#if there are any mistakes here i apologize i tried to be as thorough as possible

[jigensnacks]

okay okay hear me out

ima put this under a read more because i know there are people around who are generally uncomfortable with content relating to alcohol

but! I had a revelation about Jigen and his alcohol preferences.

Disclaimer, I am mildly tipsy as I am writing this. I may or may not get lost in my own thoughts, so please bear with me here, alright?

Content warnings: alcohol (of course), alcohol abuse, maybe more. I dunno at the moment.

Okay. Jigen's alcohol preferences.

At first I couldn't wrap my head around Jigen's appreciation of wine, like that guy's a borderline alcoholic with the way he drinks (which I extend into full-blown alcoholism in my writing, I'll get to this later on), he cannot possibly like wine, wine is weak, why would he even like the stuff?

I came at the issue from the point of view of someone who prefers liquor. Stuff like vodka, whiskey, borovička. You know, the heavy artillery. Poisons that dull the mind and destroy the liver.

But I've tried wine recently. Got the explanation of the ritual of wine-drinking.

And then it suddenly clicked.

Wine has its purpose in Jigen's toolkit of escapism. You have the cigarettes, a way to remind himself that he's not in danger, that he's out of the fight and just vibing, passing time, relaxing. Then there's scotch, the first-aid kit, when everything is too much and he's antsy and nervous and he needs to dull the edge. It's the painkiller, in a way. The glue to mend those invisible wounds, the cause and solution of all of world's problems.

And then there is wine.

It's not to be wielded like a sledgehamer known as liquor. Wine is a delicate tool, when liquor is too much, when he wants to relax, but he doesn't want to dull his senses too much. There aren't any demons to suffocate, he doesn't want to get drunk, his only intention is just to sit down, lean back, have a moment to himself.

To Jigen, wine is like classical music. It's not something to binge, but to immerse himself in, soak in it, have slow, ginger sips. Relish in the taste, the warmth. There's a reason the ancient Romans and Greeks had a god of wine.

Now, how does this tie to my 'Jigen is a barely functional alcoholic' headcanon?

It's the antithesis of liquor. Liquor is the main poison, Jigen pours it into himself to drown out the noise in his head, the lingering pains, to keep his limbs heavy and limp to keep himself from doing something worse. It's his salvation and his downfall, it frees the demons lurking in his mind, yet it keeps them docile, harmless. It allows his mind to swim along, face his fears, it frees his feelings... but it's also a pathway to destruction. With his thoughts and feelings freed comes a different danger - self-destruction. Liquor becomes not only the tool of healing, but one of destruction too. When a heist goes off the rails and they make it home, when the crushing weight of failure sets in and Lupin looks at him with a gaze full of apologies, that's when Jigen grabs his poison of choice and takes his anger out on himself. While Goemon subjects himself to gruelling training to make sure he doesn't fail again, Jigen instead drinks himself mute, lies on the ground staring emptily at the ceiling, reliving every past mistake. That's the start of the cycle, he falls into the drink, struggles to get out of it for months on end. Until his body starts showing the withdrawal symptoms when he's sobering up, the headaches, the feeling of a thousand ants marching all over his skin, the shadow people staring at him, the music plaing from the walls, the muffled conversations from other rooms that never happened, the way his hands shake...

Wine is a way for him to pace himself. His philosophy around wine is basically if someone drinks wine like liquor, there ain't no use hanging around them. Jigen doesn't want wine to become just another tool of thorough self-annihilation. Jigen sees wine as a way to regain control again. It's much weaker than liquor (if we ignore port wine, but I suspect he wouldn't like such wines), and, unlike the heavy artillery he relies on, wine has personality. While liquor is the path of scorched earth, wine is so much calmer. It has a soul, personality, it evolves like classical music. It has elaborate constructions, just swap the musical tones for taste ones.

He reaches for the wine when he doesn't want to fall into that horrible spiral.

Wine - along with food - marks the line between functionality and destruction.

Wine isn't something he can drink quickly. He tried, and found out it only makes him sick.

So he grabs a bottle of a four-year-old italian merlot. Pours himself a glass. Takes a sip. Feels the slight sourness at the back of his tongue. The woody tones playing at the rest of it. The sweetness at the very tip.

He stares down the beast. Sleeping, yet aware. And while he stays with the wine, it'll remain asleep.

I don't know where I was going with this. I blame the wine.

#moose rambles about jigen #just a mild headcanon exploration #don't expect anything great or deep #yes yes it's about alcohol again #and jigen. living up to my username like a good jigen enjoyer. #i should start reblogging stuff #i have over 2k posts sitting in my drafts #yes i am aware of the irony of being afraid to reblog on the reblog site #but i never claimed to be a logical animal

[babytaes]

the originals (you belong)

summary: The Mikaelsons family stumbles across a plot to assassinate the Prince. Despite Klaus’ judgement, you are determined to take on that challenge with the help of some magic. You demonstrate to them and to yourself that you BELONG!

paring: jake x female reader

genre: angst, slight fluff, slight smut/suggestive

word count: 7k

warnings: suggestive scene

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖙𝖘: click me before reading!

➳ part of the drunk & dazed series

a/n: i’m not a big fan of this work, i don’t know what it is but i feel like it could be better. I didn’t do my routine thorough read so forgive me for any mistakes. thank you for waiting for this member. enjoy and much love from babytaes. :)

☆ ҉ ◢▅◣

"This is not allowed, Your Majesty. This is not something I believe we should be doing, "You began to walk out of Jake's regal room, shaking your head.

Hearing footsteps behind you, a hand touches your shoulder as he turns you around, shutting the door behind you as he gently pushes you up against the wall.

