I talked you down. This hardly compares.”

“No? I very nearly shot both you and myself,” he said. “You acted at great personal risk; no amount of money can compare to that. And while it is true that it would only have taken one shot to end my life forever, I was killing myself with the choices I made every day. To me, the circumstances are more similar than not.” He took a sip of his tea. “Also, my acquaintance with you is the closest relationship I currently have.”

Buddy blinked. “You—”

“I do not wish to discuss this now,” he said, looking up at her again. His face softened almost imperceptibly. “Later, I would like to tell you, if you still want to know.”

Buddy felt the weight of this statement as though he was handing her a tray of cut crystal or a sleeping child, the trust in his voice making her aware of both the risk and the gift. “I would,” she said, finally. He nodded.

-

She’d been there when he’d sold the car. This was a slow and painful process for both of them. She almost wanted to insist that he call it off, this was too much, not worth it, but it was done by the time she'd mustered the energy to say, "Don't."

The rest, from the start of their motorcycle ride to the moment she began counting back from 100, was lost to the anesthesia.

---

“There’s no going back, is there.” It wasn’t a question. She was sitting on a hospital bed, tethered to machines, a new device in her skull, leaning both literally and figuratively on someone who hadn’t even told her his name.

“There never is,” he said. “The choices we have made, and the choices that were made for us, are no longer accessible. It can feel… paralyzing. But as a wise woman once said to me, ‘if you are alive, you might as well live.’”

Hearing her own words being given back to her, nearly two years after she’d given them to him, somehow made her laugh, and once she began laughing she could not keep from crying. She made a valiant effort; pressing the heel of her hand into her right eye, holding her breath, tipping her head back and losing her balance. He caught her again, this time keeping an arm around her as she shook through the tears. The wail that tore itself from her throat made her think of a wild animal in pain. She hadn’t allowed herself to cry like this since… Well. Since Vespa. Buddy supposed it was fitting; in this moment, it felt as though she'd lost her all over again.

“There is something else I would like to tell you,” the man said, once the sobs that wracked her body had quieted.

“What’s that?” she rasped out. The crying had taken a lot out of her, and she felt ready to sleep for a week. Maybe she would.

He glanced over his shoulder at the door, which was still closed. “Sikuliaq,” he said. “My name is Jet Sikuliaq.”

News bulletins flashed through her mind about the Unnatural Disaster and his crimes, the hunt for a killer. Pieces slid into place, and she turned to look at him for the first time since he’d sat down next to her. He was sitting very still, facing the opposite wall, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking and was afraid of her reaction.

“Well, Jet Sikuliaq,” she said, turning back to face the same wall, “your friend sounds like she knew what she was talking about.”

She could feel some of the tension leave him, and they sat for a while, exhausted and battered and very much alive.

#bad things happen bingo #the penumbra podcast #this took a super long time so I get it if you're skeptical but I'm still taking prompts! #buddy aurinko #jet siquliak

[whatwouldyourbiasdo]

Finding Cinderella | Series | Chapter One

Title: Finding Cinderella

Pairings: Donghae x reader,(Primary) Heechul x reader (Secondary), Kyuhyun x reader (Secondary)

Author’s Note: I have been planning this story for a while but have been battling many writers’ blocks in doing so. This story will mainly focus on Donghae and the reader but will have branching stories between Heechul, Kyuhyun and two secondary OC characters.

Sidenote: Yes, this series will include Kangin and Sungmin. This was originally started back when the two of them were still active members and in my heart they will always be members so I will include them wherever I see fit.

Taglist: Make sure to send us a message if you want to be tagged in future updates on this story

It was a week before the big SM Entertainment company party. Although it was a special occasion to celebrate the company’s success to which not only the artists but also the staff was invited, the staff working for the company had to bust their chops off to get everything ready for the big night.

Music had to be arranged; a DJ to run tracks during the night and he had to be the best of the best, equipment had to be ready and in place to ensure no shortcomings throughout the party, building in a karaoke bar for staff and artist alike to sing their hearts out in the name of good fun. A dance floor especially designed for the occasion, each tile placed with precision in a pattern that, when lit up would create special effects like a lake, fireworks or fire. Decorations had to be in order, balloons, strings, posters of every artist signed and invited. Food prepared by the best chefs in Korea to suit everyone’s taste and preference and to show that SM Entertainment was a well off company who left no dime unturned in treating their staff.

“Yes… Yes, of course, I understand that it takes time to prepare all the preferred dishes… Yes, I understand that changing it last minute will cost extra, that will be no problem.”

Park Eunmi was pacing back and forth through the party venue, the light of her Bluetooth headset blinking rapidly as she once again had to deal with last minute changes by the company, having to convey these orders back to the suppliers and dealing with the complaints that it caused. It was one of the downsides of her job as secretary to the board of executives that she has grown to accept over time.

At age eighteen she started interning at the company for half of minimum wage as she was in dire need of money, having to help support her family after her father’s untimely death that left her with her stepmother and twin step-siblings, as well as pay for her enrollment into the Korean National University of Arts. Her father, Park Jinwoo, had supposedly left some money as inheritance, but had apparently signed it off on her stepmother’s name instead, as he believed that it would be safer in an adult’s hands than with the children. Eunmi had no idea if that was truly the case as she had never been allowed to look at the will, but she assumed that it had been decided as such.

Eunmi had always struggled with accepting the new additions to the family. Her mother had died when she was still young and soon after her father met Kwon Seomi, a rather extravagant young woman with twins of her own; a boy named Kwon Seojun and a girl named Kwon Seola.  They were just a year older than Eunmi and to describe them as mischievous was an understatement. It didn’t take long for her father to decide he needed a new mother figure in their lives and married Seomi the following year. Though Seomi never treated Eunmi warmly and motherly, she did her best to tolerate the new additions to the family for the sake of her father who seemed to truly love the new woman in her life.

Seomi never worked a day in her life and spent her days spending Jinwoo’s money for which he worked hard day in and day out. Jinwoo was a talented producer and manager at an entertainment label known as SM Entertainment. Back when he started working for the company, they were just starting their rise in the industry and have long since grown into the company people know, love and sometimes hate today. He had garnered quite a reputation for himself as a respected and praised producer. Unfortunately, when Eunmi had just turned eighteen her father fell ill with an incurable disease and passed away, leaving her in the care of Seomi who reluctantly took care of her as she knew Jinwoo had left most of his inheritance to his favorite and only blood-related daughter but decided not to inform her of the inheritance. Instead, she decided to keep the money for herself to make sure she and her two children could continue to live comfortably while leading Eunmi to believe that they had to turn every dime to make ends meet.

Because Eunmi promised her father to treat Seomi, Seojun and Seola as if they were her real family, she tolerated the unfair treatment they put her through. She endured having to move to the space in the attic as her own room, she endured watching her siblings dress in the newest clothes while she received the hand me downs, believing that because they were older they deserved it first. She endured being looked down upon and left out and finally, she endured having to find a job to pay for her own college degree. She had witnessed Seomi waste money on the twins for an education they threw away like it was worthless and accepted it reluctantly when Seomi told her they couldn’t possibly pay for her enrollment into the National University of Arts.

Deciding that she didn’t want to give up on her dream of becoming a performing artist as her mother, who was a promising young dancer before she settled down for the married life, she decided to take a job to earn some extra money to pay for her enrollment. She applied for a job as an intern at SM Entertainment, stating that she would do anything for less than minimum wage. Feeling sorry for her desperation, as well as acknowledging the fact that she was the daughter of one of their most praised producers, they decided to give her a chance.

Eunmi started doing the jobs no one else wanted to do; get coffee, deliver mail, clean offices, rehearsal spaces and bathrooms, organizing supplies amongst other things. Her dedication didn’t go unnoticed and soon she was promoted to a full-time employee working minimum wage and being rewarded with more honorable tasks such as answering phone calls, arranging the agendas of managers within the company and welcoming guests. And soon she had earned herself enough money to pay for her first term at the university.

But as second term was creeping closer, Seomi’s inheritance well dried up and soon declared that they no longer had enough money to get by. Seeing as she was the only person with a paying job, Seomi guilted Eunmi into giving up her studies and work to support the family. A choice she regretted from the moment she made it, but felt obligated to make as she had promised her father to take care and accept the Kwon family as if they had been blood-related.

Eunmi focused more and more on her job at SM Entertainment and over the years managed to work herself up as secretary to the board of directors, one of the most highly sought after secretary positions within the company. She was directly assisting the current CEO as well as the higher ranked managers who called the shots on any endeavor the company made regarding investments and artistic releases. At the age of twenty-six she had made quite a name for herself for being dedicated and focused, never settling for less than perfect and never handing in a task half-assed.

Her position came with a lot of responsibilities, a lot of stress and required a lot of her free time as she had to be on call at all times. If a scandal broke out, she had to be present to help fix the situation and pull the right strings to cover up that which needed to be covered. If a group released a new song or album, she had to make sure that all the schedules to promote the artist were planned out and greenlit. If a concert had to be planned she had to make sure that the venue and all that involved the concert was arranged to perfection. The only thing she didn’t do was meet and greet with the artist themselves, much to her dismay. It was a job that left her with no social life whatsoever, but she was thankful for the chance she had received and grown to love her job and accomplishments.

“No, we need it on the 25th!” She sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair as her other hand browsed through the list of things she had yet to arrange before the party. “Listen, we are willing to pay extra for the inconvenience if that can speed up the process but if you’re incapable of meeting our demands then I am afraid I will have to take this order elsewhere.” Her tone was demanding and serious, warning the person on the other side that she was not messing around. Her lips curled into a pleased smile as she heard the person stutter at her threat, quickly confirming that they would definitely be able to meet with their demands. After all, there was a lot at stake for a supplier if they refused a client as big as SM Entertainment. “I will forward the payment today, thank you for your cooperation.”

Eunmi pressed the button on her headset to cut the call as she leaned over her clipboard and crossed off the catering on the list of things to arrange. She barely had a moment to breathe when footsteps hurriedly approached her.

“Eunmi-ah! Big problems!”

“Taewoo-ssi.. Calm down,” She frowned as she turned to the taller, somewhat older colleague. His face was screaming panic as sweat was dripping down his brow. “What’s wrong?”

“T-the flowers… The celebrational flower gifts… They got delivered and… and… It’s terrible!”

“They got delivered today?” She frowned, according to their agreement with the supplier and the planning they weren’t supposed to be delivered until the day of the party on the 25th to ensure they were still freshly blooming.

“Yes but that’s not the worst part!” Taewoo continued as he desperately ran his fingers through his messy curls. “They sent us lillies. White lillies.”

“Lilies?! Are they trying to curse us?!” She immediately exclaimed. White lilies were often used for funerals and condolences but never used as a flower gift to congratulate someone.  “I thought we specifically ordered an assortment of orchids and roses!”

“We did, it even said so on the sign off sheet!” He nodded as she handed her the piece of paper.

“Then who signed for this?” Clearly the person who signed for the delivery didn’t check if the goods coincided with what they ordered, much less had the amount of common sense to realize that white lilies were definitely not used for their flower gifts.

“Someone at the front desk did… They were here and signed off when I got there.” He huffed again, unlike Eunmi he was less than compatible with any type of stress thrown his way. He had been in the company longer than Eunmi did and when she first started out he was somewhat of a mentor to her. But as she grew within the company, it was clear that the student surpassed the teacher and Taewoo often relied on her expertise to get through his own assignments. Eunmi didn’t mind as much, she owed a great deal to his supervision and encouragement when she first started out and at least he thanked her greatly after the fact. “Yah… What are we going to do? We’re in trouble… The party is in two days...”

As her brows knitted into a thoughtful frown, she tried to come up with a solution to the issue on hand. Of course they had to contact the supplier and make sure the right flowers would be delivered on the morning of the party, and she was not going to accept anything less than a major compensation for their mistake. As for the flowers they had foolishly accepted; they couldn’t return them to the supplier as they were of no use now that they were decreasing in value and condition.

“Are there any message ribbons attached to the lilies?” Eunmi quickly wondered to which she received a negative answer. “Alright, take the lily gifts and donate them to the nearest funeral hall, I’m sure they’ll be of good use there. Tell them that SM Entertainment sends their regards to all the people who have lost a loved one and that, although there isn’t much we can do for the community, we would like to offer this as a token of understanding and condolence as we want to give those who have lost someone to feel loved as part of the community.”

Taewoo stared at her for a moment, he never understood how she came up with ideas and solutions to their issues right on the spot. For some reason she always knew exactly what to do and how to support her argument. “You’re a genius, you know that? But what about the flower arrangements..?”

“Leave that to me, I’ll make a call to the supplier and demand full reimbursement for their mistake, as well as the flowers we had ordered, or threaten their good name with bad reviews.” Eunmi explained as she scrolled down her list of numbers to find the flower supplier.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side!” Taewoo chuckled before giving her a quick and cheeky salute as he headed off to dispose of the white lilies.

#donghae #lee donghae #super junior #super junior donghae #super junior scenario #super junior scenarios #super junior story #super junior imagine #donghae scenario #donghae scenarios #donghae imagine #donghae imagines #donghae story #donghae x reader

[janeofcakes]

Keep Your Friends Close..: Chapter 11

Hello, my friends! I’ve been working off and on all day to get this one out because I’ll be stupid busy tomorrow with it being mother’s day and all. As it is, I have to keep stopping for long periods of time when all I really want to do is post this and work on my bedazzling project. Gah. And I thought week days were exasperating. It’s so hard to tell the difference now anyway. Oh, shit. I need to do the laundry. 

Well, here you go. It’s a pretty good chapter, if I do say so myself. I was breathless when I finished editing. Enjoy!

----

Sorry if I'm speaking out of line, but I don't want this night to be over. I don't want it to end. 'Cause it seems like when our worlds collide, it just don't feel right not to hold ya. It's getting hard to be friends.

Do you feel what I feel the closer that we get? It’s almost like there’s a force that we can’t resist.

Baby, tell me why, why you wanna stop what’s happening inside. It’s bigger than you and me. It’s like we’re fighting gravity.                                                                                          --NKOTB, Fighting Gravity

For the next three weeks, the three men watch everything at bouts as closely as they can. Whether home or away, Greg and John are always stationed in locations where, between them,  they can see every inch of the track and every member of both teams. Sherlock does his best to help while still coaching Rock City. But nothing happens. There are no suspicious injuries or accidents, nothing but the usual rough and tumble of a bout.

Similarly, there are no further attempts on John’s life, or Molly’s. Mycroft continues to keep an eye on her through PT and in her room. Sherlock has even walked in on the two of them in the throws of a ruthless chess game. Mycroft has also proved useful in obscuring John’s whereabouts. After picking up enough clothing to last a couple of weeks, along with a few other items, John drove to a hotel and made it look as though he had checked in while actually leaving for Sherlock’s condo. John repeated this every two or three days so he appeared to be moving around. 

Unfortunately, Mycroft agreed with Greg that they do not have enough evidence to prove anything and that it would be useless to go to the police. Plus, that would only alert Moriarty to their suspicions. Instead, Mycroft enlisted the help of a few friends on the force who could look into Moriarty’s activities without being noticed. There had been no news thus far and with no further attempts on anyone, Sherlock and the others must simply maintain the holding pattern. Something will happen soon enough and they must all be ready for it, but the frustration of waiting becomes more and more evident, especially in his new roommate. 

“God, I’m so tired of doing this every night,” John had said one evening, just after walking in the door. “I wish I could just come straight home and relax.”

Sherlock had meant to respond, but the words stuck in his throat. Home, John had said. Just come home and he had meant Sherlock’s condo. With Sherlock. At least that is what Sherlock wants to believe.

He never did find his voice before John continued speaking. John did not think better of saying the word and Sherlock never brought it up, not wanting to hear John correct himself. Sherlock knows he should forget it, assume it was a slip of the tongue and not pin any hopes on it. His conversation with Greg weeks ago has still not motivated him to say a word to John for fear of what the doctor will say. For the time being, he would still rather live in ignorance and misguided hope than know John does not think of him in that way.

Sherlock pushes open the door to his hotel room, key card in his mouth, a bag in one hand and a garment bag flung over his shoulder. His dark curls are all askew and one falls onto his forehead, nearly into his eye as he stumbles his way into the suite. He blows it off his face only to have it drop right back down and barges head-long into the bedroom.

Dropping his bags onto the bed unceremoniously, Sherlock runs a hand through his hair and sighs. They boarded Mrs. Hudson’s charter plane that morning, destined for Baltimore and a bout against the Rolling Ravens. With the bout on the following day, they loaded a bus and went straight from the airport to the practice facility to get some footwork and scrimmaging in. It is now around 5:30 and, having just arrived at the Sussex, they are all dropping bags in their rooms and meeting back on the bus for dinner.

Sherlock walks into the bathroom and flicks on the light. He turns on the water and splashes some on his face. Once, twice. He buries his face in a soft, plush towel and holds it for a moment. Sherlock is exhausted. He always is after a flight. He does not like flying and every muscle in his body tenses to remind him of it. He can never rest his mind either, scenario after scenario rushing from room to room of his mind palace, giving him not a moment’s peace. John tried to sit next to him the first flight of the season, but Sherlock did not want him to witness his quiet panic so he convinced him to sit elsewhere. He told John he liked having time to himself when, in truth, Sherlock wanted nothing more than to have John by his side forever. After that, John did not try sitting by Sherlock again.

Sherlock pulls the towel from his face and opens his eyes, brow furrowed. He presses his lips together, shaking his head and hanging up the towel. He is still so far gone on John Watson, despite his efforts to stop himself. All of which have been fruitless, he might add. Sherlock puts his hands on his hips and gives his reflection a very unamused look. 

“You are so screwed,” he mumbles to himself. He studies his features for a moment and scowls. Walking into the suite’s living room, Sherlock diverges and heads for the kitchenette to pull a bottle of water from the small fridge. His phone pings with a text as he snags a bottle. He opens it and takes a drink while pulling the phone from his pocket. He knows exactly who it is. He has given him a particular ping. Greg, the bastard, noticed right away and has teased him whenever they are alone ever since. In spite of all protestations to the contrary, Greg is truly the big brother Sherlock never had.

*Coming down to dinner, yeah? Waiting on you and The Woman.*

Sherlock cocks a brow and replies.

*On my way. I’ll swing by her room*

*No need. She just turned up. Only you now.*

Sherlock smirks and caps the water bottle, carrying it with him when he walks to the door. He should take a minute and hang his suits for the bouts, but they will be fine. He can always steam them while he showers if they wrinkle.

He runs through tomorrow’s plan while the elevator takes him to the lobby. He has plenty of time as it stops on nearly every floor to pick up what always seems to be a parent with children bound for the hotel swimming pool. He rolls his eyes and tries to concentrate over the din. The bout starts at seven, the ladies have all afternoon to do weights on their own with warm-ups starting around 5:30. Since they put in a long practice today, on top of the flight, tomorrow morning is free for sight-seeing and relaxation. Sherlock has heard some of the ladies making plans, mostly involving spas and massages. For his money, there are several historic sites to choose from, not the least of which is the home of Edgar Allan Poe.

The elevator doors finally open at the lobby and all of its occupants exit. Sherlock follows the crowd without much thought until he catches the eye of a tall blonde looking his way. It is only a glance and Sherlock thinks nothing of it for a few steps. Then the feeling of cold realization hits him and he stops. It’s a threat, danger. Sherlock’s sharp eyes shoot back to the man, but he is gone. He looks around and sees nothing. Slowly, he makes his way to the hotel’s revolving doors, wishing for the first time that Greg had been able to come with them. Sherlock and John must keep an eye on the proceedings alone and Sherlock definitely has an uneasy feeling now.

Sherlock sees the Rock City bus as soon as he steps away from the hotel, right where he left it. As he walks toward it, he once again considers how he and John can best watch everything they need to throughout the bout. He has been to the stadium many times before, but John has never seen its track and Sherlock plans to discuss it with him at dinner. Ironically, the doctor is the very person he meets as he climbs up the bus’ three steps.

“There you are,” John beams. “They were about to send out a search party and believe me when I say they would’ve carried you out here kicking and screaming. It was all I could do to hold them back.”

“A Herculean feet indeed,” Sherlock snarks.

“Christ, Coach, where have you been?” HardOn cries upon catching sight of him. “We’re starving!”

“You should know by now not to keep us waiting,” Hella teases, standing at her seat with a knee resting on its cushions.

“No man should ever make a lady wait,” The Woman lifts a seductive brow and clicks her teeth. “Even I am ravenous.”

“You’re one to talk,” Sally snorts. “Where the hell were you?”

“I was tending to something very important.”

“What’s her name?”

Irene gives Sally a very sly, knowing look and the two dissolve into snickers.

“All right, ladies,” Sherlock announces. “Everyone sit down and behave yourselves.”

“Yes, papa,” HardOn quips as heads begin to drop, the skaters finding their seats. She casts a glance at John and jokes. “Don’t let him tell you what to do, Ph.D. Keep him in line.”

“I’ll do my best,” John laughs from his own seat in the front.

Sherlock counts heads, making sure to see the face of every skater and support staffer before turning to the driver who sits directly in front of his seat.

“Lawrence, we’re all here. Shall we go to our usual haunt?”

“The diner awaits,” the man replies with a kind smile.

Sherlock thanks him and sits down. He looks back at the skaters again and then gazes across the aisle at John. He has a curious expression on his face. His lips turned up on one side in that crooked smile Sherlock loves so much. His stomach flips, even as he affects nonchalance.

“What?” he asks, grinning almost like a fool.

“This is a hired bus and yet, you know the driver?” John replies, making no effort to hide his smile.

“We always use the same company,” Sherlock answers, “and we always request Lawrence. He chauffeured us around my first time here and every one since.”

“Ah, I see,” John says fondly. “You get attached to people, don’t you?

“I most certainly do not!” Sherlock raises his chin, straightening his long neck. He looks down his nose at John. “I merely appreciate a job well done.”

“Right, right,” John replies. The expression on his face just as fond as his tone. He also looks very amused. Sherlock’s cheeks grow pink and his stomach flips again. He put that look on John’s face.

They arrive at Krispin’s Diner nearly an hour later, colonially themed and larger than one normally expects a diner to be. Perfect for their over-sized group. They are able to get tables fairly close together, in spite of the busy night. The evening passes nicely enough as they all eat, joke and laugh. Unfortunately, the opportunity to talk through the bout does not arise, much to Sherlock’s chagrin. However, there is a restaurant in the hotel and he intends to speak with John once they are there. It might be better to do it alone anyway. 

Two hours after they arrived, they are all climbing into the bus again. Sherlock grabs John’s elbow lightly before the man gets a foot on the first step. He pulls the doctor aside and speaks to him quietly as skaters continue disappearing into the vehicle.

“Would you join me in the hotel restaurant? We need to talk about tomorrow.”

John gives him a very serious nod. 

Upon reaching the Sussex, Sherlock ushers the skaters to the elevators while telling them all to a good night’s sleep. He knows full well none of them will. About half will sneak out and the other will behave as though at a college slumber party. His and John’s only hope is that they not play any pranks on them in the night. Either way, none will get to sleep before 1am and will likely waste the morning sleeping in. Although, John has made an effort to have everyone up by nine for a team breakfast at all the away bouts thus far. To Sherlock’s surprise, the skaters have embraced the idea and most are up to join him.

When the last of the ladies have entered the elevators and the doors have closed, Sherlock turns to see John leaning against the wall in wait. Sherlock walks to him and nods in the direction of the restaurant entrance. John nods in return and follows. Soon they are seated at a quiet table in the corner, each with a drink. Sherlock watches John take a sip of his scotch and then look at the liquid with approval. He turns his eyes to the coach after placing the glass on the table.

“So, the stadium,” John begins, “you’ve been there before.”

“Many times,” Sherlock grabs a napkin and fishes a pen from his breast pocket. He starts to draw a diagram of the track and team boxes, the spectator areas, every detail he can think of. He looks up to John when finished to see him already studying the diagram closely.

“Since it’s just the two of us, I think you should watch the bout from here. It’s close enough to our box if needed and you will be able to see anything I can’t,” Sherlock tells him while pointing at different locations on the map.

“Looks good,” John nods. They discuss the logistics a bit more and then both sip their forgotten drinks, satisfied with the plan. That is until John gives Sherlock that look. It’s the look John wears when he knows there is something else on Sherlock’s mind. His ability to know Sherlock so well is infuriating, especially when John himself remains a mystery so much of the time.

“So.”

“So?”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve already told you. We’ve discussed it. It’s done.”

“There’s something else.”

“There’s nothing else.”

“Look, Sherlock, you’re good at hiding things from people,” John pauses, pursing his lips while Sherlock gives him a smile of smug satisfaction, “but not from me.”

Sherlock’s face quickly morphs into one of indignation.

“Don’t give me that look. Something is bothering you. It’s obvious. Now what is it?”

Sherlock studies John closely. He doesn’t know why he hesitates, but still does. He can trust John with his concerns. He trusts him with his life, for god sake, but this is different. This is a feeling not backed by logic. Ordinarily, he would tell no one and dismiss it as an absurd lack of concentration. Sentiment. But John. He will understand and still Sherlock watches him, unsure. He soon finds himself looking intently at every aspect of John’s expression, getting lost in his eyes. The crinkles around them, the way his brows punctuate every expression, and his mouth… God, his mouth.

Sherlock licks his lips and begins to imagine what it would feel like to touch John’s lips. What must they taste like and how would they feel against his own? Or on his collarbone, his shoulder. Sherlock stutters back, staring at John with wide eyes. He absolutely was not doing that and will not do it again in the future. He has already gone over this in his mind palace enough times to know he cannot act on these feelings. It is too great a risk.

Brushing the thoughts from his mind, he looks at John again and hopes he did not notice the hungry look in his eyes, but knows he must have. He watches for any trace of reaction on the doctor’s face, but there is none. John opens his mouth to speak and his words are not at all what Sherlock expects.

“We’re in this together, yeah?” he says simply, leaning across the table. He looks at Sherlock so intently that Sherlock tips his head to the side, almost in wonder. “You, Greg, me, we’re working together to pull this off and protect the team. Now it’s just the two of us and I can’t help if I don’t have all the pieces. I know something is bothering you and I’m sure it’s to do with the accidents. What is it, Sherlock?”

“The two of us,” Sherlock repeats. His chest and cheeks feel warm as his feelings, so soundly stifled, bubble to the surface again. “Against the world.”

It is a foolish, romantic notion and Sherlock would normally berate anyone for such nonsense, but John is smiling that beautiful smile that shines in his eyes and Sherlock wants him never to stop.

“Yeah,” John replies with not just a little affection in his voice. “Something like that. Can you trust me?”

“Yes,” Sherlock breathes. His eyes must be dilating and he cannot stop them from giving him away.

“Do you trust me?” John asks slowly, voice rife with hesitation.

“Yes,” he answers without stopping to consider it. He has no need. He trusts John implicitly and he knows the feeling is mutual. There is no reason to delay any longer. There never was. “I have no real evidence of my suspicions.”

“Okay,” John’s tongue darts across his lips and it is all Sherlock can do not to look at them, not to even glance. “What suspicions?”

“I have...an uneasy feeling,” Sherlock pauses and swallows. He should feel like an idiot, citing anything as irrational as sentiment as a basis for suspicion, but it is a feeling he cannot shake. Something is not right in Baltimore.

“There was a man. When I stepped out of the elevator before dinner. He was watching me. I’m sure of it, and he was gone when I looked back.”

A moment of silence follows and Sherlock feels suddenly compelled to convince John he has not lost his mind. He leans forward and grasps the hand that lies idly on the table between them.

“I know how it sounds, John. I don’t put any stock into gut feelings, emotions or sentiment, but something is not right here. We have to be prepared for anything,” Sherlock tells him in a low, serious tone. 

There it is. His intuition laid out on the table with no basis in logic, just a notion that something is off. He expects John to scoff, tell him he is a weak-minded fool and walk away.

But he does not.

“I believe you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock blinks. He cannot believe his ears. Trying to keep the surprise from his face, he concentrates on John’s features. Honesty and curiosity are the primary emotions he sees and they make him love John that much more. Flip.

Goddammit.

“I trust gut feelings. It’s what helped lead me to you. The team,” he corrects quickly when Sherlock’s eyes meet his and this time they are startled. “This man, what did he look like?”

“My height, blonde, brown eyes and fair skin. He was wearing a black turtleneck and sport coat. I couldn’t see anything else through all the people. He had this look in his eye, like he knew something about me or someone I hold dear. And smirking, but more of a sneer. He’s dangerous, John. I don’t know how, but he is involved in all of this.”

“So we’ll watch for him at the bout and around the hotel. If we see him, we’ll get a hold of him and find out what the hell he’s doing here,” John tells him. Sherlock nods, unable to keep the smile from forming and John follows suit. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just… You’re usually so polite and charming, but now…” Sherlock looks away coyly, but then snaps his gaze back to John and continues in a firm tone because he was absolutely not being flirtatious. Jesus Christ. “Now you’re quite the opposite.”

“More kick ass and take names? I believe that’s what you Americans say.”

“Yes, something like that,” Sherlock chuckles and, before he knows it, John has joined in his revelry. John continues talking a moment later, taking on a more serious tone. 

“It’s where we’re similar. You see, I haven’t been here long, but I’ve grown quite fond of the ladies. I’ll do whatever I need to protect them. And you.”

Those two words catch Sherlock completely off guard and his gaze locks in on John. They share the most sincere of looks across the table. John’s deep blue eyes sparkle, even in the low light of the restaurant. A scheme by hotel managers to appeal to couples who want a romantic evening away from prying eyes. Even those who do not seek out the experience find themselves caught up in the atmosphere. As he continues to gaze into those amazingly expressive, gorgeous blue eyes, Sherlock decides he rather likes it himself.

Then he realizes his own hand still rests on John’s, warm and soft, and for much longer than is normal for friends. He grins uncharacteristically foolishly, hoping it will distract John while he slowly slides it off. The doctor just chuckles quietly and says nothing. Sherlock chastises himself in his mind for being such an idiot. Is this what love does to him? He clenches his jaw irritably. No. He was never like this with Victor. This is what John does to him.

“Hey,” John’s hand is suddenly on his. He looks at him from under long lashes. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Sherlock whispers after a few seconds of thought and John smiles. 

They spend another hour or so in easy conversation before bidding one another good night and going to their rooms. 

Back in the living room of his suite, Sherlock hangs his long coat and scarf in the closet by the door. He pulls off his suit coat as he goes to the kitchen, tossing it on the bar that separates the kitchenette from the rest of the room. He removes a small bottle of wine from the fridge and takes a glass from the cabinet. Sherlock likes a good white wine and only if it is colder than what most think is appropriate. This wine is acceptable, he concludes after a sip.

Sherlock toes out of his shoes and pads into the bedroom where his bags still sit on the bed. He should shower after the day of traveling and practice, but it is late enough that he cannot bring himself to do it. His only desires are to change and fall into the covers. However, there is one thing he wants to do more. Sherlock sets the wine glass on a side table and unzips his rather large bag. He slips his violin case from it carefully and runs a hand over its smooth surface. Playing helps him relax, clears his mind of most things, like flights. He places it on the bed and turns his attention to the garment bag next to it. He takes out the suits and hangs them in the wardrobe. They are a bit wrinkled, but it is nothing his morning shower won’t fix. He has another sip of wine while changing into dark blue pajamas and then pulls on his favorite dressing gown of cobalt blue satin. The color actually reminds him of John’s eyes. He quickly shakes his head to free himself of that thought. Jesus, he’s like a lovesick adolescent. 

Sherlock picks up the violin case, the wine glass in his other hand, and goes into the living room. He sets both items down on the coffee table and looks out the large window for a moment before closing the curtains. Finally, he bends down and lifts the beloved violin from its case, plucking up the bow as he does. After a moment of preparation, he begins to play. He closes his eyes reverently and sways ever so slightly. He plays and plays, careful not to be too loud in the quiet hotel. So consumed by his playing is he that Sherlock almost misses the gentle knocks on his door.

His grey eyes pop open and immediately focus on the door to his suite. He stills the bow, but does not move it from where it hovers over the strings. He waits a beat or two as if there were rests in the piece and then hears it again. Two quiet knocks on his door. Sherlock glances at the clock by the flatscreen. Midnight.

Sherlock places the instrument and bow back in the case and moves toward the door, but pauses mid-step when there is another soft knock. He rolls his eyes and places his hands on his hips. This has happened before. There’s only one person it could be and Sherlock is beyond ticked off. He stomps the last few steps, releases the deadbolt in one swift movement and jerks the door open.

“Harry, if you’ve flooded your room again, I will not be responsible for my ac...tions,” Sherlock loses the vehemence in his last word as soon as he sees the figure at his door.

“What?” John asks, bewildered. “Has Harry flooded her room?”

“No. No, not this time,” Sherlock fumbles. “She did when we were here last year.”

“She does get up to things, doesn’t she?” John snickers.

“Don’t I know it.”

“I bet Clara was pissed off.”

“Oh, she was, believe me. They didn’t share a room for nine aways after that.”

“Nine? Seems rather arbitrary.”

“One for every year they’ve been together.”

“Oh,” the word sounds like a sigh and John’s eyes are soft. “That’s so sweet.”

“Sentiment,” Sherlock’s tone is dismissive and John gives him a look. “After Victor, I determined that sentiment is a defect on the losing side.”

“And yet, you keep winning,” John replies with a cheeky smile, “and you love Molly.”

“Like a sister. It’s different.”

“It’s still sentiment.”

Sherlock looks past John for a moment, feeling himself being pulled down a rabbit hole to a place he would rather not go. He fixes his gaze on John once more, a more critical gaze this time.

“Did you have some reason for coming to my room at this hour?” he asks in a clipped and rude tone he immediately regrets. He blows out a frustrated breath as John’s playful grin fades into startled dejection. Sherlock rushes to put it right. “John…”

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry,” the doctor interrupts, taking a step away from the door. “I apologize for the hour, but I just got a message from Mike.”

Sherlock freezes. Molly’s recovery has gone perfectly by anyone’s measure, but the brotherly and ultimately, irrational part of his mind jumps to frightening conclusions. The logical, and thankfully, larger part of his mind quells the worry before it can be seen on his face. Still, John continues quickly and though he can see it all as clear as day. Damn it, he knows Sherlock too well.

“Everything looks good and she’ll be released tomorrow morning,” he rushes to say. “I thought you’d want to know.”

“Yes,” Sherlock’s body relaxes and he lets out the breath he was holding. “Thank you. Please, come in.”

He stands aside and John walks in hesitantly with a ta. In moments, they are seated on the couch, sipping from water bottles. There is an air of discomfort and awkwardness between them that crushes Sherlock’s heart. He has never felt this way with John in the whole of their association. Even when they met and he attacked him with accusations and suspicion, John was completely at ease. Irritated, yes, but not uncomfortable. Sherlock’s mind works fast for a way to fix this.

“There’s no need to worry about getting her home,” John says suddenly. “Mycroft is going to help her. He’s already arranged it and he’ll help her get settled at home. Since you’re out of town and all. Apparently, he’s taken quite a shine to her.”