"Don't pretend you haven't been keeping an eye on me for the past few weeks. I'm sure you want it as much as I do, y/n.”

Licking your lips, you slap his hands off of you and make your way to his massive bed as you fall back.

"It's not like I don't want to do it. It's just your royalty, and I'm not the Mikaelson type."

Jake snickers as he approaches you and raises you up by your hands, bringing you face to face with him. He touches your cheek in his palm and caresses it as he moves closer to your face.

"Well, we're notorious for occasionally breaching the rules. Why don't you give it a shot?" As you yanked his hand away from you and dashed to the door, you snapped back to reality.

Your heart ached as you turned back to see a befuddled Jake, and you cried out to him before closing the door.

“Jake, please stop. You and I both know I'll never be good enough for your family"

It wasn't the finest decision to leave him standing there, but it was necessary for your protection. You wouldn't want to jeopardize the next person in line.

Even if something might have worked with him, the risk was too high.

Everyone should be cautious when they're among the Milkasons, including the youngest.

It wasn't all bad being with the Mikaelsons. They were like a second family to you, despite the fact that you had only met them millennium before. It was strange to find them on that fateful day.

You never know when the all-powerful Originals will appear on your doorstep and request to look after their brother.

It seemed strange. Right?

"Calm down, brother; we'll find a place." We wouldn't be in this situation if you quit yelling and spreading mayhem all over the place."

Klaus ignores his brother and knocks on a cottage door, rolling his eyes at him.

"Oh, Elijah, just shut up; you're just trying to prove me wrong."

Elijah straightens himself as he hears light footsteps approaching the door and approaches the madam who opens it.

"Hello-, your mother bowed down to them and swiftly looked down."

Elijah takes a step in front of his sibling, who is rambling to your mother. Nothing is audible to you. Even so, you see a boy from behind the corner. He appears to be your age and is hidden behind the towering man.

As he moves from behind the man and toward the back, you snicker and watch him through the windows as he approaches the back door.

As you walk through it, you come face to face with the curious boy.

"Hello, my name is Jake; how about you?" He extends his hand, and you eagerly examine it.

"My name is y/n."  Do you want to join me in my game? "I don't have anyone to play with." As you drag him to your makeshift playhouse, you grasp his hand in yours and shake it hard.

You and he hit it off right away when you were outside. You didn't have many friends, so having someone to play house with was very entertaining at your young age

"Hey, come back," He said as he snatched your toy vehicle, making you and him giggle. "Give it back," you insist  

The two men and your mother were standing by the rear door, staring at you two. 

"I believe he will be a perfect fit. Don't worry, I'll do my best." Before summoning Jake over, Klaus and Elijah thanked your mother one again.

They said their goodbyes and walked away, and your memories were about to start.

---

You and Jake have been inseparable since then; it's always been you two against the world. Despite the fact that you and he come from two different worlds, you manage to make it work on occasion.

You stood far away from the commotion, watching the royal family squabble over royal matters. Jake had just been summoned, and you took a step back, not wanting to cause any disruption.

Despite the fact that they could clearly hear and see you, you continued to stand there.

"Brother, we wouldn't be in this stupid situation if it weren't for your inconvenient behavior once more."

Life is always tumultuous when you basically grow up with a group of originals. I don't think there has ever been a moment when someone wasn't screamed at, killed, or cursed.

It's always something with them.

Jake looks at you, rolling his eyes and making a variety of facial expressions. He loved his life except for this part.

His family 

Your mother took him in and practically raised him when you were younger. You never understood why his family always left him behind. It seems like just because his family was on the run at the time they couldn't or didn't have time to look after him.

As a result, when he reached adulthood, he was able to take his rightful place in the kingdom, and because your family took on that responsibility, you were granted permission to remain in the kingdom.

I mean, the enormous rooms and countless bathrooms never get old, noo. Even though everything appeared to be all in good humor, you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach.

Feeling as if you've never belonged there 

You were a vampire with most of their powers, but you lacked the "royal," and no matter how hard you tried, you could never fit into their mold.

You take one last look at the family, shake your head, and then walk away. You still have a lot of work ahead of you.

You arrive at your mother's room slowly and open it to see her folding laundry. As you approached her and sat down on her, her demeanor brightened.

"You do know you're pretty heavy, sweetie?"

"Mmh," you mutter under your breath as you roll away from her and to the ground. To pass the time, you take a shirt and begin folding it.

"Mom?"

As she continued to fold, she hummed a quiet yes.

"What made you decide to take on such a difficult duty as raising Prince Jake?" She let go of the blouse in her hand as she came to a halt and stared at you. She sighs as she takes a seat next to you and tells you about that fateful day.

Your mother was inside talking to the royal family as you played in the backyard with your new friend.

She dropped her head and gazed up at Elijah and Klaus, saying, "It is such an honor to have you both in my company."

Making their way over to the table, they all sat down and discussed ways of how you could best protect him.

"We don't know when or for how long we'll be on the run, but we're prepared to pay any charge if that time comes."

As Klaus' voice boomed over the table, she shook her head at them, her hand trembling.

"We have to get out of here; I sense them." Elijah gave his troubled brother a stern look and motioned him to leave. He was in a hurry and dashed out of the house.

Elijah reached into his back pocket and placed a bag of coins on the table. He swiftly thanked you after scouting the front entrance.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, but forgive our ill-timed intrusion. I'll make arrangements for payments to come from the castle every week. I'd like to thank you in advance for everything you've done for us."

Elijah nodded before sprinting into the woods in pursuit of his brother. She smiles as you take it all in and grab the bag of coins from the table.