“Has he?” Sherlock asks with a lopsided smile. John gives him that cheeky grin and they descend into laughter. Sherlock leans back on the couch, rests his hand on his belly and looks at John. The doctor wears an almost wistful expression. A slow smile creeps onto Sherlock’s face, but doesn’t quite reach his eyes before his lips turn down into a frown. “Mike called you at midnight?”

“What?” John asks and then raises his brows in understanding. “Oh, no, no. He phoned just after I got back to my room, but I didn’t hear it in the shower. Then I fell asleep watching crap telly as soon as my ass hit the sofa. I woke up just a little while ago and saw the message.”

John pauses. Sherlock meets his gaze and then lets his eyes drop down to John’s lips when the tip of his tongue darts out to wet them. Sherlock swallows hard.

“I came to tell you straight away. I thought you’d want to know,” he pauses to look at the coach with laughing eyes, “like I was saying.”

“Yes,” Sherlock says again in a smooth tone. He notices a shiver ripple through John’s body and narrows his eyes. “I do. Thank you, John.”

Before he realizes what he is doing, Sherlock is patting John’s knee lightly. It is warm and welcoming, the denim of his jeans softer than it has any right to be. Sherlock pulls his hand away, even though every instinct in his mind screams to stop and just rest his hand on that knee.

“You’re welcome,” John clears his throat, speaking quietly.

Sherlock tilts his head because the man sitting on the couch next to him is absolutely the most amazing sight he has ever seen. He places his water bottle on the coffee table, drawing John’s attention to the violin and bow.

“That was you playing?” he says incredulously. “You play the violin.”

“Since I was five,” Sherlock replies. “And Molly plays the cello. Our parents had us take lessons together.”

“You really are two of a kind.”

“Oh, no, John,” Sherlock corrects him. “We are very different, trust me.”

A goofy grin appears on John’s face. He glances at his own knee where Sherlock’s had just been and a soft look comes over his features. He turns on the couch, folding one leg in front of his body. One arm rests on the back and he cups his own cheek in his hand, but he says nothing.

Sherlock turns to mirror his position. Draping his left arm across the top of the back, his fingers are close enough for him to touch John’s elbow with his fingertips. A soft brush of affection, of love. Sherlock wiggles his fingers slowly, but does not get close enough to actually touch John. Oh, how he longs to.

“You’re going to visit Molly as soon as we get back?” John’s voice is quiet and gentle. Sherlock gazes at him and they slowly become the only two people on earth. The hotel room falls away. In fact, the whole hotel full of people no longer exists as Sherlock finds and catalogs every hue of blue in John’s eyes. And a fleck of dark brown in only the left one.

“You’re very lucky to have each other,” John says and Sherlock realizes he must have answered yes. He zooms out a bit to see a somewhat distant and sad expression on John’s face. “It’s a precious thing.”

“Do you have a friend like that?” Sherlock asks and then wonders if it was wise when John looks at him with shining eyes.

“I did once,” John replies in a choked voice. He clears his throat and seems to collect himself. Watching the struggle to reign in his emotions, Sherlock desperately wants to take his hand or even take the man into his arms. His body aches with the urge to comfort John in any way he is capable.

“Bill Murray,” John says louder, sounding more like himself. “Met him when I was thirteen. He was fifteen and had just moved next door. He was an only child like me and really into tech repair. He’d fix anything, tear anything apart to see how it works and always got it back together again, usually in better condition than it started. He appreciated my capacity to learn quickly and extrapolate. It helped him with his work.”

He pauses a moment and mirrors Sherlock’s warm smile. Maybe it is the wine he drank earlier, although he did not have nearly enough for this, but Sherlock feels pliant and cozy. The soft oranges and yellows from the lamp lights in the room make the deep red of John’s shirt look even softer. The corners of Sherlock’s mouth curl further and he allows his middle finger to just barely graze John’s elbow.

“Right about the time I went to uni, he graduated and joined the army. We were in contact all through med school and basic training. We found weekends to meet up here and there. I could tell him anything,” John smiles wistfully, but it fades from his face and Sherlock finds himself dreading John’s next words. “I thought about joining up once I was done with school. Figured they’d be happy to have a ‘brilliant’ army doctor.”

Sherlock studies John’s face carefully, gleaning it all from his features. He knows what happened next, but there is no way in hell he is going to let on. He straightens his middle finger again and touches John’s elbow gently. Instead of pulling away again after contact, Sherlock lets his fingertip remain against John’s arm, wishing the doctor had worn a short-sleeved shirt.

“Did you?” Sherlock asks, not failing to notice John has not moved his elbow. The doctor raises his eyes and looks at him sadly. “No, I didn’t. There was more opportunity in civilian life, in England. Bill had shipped out to Afghanistan,” a determined look comes over John’s face and his elbow presses into Sherlock’s fingertip as if he needs to ground himself with the touch. “I thought I could do more, help more people, make more of a difference working in London. Women, children, young and old…”

“I’m sure you did,” Sherlock assures him when he trails off. His index finger joins his middle one, touching John’s elbow gently. “You must have saved countless lives over your career.”

“I couldn’t save the one that mattered most,” John whispers. He turns his head away, casting his eyes at the floor below the flat screen as though he cannot face Sherlock. He can still see the shine of tears in John’s eyes in spite of it. “I’m sorry. That’s a terrible thing to say.”

Sherlock touches with his ring finger now too.

“It’s human,” his voice is quiet and sympathetic. He strokes with his middle finger, trying to comfort the wondrous man before him. John still won’t look at him. “Bill?”

John nods and blinks slowly.

“They were hit on patrol and pinned down for hours,” he sounds distant and still stares straight ahead. He looks as though he can somehow visualize the scene, like he was the lone witness who could do nothing. Sherlock inhales sharply when John’s elbow leans into his touch with all its weight. He can feel John’s pain as acutely as if it is his own. John finally looks at him with watery eyes haunted by sorrow and guilt.

“He got shot,” John says flatly. “In the shoulder. The medics couldn’t get to him for the gunfire and he bled out. Didn’t have a chance. His parents told me. Came to my flat to give me a few of Bill’s things. He’d wanted me to have them.”

As he stares at Sherlock, a tinge of anger sneaks onto his face and his voice has an edge when he speaks.

“Damn it, Sherlock,” John huffs, “if I’d been there... If I had joined up I could have saved him. If I’d just been there. I’ve...I’ve never been able to shake that.”

“What makes you think you could have made it to him?” Sherlock asks. His tone is firm, but empathetic and John gazes back with uncertainty written all over his face. He looks lost and yet, ready to hear what Sherlock has to say, ready to believe. It hits Sherlock all at once that John has never spoken to anyone about this before. He has never been able to put voice to his pain. He has never trusted anyone enough to share it. Sherlock takes a moment to let the weight of that realization wash over him before he speaks.

“You said the gunfire held them down. You would’ve been shot if you tried to get to him. Even if you had been right next to him, you may not have been able to control the bleeding. He may have still bled out.”

Sherlock leans closer. The two gaze at one another with the kind of trust and bond typically earned only after years of friendship.

“You can’t blame yourself, John,” he tells him in a gentle voice. “Bill wouldn’t want that.”

He watches in silence as John’s dark and stormy eyes slowly begin to clear. He may have heard words like Sherlock’s before, possibly from his parents, but he had never dared to believe. He could never find any peace in his heart or mind. So he bottled his feelings and carried the weight of his guilt. John clearly never spoke of it at any time, in any relationship and the fact that he would trust Sherlock with it opens Sherlock’s eyes. He sees for the first time how much their friendship truly means to John.

Sherlock closes his fingers around John’s elbow and fixes him with an earnest gaze. The next words out of his mouth are nearly ‘I love you’ and thank god, he doesn’t say them. Nothing in the world would be more awkward and John would have bolted like a frightened rabbit.

“I have no doubt that Bill treasured your friendship and never had any expectation that you would serve together. He left his things to you as a remembrance of what you shared, not to make you feel guilty or that you’d failed him. You haven’t, John.”

The doctor says nothing. He just looks at Sherlock, unblinking.

“You’re right,” he breathes, a tear slipping from his eye and trickling down his cheek. “I know you’re right. But it’s so hard.”

“I know, John,” Sherlock places his free hand comfortingly on John’s knee. “Bill’s death was a tragedy to be sure. But if you hadn’t been in London for the people you have saved before and after it, that would have been a tragedy. And I think Bill would agree.”

There is a long silence. Sherlock is just beginning to think he should have kept his mouth shut when John’s lips turn up at the ends. It is a subtle movement, one he almost did not detect, but it is there nonetheless. John places his hand over Sherlock’s where it still rests on his knee. Sherlock’s stomach flips and his brows bounce up to reach the curls on his forehead. 

“Thanks,” John says, his thumb lightly feathering up and down over Sherlock’s thumb to the back of his hand. “I know that wasn’t easy to say. Certainly not what I thought we’d be talking about when I walked here.”

“I would do anything for you, John,” he replies after a few seconds. John looks at him, that ghost of a smile still on his face. He pulls away the elbow Sherlock has been touching throughout the conversation and extends it until his hand is resting on the coach’s bicep. A shiver surges through Sherlock’s body and he is sure John feels it too because his smile widens slightly.

“So,” John begins as Sherlock feels a burst of lightheadedness when he gives his arm a squeeze and then gestures to the empty water bottle on the coffee table, “any chance I could get another? Or was that wine I saw on the counter?”

***

Two hours later and they are still on the couch, giggling and snorting merrily. Not drunk, as each has only had one glass of wine, but certainly very jovial. Sherlock has a twinkle in his eye as he looks at John because a laughing John Watson is truly a sight to behold. The coach is leaning back on the couch again with his legs stretched out on the coffee table. His head is turned to face John, who still sits sideways with his arm resting on the back of the couch. They are close enough that John’s fingers touch Sherlock’s bicep and his damned stomach flips periodically with the knowledge of it. While Sherlock still finds it frustrating, he knows for an absolute fact that he would love to feel that touch again and again, every day and night. He wishes that touch meant what he wants it to mean.

Goddamn, he is so fucked.

“We turned and skated as fast as we could,” Sherlock laughs, “covered with paint and cotton candy.”

“Oh my god,” John snorts, rocking back and forth. “I can’t believe you and Molly got away with that! Did he ever show up at your house and tell your parents?”

“No,” Sherlock replies, sobering, “but he appeared in the playground after school the next day and extorted us.”

John freezes on the spot, his eyes wide with shock. His jaw drops open and all trace of humor drains away.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs.

Sherlock stares back at him with a grim expression. However, a grin he cannot hide lurks beneath. The corners of his mouth begin turning up and he bites his lip to hold it in. John raises a brow in confusion as Sherlock’s head tilts up and laughter bursts from his mouth. His head falls back on the couch as he laughs and laughs, a sound from deep in his belly and he clutches at his stomach.

“You should see your face,” he struggles to say, his body tilting slightly from side to side with laughter. Realization quickly dawns on John’s face and he shoves at Sherlock’s arm, mumbling something that sounds like prat. He wears a smile of genuine amusement only a moment later and laughs with the coach.

“I can’t believe I fell for that,” he gasps out between two rather undignified snorts. “Bastard.”

He shoves at Sherlock’s arm again, watching fondly as Sherlock tries to reign in his merriment. When he has finally collected himself again, he looks at John with a more serious expression. It does not last as he starts to giggle and then quickly descends into laughter again. John shoves at him a third time, making both laugh even harder.

Suddenly John lunges at him and Sherlock yelps. They topple over on the couch in a mess of limbs and giggles.

“Ass,” John accuses playfully from atop Sherlock’s chest. The coach wriggles beneath his body to no avail. He places his hands on John’s hips and then slides them a few inches up John’s sides. Sherlock’s breath hitches and he blinks once. His nerves are somewhere between disbelief and sheer panic. If they keep this up his body is going to react in a way he cannot easily hide from John. He must end this here and now before he gives away everything.

Sherlock delivers two quick but light pinches to John’s sides, just under his ribs. The doctor yelps and twists fiercely.

“Shit! Stop. Stop!”

John flounders and then jerks hard to one side. Unfortunately, he tips right over the edge of the couch and brings Sherlock with him. His back thuds onto the floor loudly, the taller man thumping down on top of him. 

“Oh,” John groans. His head lays back on the floor and his hands fall to his sides. With the air knocked free from his lungs, he cannot answer Sherlock right away.

“Fuck! Are you all right?” Sherlock straddles his hips and rests on all fours above him, his hands on either side of John’s head. “John. John! Just try to relax, okay? That’s it. Take deep, slow breaths.”

John’s breathing normalizes within a minute and Sherlock should really get off of him. He knows he should. He absolutely cannot take advantage of their close proximity and position, but a war rages in his mind, each side battling for control. 

Jesus, John smells so good. Stop it. Stop it!

He had not meant for this to happen and, while part of him wants to stay this way forever, another part tells him he can’t possibly do that and keep his friendship with John intact. 

“I’m fine,” John chokes in a quiet voice. “Just need to catch my breath.”

“Sorry,” Sherlock mutters and makes to move off the doctor, but warm hands on his sides stop him.

“Don’t,” John whispers.

They stare at one another. Sherlock sees both fear and desire in John’s eyes? It is only then that he begins to notice other tells that he should have seen long ago. An elevated heart rate, flush blooming up John’s neck and onto his cheeks, and his pupils have grown tenfold. Sherlock is shocked to the core and his breath hitches again when he sees those gorgeous, perfect eyes with only a sliver of blue left flick down to his own lips. In fact, his whole brain screeches to a halt in stunning realization.

John wants him.

John wants him?

No.

Yes?

“John?”

“Yes?” he breathes.

But Sherlock has no words. He has no idea what to say or do. He knows John is nothing like Victor, but the risk...the pain seems inevitable. Sentiment. He should ignore it, douse out the flame. 

“Sherlock?” John whispers, bringing the man back to himself. John looks worried, his pupils already shrinking. “Are you okay?”

Unacceptable.

Without a word or thought, Sherlock lowers his head. His eyes slip closed and he just brushes his lips against John’s. The slightest touch, light as a feather and completely surreal. Sherlock’s entire body tingles with just that one touch. It starts at their lips and spreads through his chest, down his arms and legs to fingertips and toes. It. Is. Amazing. Glorious. Perfect.

Sherlock feels like he is floating. He lets out a long, smooth sigh and then opens his eyes to find John staring back with an unreadable look on his face. The doctor blows out a quiet breath, his eyes searching Sherlock’s. His body is full to the brim with tension.

“I…” he begins in a hushed tone. “I should go.”

Sherlock bites his lip. It is too much. He lifts himself, putting more space between them and adopting an air of nonchalance that grips his heart and squeezes.

“Of course.”

Minutes later, they stand at the door to Sherlock’s suite. Neither has said a word and Sherlock feels like a complete idiot. Why the hell did he think that was a good idea? After all he had told himself about getting hurt, of John not feeling the same way? But why had he said don’t when Sherlock tried to get up? God, he must find some way to salvage this. He cannot bear to lose their friendship. He cannot lose John. It would be like… No, it would be nothing like losing Victor. It would be exponentially worse. A piece of his own heart ripped from his chest, never to return, and what a piss poor job he has done protecting it. 

Sherlock feels numb. He watches John reach for the doorknob and then something in his mind explodes. His hand juts out abruptly and he touches John’s arm.

“John, wait,” he prides himself on the fact that his voice sounds steady.

John turns to face him with an expectant look and Sherlock has a sudden flash of unadulterated panic, but he pushes it aside before he shows. At least, he hopes so.

“I’m sorry,” he says simply. His big brain cannot come up with anything better or more eloquent than the truth. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Please let us still be friends. Please don’t turn away.

John’s brows raise and he looks at Sherlock with a hint of surprise on his face.

“Is that what you…” he stops and shakes his head ever so slightly. His brows lower into a thoughtful crease. His features become deadly serious, but soft and understanding as well. “Don’t apologize, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s mouth opens, but no words come out and he ends up staring at John like a lovelorn fool. Don’t apologize. What the hell does that mean? Surely not what he wants them to. Why is this man so damn murky in a world that is otherwise, clear as glass? Everything and everyone so obvious and Sherlock likes it that way, but John Watson is an anomaly, an enigma he cannot quite piece together. It is absolutely infuriating and yet, everything Sherlock has ever wanted.

Sherlock stares at John without blinking, unsure of what to say or do. Don’t apologize could simply mean that John takes no offense and does not want to dwell on it. Several internal dialogues rapidly play out in his mind and Sherlock ignores them all to concentrate on a decent response instead. He begins to speak, but is not beyond John’s name before he is being manhandled towards the door. His back thuds against the wall with a curse and John’s body is against his, pinning him there. John’s face hovers in front of Sherlock’s, looking uncertain and a little scared, but heated and full of want. Without a word, he presses his lips against Sherlock’s and Sherlock’s mind goes blank.

-----

AHHHH! Omg, we finally made it! They finally got there. Can you even believe it? Eleven chapters in and slowest of slow burn, but YIKES, how exciting! When I got to the end, even I was thinking NO! YOU CAN’T STOP THERE! And now you all have to wait a week to see what happens next. Oops. And truly, with me, you just never know. Will one of the ladies knock on the door because someone’s trying to take down another lady? Or Mycroft phones with some news? Or Greg suddenly turns up to help with the bout? You just never know.

I wish you all a good weekend, a Happy Mother’s Day and an excellent upcoming week. I usually say I hope this brought you some solace, but this time I hope it continues to distract you all week long. Mwahahahaha! 

Love, Jane

@zentris @221b-carefulwhatyouwishfor @toooldforthissh-stuff @shana-movershaker @melmey-fanfics @louise175dk @technicallywiseoncns @underestimatemethatwillbefun @jhamishw @weirdlittlegoofball @superwholockpotterincamelot @superwholocklmt @ladidragonuniverse @kittenmadnessandtea @srebrnafh @welcometomyharddrive @annecumberbatch @kingdomofbrokenhearts @philliphooper @whodwantmeasaflatmate @gloriascott93 @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow @echosilverwolf @spazzz32 @absentmindedstuff @swissmissing @shuukichan @maeliandmyself @wtgilsa @thetranslucentwallaby @red-pen-revolution @britishaccentfan @dischorde @plasticstrawsmuggler @youknowyougrow @francj96

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock loves john #sherlock fanfic #john watson #johnwatson #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #sherlock roller derby #sherlock au

[writing-for-amusement]

Keep It Secret, 2

Summary:  Ever since your soulmate told you to stop writing on your skin because they didn’t want to communicate, you did as they asked even though it hurt your heart. During the first day of your new job as an “emergency woman” on a film set, you forget your notepad and planner, so you have to write on your skin. When you’re then called to the makeup trailer to deal with an emergency, you meet Zendaya Coleman, with your supply list on her wrist. You vow to keep your status as her soulmate a secret, even if it hurts, because all you want is for her to be happy. Even if it’s to your detriment.

A/N: This chapter came out of my brain much more easily than the first one! It’s a bit shorter, but I really like where I ended this chapter!!! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist, or on my permanent taglist! And I will get it on my masterlist as soon as this is posted.

Disclaimer:  I do not know or claim to know Zendaya Coleman; I am essentially using her as a face/name claim to my fic idea. That being said, I hope you like this fic!!!!!

Warnings: bit of angst, bit of panic, a bit of kinda flirting???

Word Count: 1842

Taglist: @pparkerwrites, @beccaboo929, @hailqueenconquer, @imaginerequestpage

Chapter 2

You stared into the mirror for a quick moment, unable to stop the frown on your face as you regarded your chubby cheeks. Then, with a glance at your watch, you rushed out of the restroom and straight to the makeup trailer. You were a calm, collected, cool cucumber.

Zendaya turned her head as you entered and smiled brightly at you. “Hey, Y/N! You were right, waiting a few minutes did the trick! It’s all gone now.”

“Hey, that’s great!” you said with fake happiness and pain in your heart.

“Thanks so much, Y/N, I’d give you a hug, but they won’t let me at all,” she smiled at you brightly and your heart was pounding in response.

“Oh, no worries, I’m glad I was able to ease some of your anxieties,” you said with your own smile. You almost said something else, but thankfully, your headset interrupted you, beckoning you to costuming once more.

“It was wonderful to meet you all,” you said to the trailer, “but I am needed elsewhere. I’ll see you all soon, though I hope there aren’t more emergencies!”

“Oh, Y/N!” Zendaya’s voice stopped you. You turned to look at her and managed to hide your racing emotions. “I’d love to get to know you better,” she said with a soft smile.

Your smile was genuine and tender, almost betraying how much you wanted to just be with her. “I’d love to get to know you too, Miss Coleman.”

“Zendaya,” she corrected you with a grin.

“Alright. I would love to get to know you too, Zendaya.”

As she turned around, you left the trailer with calm steps but a panicking heart.

If being around her for five minutes and knowing she’s your soulmate made you ache this much, you really didn’t know how you would survive if she had been honest and actually wanted to get to know you. You were internally screaming as you power-walked to the costuming area once more; your internal dialogue was split into screaming and mentally preparing for the problem you were about to face.

The rest of the day was spent buzzing around the set like a dragonfly and acquainting yourself with the cast and crew. Due to how the day ended up being, you ate “lunch” with the costuming department. It was a rushed lunch because something popped up, but you munched on the rest of your sandwich as you walked to the active filming set.

At the end of your first day of work, you were leaving after almost everyone else. Part of what you loved to do was prepare for possible issues for the next day. So, you spent a significant amount of time organizing things for problems that could arise the next day.

The organizing also helped distract your crazy thoughts from the day.

Every single time you had seen Zendaya, even from a distance, your heart started to race, and you wanted nothing more than to be right next to her, holding her hand.

You hadn’t known that it would be this hard. You had accepted that your soulmate didn’t want you, but you had no idea the kind of toll it would take on your heart when you met your soulmate knowing that she didn’t want you. The kind of stabbing pain that was sent to your heart, to your soul, you were not prepared for at all.

You were leaving the building with a small frown on your face as you obsessed over the events of the day, when a voice called out your name.

It was Zendaya, jogging to meet up with you.

“Hey, what are you still doing here?” you asked, giving her a smile. You were immediately eased with her around, but you were still stressed because you weren’t sure if you could keep the secret after a long day.

“They wanted to go over some stuff for tomorrow with me, since it’s gonna be pretty intense,” she explained. “You going to your car?”

“Ah, no,” you admitted as the two of you meandered in the general direction of the exits. “I ran—I mean, I walked here after I took a bus. I don’t live super far, but I knew that the traffic would make me late today, so I didn’t drive.”

“Do you want me to take you home?” Zendaya asked, and you could hear the genuine concern in her voice. “Or at least get an Uber or a Lyft or something, I’d feel much better if you did. It’s dark, you shouldn’t be walking at this hour. LA isn’t a very safe place, you know, especially for a gorgeous queen like you.”

You felt your face heat up at her compliment and you looked down at the ground sheepishly. Zendaya was making it incredibly difficult to keep the secret, and you hadn’t even conversed with her for more than a total of fifteen minutes.

After shoving your emotions down, you said, “Ah, it’s okay, Zendaya. I’ll be okay. You don’t have to drive me; you should really get home and get some rest. I don’t want to keep you from your sleep!”

She chuckled and the sound made your heart soar. “I want to, Y/N. I like to make sure people get home safely. Especially beautiful women like you.”

You swallowed even though your throat was dry and managed to get out, “Okay, sure. I appreciate it.”

“It’s not a problem,” Zendaya grinned, quickly pivoting the two of you towards the lot where she was allowed to park.

Your phone chirped as you were walking and you pulled it out of your purse, your eyebrows furrowed. It was from Aziza.

“Y/N! How did your first day go??? Tell me EVERYTHING!!!! Idrissa wants to know, too!!!! Tell me, tell me, tell me!!”

You chuckled under your breath and sent back, “I’ll call you as soon as I’m home.”

“That your soulmate?” Zendaya asked as you put your phone away.

Her voice right next to you made you jump in surprise and you chuckled nervously. “Uh, no, I don’t know my soulmate,” you lied despite how much that hurt your chest.

“Ah, well, I’m sure you’ll find them,” she reassured you. “My car is that silver one. Where do you live?”

You rambled off directions for her as you walked to the car. Zendaya tossed her bag in the backseat and gestured for you to climb in, so you clambered in. She entered her side gracefully, much more gracefully than you could do anything, and gave you a grin. After starting the car and shuffling through a bunch of music, your soulmate threw the car into reverse and began the drive.

As soon as you had entered the car, you’d clasped your hands on your lap and tried to keep your mind from running around in panicking circles. It was not working, as you were constantly trying to keep your breath from quickening and launching you into a panic attack during the drive to your apartment.

“You can relax, Y/N,” Zendaya said with amusement in her voice.

You glanced at her and tried to release the tension from your shoulders. It was slow going, but it seemed that your body could tell your soulmate was nearby (and your mind definitely knew your soulmate was nearby), so you managed to relax a little bit. Even though your body was relaxed, your mind remained tense and on-edge.

“Are you always this tense?” Zendaya asked you curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve just been really tense all day,” she remarked. “Or at least, that’s what I’ve observed, ya know?? Every single time I looked at you, you seemed on edge.”

“Why, Zendaya, were you watching me?” you couldn’t help but tease.

“Well, I, uh, no!” she stuttered, and your heart skipped a beat at seeing her so sheepish and adorable. It made you want to take her hand and kiss the back of it, but you knew you couldn’t, because it was what she wanted.

“It’s what she wants, it’s what she wants, it’s what she wants,” you repeated in your head as you kept your hands firmly in your lap.

“It’s alright, I was only teasing,” you grinned. “I must say that the color of that wig, the pink? It looks really good on you.”

“Thanks. I wish it had been my choice, but costuming did that,” Zendaya chuckled. “So,” she pulled up to a stoplight, “tell me about you.”

“Well, I’m not that interesting.”

“C’mon, I think you’re interesting! Tell me,” she smirked.

“Why would you think that?” you asked with a small smile.

“I don’t know, honestly,” she stated with a shrug. “I guess I’m just… drawn to you. So, I want to know things. Also, did you say it was a right or a left at this upcoming light?”

“A left,” you answered, trying to think of what you were going to say in response to that. You repeated your mantra a few times, keeping your hands firmly in your lap.

“So,” Zendaya prompted in a singsong tone.

You sighed slightly before telling her about your interests outside of work. She laughed when you told her that you enjoyed cross stitching swear words surrounded by flowers, and all you wanted to do was hear her laugh all the time.

At that point, she had reached your apartment building, pulling up in front of it.

“Well, thank you so much for the ride,” you smiled as you moved to open the door.

“Y/N,” Zendaya caught your attention. You saw the laughter still shining in her eyes as she regarded you evenly.

“Yes?” you prompted as she was still watching you.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning,” she grinned.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she interrupted you. “I think you’re going to be my new best friend.” At your surprised look, she threw her head back in laughter. “I really like you, Y/N, I want to be friends. Here.” She handed you a scrap of paper. “My number. Text me so I have yours.”

“I, uh, I,” you stuttered.

Zendaya laughed again, even as you carefully took the paper without touching her skin. “You’re adorable. Have a nice night, Y/N, see you in the morning.”

You clambered out of the car and watched her drive off from the door to your apartment building. Your heart and mind were racing at a speed that was probably not medically safe, as you were panicking about how you would handle the entire situation.

Your soul, though, you thought it was your soul that was making you feel so happy instead of so stressed. All you wanted was to curl up with her and pet her hair, to hold her hand. It had taken everything you had to not kiss her cheek when you left her car. It had only been one day and your resolve to keep the secret was already cracking. You couldn’t let it.

It’s what she wants. It’s what she wants. It’s what she wants.

#zendaya x reader #zendaya x plus size reader #zendaya coleman x reader #zendaya coleman x plus size reader #reader insert #keep it secret fic #please let me know what you think #i am desperate for validation

[sampevans]

A Risk to Take

INVOLVED: Samuel Evans and Ava Evans  TIME FRAME: Friday, March 13th, 2020 LOCATION: Seattle Grace Hospital; Seattle, Washington SUMMARY: Ava and Samuel attend an appointment to have an amnio done after Ava decided that she did want to go through with the procedure.

Ava sat on the examination table, her entire body trembling from worry and nervousness. She was 11 weeks and right in the window to have an amniocentesis done; she had agreed to it, but Lord, she was scared. She understood that the risks were only a small percentage to bare in comparison to all of the knowledge they would gain from the testing, but those risks weighed heavy on her. She was 43, these children she was carrying we’re little miracles and she didn’t want to in any way risk losing them. She would probably never get another opportunity to have more children after this. Plus, the entire procedure was scary. However, she would suck it up because she knew it had to be done. Looking over at her husband, she reached for his hand, her own shaking as she watched two nurses prepare everything for the procedure.

Samuel stood in the room, he was in a corner off on his own, his arms folded and every now and again he would stroke his beard as he calmed himself. If he looked panicked it would only panic her, if he showed fear, she’d read that, if his nerves got the best of him well Ava would flake. This is something that apparently, they needed done, so they had to do it, no matter what. She’d explain the risk to him but the benefits he also knew of as well and felt still strongly that whatever she decided he would support. As she reached for his hand, he grabbed it in his and held it tightly feeling her trembles. He didn’t say anything, honestly, he wasn’t good with words and had never really been. He only tried his best to explain himself and he always felt kind of stupid around her, Samuel wasn’t dumb, but he kind of knew years ago Ava was out of his league and it showed.

Ava held Samuel’s hand tight, looking at him with big scared eyes. She couldn’t even speak; she was so fearful. Instead she just tugged him closer, holding onto his arm. She looked over at the long, thick needle, before she closed her eyes tightly. She was a doctor, she should be more put together than this, but this was a whole other level of fear. These were her children she was talking about. Letting out a breath, she opened her eyes and gazed up at her husband once more.

Samuel looked down at his wife and he looked away from her watching the other two bodies occupying their space. He looked back at her and pondered what to say in his head for a while before he noticed the doctor walking into the room with them and he licked his lips slowly. The quicker they got it done, the faster they could move on. Though he knew for a fact that it wouldn’t be a quick procedure.

Dr. Rand moved into the room and she looked at the couple knowingly “hey” she breathed out to them as she moved to wash her hands and placed a fresh pair of gloves on. “Are you ready?” she asked trying to lighten the mood.

Ava looked over slowly as her friend and colleague entered and she smiled weakly. “Hi,” she said in a small voice as she turned on the examination table, lying flat on her back as needed. “Yes, let’s just get it over with,” she said squeezing Samuel’s arm tightly. She pushed out four kids, all natural, she could handle an amino, right?

Samuel looked to the Ava’s colleague and he finally spoke “hey” he said politely speaking to her as he always did. At Ava’s words he looked between the two falling silent again as his heart pounded against his chest, he was pounding so hard he could hear it and wonder if anyone else in the room could hear it too. As Ava clutched his arm he looked down at her fully and he offered her a small smile, reassurance laced in it.

Dr. Rand nodded her head at Ava “of course, as quickly as I can right” she said back to her in response and she moved beside her. “Of course, nurse” she said trying to remember the girl’s name “Bridget” she said actually having called the right name “is going to hold the transducer in place, while I stick the needle in” she told Ava. Rand gathered the long needle in her hand, and she watched as the younger girl located both children at an angle and in a view of which they’d benefit from after having turned the ultrasound machine on and placed some gel on Ava’s abdomen.

Ava smiled back at her husband just slightly before she closed her eyes, laying her head back. She needed to relax, she just needed to think about something else. That was all. Suddenly, she began humming to herself, trying to take her mind off of everything happening around her. “Okay,” she said in response to her friend before she continued to hum, eyes closed as she gripped her husband's arm.

Dr. Rand continued to watch the screen “right there” she told her easily, she’d done this enough times to know the precise moment when she found a clear enough point of entry for them all. “Okay Ava, I am going to insert the needle” she told her over the woman’s humming. Before she used the actual needle for the procedure, she took the time to grab another injecting some anesthetic into the area the needled would be placed numbing that area a little. She wanted to keep her alert although she was clearing trying to drown them out, she needed her to be still and she couldn’t have the woman move while she did this. It could be fatal if she did. Rand moved with the long needle and considering she wasn’t that far along she pinched off a roll a little as she began to push the needle in very slow and steady. Her eyes were more focused on the screen than on Ava herself, as she pierced layers of skin and fat moving very, very slow. “You may feel a cramp Ava, it’s just the needle piercing the sac” she told her as she watched it enter her womb essentially.

Samuel looked down at Ava again as the women began the procedure and he looked at the screen briefly watching their two babies before he looked at her. Her eyes were closed, and she was humming softly to herself, so he didn’t bother her. Instead he focused on her drowning out the other stuff. He happened to look over at the woman as she inserted the needle and swallowed hard, his wife was a trooper he didn’t know if he could stand looking at it let alone taking it himself.

Ava continued to hum, gripping Samuel tightly. She didn’t move a muscle, she barely breathed as she hummed out, “mhm,” in response to Dorothy, letting her know the process was about to begin. Ava kept her eyes closed, if she looked at the thick, long needle she would lose it. So, she had to stay focused elsewhere. Instead, she continued to hum, and she thought about their babies, imagining the sex and wondering what they would look like after they were born. As Dorothy gripped her stomach fat and pushed the needle through, her face scrunched and her grip on Samuel’s forearm tightened just a little, but she remained still otherwise. She knew what dire consequences moving even just a little could have and she didn’t want to put any more risk on anyone’s hands. She stopped humming and began moaning softly from pain the deeper the needle pierced and as Rand informed her that she would feel cramping, she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, slowly opening her eyes to gaze at her husband. Feeling the cramping pain, her acrylic nails gently dug into Samuel’s arm and her eyes grew wet with tears, it was killing her not to move, not to jerk her body, and it hurt.

Rand attached the barrel to the end of the needle, and she began to draw the plunger back collecting a sample of amniotic fluid from Ava’s womb all while she watched the screen and the movement happening around it. Once she filled that one up, she detached it and placed it aside for the other nurse to label and bag properly before she attached another barrel and removed more fluid from Ava. she moved slowly enough to let the clear fluid fill them and once that one was filled as well, she detached it and rested it aside. The worst part was over for Ava, she began sliding the needle back out of Ava, she moved a little quicker than she had pushed it in however she still moved steady and once it was out she sat it aside and said “it’s over” to her finally breathing for the first time herself. “Bridget is going to monitor them for a while to make sure their heart rates are steady” she said as she pulled her gloves off tossing them in the trash. “And you will probably feel mild cramping or even pressure in your lower abdomen. And of course, we don’t advise any physical activity, any stressful activities, or even sex for about 24 hours” she said to Ava.

Samuel watched her face as the woman pushed the needle further and further into her stomach and he licked his lips slowly. His other hand stroked her hair as she gripped his arm tighter beneath her nails. She was clutching him for dear life, and it hurt like hell, but he was sure it did not compare to hers. As the woman wrapped up the procedure he smiled gratefully and looked at the woman. He listened to the things that she told Ava as he looked down at her, as the other girl in the room continued to watch their children on the ultrasound monitor.