"This is for you, love, Rest in peace, my dear."

As she make her way to the back, she calls over the two rowdy children and embrace them in a hug. As she looked at them both, they both smiled. You watched as she squatted down and spoke, holding them in her hands.

"So those two lovely gentlemen who just came by were members of the royal family, as you may know y/n, and they have entrusted us to watch and maintain track of this handsome little boy," Jake squirmed around as his face reddened as you pinched his cheek.

"For the time being, we'll do our best to make this the best time for him." Before embracing Jake in an embrace, your daughter cast a glance at him. As you gazed at the scene in front of you, a warm flush spread across your chest as you imagined the days you three would spend together..

"So it was difficult at the time, and due to your father's death and financial difficulties, it was only a matter of time before we were thrown out on the street. So, aside from the age-old law of not disobeying the royal family, it was now or never."

Your smile crept across your face as you shook your head up and down. Your mother was your role model, the woman who always wore a grin on her face and never let the world bring her down. She was daring, loving, and brave, and she did it all despite the fact that she had recently become a single mother. Moms have a lot of strength.

"Ahh, I see. Dad would be incredibly proud of you and all of your efforts."

She grinned as she threw her shirt in your direction.

"Ahh- stop"

*Knock Knock*

As you and your mother stood up to tell them to come in, a guard approached you both and communicated a message.

"You are required in the Prince chambers, Ms. Y/n." You bowed down and pecked your mum on the cheek before taking your place behind the guard.

---

You thanked the guard as you entered inside the familiar area after arriving at the enormous set of bronzed yet golden doors. When you peek inside, you notice him lying on the floor; as you carefully approached his side, you smiled and hovered over him.

"You asked for me, right? I'm going to leave if this isn't something significant." Jake gently rises, his head resting on his gigantic bed.

"It's nothing major, but I do have a request," he says. As you faced him, your eyes widened. As he turned to face you, he exuded a princely radiance. He leaned forward and lingered near your lips, his gaze fixed on you.

You leapt to your feet, terrified and intrigued, and shoved him back as you took a step back.

"Excuse my language, Jake, but what the hell was that?"  As he got up and approached you, he cocked his head to the side.

"My request?" He snatched your hands and held them in his. You'd never been caressed with such gentleness before. It was an unfamiliar sensation that made you feel warm but strange.

"This is not permitted, Your Majesty. This is not something I believe we should be doing, "You began to walk out of Jake's regal room, shaking your head.

A hand touches your shoulder as he turns you around, shuts the door behind you and gently pushes you up against the wall, hearing footsteps behind you.

"Don't act like you weren't eyeing me these past weeks. I know you want this just as much as I do y/n."

You smack his hands off of you and make your way to his large bed as you fall back, licking your lips.

"It's not like I don't want to do it. It's simply your royalty, and I'm not the Mikaelson type."

Jake snickers as he approaches you and raises you up by your hands, bringing you face to face with him. He touches your cheek in his palm and caresses it as he moves closer to your face.

"Well, we're notorious for occasionally breaking the rules. Why don't you give it a shot?" As you shoved his hand away from you and opened the door, you snapped back to reality.

Your heart ached as you turned back to see a befuddled Jake, and you cried out to him before closing the door.

"Jake, please stop. You and I both know I'll never be good enough for your family."

As you turned the corner and ran down the corridor, you left him stunned and in disarray. You didn't stop running until you were outdoors, far away from the castle, in the fabled garden.

As you fall on top of the fountain, the tears won't stop flowing. The day was slipping away as your sobs drew the attention of a curious woman. It wasn't until she sat next to you and spoke to you that you realized it.

"One of those days, huh?"

As she stretched her hand to you, you shrieked and fell back on your hands, frightened and terrified.

"Sorry for scaring you, hun; I didn't intend to. Haven't we all had awful days? My name is Davina, by the way." As she helped you up to the edge of the fountain, you took her hand in yours.

"Thanks for asking, today is one of these days." "So, may I ask what the problem is?" she asked, smiling as she moved closer to you.

"I miss my father and all that made up his eccentric character. He would know what to do." you sniffled as you glanced up at the girl with a welcome atmosphere.

She leapt to her feet and squealed, extending her hand "I enjoy helping others. In this area, I do have the upper hand. Allow me to demonstrate." You took her hand in yours after a brief moment of hesitation.

You had never expected a witch to be able to assist you, but you were willing to try. She waved to her neighbor across the street as she unlocked her door. As she arranged her stuff, she turned on the lamp and signaled for you to come sit at her table.

"Please take a seat; I won't bite. Maybe" You chuckled as you sat in the wooden chair, having forgotten that the witches lived in this neighborhood. It's not like they were exiled, but you hardly had time to check in on them and the rest of the group.

Everyone looked to be so comfortable in their own little world. Why couldn't you seem to fit in anywhere?

"All right, all right, we're ready; don't worry, it won't hurt."

"What might hur-'' As the knife quickly passed across your palm, you felt a searing feeling.

'What the hell, Davina,' you exclaimed." She chuckled as she put yout palm over a stone bowl and watched the blood drip into it.

"Sorry"

As the blood began to bubble up in the stone bowl, you pouted. As her hands swiveled around the bowl, Davine began to speak phrases you couldn't comprehend. As your eyes blinked quicker, your head began to spin.

"What's going on?" you exclaim. When she opened her eyes, you could see white orbs replacing her natural ones.

"We're ready."

---

You passed out as you receded back into your chair. Awoken Davina took your hand in hers and escorted you outside. This time, though, things were different; the day had turned to darkness, and everything appeared to be dissimilar. The town has turned completely around.