Ava stayed still, gripping her husband tight, tight, tight as Rand drew the fluid that she needed from her body. She knew her friend would take her time and make sure it was all right and viable but God, she just wanted it to be over. When she finally felt the needle pulling from her body, she let out a soft breath, blinking hard as a tear slid down her cheek. She sniffled a little, still staying very still until the needle was all the way out of her and finally, she looked to the screen, gazing at their children as she loosened her grip on her husband's arm. “Mild?” she asked, shaking her head. “Feels like contractions,” she whispered to her friend. At the rules, Ava nodded. All she wanted to do was go home and go to sleep. “Okay,” she said easily.

“Contractions?” Dr. Rand said with a chuckle at Ava “you’ve had how many kids naturally?” she asked her with a smirk. “Mild” she reassured before she told her “if it gets worse or more intense you know what to do” she said easily as she looked back to the screen. Their children's heart rates were fine and overall in her opinion things had been a success. “They look good Ava” she told her thoughtfully. “And I am sure everything will turn out fine” she said.

Samuel caressed Ava’s shoulder gently as the women finally stopped poking and prodding at her. In his mind the worst wasn’t over, the waiting for the results is what was going to kill him. He had faith that everything would be fine, but what if it wasn’t? What would they do? How would they cope? And what strain or toll would it take on them?

Ava looked at her friend and smiled weakly. “Four,” she said with a small chuckle as she shifted on the examination table a bit. “I should be fine,” she said softly, sliding her hand down Samuel’s arm to his hand, lacing their fingers. At Dorothy’s words, Ava nodded slowly before she looked up at her husband, gazing at him and taking in his expression. “You okay baby?” she asked, blinking away her tears.

Samuel just stood there silently; he was in his own thoughts at this point of time. At her words he looked to her “huh?” he asked softly. “Yeah” he nodded his head quickly. I am fine, he said their hands now laced.

Rand chuckled at Ava “and I am sure of it” she said to her easily as the girl wrapped up the sonogram. She cleaned Ava’s stomach off quickly and began to clean up their area. “All clear” she told her before she prepared to leave.

Ava looked at her husband a bit more before she looked at Rand and nodded slowly. “Thank you,” she said to her friend as she sat up carefully. She held her husband’s hand as her other pulled her shirt down and she slid off the table carefully. “When will we get the results back?” she asked.

Samuel helped Ava to sit up right on the table and he helped her down as well sliding both hands in his pockets as his wife asked a very important question.

Dr. Rand stuck her hands in her white coat as she stood by the door and she said “3 days for the basics like: Down's syndrome, Edwards' syndrome or Patau's syndrome” she listed off on her fingers. “Anything rare can take up to 3 whole weeks for them to test” she told her honestly.

Ava bit her lip as she stood there, and she nodded slowly. “Okay, thank you,” she said before she turned to her husband, burying her face into his strong chest as she let out a deep, sad sigh.

#thread #thread: a risk to take #thread: ava mercedes

[toknowyoumore]

spoiler: it was a terrible idea... but i feel good

I’m gonna try a little something, and this could either be a kinda good or absolutely terrible idea. I need to write something important, but I’m not in a writing mood right now, at least for the topics I need to write about. But I know I’m at least a decent writer when it comes to things I do like writing about. That’s why I’m going to drink a fair amount of alcohol to get my creative juices flowing - and also to get me to sleep earlier than 5 am. I’m probably gonna take this down once I submit the actual thing.

Jameson and Canada Dry on the rocks pls glub glub glub

Okay, let’s start.

Growing up with a single mother wasn’t the easiest thing, especially when I heard her screams of pain in the early morning when I was in fifth grade. My mother was diagnosed with breast and brain cancer. Though I didn’t know at the time, my parents were separated. But I still remember the first time walking into the hospital with my dad and seeing Mom on the hospital bed. I remember her stopping midway during our conversation because she lost the ability to breathe. I remember not being in a panic but rather in confusion when my dad told me to go out and get a nurse to help immediately. And in about a minute, a nurse saw a 11-year-old child asking for help for his mom who wasn’t breathing. I remember seeing my mother in the room again afterwards - except now with some sort of breathing machine. I know now that that machine is called a ventilator.

Living was confusing after that. I didn’t know how to feel. I remember being scared at some points but not deathly afraid. I didn’t entertain the thought of Mom passing because the thought just wasn’t real to me. (Spoiler alert, she didn’t, and she’s still in top condition today despite a number of tumors throughout the years. I promise this won’t be a sappy story.) Or maybe I just didn’t correctly process my thoughts and emotions. Was there even a correct way? Maybe all of this just led to me becoming who I am now?

Fourth wall break - okay, so this was a terrible idea. I’m going so off track, and this whole thing was supposed to highlight my good side, but screw it, I’m gonna keep going with this and see where it leads. Before we continue, another glass pls glub glub glub thank you - fourth wall unbreak.

The purpose of me writing that story was to talk about a childhood experience and an example of how I overcame adversity. But now that I’ve arrived to this part of the page, I can’t really think of how I really overcame adversity here. Sure, I got through a hardship that would be difficult for any child, but I don’t remember ever being in deep anguish. In normal terms, this experience would make one more aware of the tribulations in the world and ultimately become more human. But somehow - thinking back to this moment - I’m being hit from all directions with, “It made you less human.” A human would typically mourn from this. I really didn’t, or at least I don’t think I did.

I got lazy. My grandmother took care of me at that point, but she didn’t force me to go to school. I almost had to repeat fifth grade because I had so many absences.

If someone wrote about this experience in their college essay, you may see something like, “From this, I took responsibility and started taking care of myself, building my time management skills and independence.” Nope, none of that here. I was an 11-year-old only child with a grandmother who struggled to walk up the stairs.

I barely had any actual friends in my elementary school, middle school, and most of high school. By “actual friends,” I mean people who I’d talk or chill with out of school. My only community really was my church. Even though we don’t see each other now as often or we’ve drifted apart, something special still resides in those bonds. Despite how I feel about the church and Christianity now, I know for a fact that the friends I had there made my life worthwhile. It’s what made me more human. It’s what got me through adversity.

It’s not about what I did that lifted me up. There wasn’t some switch that I just activated by myself in my brain that suddenly pushed me to take responsibility, start caring for my family, and being a decent person. It wasn’t me; it was my friends. I would always be inspired by them - their words, their actions, even their humor. I wanted to be like them. And over time, I think I changed for the better. And even today, I’ve been making it a goal - maybe even my top goal - to be a decent human being to others.

Fast forward to senior year of high school, when I’m applying to colleges. The common motif of myself and everybody on the planet - say it with me now, “I want to help people.” Who doesn’t? But how? The medical field was something that, to be honest, never really held my interest much back in high school. Some elements of being a medical doctor were appealing to me, though I just wasn’t very gung-ho about the entire thing. I apply to a local university as a safety because I know all my friends were going there, and in my back of my mind, I knew I was too. The local university allows me to apply to multiple schools of varying professions within itself. I apply to its pharmacy school on a whim. I get wait-listed. I then get accepted. My senior year crush decides to go to the same school. And before life offered me the pros and cons, I was a pharmacy student.

There is one big con I should mention though: I knew nothing about pharmacy. I didn’t care a lick about it. No one in my family is a pharmacist. I didn’t really have a “want” to do it. There was no reason for me to pursue it. The only reason I did have was that I could drop out of the program in two years if I didn’t like it without any repercussions. It was strategically sound.

Two years later, I still wasn’t sure about my decision. But just like the last two years flew by, the next one did. And then the next one. And then the next after that. There was never any love for pharmacy. It was, “study for this exam, take the exam, study for that exam, take that exam, memorize a script for this practical, ace the practical, start joining pharmacy organizations, don’t attend the meetings.” My interests during college were elsewhere. They were in leading worship, learning how to help people with depression, and hanging out with my friends, which were all amazing things. But pharmacy still had little room for passion in my life.

Then one year ago, in January 2018, things started to change. It was my last semester taking classes and exams. My rotation schedule for the next year was arranged. Pharmacy was suddenly starting to become much realer to me. Internal medicine, cardiology, emergency department, transitions of care - it was a lot. But for the first time, it didn’t feel like a drag. Rather, it felt like something I knew I had to do, however daunting it initially felt. And I wanted to excel at it. I asked early for extra projects. I went to networking events, which I never even thought about going to. I did things that were outside of my original scope of simply getting a pharmacy degree. I interviewed for a volunteer position at a clinic, where only two students would get accepted, and got it. I attended a class and got certified for mental health first aid, which literally no one told me to do. I quit my job at CVS. I borrowed a book from a local library to study for a certification exam, which I passed, to help me get a job elsewhere. I applied for jobs, which I didn’t get. I asked on a whim to shadow one of my professors at a behavioral health facility for a day and ended up with another research project on my hands to work on over the weekends. That semester was also the first time I was actually looking forward to a class - two to be exact: “Neuropsychiatric Therapeutics” and “Concepts in Psychiatric Pharmacotherapy.” My interests in mental health and pharmacy were colliding.

To this day, I still don’t know what happened. Maybe it was the rush of sweet change that got me working harder. Or maybe it was the “real world” that was finally looming over the horizon, and I wanted to quickly pack some stuff into my resume. Surely, there were some moments in that semester that I faked passion for pharmacy for the sake of making myself look better. But all of a sudden, pharmacy was starting to become more than just something that consumed my life every day with notes and exams. And for some bizarre reason, I was beginning to enjoy it. 

There was no one who turned on my switch, no one who told me to take initiative - yet I was acting as if some sort of external force was pushing me to take leaps as a student. But there wasn’t.

My interests were finally lining up with what I was studying for about five years, and I was starting to take things into my hands to make it that way even more. Yes, that is why I was, at last, beginning to take hold a new passion for a profession that I never thought of myself being in. The interest in helping people, in being a decent human being, that I’ve built over the years because of my friends, my church - they were becoming tangible. There was no need for someone to flip a switch in my head. Something like this didn’t really need one.

And that’s what I’m hoping I could do. Whether that’d be now as a student or in the future as a pharmacist, I want to inspire others the same way that my friends inspired me in my past, to fuel people’s interests and motivations that they may not even know they have. The truth is, you’re helping people all the time. You don’t just have to be counseling them on a medication. And you don’t just have to be giving them a vaccination. You help people in your everyday actions and conversations. Every word of encouragement, every piece of advice, every lighthearted joke has a way of changing one’s life for the better. And as for yourself, you become a little bit closer to becoming that “decent human being.” Pharmacy is just one path - the path that I’ve taken - to help me to reach that goal.

There are still some things I fake, of course. Besides, I don’t know if this road ahead for me is the best one. But writing all this out - it’s clear I’ve come a long way already. And I know that even if this path doesn’t necessarily work, I’ll still probably learn something. Hopefully, at least. 

Not the most horrible idea. But it’s still terrible because this goes so off-track about the topics I’m supposed to write for my real thing. Nevertheless, I feel pretty good about what I wrote. Also, it’s 5 am. The alcohol didn’t help with that at all.

[firemedicdiaz]

My Heart Beats Only for You

Fandom: Star Trek AOS. Pairing: Leonard McCoy X Reader. Word Count: 3610. Warnings: kidnapping, injury, torture, blood, death. Rating: Adult (18+). Genre: Angst. Summary: Reader gets kidnapped by a small regiment of Suliban soldiers working off of some misinformation in the midst of their Temporal Cold War campaign and Leonard is desperate to get them back. Author’s Note: Requested by @mysteriously-lost-forever.  Many elements of this story come from Star Trek: Enterprise, but it’s not critical to have knowledge of the series to read this.

“We’ve been at this for hours,” Leonard complains, swatting at some sort of insect buzzing near his head.  “Are you sure these are the right coordinates?”

“These are the coordinates the High Council sent on to me, yes,” Jim replies, frowning down at the display on his PADD.

“That doesn’t tell me whether they’re right,” Leonard grouses.

You chuckle softly to yourself as you glance around through the thick jungle around you, spying all sorts of exotic plants and animals.  You’re kind of a third wheel on the away mission, having only come because you’d been going a bit stir crazy being cooped up on the Enterprise.  Dr. M’Benga had said some fresh air would do wonders for your mental health, and so you’d been invited along, and you’re not too upset that you’ve been on the ground for so long.  Truth be told, you wouldn’t be upset if you were stuck planet side for days; there are so many new and interesting things to see that you’re having a wonderful time, ancient ruins and your archaeological mission be damned.

As the remainder of the crew bicker amongst each other, you let your eyes fall on every flash of movement and glinting of sunlight off dew drops you catch sight of, ignoring the animosity that’s growing between the others.  You’re just panning your gaze over to a sector of the jungle you haven’t explored yet when a flash of something crimson catches your eye through the foliage.  It piques your curiosity and so with a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure that everyone is still nearby, you dash off through the vines to get a closer look at whatever the strange object or animal is.

You pause a short distance away from where you’d seen the flash, listening closely for movement.  Nothing catches your attention and so you continue to creep forward slowly, not wanting to scare any sort of animal or catch a predator off guard and become lunch.  You’re just about to the spot when you hear a soft crunch of fresh and fallen foliage underfoot and feel a sharp pinch at your neck.

“Ow!”  You hiss, spinning around to look for the source of the stinging.

The last thing you see before your world begins to darken at the edges and you’re pulled into unconsciousness is a man of an alien species you don’t immediately recognize clad in the same crimson you’d glimpsed through the trees.  You’re out cold before you even hit the ground.

A short distance away, Leonard glances around as Jim attempts to hail the Enterprise, his eyebrows knit in concern.

“Did you hear something?”  He asks.

Jim glances up from his comm, his gaze also flicking around through the trees.

“You’re getting paranoid, Bones,” he surmises.

Leonard rolls his eyes, planting his hands on his hips and turning full circle, trying to find the source of the noise he’d heard.  It had sounded like a voice off in the distance and had gotten his attention.

“Gather the crew,” Jim instructs. “Much as I hate to admit that you were right, I don’t think what we’re looking for is out here.”

Leonard trudges off with a nod, heading out to round up the others.  He locates the three members of the security detail and the Enterprise’s chief xenoanthropologist easily, but returns to the clearing when a five-minute walkabout turns up no signs of you.

“Has anyone seen Y/N?” He asks.

The others shake their heads.

��Fan out, look for her,” Jim instructs.  “Report back in ten minutes.”

Ten minutes go by in a flash as everyone spreads out in spokes to look for you.  Leonard’s nerves are on high alert when everyone returns empty-handed.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Jim reassures him. “I’ll get Spock to scan for her bio sign.”

Leonard crosses his arms over his chest, his heart thudding heavily in his chest as all sorts of nightmarish worst-case scenarios start to go through his mind.  He pinches the bridge of his nose against the onslaught of mental images of you falling off of a cliff, getting mauled by an animal, or being stung by something highly lethal.

“Spock’ can’t find her,” Jim says grimly a moment later, breaking through Leonard’s reverie.

“What do you mean, he can’t find her?” Leonard snaps, his panic bubbling to the surface, cloaked in anger.

“I mean she’s gone,” Jim replies. “He can’t find her comm signature, either.  It’s like she’s disappeared into thin air.”

Leonard curses, running a hand through his hair.

Elsewhere at roughly the same time, you’re slowly coming around in a dark, dingy room on a small ship you’re completely unfamiliar with.  You wrinkle your nose at the musty scent that fills the air and gasp as the feeling of cuffs around your wrists and ankles sinks in and rouses you completely.  You whip your head around, wondering where you are and what’s happening.  Licking your lips, you attempt to cry out for help but your throat is too dry and hoarse for any sort of audible communication.

“No one can hear you scream in here,” a reedy voice says from the shadows somewhere to your left.  “And even if they could, they wouldn’t pay you any mind.”

Your heart rate picks up maddeningly as the implications of your captivity sink in.  The last thing you remember is a flash of crimson and a face, rough and greenish, looming over you.  You strain to peer into the inky blackness at the periphery of the room, your breath coming in short gasps as panic grips you, but to no avail.

“Who are you?”  You croak.  “Where am I?”

Your captor steps out of the shadows, revealing himself to be humanoid.  You wrack your brain for species you’ve seen in your textbooks and databases and gasp as the realization hits you.

“Suliban,” you rasp.  “What do you want with me?!”

“I want to know where I can find Captain Jonathan Archer,” the man demands.  “Comply and you’ll die painlessly.  Resist and you will learn the limits of your body and mind.”

You shake your head, straining against the shackles binding you to the table.

“No,” you spit.  “I’m not telling you anything.”

The man raises a hand and in it sits a thin, innocuous-looking metal rod not unlike an old car antenna in appearance.

“Where is Captain Archer?”  The man asks again, determination and malice glinting in his eyes.

“Not anywhere near here,” you snap.

He touches the tip of the rod to an exposed portion of your hand and you scream as agony courses through you.  It’s like an explosion of pain through every nerve fiber in your body with an epicenter where the prod is touching your skin. Your blood feels like liquid fire and you’re afraid you’re going to combust at any moment.  Then, as quickly as the pain came, it recedes again and leaves you limp and trembling in your shackles.

“Where is he?”  The Suliban officer asks once more.

You shake your head again, tears prickling at your eyes as you anticipate more pain.  Terror grips you and you fight to control the involuntary shaking the torture has brought out.  Sure enough, as you brace yourself moments later, the pain comes again, this time from a spot on your neck.  It radiates through every part of your body, inside and out, and you shout wordlessly as a rigor seizes your muscles.  You pray desperately for unconsciousness but it doesn’t come.  All there is as the seconds stretch on is pain.

Back on the Enterprise, Leonard is pacing back and forth on the bridge, agitation rippling off of him in waves. All workstations are up and running and every available crew member is helping in the search for you.  All scans for other life signs and shuttles in the area are coming back clean and to the trained eye, even the captain is beginning to show signs of compromise.

“Run the sweep again,” Captain Kirk orders the bridge crew.  “If there’s so much as a nanoparticle out of place, I want to know about it.”

“Aye, captain,” Spock acknowledges.

Leonard runs a hand through his hair, pausing in his tracks as Jim walks closer.

“We’ll find Y/N, Bones,” he assures the other man.  “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Leonard shakes his head with a derisive snort.

“The first thing they teach us in med school is never to make promises we can’t keep,” he mutters.  “You don’t know that, Jim, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t patronize me.”

Jim sighs and nods once, reaching up to pat Leonard on the shoulder before making his way over to the nearest console.  He peruses the information displayed there, searching for any sign of anything that might help them find you.  He’s just about ready to step away once more when he notices something on one of the sensors.

“Scotty,” he calls out.  “Take a look at the sonar.”

It’s outdated technology and rarely useful anymore what with the advancements in scanning technologies since its peak, but he’d ordered it to be set to run in hopes that just maybe it would pick up something, anything of use.

“What do we have here?”  Scotty asks as he switches interfaces.  “What’s that there, at the starboard edge of the sensor array?”

“I don’t know,” Jim replies. “Adjust the array another fifteen degrees starboard.”

Leonard strides over to the console at the small flurry of activity in the wake of Jim’s order and peers closely at the right side of the screen.  He’s not a navigator, but even he can tell that something is disrupting the sonar signal at the indicated coordinates.  Frowning, he looks up to Scotty for answers.

“It looks like another vessel, sir,” Scotty explains.  “She’s cloaked, but she’s there, right in front of us.”

“Can we identify it?”  The captain asks.

Spock leans in closer to his own viewscreen, peering at the vague shape on the sonar display.  Zooming in, he enhances the image a little bit and reaches back through his memory, searching for a match.

“Captain, if I’m not mistaken, it appears to be a Suliban Cell,” the first officer offers.  “Its shape is consistent with the specifications listen in our databases and the advanced cloaking technology also matches that of the Cabal.”

Jim curses under his breath, thinking back to the symposium he’d attended where Admiral Archer had discussed the Suliban Cabal, the Temporal Cold War, and the sorts of technological advancements Starfleet scientists could only dream about in the present times.

“Mr. Scott, I need you to get me on that ship,” the captain orders.

“Aye sir,” Scotty acknowledges. “But it’s going to take a little bit of time and a lot of faith in my calculation skills.”

“You’ve got fifteen minutes,” Jim clips out.  “I’ll be in the transporter room when you’re ready.”

“He’s not a captain anymore!” You sob, unable to hold back anymore.

The pain is unending now.  Whether the prod is touching your skin or not, everything hurts.  You feel like every bone in your body must be broken, every muscle torn to shreds, every organ failing from the agony.  You can’t remember what it’s like not to feel pain, and you’ve given up hope on ever being safe again, on being rescued and seeing Leonard.

Leonard.

You’d take all the hypos in the world for even a brief respite from the agony, and for Leonard’s arms around you. He could fix this, but you’re afraid he’ll never get the chance.  You’re not sure how much longer you can hold out.  Even your heartbeat seems to be giving out, skipping wildly and beating through your chest.

“Finally,” the Suliban says smugly. “Some compliance.”

He circles the table, reaching out to stroke along your cheek with a single finger, making pain echo and amplify through along the side of your face.

“You held out longer than I thought you would,” he admits.  “I’ll get the information I need and still have time for lunch afterward.”

His cavalier attitude makes your blood boil and the anger gives you hope; you were sure you’d never feel anything but despair again just moments before.

“Now, tell me,” he sneers, dragging his fingertip down your neck and over your chest, poking you firmly in between two ribs.  “Where is Admiral Archer?”

“In a big, cushy office, like all the other admirals,” you groan.  “I don’t know where he’s stationed.”

“That’s not good enough,” the man hisses. “Looks like we’re going to have to wear you down some more.”

He disappears from your side for a brief moment, but you don’t let your guard down.  You jerk at the shackles binding you some more even though you know it’s futile and you’re only wasting precious energy.  Within moments, the alien is back, this time with a sinister looking curved dagger in his hand.

“Last chance,” he goads you, holding up the blade so you can see the few untarnished spots on it glinting in the light. “Talk, or I’ll make you talk.”

“No, please!”  You beg weakly.  “I don’t know!  I swear, I don’t know!”

“Suit yourself,” the Suliban says with a shrug.

He brings the blade down and firmly grasps one of your wrists with his free hand.  Turning your palm up, he presses the needle-sharp tip of the blade to the fleshy spot beneath your thumb.  He starts off lightly but quickly begins applying increased pressure.  You shut your eyes tightly and grit your teeth as the blade bites into your skin, only to open them again moments later as you scream when the blade pierces your flesh.  The warm welling of blood beneath the blade is barely a balm on the agony and nausea roils in your stomach as blood, hot and sticky, begins to trickle from your hand.  You can hear the soft sound of the droplets hitting the floor even over your screaming and your tears are flowing unchecked now.

“Please,” you reiterate hoarsely when you can’t scream anymore.

“I’m coming with you,” Leonard says firmly as Jim assembles a security team on the transporter deck, his tone leaving little room for argument.

Jim nods.

“I wasn’t planning on stopping you,” he says grimly.  “Y/N is going to need you one way or another.”

Leonard feels sick to his stomach at the thought of just how badly you might need him and his skills.

“Let’s go get her,” he says, stepping onto the transporter pad.

As Dr. McCoy takes his place among the others, med kit slung over his shoulder, the captain looks over at Scotty, phaser held tightly at the ready.

“Engerize,” he orders.

You jump, startled, as you hear a klaxon sound overhead.  Your tormentor’s attention is diverted away from where he’s been busy making yet another incision, adding it to the half dozen or so that you’re already sporting. You sag back against the table, grateful for the respite and too exhausted to be concerned over what’s happening elsewhere in the ship.  

You hear frantic movement beside the platform where you’re lying and the Suliban who has been interrogating you drops your hand.  Suddenly, he’s speaking into the comm unit on the wall, exchanging words with another of his crew in a language you don’t understand.  You hear his footsteps approaching again a few moments later, however, and your eyes snap open just in time to see him leaning in over you with something not unlike a hypospray in his hand.

You can hear shouts just outside of the room you’re in as he poises the device against your neck and you barely even feel the sting as he discharges the hypo into your neck, injecting you with some sort of a liquid that burns like fire as it goes in.  As he steps back, spinning on his heel to face off with someone who has just entered the room, the liquid begins to spread, scorching you from the inside out, making you feel like your very blood vessels are on fire.  A sweat is breaking out across your forehead as the drug circulates, and it’s so disconcerting that your surroundings are lost to you completely.  Even the din of phaser fire all around you does nothing to get your attention.

You hear a voice as you lie there, feeling the fire rage in your body, losing every remaining ounce of strength you have the longer you’re exposed to what you’re sure must be some sort of a poison.

“In here, Bones!”

The voice sounds far away and garbled as it carries on.  You can’t make much of what else it’s saying, but your mind cottons on to a word; one crucial, critical word.

Bones.

You hear footfalls approach your bedside and a hand lands on your cheek – blissfully cool against your wildly fevered skin.

“Leonard,” you croak, your eyes fluttering, your gaze unseeing.

“I’m here, darlin’,” he says as he stands over you.  “I’m right here, you’re safe.”

You groan and arch your back against the onslaught of burning, feeling the hand on your cheek slip away.  You turn your head in search of it but feel hands at your wrist instead, tugging at the shackles that bind you.  There are hands at your other wrist, too, pulling at the restraint there as well.

“I’ll try and disable these,” a voice – the captain’s, you realize – says.  “You take care of Y/N.”

The hand is back at your cheek a second later.

“Lie still, sugar, I’ve got you,” Leonard murmurs reassuringly, though his tone is thick with his own emotions which are just barely being held in check at the sight of you so badly injured.

A tricorder whirrs over you and as he reads the information it’s giving him, Leonard can’t stifle a curse.

“What’s wrong?”  Jim’s voice asks from somewhere nearby.

“Her vitals are all over the place,” Leonard replies.  “Her body temperature is off the charts.  I need to get her back to the Enterprise.”

“He gave me something,” you rasp.  “In a hypo.”

Leonard’s hand is gone again as he reaches for his kit, pulling out a holoscanner.  He holds it over your chest, inspecting the image there closely.  With your eyes closed you don’t see his expression, but you can almost feel the change in the energy around him as he takes in your scans.

“Damn it,” he growls.  “How long, Jim?”

“I don’t know,” Jim replies.  “I need Scotty.”

Leonard curses and sets the scanner down in favor of his PADD.  He searches frantically through Starfleet’s medical database for evidence of the compound the scanner has found in your blood but nothing comes up.  He needs to treat you, but he’s afraid to mix whatever is in your blood stream with any of the medications in his arsenal.  Any sort of a reaction between his drugs and the one in your body could be fatal.

“Len,” you whisper, trying to get his attention as you feel the heat being replaced with an icy cold from the inside out; you can feel yourself dying.  “Len, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Leonard murmurs. “But you’ve got to hush right now; save your strength.”

You shake your head, forcing your eyes open against the overwhelming draw of death.  Breathing shakily, you splay your fingers, wordlessly begging Leonard to take your hand.  It takes him a moment to notice and realize what you’re looking for, but as soon as he does, he’s clasping your hand between his palms and leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you say hoarsely.  “I wanted so much more time with you.”

“Shh,” Leonard says.  “Don’t you be checking out on me just yet, darlin’.  We’re going to have plenty of time.”

You can hear the undercurrent of doubt in his voice, the tremor of fear and helplessness underlying his tone. You shake your head again.

“Goodbye, Leonard,” you mumble.  “I love you.”

Your last few words are slurred as you give up the fight, giving in to the darkness pressing at you from every side, relinquishing your hold on consciousness.  All you feel at the crux, the last moment of your life, is a blanket of peace settling over you and a welcome reprieve from the pain.  

The sensation of Leonard’s fingers pressing at your pulse point, feeling frantically for a heartbeat that’s fluttering one moment and absent the next, is lost on you.  His cry of anger, of denial and despair, is lost on you as you slip away, and he’s left at your bedside, a shell of himself.  You’ve taken a piece of him with you, a piece he’ll never be able to patch back together.  You were the first true love of his life, and the only one he was forced to let go of without a fight.

Your loss has hit the entire crew hard, but none so much as Leonard.  For days after, he is a ghost.  Sightings of him are fleeting, and he’s so pale and drawn that Jim considers having him admitted to the med bay for monitoring on Dr. M’Benga’s recommendation. Even for someone so well acquainted with loss, he’s taking it hard.  His familiarity with death makes his despair all the more poignant, though, and his loss amplifies the sorrow the rest of the crew all feel.

As Leonard lies awake another night, staring at the ceiling, he realizes that while a heartbeat is required for life, it is far from the only thing necessary for one to truly live.

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[athyrabunlord]

So I’m having major LLSHP AU withdrawal symptoms so I was wondering whatever blip you choose it could be from that universe? first choice is: 8. “Your smile is not as bright as it used to be.” Kanamari after Mari was attacked in Hogsmeade and her power had been drained Or either: 45. “I think I made a mistake.” (Kanan) 46. “Shut up, I am a delight!” (Mari)- Kanamari prequel When they first started dating if possible? As I’m desperate to know how their relationship started! Thank you!

“Shut up, I am a delight!” [Prompt List] (closed)A/N: I skipped 6 asks to do this one sorry XD;; Don’t worry, I’ll do all the existing asks. As said in this post, I’m glad to be asked about this AU Anon! A/N2: This would be a teaser from the prequel-Interlude “Delphinus”, which is about kanadiamari’s Hogwarts days prior to the main story, told in Mari’s POV.Words: 2,696As usual, “italicized words” = Mari’s Engrish

“What’s up with her…?”

Mari lowers her Omnioculars and fiddles with the buttons on the side before looking through them again. Her objective is jogging at a decent speed, not at all deterred by the bumpy and uneven shore around the Black Lake. The girl’s expression is one of utmost concentration, her dark-indigo ponytail fluttering behind her like a, well, pony’s tail. Dressed in jeans and a shabby hoodie, Kanan Matsuura looks like a lost Muggle who somehow wandered into Hogwarts grounds.

Alas, the carelessly strewn Gryffindor cloak and scarf beside a rock remind Mari that Kanan is indeed a fellow student, Muggleborn or not.

She sure can run… ugh, stupid tree in the way.

Mari narrows her eyes and shuffles from one hiding spot to another. They say curiosity kills the cat, but she happens to be quite resilient! Each and every one of her adventures make her into the shiny person she is today!

Once an idea has taken root, Mari is sure to follow it through until boredom wins and sends her elsewhere. So far, her observation of Kanan is, frankly, tedious. Other than learning her peer has seemingly inexhaustible stamina and appears to be unaffected by the cold weather, nothing exciting has happened.

Mari grumbles under her breath as she reapplies the Hot-Air Charm for the umpteenth time. Waking up at the ungodly hour of 5AM is horrible already, let alone on a friggin’ Sunday! And Kanan’s done nothing but jog around the Black Lake for over an hour now! After the first twenty minutes, Mari had given up sneaking around the bushes and merely settled for perching on a high vantage point so she could oversee the Lake’s perimeters.

Sighing, Mari uses the Omnioculars to slow down Kanan’s movement and watches the replay to see if she could find anything interesting. As expected of binoculars specifically made for Quidditch games, she could see every single detail clearly, such as how Kanan’s sweaty bangs are messy and her cheeks flushed from the jog.

Mari blinks, noticing a particular detail for the first time.

Is she… smiling?

She considers herself an active person, having flown around on her broom and her precious Hippogriff since she was a little girl, but all the fun had been obtained through magical means. She doesn’t understand what could be so enjoyable about something as mundane as just… running. It’s not a game of Tag, and there is no goal, no incentive as far as she can see.

What’s so fun about this?

Sure, Quidditch players are known to train around the Black Lake, but even they would not wake up this early on a Sunday (she really can’t get over this fact). At least, such outdoorsy and tenacious spirit fits the Gryffindor stereotype. Mari has always wondered why Kanan got Sorted into Gryffindor - she isn’t rowdy and prone to mischief; while she appears smart enough in lessons, she isn’t academic like the Ravenclaws; she certainly exhibits no ambition whatsoever like the Slytherins.

Really, Kanan should be an easygoing, peaceful Hufflepuff. From weeks of observation, Mari decides that most of her peers fit the norm, and everyone seems to be mingling just fine. It’s only their First Year at Hogwarts after all, so it takes a different amount of time for an individual to find his or her niche.

Mari herself is quite friendly with her fellow Ravenclaws, finding their intelligence on par with her own and thus making it easy to strike interesting conversations. And, if she gets a little bored, she would challenge the Gryffindors to Exploding Snaps or even secret duels (she has yet to get caught!). Chilling in front of the fireplace or enjoy the rare afternoon sun? No problem, she has a few Hufflepuff buddies to share that lazy but content sort of joy too!

And there’s always Dia Kurosawa to tease and prank. Really, the only reason Mari even tries so hard in tests is just so she could flaunt her scores over the studious Slytherin. They’re evenly matched so far, with her being slightly ahead at Transfiguration and Dia at Potions. Like the rest of the students, other Muggleborns have more or less settled in the daily routine of school life here at Hogwarts.

Yet, why does this Kanan Matsuura still seem out of place? It’s not like she gets ostracized in lessons, and she sometimes participates in class discussions or naps through droll lectures. She’s like any regular teenager, so why is there something off about her?

Chartreuse eyes blaze in determination. That’s why she, Mari Ohara, is here to solve the mystery! The Sorting Hat must have placed Kanan in the House of Gryffindor for a reason, surely not just because this jogging-maniac has muscles!

Oh, she’s finally stopped. Hmm, what’s she doing now?

Kanan has returned to the boulder where she had discarded her cloak and scarf earlier. Instead of donning them, she simply stands there with her hands in her hoodie’s pouch and is looking out towards the Lake. Since her back is facing Mari, this only gives the blonde Ravenclaw two options: go around the trees to another vantage point, or just go over to confront the girl in question!

Smirking, Mari nimbly hops down from a branch, utilizing Sticking Charms and other small tricks to muffle the noises from her movements. She’s tired of all this spying (totally not stalking) and is ready for some action!

She casts a few more Charms to ensure that her approach inaudible. She does hesitate for a moment when she notices the slightly forlorn expression on Kanan’s visage, but she quickly steels her resolve.

Eheh, I bet you weren’t expecting any spectator, are you, Miss Ponytail?

Mustering all her energy, Mari darts out from the bushes and leaps for her target when she’s close enough.

To her shock, Kanan somehow detects her pounce and dodges to the side. Their mutually startled eyes meet for a brief second before momentum pulls Mari towards the rocky shore.

“Shit!”

Though confident in her own swimming ability, Mari could feel her limbs cramping up under the icy lake water. Bubbles burst from her mouth as she panics, her uncooperative fingers unable to reach the wand in her pocket.

A muffled splash later, she glimpses a dark silhouette diving towards her. Strong arms wrap around her waist behind her and she faintly feels propelled upwards where the light is. As soon as she breaks the surface, she gulps for air and tries to swim but only ends up flailing about.

“Be still! You’re in no shape to swim. Try to relax, I’ll get you to shore.” A calm yet firm voice stops her movements.