"Where are we?" As she turned to face you, she laughed.

"A better question is when are we. The spell I casted transported us to a time when I hoped you would learn something new and put things into perspective." For the 23rd time today, she began to tug you. Your heart began to drop as you arrived at your house, well, the one in the past, as you beamed at that. As you let her hand fall from yours, your nerves were heightened. As you took a step back, you began to feel panicked.

"Noo-nooo wait, how did you do this?" you say as you fall to your knees and cover your eyes. You could feel her hands on your back as she gently caressed it.

"I know, it's crazy, y/n. I just pulled some old memories back to life. I won't leave your side if you're afraid." As you saw the familiar image in front of you, you slowly pushed forward.

"Just don't leave." As you walked through the front door, you held her hand in yours. Everything seems so blurry at this point; you were just a small child, and your life was about to alter dramatically.

"Hey sweetie, go tell your father to go get some firewood. Okay?" As you crawled down off the stool and out the door, you smiled. As he turned to face you, your little feet found their way to your father's side.

"There's my little princess. What exactly do you need?" He massaged your backside as he hauled you onto his lap.

"Mommy said to get wood, and I wanna come too, daddy. May I, pretty please." He sighed as he looked at his watch, it was fairly dark, but the wood wasn't far away.

"Yes, you are welcome to join me. You're a big girl now. So you gotta help daddy out, okay?"

As you and Davina stood on the sidelines watching everyone make their way to the woodpile, you wished you had done more for him.

"All right, sweetie, you can carry one and I'll take care of the rest." You squealed as you clutched a small, almost insignificant log in your arms. As he placed a twig in your batch, he gazed down at his girl.

"Daddy, I think that's all I can carry." As he and you both began heading back to the home, you both laughed.

As the horror grew, you turned around and began crying on Davina's shoulder. You knew what was going to happen, but you couldn't bear the thought of having to go through it again. As Davina turned to face you, you felt her hands on your shoulders.

"You must see for yourself. It is the only option."

As tears flood down your cheeks, you slowly open your eyes and look at the scene.

"Thanks for helping daddy, sweetheart." "Mommy would be so proud of you." He kissed you on the head as he knelt down to you.

"You're welcome, Daddy. "Now that I'm a big girl, I can do huge things." He smiled as he took another glance around. " As your mouth enlarged, you dropped your logs. Your father's life vanished before your eyes in an instant.

As his body went slack, he fell to the ground, and you began to scream. As words slurred from your mouth, he began to shiver.

"What's the matter, Daddy?" HELP, MOMMY." As he held you in his hug, your small body slumped forward into your father's chest.

Your mother's footsteps were quick to arrive as she knelt down and took up your father, holding him in her arms.

"Honey, I'm right here," she says. A tear streamed down his cheek as he glanced up at his beautiful girls.

"Never forget that I love you all." And then, as he fell limp on your mother's lap, life left his eyes. As you gazed up at your mother, the screams resonated across the forest. Her eyes were welling up with tears.

You had no idea what was going on, but you knew something had changed.

"What's wrong with daddy, Mommy?" She slowly turns to you, pulling you closer to her breast and kissing you on the head with moist lips.

"He's gone, daddy's gone."

----

"NOo, noo stop this. I don't want to remember this." As Davina chases you down, shouting out to you, you begin to flee the scene. You come to a halt and turn to face her, yelling at her.

"Is this a joke or something? Your spells, you witches." As you fall to the ground grasping your arms and gently rock back and forth, tears begin to flow from your eyes.

Davina finally reaches you and attempts to calm you down by wrapping her arms over your shaking body. Your heart felt like it was racing at 100 miles per hour and you couldn't stop it. Everything seemed a little too real. You didn't want to think about it.

It's not that you didn't believe it; it's just that you didn't want that memory to resurface in your life.

"Just wait and listen to me, y/n. I know it's horrible, but something good came out of it." You push her away from you as you leap to your feet, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"How did something wonderful emerge from my father's death, who died in my arms? DAVINA, HOW DAVINA." Davina frowns as she walks around, taking your hand in hers and leading you somewhere.

"You weren't the only one whose loved one was taken from them." You look up at her and stare blankly at her as she comes to a halt at a familiar location.

"How did we end up in front of the castle?" As inaudible sounds flow from her mouth, she begins to swirl her hands around. You stand there in astonishment as you are whisked away to someone's private quarters.

You and Davina both walk into a room where a young boy is crying into the chest of someone. As you recovered consciousness, you noticed that you were surrounded by the Original family, or at least some of them.

"We couldn't get the remedy to her in time." You stood there watching Klaus thrash around as he collided with a vase that shattered on the ground.

You shifted closer to the young kid as you observed him as his brother shouted out to him, "Niklaus." As the rest of the family walked out in tears and small sniffles, you shifted closer to the young child.

Jake was there; you had no idea his mother had died. It had never been mentioned before, so you were taken aback.

The little boy crawled onto his mother's chest as he sobbed into her chest.

"Mommy, come back to me, please."

"I'm ready to leave right now." You took her hand in yours and gripped it strongly. You were prepared for anything the world could throw at you now that you had this new knowledge. Although it was painful to revisit that memory, you chose to use it to your advantage.

Your father raised a fighter, not a wimp. You wanted to honor his memory rather than mourn it, and I feel Jake should as well.

"This is for you, Dad,"

With that, you were transported back to reality, and you found yourself back where you started. You instantly stood up and exited her room.

"Hey, where are you going?" 

You came to a halt, raised your head, and shook your head, saying, "Acceptance."