With her mind muddled, Mari could only nod and allow her savior to lead. She struggles to drag herself ashore, though the drenched clothing is weighing her down more than she could ever imagine. Again, strong arms haul her up and soon, she finds herself seated atop the boulder where the Gryffindor cloak and scarf remain rumpled in a pile nearby.

“Just what were you thinking! Do you have any how dangerous that was?!”

Kanan looks and sounds furious, wearing a dark expression never before seen and thus surprises Mari into silence.

After opening and closing her mouth a few times, she could only mouth a word. “Sorry.”

Glaring, Kanan is probably about to scold some more when a chilly breeze blows past them, making Mari shudder and her teeth chatter.

Wordlessly, Kanan wraps her cloak around Mari and begins to dry her in brusque movements.

“Erm, you should dry yourself first-?”

Indeed, the soaked ponytail is plastered to Kanan’s equally sodden hoodie. A scowl is all Mari receives as Kanan continues to wipe at her head.

Honestly, Mari feels like a little kid under reprimand and in no position to argue.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Mari retrieves her wand and gives it a complicated wave. Kanan recoils, her amethyst eyes wary and her fists clenched even as Mari calmly directs the wand’s tip over her.

Her stance only relaxes when it’s obvious that the magic is simply drying her clothes via controlled hot air. Smiling, Mari then dries herself with this nifty Hot-Air Charm and holds up her hands akimbo.

“Tada~ See, no need to manually do it. It’d take forever to wring out the water, yes?”

“Right, what was I thinking. You’re a Witch and we’re at Hogwarts.” Kanan’s tone is oddly aloof, as if she doesn’t consider herself a fellow Witch as well.

“Yup! I can do this too,” she utilizes one of the more advanced Transfiguration spells and manages to conjure a jar from a piece of the Omniocular. Under Kanan’s watchful gaze, Mari smoothly aims Bluebell Flames into the container. “See? You can even carry this around if you get cold!”

“Useful, I suppose.” Again, Kanan’s voice is rather flat, not in a dismissive way but more like all of this has nothing to do with her. Her eyes are still trained on Mari, scrutinizing at her from the top and down to her feet.

“What?” Though unabashed most of the time, Mari feels quite self-conscious under such an intense gaze. “Am I so pretty that you can’t look away?”

Ha, she couldn’t help but add that cheeky remark.

Kanan, as expected, ignores her and points at her leg. “You got a spell for the cramp too?”

“Damn, you got me,” Mari playfully holds up her hands. “That’s for a Healer’s level.”

At last, Kanan’s hardened expression is replaced by a small smile. “See, it’s still necessary to do it yourself, rather than rely on magic.”

“U-um…” Again, Mari finds herself rendered speechless as Kanan begins to massage her leg. Her hands are well-practiced, as if knowing exactly where and how much pressure to apply.

“How do you feel? Does anywhere else hurt?”

Blinking out of her daze, Mari shakes her head. “You seem knowledgeable about this. Do you do this often? Is this a way to hit on girls?”

Kanan gives her a blank look. “Huh?”

Mari rolls her eyes. “Never mind that. So, this massage, the swimming, and all that, you seem like a professional-?”

At this, Kanan holds her head a bit higher. “I already have my lifeguard license, back in the Muggle world I mean. My grandpa… well, I used to work at a diving shop,” her voice falters a little but her enthusiasm quickly takes over again. “See, I live at this small town by the sea and-”

Always ready to learn new things, Mari becomes absorbed in Kanan’s story and especially her passion about the sea. Despite having quarter Muggle blood, the Ohara ojousama grew up in a magical community and mostly interacted with Pureblood peers. As she grew older, her father would take her around the world to build connections with foreign communities, hence she has some pen pals from Beauxbatons, Durmstrang and even Ilvermorny. The acquaintances she does know from the Muggle world all have power and position, so she has yet to befriend a Muggleborn like this.

Well, she’s always been fascinated by Muggle contraptions anyway, so this could be her chance?

“Hey, teach me more!”

“What-?”

“Like, what were you doing around the Lake? Can’t be only jogging! It’s a Sunday!”

Kanan’s relaxed expression tenses again in annoyance. “I was just exercising! I do this every day, and that reminds me, what were you doing spying on me and-”

“Don’t mind don’t mind~ At least we’re talking now right? You chat with your Housemates and other students just fine but I notice you always pull away before the conversation gets any longer.”

“That’s- I was just-” Kanan furrows her brows. “How long have you been watching me? And why me?”

Honestly, Mari doesn’t know. She tends to go with her instincts and just rolls with it. Some would argue that is actually a Gryffindor trait, but hey, a shiny and creative mind like hers could only belong to Ravenclaw! Everyone has bits of qualities from each House, sì?

“It’s a secret~ To find out, all you have to do is teach me more about Muggle life style~” Mari ends her sentence with an award-winning wink.

Needless to say, Kanan appears unaffected. “I don’t really… besides, I can see that our personalities don’t match and-”

“Shut up! I’m a delight!” Mari pats Kanan’s shoulder and gives her a thumbs-up. “Stick with me and I promise your life here will be shiny every single day~”

Reluctance oozes from Kanan’s body language. “Surely there are other choices? Aren’t there some Muggleborns in Ravenclaw and I bet they’re smarter than me-”

“Nope. I’ve picked you, and that’s the end of the discussion.”

Kanan lets out a quiet and contemplative hum. “You sure are headstrong. What do I get out of this then?”

Shrugging, Mari glances at the blue fire flickering in the jar. “Hmm, I could teach you cool tricks like this? Whatever I can think of to help your daily exercise or something?”

“That… could be helpful,” Kanan mumbles and seems hesitant for the first time in their conversation. “Well, being a Muggleborn, there are some stuff I don’t quite get about the magical world, and I do have trouble with some of the assignments and spell works, so, um…”

“No problem!” Eager to be of help, Mari shakes Kanan’s warm hand and grins triumphantly. “Deal! We help each other out and, well, we’ll go from there, Kanan!”

“We’re on first-name basis already?” Kanan’s lips twitch in a hint of a smile, which Mari takes as a good sign.

“Of course~ We’re gonna be spending a lot of time together, so get used to it!” The blonde pauses when a thought occurs to her. “But, huh, I thought Gryffindor Lions would take you under their wing. Pride of Lions as they say, no?”

Kanan does not reply to that, her expression rigid. Mari puts that away to her To-Investigate List and waves it off.

“No matter, I’ll be a much better influence than those rowdy Cubs anyway, hehe. Oh, actually, I have a better idea.”

“What?” Kanan asks warily.

“I’d love to be the one tutoring you but my attention span isn’t long enough for that~” Her dear acquaintance and perhaps the only person she considers a friend would surely accept. Dia’s outstanding achievements in every class have already made her famous in the school, on top of her prestige as the heiress of an ancient Pureblood family. However, such distinguished status causes a distance between her and her peers, even her Housemates. They don’t dare to approach her out of reverence, and Dia likes to keep her personal space anyway.

Until Mari Ohara comes along, that is.

“I have the perfect candidate in mind. Why don’t we go to her right now?” Grinning, Mari tries to stand up but almost stumbles when her cramped leg refuses to cooperate. She could support her own weight, though the sensation of weakness is disconcerting enough to make her growl in frustration.

Where is her broom when she needs it!

Suddenly, she is lifted up as if she weighs nothing.

“First, we need to go to the Infirmary. Your leg still needs to get looked at properly,” Kanan says evenly, not at all out of breath as she begins to walk towards the castle.

It takes several moments for the gears in Mari’s head to resume functioning. Didn’t her morning start with trailing after this ponytailed Gryffindor? How did that lead to her being wrapped in the said Gryffindor’s cloak and carried like a princess?

“Okay, giddy-up!”

“I’m not your horse.”

“Go fetch!”

“I’m not your dog either.”

“What are you then?” Mari peers up at Kanan, fluttering her eyelashes theatrically.

Kanan looks down and huffs in exasperation. “I suppose, we’re… friends now?”

“Good answer! Ten points to Gryffindor!”

Kanan sighs and Mari giggles to herself. Perhaps, by sticking with Kanan, it is her life that will be shiny every single day!

#anon ask #LLSHP AU #kanamari #prompt list bliplet #an excerpt from an Interlude that would take forever for me to get to lololol #the beginning of the kanadiamari trio #keep in mind they're same age as Yoshiko here #and... somewhat different than how they're currently characterized in the main story XD #which is through Yoshiko's perspective too so #POV effect yay \0/

[imjustthemechanic]

The Stone Knight

Part 1/? - Two Statues Part 2/? - A Curious Interview Part 3/? - John Doe Part 4/? - Escape Attempt Part 5/? - Making the News Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - More Impossible Part 8/? - The Shield Thieves Part 9/? - Reality Sinks In Part 10/? - Preparing a Quest

It kinda ruins it when you clarify that ‘preparing a quest’ in the 21st century mostly involves a lot of phone calls.

It had only been a few minutes since the chief had stepped in and told everybody to get moving, but the police officers had taken his orders to heart. The station was now positively boiling with activity as people photographed and sketched the room, set out markers for things they thought were important, and compared the contents to lists to see if anything had been stolen. Natasha and Dr. Wilson wound their way through the crowd with murmured “excuse me”s and “beep beep”s, and made their way out into the car park.

The car park was busy, too, with more police cars pulling up and people who worked elsewhere on the street wandering over to see if they could figure out what all the fuss was about. It was a breath of fresh air after the panic inside, though, and Nat and Wilson stood there together for a moment, trying to de-stress.

“So now what?” asked Dr. Wilson. “Now we've gotta go on a quest?” Once again he almost smiled before getting control of his face.

“If you're trying to sound like you don't think that's the coolest thing you've ever done, you're failing,” Nat noted.

“Right.” Wilson chuckled nervously. “I have to admit, this is what I fantasized about when I was a kid. But that's not the same as having to actually do it in real life. In the fantasy versions I always managed to save the day.”

“Well, we don't have to,” Nat said, but she couldn't help thinking it would be very selfish not to. They were too deeply involved now. Natasha, Dr. Wilson, and DI Carter were the only people who really could help Sir Stephen, because they were the only ones who'd seen with their own eyes that he wasn't just a nut. It didn't matter what century it was. If all of this were real, then the Grail was a very dangerous object, and a man who'd done the terrible things legend said Johann Totenkopf had done should not be allowed to get possession of it. “You want to bow out?” she asked. It wasn't sarcasm. If Dr. Wilson didn't want to come, she wouldn't force him.

“Hell, no,” said Dr. Wilson. He smiled for real this time, not trying to suppress it. “Eight-year-old me would travel through time to strangle me.”

“And we can't have that,” said Nat with a return smile, although the world had gone so mad she wasn't entirely sure she was joking. Could that happen? “Why don't you rent a car so we can go back to Dundee. I'm gonna call Yancy Hughes about the shield, and then I'll see if I can find a copy of The Romance of Sir Stephen and Totenkopf.” The original chivalric poem might shed some light on the situation.

Dr. Wilson snorted. “That makes it sound like a love story. And you teased me about sleeping with him!”

The level of activity in the car park made it a loud place to try to talk on the phone, so the two of them separated and Nat walked a little way up the road to an abandoned lot on the corner. There she hopped the fence and sat down on the gravel next to the concrete wall supporting the overpass. This was relatively private, and she pulled out her phone.

Her first call was to a local library, to see if she could find an audio copy of the medieval poem. While she waited for the librarian to track it down, Nat reached into her purse to find a pen, and found something else – the little Anglo-Saxon pendant she'd grabbed from Zola the moment before he vanished. Maybe while they were at Dundee she could have somebody take a look at this, too... if it were made of ivory, she could get it carbon dated and at least find out whether it were medieval or just a replica.

“Is this the one?” the librarian's voice asked. “Sir Stephen and the Red Death, author unknown, based on J. A. Fisher's 1941 edition? It's read by the late Sir Richard Attenborough.”

“Is that the only one you have?” asked Nat. Mid-century academic writing tended to be tedious, and the thought of spending an hour in a car listening to mid-century academic writing in a stuffy British accent made Nat feel as if she were asleep already. Then again, The Romance of Sir Stephen and Totenkopf wasn't exactly Le Mort D'Arthur or The Canterbury Tales. She should probably be glad they had an audio edition at all. “Never mind, I'll take it,” she said, before the librarian could answer her. “What's your address.” She wound the broken chain of Zola's pendant around her wrist, clutching the object in her last three fingers so she could write with the first two.

With the poem secured, Nat's next call was to Sue in the Faculty of Archaeology office. She'd expected the usual polite greeting – instead, for the first time Nat could remember, she got to hear Sue take the Lord's name in vain.

“Christ, Natalie!” Sue exclaimed. “I'm so glad you rang! I've been worried to death about you – with the hospital bombing and now there apparently rerally are monsters in the Loch and people are patrolling the banks with guns! I think the whole country's gone mad. Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I'm fine,” Nat assured her. “I'm nowhere near all that.” She was not about to tell Sue how close she'd actually been to both. “I'm actually heading back to Dundee today,” she went on, as if this were for totally normal reasons instead of a trashy fantasy novel coming to life. “Can you do me a favour?” “Off course,” said Sue.

“Can you get me a personal number for Dr. Hughes in Anatomy and Human Identification?” Nat asked. “It's kind of private and I don't want to leave a message in her office.” Not where there was a ghost of a chance somebody else might hear it.

“I'll take a look at the faculty phone book,” said Sue. There was a soft swish of paper moving past paper as she pulled it out. “Speaking of messages,” she added, “I'm sorry if you left me one about this already and I just missed it somehow, but is your Dad coming to the faculty dinner this weekend?”

Nat groaned to herself. It would probably have been much simpler to tell people that both her imaginary parents were dead, but having one still alive was such an easy excuse if she ever needed to run off for some reason. The biography she'd put together for 'Natalie Rushman' stated that her mother had died of cancer when she was a teenager, but her father was still living in Manhassat. If she ever needed to disappear, she would simply tell everyone that he'd suffered a heart attack or stroke and she was flying back to the States to be with him. By the time they began toworry about her, she would be gone without a trace.

The Atlantic Ocean was normally a good excuse for why nobody had ever met Natasha's father, but every so often something like this came up. “He's got a car club thing this weekend, unfortunately,” she said.

Sue clucked her tongue. “Is that more important than his daughter? He can't have seen you in years!”

“I visited him last Christmas, remember?” said Nat. “He doesn't really have the money to do a lot of trave...ow!” she exclaimed, as it suddenly felt like an electric shock in the fingers of her left hand. She quickly dropped Zola's pendant and looked at her palm, but the skin was undamaged. What had that been?

“What happened?” asked Sue.

“I'm fine,” Natasha told her. “Just a papercut.” She scooped the pendant up again and tucked it back in her purse.

“Okay,” said Sue. “Here's Dr. Hughes' number.”

Nat copied it down on the edge of a reciept, next to where she'd written the address of the Inverness Public Library. She thanked Sue and promised to see her in a couple of hours, then went on to make her third phone call. This one picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?” said a woman's voice.

“Hi,” said Nat. “Am I speaking to Dr. Yancy Hughes?”

“Speaking,” Dr. Hughes agreed.

“I'm Dr. Natalie Rushman, “Nat said. “I work in the faculty of Archaeology. I think we met last year. One of your students wanted to do a DNA study of the remains of medieval plague victims.”

“Oh, yes, I remember!” said Dr. Hughes. “The redhead, right? What can I do for you?”

“I have kind of a weird request,” said Nat. “The cops in Inverness would have sent you a replica Anglo-Saxon shield that they believed was crime scene evidence. There would have been blood on it that they wanted you to test. Do you have it?”

“Yeah, the courier dropped it off this morning,” said Dr. Hughes. “I haven't had time to look at it yet.”

So it had made it to Dundee – that was good. Nat had been worried it would be intercepted en route. The best way to take something from its rightful owners was to convince them you were the person they were supposed to be entrusting it to. “That's great,” said Nat. “Can you set it aside for me? Because I've seen pictures of it and I have a feeling it's a lot older than they think it is. I want to take a closer look.”

“Sure,” Dr. Hughes said. “I'm not likely to get to it today, so that's no problem. I'll leave it in the locker for you. Do you have permission from the cops?”

“I do. Inspector Carter's coming with me to make sure I don't drool all over it,” said Nat. “Now here's the weird part. When I arrive, I want you to ask me for photo ID, and don't let me at it if I don't have that. It's just a precaution,” she added. “The cops will want to know if you have a record of who looked at it.” That hopefully made sense. If nothing else, it would make more sense than telling a complete stranger there was a shapeshifting hobgoblin looking for this object.

“Okay,” Dr. Hughes agreed amiably. “What time are you likely to be here?”

Nat checked the time. “After lunch, probably around two o'clock.”

“I'll pencil you in, then,” Hughes promised.

Natasha put her phone away, picked herself up and headed back to the police station to find her... friends was too strong a word, she decided. Colleagues didn't quite work, either. Was there a word that meant the other people mixed up in this fiasco? If there were, it was probably nine syllables of German.

She found Dr. Wilson still out in the car park, tapping his foot impatiently. “You all done?” he asked when he saw Nat coming.

“Yeah,” she said. “You got us a car?”

“The guy should be dropping it off any minute,” Dr. Wilson said.

“Perfect,” Nat nodded. “We'll have to stop by the library to pick up the poem, and then go straight to the University of Dundee. I've made an appointment with Dr. Hughes to look at the shield. If we're lucky we can get the map Sir Stephen mentioned and leave the wooden part with them, and then everybody can be happy.

A champagne-coloured Nissan Altima turned the corner into the parking lot, and Dr. Wilson waved it over. “Here he is! Took him long enough. You want to go get Carter and Sir Steve?” he asked Natasha.

“I'll be right back,” Nat promised him.

The inside of the police station was starting to be a little less chaotic as people found their roles and settled into them, but Nat still had to wind her way in and out of a considerable hubbub to get back to the little interrogation room. Sir Stephen and DI Carter were still in there – and apparently it was now Carter's turn to listen raptly as Sir Stephen told her a story.

“The wooden frame of the catapult was quite whole,” he was saying, “so we only needed a bit of rope to get it working again – we stole the rope the abbey well to use, then rolled the biggest stone we could find into the bucket, released the cantilever, and let it fly.”

DI Carter smiled. “Were there any survivors?” she asked.

“We didn't aim it at the abbey!” Sir Stephen huffed. “We turned it to fling the stone into a field! All it did there was frighten a few sheep. Then we had the idea that we should pile some straw where the stone had landed, and we could then fly through the air on the catapult to a soft landing.”

“That's a terrible idea!” Carter protested.

“Yes, it is,” Sir Stephen agreed, “but we were only eleven years old, and had no such quantity of good sense. We wound the rope again, and rolled a die to see who would go first. I won, so I climbed into the bucket and Buckeye sent me flying.”

“Oh, no. What happened?”

Sir Stephen grinned. “What neither of us had taken acount of is that whileI was small, I was still heavier than our stone, so I did not fly as far. Rather than landing in the soft straw, I went straight into the thorny hedge at the edge of the pasture.”

“Oh, no,” Carter repeated. Her hands were at her mouth in horror, but she was also trying not to laugh.

“Buckeye came and pulled me out, and my head was spinning so that I was promptly sick. We agreed to put the rope back on the well and pretend it had never happened, but of course my mother asked me how I'd come by my scratches and bruises. I told her I'd been chased by the ram and had fallen into the hedge trying to escape him, but then I had no answer when she asked me why I was in the pasture in the first place.”

Nat smiled to herself. That was the problem with lies – they had to make sense. The truth, as the past few days seemed determined to drive home, was under no such constraints.

#fanfic #natasha romanov #black widow #steve rogers #captain america #sam wilson #falcon #sharon carter #agent 13

[spartanguard]

washed clean

just a bit of bathtub smuff-adjacent inspired by this post from @thesschesthair. @cocohook38 needs to get out of my head with her adorable bathtub art. all the thanks to @optomisticgirl for beta’ing!!! (A/N: yes, I know there’s another great bathtub fic out there. I’ve been working on this one for over a week.)

rating: Light M | ~3.4k | AO3

Defeating the monster of the week had been relatively easy, once they finally caught up with it. But a long day of chasing after it through the forest had left Emma bruised, dusty, and visibly drained. Killian wasn't much better, with grit in his hair from taking a fall and sweat-soaked everything clinging to his skin. It took less convincing than he thought it would to get her to poof them home, right into the bathroom.

He immediately set about drawing up a bath in their old-fashioned claw foot tub, adding the lavender-scented bubble bath she loved, as she began undressing while leaning against the counter. Ever the gentleman, he helped her out of her mud-splattered jacket and hung it on the hook on the door to be cleaned later.

When he turned back around, her eyes were closed and her jeans and underwear were pooled at her feet, but he could see that the tenseness she'd carried home was dissipating in the way her chin met her chest and her mouth was quirked up just enough to form a shallow dimple.

He kissed the indent, pulling her from her moment of peace, but she didn't seem to mind. He settled his hand and hook on her waist and beckoned, "Come, love; let's get you in the water." In one motion, he'd pulled both her tank top and bra up over head, tossed them aside, and then offered his hand to her. With a shy smile, she took it, stepped out of the garments around her ankles, and let Killian escort her into the bath.

The involuntary sigh that she released upon settling in the tub and leaning her head back made him grin; they were both still getting used to these quiet, domestic moments of utter bliss, and he vowed not to take a single one for granted.

He went about following suit, easing out of his own dirty jacket and undoing the buttons of his vest and shirt. He'd just slipped off both garments and let them fall to the tile when he glanced at the tub—and couldn't see Emma.

"Swan? Love? Where are you?" He couldn't help the edge of panic that snuck into his voice; old habits died hard, after all. The bath was covered in suds and steam was filling the room, but not enough to obscure his vision.

Alarmed, he headed for the door, but had hardly taken two steps when his side was suddenly drenched in warm water, followed by a youthful giggle he’d never tire of hearing.

Laughter crinkled the corners of Emma’s eyes—pretty much all he could see over the foam of the bath where it was quite apparent she’d been hiding a moment ago, judging by the suds on top of her head and the tip of her nose. “That’s bad form, Swan,” he mockingly admonished, unable to hide his own grin at seeing her so carefree and relaxed. He stepped forward and swiped the soap off her nose with a finger before blowing it back at her. “You know I’m liable to have a heart attack at this age.”

“Then get in the tub, old man, before I’m as wrinkled as you should be.”

Not another moment was wasted as he slipped off his boots and jeans (he hadn’t bothered with those weird boxer brief things today), quickly undid the straps of his brace, and let it fall to the floor as he took his place in the opposite end of the bath. He too couldn’t help the automatic groan as the hot water soothed his aching muscles; once he was seated, he let his eyes close and head fall back on the curved edge of the tub, and just reveled in the comforting caress of the wet heat around him (not the first time that phrase had passed through his mind, but usually, that had to do with other far less innocent activities).

“Feels good, huh?” Emma pondered, drawing her toes along his leg underwater.

“Mmm, amazing,” he muttered back, hardly able to form words.

Once again, he was unexpectedly drenched; his eyes flew open to see Emma struggling to hold in her delight, leg still raised above the water’s surface after she’d evidently kicked that water at him.

He arched an eyebrow. “Did we not just have this conversation?”

“Maybe.” She splashed at him again.

“You're going to get water all over the floor and then you'll complain to me when you fall,” he tried to scold, but his heart wasn't in it.

She just raised her eyebrows in answer, challenging him to do something about it.

Of course, there wasn't a bloody thing he could do. Not when she was so relaxed and playful, or when she was letting him take care of her. Far be it for him to deny her—or himself, really—these simple moments of effortless joy that had been too long coming in their lives.  

Either the bath really was that rejuvenating, or Emma was overtired to the point of being slaphappy. Regardless, she was glad Killian had talked her into this, if only to see the way he was trying (and failing) to be annoyed with her silliness. She never imagined having someone like this in her life: patient enough to deal with her at her best and at her worst, because she knew neither was easy to handle—let alone that she'd be able to call that person her husband.

Her husband who currently had a brow arched at her in attempt at admonishment, but she could easily see the smirk he couldn't hold back cutting a dimple into his scruffy cheek.

And then it melted into something else: his face relaxed and a soft smile formed on his perfect lips. It was a look she knew was reserved for her, in those moments he was completely, incandescently happy, and she was immeasurably grateful that she got to see it more and more.

Cautiously, obviously being careful to not cause waves lest he become guilty of what he’d just scolded her for doing, he drew up his legs and shifted his weight forward to kneel, then slid his forearms along the lip of the tub until he hovered over her. Firmly, he pressed a kiss against her lips. It wasn’t exactly chaste, but was only really heated in the insistent way it told her I love you without words. He lingered on her lips and started again, and she was just about ready to give in to more, placing her hands on his shoulders to pull him in tight, when something else came over her.

And she dunked his head in the tub instead.

Seconds later, he came up, sputtering, and quickly brushed his hair from his eyes to (try to) glare at her. “What the bloody hell was that for?”

She shrugged. “You weren’t wet yet.” Then, grinning, added, “And you were dirty.”

He resumed his spot leaning over her. “Oh, I was, was I?” His voice lowered seductively and the corner of his mouth ticked up. “Am I still?”

Humming, she mused over her response. She could very easily let this head elsewhere; she did so love to watch him fall apart. But the bath felt so good—and there were other ways for her to make him come undone.

She reached to the shelf at the side of the tub and grabbed Killian’s shampoo. “Yeah, you are,” she answered, and placed her other hand on the back of his neck, gently tugging him forward. “Come here.”

There was something youthful about the way she made him crouch in the tub—bent over and almost completely submerged, save for his back and head—and as much as she was still getting used to someone taking care of her, she knew the same was true for him and leapt at the opportunity to return the favor. She poured a good-sized dollop of shampoo in her palm, replaced the bottle on the shelf, and rubbed her hands together both in glee and to get a lather going.

It had to be magic, the way his hair was always so soft; even with the day’s sweat and various forest debris in it, even wet, it was silky against her fingers as she set to work massaging his scalp. The foamy white bubbles were a stark contrast to his raven locks, save for those odd light-colored ones she refused to tell him about.

And the sounds he was making—oh, lord. It was like her hands were much farther south, the way he was groaning and sighing. He’d practically collapsed against her chest, forehead to sternum; though she couldn’t see his face, she knew the wrecked look he was wearing (and, if she had her way, he’d be wearing it again later).

As she was finishing up the short hairs at the nape of his neck, she jumped at the feeling of vibration between her breasts. Like a kid blowing bubbles in his milk, there was Killian, doing the same in the bathwater in the valley of her bosom. She was frozen in shock at first—he’d never done anything like that before, not even in bed; it seemed like her silliness was wearing off on him.

So she kept with the theme and shoved his head underwater again.

This time when he rose back up, he shook his head like a dog before looking up and revealing a shit-eating grin.

“What was that?” she asked in faux indignation (as much as she could muster when he was looking so proud).

“Isn’t that what they call ‘motorboating’ nowadays?”

“Oh my god.” She hid her face in her palms.

“It is, isn’t it?” His voice took an edge of doubt, like it always did when he wasn’t sure if he was using slang correctly.

She looked back up to see his face had fallen a bit, and gave a reassuring smile. “It’s close enough.” And, winking, added, “I think I like your version better, anyway.”

He blushed a bit at that, with a tiny grin that made her heart flutter, but then scooted forward. “Now, Swan, I believe it’s my turn.” He reached behind her head and deftly dug a finger under the edge of her hair elastic, tugging it down as gently as he could to free her wet tresses. Then he grabbed the same bottle of shampoo, popped the cap, and drizzled it over her head; it was an odd, slimy, cool sensation, but not unpleasant.

After putting the bottle away, he tugged her toward him and moved so that he was straddling her thighs, then set to work on washing her hair.

The man had magic fingers, she swore; his long, graceful digits seemed to find her entire scalp all at once and before she knew it, she was melting against him, leaning against his left shoulder. A serene sigh escaped her lips and she felt a low chuckle vibrate across his chest as he continued to work.

She continued to come undone by his talented hand as her own unconsciously drifted to its favorite spot above his heart, drawing nonsense patterns in the thick hair plastered to his warm chest. She nestled further into the crook of his neck as he drifted down into the tresses hanging down her back, breathing in his comforting scent.

She was so lost in the haze left from the total relaxation created by his fingertips that she didn't realize he was done until he was carefully scooping water with his hand and pouring it on her hair to rinse it the suds away; of course, he was far too much a gentleman to use her dunking method of achieving the same. When he got to the front of her head, he whispered, “Close your eyes, love,” lest she get soap in them, but they had been shut for a long time.

At some point, she was aware of her hair covering her face, but was too content with the comforting weight of his stump on her side, the feel of him breathing against her, all of it to care much. Not until the caress of his fingers met her cheek as he brushed it aside and tucked it behind her ear. She finally opened her eyes then, to see his—so much bluer in the haze of steam and the edge of lust—staring down at her, corners crinkled from a gentle smile.

He pressed his stump into her side to guide her up to sitting, and then drew aside the hair covering the rest of her face. But then he paused, cupping her cheek, eyes darting back and forth like he was studying her.

“What is it?” She liked to make fun of him for being a book nerd, and she knew she was his favorite tome, but there was a different question behind his eyes now.

“Nothing, love,” he assured her, then reverted to what was quickly becoming one of his (and—she couldn't lie—her) favorite lines. “I just really, desperately need to kiss you.”

She knew how to answer that. Without wasting another second, her hands were on his neck and his was on her waist, and their mouths fused together like it had been ages since they last met (when the reality was they could hardly go an hour without the other).

Killian shifted his weight forward, pinning her between him and the edge of the tub—between his firm heat and the cool of enameled metal—making a dizzying contrast to the warm water around her and the growing need between her thighs, which were almost unbearably pressed together by his outside them. She bent a knee to try to create some friction, but only really succeeded in pushing against his ass and bringing him even closer, chest to chest.

But judging by the way his hips rotated into her—and the press of his cock against her abdomen when he did so—he needed it just as much as she did. Neither made any effort to do anything about it, though; they were too busy tasting the other, tongues dancing and his beard gently scratching her skin in time with the brush of his chest hair across her now-sensitive nipples.

Again, he ground into her, but he must have gone too far or hard because one of his knees suddenly slid out from under him. She instinctively grabbed under his arms to catch him before he completely fell forward; he realized what was happening just in time to slam his forearms against the edge of the tub and his feet against the back. But then there was an ominous glug-glug sound that accompanied the general thud of their flailing.

She knew the answer, but she had to ask. “...Did you just kick out the drain plug?”

“I believe so.”

“Dammit.”

It was slow, but the lowering water level was apparent as increasingly cool air hit her skin.

“Well, love, shall we take this elsewhere?” The way he was staring at her from under his thick lashes, water dripping off his fringe, offset the dropping temperature by raising the heat within. Slowly, she nodded her assent; she certainly couldn't voice it.

He gave a devilish smirk and pushed himself up out of the tub; she couldn’t help but admire the cascade of water droplets over his biceps as he rose. Or ignore the bob of his erection once he was upright. And then may have licked her lips when he stepped out, watching the rivulets run down his perfect behind as he searched for a towel.

Forget not knowing how he was hers—how was he even real?

But she knew he’d definitely confirm he was in just a bit, and until then, she’d just muse on this perfect man who somehow saw fit to love her.

The towel rack on the other end of their not-that-large bathroom had never seemed so far away as it did now, and it didn’t help that so much of Killian’s blood was rushing away from his brain, making it harder for him to concentrate on the task at hand. Sure, they were just going to be undoing anything that the bath had done to wash the sweat away, but that didn’t make his need to get them dry (well, drier) any less urgent.

He was fully aware of Emma’s eyes on him as he dried off with one of the plush towels she had insisted they needed; he may have made a show of flexing his muscles while drying his back and saw her swallow when he bent to get his legs. And he didn’t miss her disappointed sigh when he carefully wrapped it around his waist.

He also couldn’t ignore her tiny, involuntary shiver as the water continued to drain from the tub; despite all the steam, the temperature in the bathroom was dropping and it would be entirely ungentlemanly to leave a woman cold. He pulled another towel off the rack and threw it over his shoulder before turning his attentions back to her (not that they’d really wandered).

Once he stood at the side of the tub, he held out his hand. No words needed to be said for her to take it and let him help her stand. Then he whipped open the towel and quickly set about drying her off; first her hair, then down her shoulders and back. He wrapped the ends around the front and took his time in making sure her chest was clean, palming her breasts—one and then the other—through the fabric. He pressed her to him, keeping the towel wrapped around her with his breastbone, and made sure her rear end was similarly dry, gripping her side once he was satisfied. Holding the towel to her skin, he made one quick pass down and up her legs, before fluffing it out again and wrapping it around her like a hooded cloak.

“How’s that?” he asked as she grabbed the edges of the towel and held it tight.

“Perfect,” she answered breathily; his ministrations had the desired reaction—but he knew they would.

“Might I be allowed to escort the lady elsewhere, then?”

“You may.”

He extended his hand again to help her out of the tub; she gripped it and stepped over the edge regally, but her eyes never strayed from his and he could see the desire in her heavy gaze.

Though, perhaps she should have looked where she was stepping, because once her second foot met the tile, it slipped away from her and she squeaked in surprise; he only managed to grab her around the middle at the last second and pull her tight to him.

He sighed, and she glanced up at him sheepishly, knowing exactly what he was about to say.

“I believe I warned you what would happen with all that splashing.”

She just nodded, but then slid her hands from where they’d come to rest on his chest to up around his neck. Smiling cheekily, she added, “But I can’t complain when it’s brought us close.”

That much was true; he’d never tire of having her in his arms. “Then we better make sure it doesn’t happen again.” As he’d done so many times now, he hugged her close and lifted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around him as his hand securely held her ass through the towel.

Carefully, he stepped around the puddles toward the door as she pressed kisses to his neck—nearly tickling him, but not quite.

Once they passed the threshold, the dry floor of the bedroom was covered in the fewest strides possible and he quickly lowered Emma to the bed. Her silly seductions had made their way to him, and he was determined to make that last as long as possible—forever, if they could, but tonight would be a good start.

Dramatically, he pulled off his towel and tossed it across the room, then tugged hers away from where it had pooled around her hips, making her yelp when it slid out from under her. But still she looked up at him with an unmistakable hunger, one he was all too happy to take care of.

“So, Swan, are we clean now?” He wondered aloud, stepping into the space between her legs and hovering over her lips.

“Maybe,” she wryly observed, arching her pelvis slightly towards his as her hands found his shoulders.

“Are you sure?” he whispered in her ear, making her shiver again—the good kind this time. “I fear we may have missed a spot or two.”

“Oh yeah? Where?”

“Let me show you.”

thanks for reading! tagging some loves:

@kat2609 @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @its-like-a-story-of-love @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @annytecture @wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @disastergirl @ive-always-been-a-pirate @ive-always-been-a-pirate @jscoutfinch @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose

#cs ff #cs smuff #almost #wet!cs #this was rather fun #my ff