She waved you off with a smile on her face. You brushed yourself off as you walked out of her house, mentally preparing yourself for the road ahead.

----

You felt more alive when you woke up in this house. Although the work was endless, you earned something greater than it all, A friend. Your mother groaned as you rolled over and landed flat against her backside.

"Mmmh, mom, I think it's time for you to get up." "Mmmh, five more minutes," she mumbles as she yawns on your shoulder. As your body moved up off the bed and towards the blinds, you giggled. You chuckled as you let the blinding light move into the room as you heard your mother's nasty shrieks.

"Sweetie, it's Saturday; it's a free day today. Go hang out with your friends." As you fall to the floor, she kicks your body off the bed. You giggle as you walk towards the shower, scoffing at her acts and mumbling words to her.

"Have you noticed, Mom, that I only have one friend?" You chuckle as you take a step into the shower and let the suds run down your body. As you wash slowly, your thoughts begin to wander.

You were reminded of your previous outburst with Jake as the water flowed over your body.

"Shit"

You felt the chilly air hiss against your body as you stepped out of the shower and hastily wrapped a towel over your body from the shelf. You noticed that the girl in the mirror had a different smile. She felt happier and more grateful.

You cried out to your mother as you opened the door and entered the frame.

"Yes, darling?"

"Get ready. I'd like to take you out for a picnic." She grinned and drew you in for a hug while cocking her head to the side.

"That would be fantastic. I'll take care of everything. You don't worry, okay?" You grinned as you shut the door behind her and returned to your self-pampering.

"It's going to be a terrific day today."

As you rested your head on your mother's shoulder, you held the picnic basket tightly in one hand and your mother's hand in the other. It was moments like these that made you long for your small family. You spread the blanket on the ground and placed the goods on it as you chuckled.

"My two lovely ladies are here."  When you raced towards your father, he stretched his arms open wide for you. Your mother took out her little camera and snapped a candid shot of you two.

"Don't forget about me," as she made her way over, your father pressed a kiss on her lips as you all sat down on the grass.

As you stumbled towards the basket, your little fingers pointed to it, saying, "Mommy, open". Before you saw the glorious fruit in front of you, a small pebble made its way in your path as you trip on it.

As a result, your father gracefully caught your small body in his grip while you giggled.

"My princess, you need to be more cautious. I can't have my pretty girl all beaten up."

You chuckled as you kissed his forehead and said, "OK, daddy, me be careful." You dashed over to your mother's side as he let you go, and she handed you a strawberry.

Your smile widened as you jumped up and did a small dance as you bit into it. Your parents stood there in astonishment as they watched you eat some more fruit.

"Is it good y/n?" You giggled as you ran around them, shaking your head up and down, as they simply watched their exuberant kid spout forth incoherent words. They smiled.

'I love you, honey,' she said. Light kisses on her temples were exchanged by your father while your mother rested her head on his lap.

"I will always love you."

Finally, with everything in place, you sniffle and wipe a stray tear from your eyes. Your mother immediately turned to you and rubbed your arm as she drew you closer to her.

"Hey, sweetheart, what's the matter?"

"I miss him," you said as you drew closer to her.

She smiled as she rocked you back and forth, kissing you on the head.

"I miss him as well. This brings back memories of our picnics with him." As you reached for the basket, you shook your head. Before removing the famed strawberries, you smiled. You chuckled as tears streamed down her cheeks after delivering them to your mother.

"Thanks for this, y/n." You were both crying as you rested your head in your mother's lap before entwining your hands.

"Anytime mom, but I do have to get going. I need to speak with someone, and I'd prefer to do so now before the situation escalates."

Before biting on a plump strawberry, she laughs and smirks.

"Tell Jake I said hi." "Wait, how did you know?" you start to stand up as you freeze in place.

As she pushes you toward the gate exit, she shakes her head at you. You blow a kiss to her, embarrassed and honestly surprised, as she yells at you.

"Use protection."

You cringe as you race towards the gate, not even looking back. You came upon a guard at the entrance who winked at you as you stared at him.

"Oh, Mark, shut up." After saluting you, he chuckles and returns to his former stance. Making your way to his chamber, you slowly knock as you hear his voice on the other side of the door.

As you slowly come in, you notice him at his desk, working, and you move your glance in his direction.

"Oh, look who it is?" As your lips fell, his eyes rolled at you.

"Hey," you say as you approach him and take a seat in one of his sofas. They felt like marshmallows, and you spent your days and some nights in them.

"Let me explain before you go all pouty and stirred up." He doesn't even move as he goes about his business. You kick his chair while rolling your eyes at him, eliciting a yelp from him.

"Fine, I'm listening, what?" he says, smiling as he scoots over to you and places his hand on his lap.

Not only did the close proximity make your heart race, but his position didn't help matters either.

"So, for starters, I'd like to apologize for my outburst. We both know if they're a problem we can freely discuss it. That's something that's been on my mind for a while and has now exploded, but it's not your fault. I just don't think I belong."

He approached you with a puzzled expression on his face as he moved forward. You look around, worried, as you cough.

"What?"

"What you just said made me pause because you and this family know how important you and your mother are to all of us, especially to me. I'm sorry you feel that way. My family can be difficult at times."

As you push past him and land on his colossal king-sized bed, you scoff "Yeah, tough how about, protective, vengeful, murderous, and hot-headed? That's a lot better." He laughs as he pushes you over and lays down next to you, a little closer this time.

"I can't argue with that, but you still love us. Right?"

"Yeah, I do love yo-" As you rolled over and smacked your hands in your face, your eyes widened.

"Yeah, go ahead and spill your secret y/n."

You kicked him as you rolled back on your side, facing him, rolling your eyes. As his hand landed on your leg, the newfound electricity between you two shifted.

Before his hand lightly moved up your leg, he grinned at you. He came to a halt and stared at you, waiting for a response. You softly shook your head as he continued as his hand came to rest on your chin.

"You must have been waiting a long time for this one, dude, ain't I so attractive," you chuckled before scooting closer to him. Before extending his delicate hands towards your lips, he reddened.

"Shh, also what happened yesterday? You said this wasn't right, didn't you?" As your desire overtook you, you became irritable.

"Oh, shut up and kiss me, people change Jake." you said as you drew him closer to you and your lips smashed together furiously. As he pushed you over, you both synced up quickly, and he was on top of you in no time.

"Oh how the tables have turned," says Jake. You had definitely changed as your body craved for his touch even more. As you threw your arms around his neck, pressing him closer to you, his lips never left yours.

His shirt was ripped off and dropped to the ground in a flash as he touched yours, hoping for a response.

"Yes, you may remove it." He stopped and peered at you, chuckling, as he slowly pulled it above your head. You subconsciously flew your hands to your chest, concealing your body.

This was the first time a boy, much less a Mikaelson, had seen you half-naked. Jake's mouth falls open as he rushes to unlatch your hands.

"Hey, don't hide your beauty, because I love each and every part." That made you grin as you approached him and kissed him on the lips.

"You haven't even asked me to be your girlfriend yet, and already you're behaving cringy. Maybe this was a mistake." As you begin to rise, you smirk. Jake grabs you and pins you down before you can even get a foot off the bed.

"Wait- stop, wait, don't go" You chuckle as he kisses your frigid body while you squirm under his touch.

"Ahhh, please stop tickling me...ahh." He comes to a halt in his actions to look at you for a little moment.

"I can't believe we've reached the point where we've gone from friends to lovers. It feels like some teenage drama."

(Am I right readers, don't we all love a trope like this... I know I do.)

This isn't a book; it's real life, and can we please get back to making love? Jake, the readers are waiting." He continues to laugh as he gently removes your bra as he completes the last clip.

He didn't have time to marvel at the beauty in front of him as you placed your hand on his hardening spot. This elicited a tiny moan as he swirled his lips around your soft nips.

"Mmmh, wow, don't stop, that feels great." You quickly remove your jeans and underwear while his tongue works its magic, placing his hand within your folds.

"This is my first time; wow, I'm not sure whether I'm doing it correctly." Wow!" As a moan explodes from your throat, you laugh.

"Stop playing me; you're making me laugh. I'll show you the way." He finds a groove in your folds as he pushes faster and deeper, striking a familiar area, while your eyelids roll back.

"AHHHH, Jake, right there."  As your back arches off the bed, thrusting deeper into his finger, your body reacts perfectly.

A knock on the door is heard just as your high reaches you, and you both pause and look behind you.

"Prince Jake, you have been summoned to the royal room to receive a message." Before Jake speaks to him, you both remain silent for a few moments.

"Thank you very much; I'll be out for a minute."

Before he turns to face you, you cover your lips with your hand. Before pulling away, he bends forward and kisses you on the forehead.

"You're not going to finish me off, are you? You can't stick and dip; it doesn't work like that." You start arguing with him before he bends in and kisses your folds.

"I have to get going, and if I'm late, I'm toast. You did mention that my family is what now-" You shake your head as you push him off your body and start putting your clothing on.

Another knock is heard as the door slowly begins to open and a familiar face appears. Jake rushes to conceal your half-naked body as Elijah walks in.

As you lowered your head and snickered, it felt like a million pairs of eyes were on you. Jake covers your body with a blanket before pulling up his pants and walking towards the door.

He flashes a big grin at Elijah before crossing his arms and stepping closer to him. "My dear brother, keep your indiscretions to yourself," he yanked his handkerchief from his pocket before handing it to Jake. Another familiar figure arrived in front of the entrance as he saw the chaos unfold before his eyes.

Kol appeared behind Elijah before chuckling as he crossed his arms, "well, well, well looks like someone having fun." He gave you a wave as he walked out of the room, smiling to himself. You turned away and mentally slapped yourself as soon as he said it.

"We'll be out in a second. Please visit us again." Before turning around, Jake slammed the door shut. While yelling under his breath, his reddened face brought you your garments.

"Please forgive them; they enjoy barging in here unannounced. I'm sorry if they saw anything." You're hauled up by him before you can secure the button on your jeans. He kissed your lips as he assisted you in putting on your shirt.

"Okay, I'm definitely not going to get tired of those." You kiss his lips once more as you pull his shirt closer to you.

"Mmh, your lips are soft. As you approach the door, you take Jake's hands in yours before gently pushing it open.

“We will definitely finish this later.” As he plants a kiss on your hand, he smirks. Before enlarging your gaze, you licked your lips.

You moan under your breath, "Oh, I can't wait," as Jake discreetly lays his palm over your mouth.

“You’re already a mess for me, aren't you?” He comes to a halt in front of the door and cups your face in his hands, kissing your hungry lips.

“As much as I would love to kiss you,” you say as you rest your palm on his chest and giggle. "Let's hurry up because I don't want them to come back and dagger you." He took your hand in his and led you to the throne room.

---

Jake strides over to his family's gathering and excuses himself, letting go of your hand. You took a step back and stood next to Mark, who was looking at you with a curious expression.

"So...how did it go?" Then, after a brief scan of the area, you struck him across the shoulder with your fist.

"Aren't you guards supposed to be quiet? You do know we all have vamp hearing." After chuckling at your remark, he returned to his job.

Besides Jake and I, Mark was the only person around our age with whom we both became close as we basically all grew up in the castle. Although being the only female in the group, they made up for it.

We all had our own ways of having fun in those late evenings, so there were many nights of loud laughter and sticky fingers. Those were the days, but now Jake had his royal duties, they were a thing of the past. Everyone seems to be set in their ways.

When your name was called, you were swiftly brought out of your thoughts. They didn't seem to know you were there, but you knew it was true when Mark bumped your arm.

"Uh.. yes. I'm here, your majesty."

Walking over to the gathering, you stood next to Jake as you heard his booming voice; still to this day, you could never get over that.

"So, y/n, you and your family have been so kind to not only the Mikaelson family, but the entire kingdom. And we thank you for your service, but we've heard rumors that my father is planning to travel to our country to assassinate our future heir."

You exhale, your body trembling as you clasp your hands behind your back. You weren't old enough to recall certain details of the attacks.

This was how horrible it was 

As he gazed down at you and winked at you, he entwined his fingers behind your back and whispered, "It's going to be okay."

As he stepped up from his throne, Klaus began again, "So, once again, I'd like you to protect and guard him while we're out; you've had plenty of training for this, so I'm confident you'll do fine. Finally, you are responsible for whatever happens to him."

He was now directly in front of your eyes as he kept a wary eye on your flimsy frame.

Thanks for the extra pressure. 

Jake gave him a gentle push back as he walked in front of you and coughed "Okay, don't scare her. We've got a lot of security in place, and I'm an original here who can take care of myself. I don't want to put anyone at risk, especially y/n."

As he acknowledged you specifically, it warmed your heart. He squeezed your hand not only to show that he was paying attention, but also to make you feel comfortable and secure.

Klaus grinned as he walked away from you, both of you speaking in a condescending manner.

"Our father has not and will not stop if we are alive in the past centuries, and now that you are of legal age, he is coming to take advantage of that opportunity. Our father's reign is far from done. After all, it's more for y/n than for you. Take a look at her. Do you believe she'll be able to defend YOU?" 

Your heart stung as you gasped in pain as you yanked your hands from his grasp. As you took a step forward, tears welled up in your eyes. You coughed as you drew Klaus' attention, enraged and honestly taken aback.

"No one has the right to treat me like an outsider just because I'm not a member of this family. Instead of making trouble and fleeing, why not stay and fight like a brother once in a while?I've done more for Jake than YOU could possibly do.

You turned and walked away from the family, tears streaming down your cheeks. A hand grabbed your wrist as you flung it off of you. Before exiting the room, Elijah caught Klaus just as he was ready to explode with wrath.

"This meeting is over. After 30 minutes, we'll be on our way." As you raced away from Jake, he called your name.

You heard shouts of anger from Jake as he yelled at Klaus.

However, he has never been able to see what you and your family went through to safeguard his prized heir. They were going to get a guard if they wanted one, and a good one at that.

You vowed to prove to them, and particularly to Klaus, that you belonged here.

You got to a familiar area and pounded on the door, enraged, as she approached the door.

You hurried by her and sat down, your hand outstretched as you glared angrily at her. "Oh hey—," she said. As she sat down gently across from you, she rubbed her chin and arched her brows.

"Okay, no hello or nothing. That's awesome, what's up?"

"I'd like to see him; please, show him to me right now." She chuckled, as if she'd read your mind. You wanted to prove yourself to someone. And he was the only one who had a clear idea of what needed to be done.

She sliced your hand and poured the liquid into the stone bowl as she spoke. You sat up straight and became ready. As soon as you closed your eyes, you were transported somewhere else.

---

Davine touched you on the shoulder as you sat up straight and followed her instructions by moving forward.

"You just have a few minutes, so work quickly. This is a difficult spell that becomes weaker by the second."

You stood up, shook your head, and walked over to the man perched precariously on the ledge, his feet dangling dangerously in the air. After a few minutes of sitting next to him, you began to become worked up.

"I was curious as to when you planned to pay me a visit. Princess, how are you?" As tears welled up in your eyes, you turned around in astonishment. He looked exactly the same as he did that night. His black slacks matched his stained white collared shirt.

He was perfect, still 

"I miss you, dad." Upon entering his embrace and taking in his smell, he extended his arms and welcomed you in. The lingering woody smell filled your nostril as you held onto him tighter.

"Hey, love. Whatever you're going through right now, I have complete faith in your ability to get through it. I didn't raise a wimp; instead, I raised a powerful warrior. Don't allow them get to the point where they're controlling your thoughts. What is it that I usually say?"

"Life struggles are necessary for growth."

You continued his sentence with the words "life struggles are necessary for growth." He pecked your head and held on for a little bit more.

"Y/n we have to go; the spell is slipping."

When your father saw you, he got to his feet and stood up. His hand went to your face as he noticed all your new features. He seemed intent on studying you, as if he wanted to make up for the time he had lost by not seeing you.

"I'm very proud of the women you've grown to be. I'm so proud of you, y/n. Remember that and know that I am always here for you." As a tear rolled down his cheek, he pointed to your chest.

You gave him one more hug as you raised your eyes to see his face.

"I love you, dad."

"Princess, you have my undying love. Now go out there and confront the world. Fighting for you always."

Davine held your hand as she guided you back to the present moment in time. You observed his disappearance as you bid him farewell by waving.

As soon as you regained consciousness, you hugged Davine and thanked her for her time. Afterwards, you left.

"Don't worry, y/n you got it. I've had my fair share of the Mikaelson family, so don't fret. I'm here for you."

You took a deep breath and then made your way back to the castle, smiling as you did so.

You already knew who you were on the inside; you didn't need an all-powerful family to confirm it for you. You only needed a little nudge to remember who you truly were on the inside.

The princess in your father's eyes.

"Thanks, Dad, this one for you."

#enhypen #enhypen writers #enhypen series #enhypen jake #jake sim #enhypen jake shim #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #en- #enhypen fluff #enhypen smut #enhypen suggestive #jake sim fluff #kpop au #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen masterlist #babytaes works

[the-bau-quinjet]

Anything for You

So, I got this idea in my head and I wrote it. This is not the first thing I’ve written, but the first that I finished. And the first that I’m posting. Sorry if it sucks. I hope someone out there likes it. Italics indicate past memories.

Summary: This takes place after Maeve. It sort of starts a month before Spencer goes back to work but then skips a year. Reader is the newest member of the BAU. Spencer lashes out when she tries to help him, but he doesn’t realize how much she can relate to his trauma. 

warnings: angst but also a little fluff, typical CM violence (kidnapping, torture, death etc.), dark thoughts about dying, I think that’s it

Word Count: 6218

 It is moments like this that make you rethink every decision that lead you here. You are on the jet on the way back to Quantico after a particularly rough case. The team managed to save the most recent victim, but only to discover three more hidden on the unsubs property. And to make it worse, they were children. Everyone on the team keeps shooting you concerned glances, worried that you might break. It’s only fair. You are still the newbie.

 You started at the BAU one month ago to the day. Your previous position was a desk job, but you were ready to get back into field after two years of endless paperwork. Not that the entire team knows you had been in the field before. Only Hotch knows. You don’t like to talk about it. You had gone so far as to cut Hotch off to prevent him from bringing it up on your first day.

 You are counting down the floors with each beep as the elevator rises to bring you to the floor that houses the Behavioral Analysis Unit. To say you aren’t nervous would be a lie, but that comes with the territory of starting a new job. Especially a job with one of the most elite units of the FBI. It’s hard not to be intimidated.

 The elevator doors slide open, revealing the all too familiar glass doors that lead to the BAU. When you were trying to decide if switching career paths was the right decision, you found yourself staring at these doors far more than you’d care to admit.

 You walk through the doors, immediately heading for Hotch’s office. He told you to meet him there first thing this morning. You knock on the open door to draw his attention.

 “Agent L/N, please come in.” He looks up from the file he has open on his desk.

 “Agent Hotchner, I would just like to thank you again for the position.” You have to stop yourself before you ramble on about how grateful you are for his taking a chance on you.

 “Please, call me Hotch. You’re new ID was just dropped off.” He says, handing you the plastic card to put in your credentials. You take a moment to admire the way your name looks just above the words “Behavioral Analysis Unit” before sliding it into the wallet.

 “I wish we had time for a more thorough welcoming, but we just got a case. I’ll introduce you to the team in the conference room.” He rises from his desk, you following behind him to a room already full of profilers. Of course, you already know of them all, but the introductions are nice nonetheless.

 “L/N, these are SSAs Emily Prentiss, David Rossi, Derek Morgan, and Jennifer Jureau and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia.” You shake hands with each member of the team as there name is called. “Team, this is SSA Y/N L/N. She transferred from violent crimes-” You know he is going to bring up your previous field work, so you cut him off.

 “It’s an honor to meet you all.” You smiled at Hotch, trying your best to get him to move on. Thankfully, you can see in his eye that he understands why you don’t want to relieve your past field experience.

 “Actually, that’s not all. Dr. Reid is on leave at the moment, but you’ll meet him when he returns.” You nod, taking a seat next to Derek. “Garcia, you can start now.”

 The memory fades and you try to ignore the concerned glances from everyone on the jet. Yes, you were the one to find the children in the back shed, but you have techniques to handle this. You’ve always been good at compartmentalizing. It comes with the territory of undercover work.

 You are more concerned with the wellbeing of one Dr. Reid. This is the first case you’ve worked with him, but it still feels like something’s off. Granted, you don’t know why he was on leave or how long it lasted.

 After everyone else is asleep, barring Hotch who is too focused on his reports to pay you any attention, you slide down into the seat across from Spencer. He doesn’t even glance up from his book.

 “Dr. Reid?” You can tell he’s stopped reading at the sound of your voice, but it takes him a moment to actually look up at you. When he does, you can see the sadness in his eyes.

 “L/N. Are you okay?” Of course he would ask you that. You’ve known him for all of 72 hours, but he’s still concerned about you’re wellbeing. The way your heart flutters at the sentiment catches you off guard.

 “Oh, um, I’m fine. I actually wanted to check on you.” He looks startled at that, but you just push forward. “I know we only just met, and I have no idea what you’re going through, but I just thought maybe I could help.” You can see the instant you finished talking that it was a mistake. He is clearly not ready to talk about his demons, especially with a near stranger.

 “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“ “No, you shouldn’t have.” His words are defensive more than anything. The words of someone who just went through unbelievable pain “You couldn’t possibly help me. Unless, of course, you’ve been kidnapped, tortured, and drugged, shot multiple times, and witnessed the love of your life being murdered in front of you just to name a few. I’m sure you have plenty of experience with that given your work in violent crimes.” The sarcasm is obvious, with violent crimes being a desk job. He mistakes the tears that spring to your eyes as pity rather than understanding. He scoffs, going back to his book while you wander back to your previous seat, trying to control your emotions.

 Spencer doesn’t know about your time undercover. He doesn’t know you experienced all of those things. He doesn’t know about the scars that line your torso or the more prevalent scars on your heart. You try not to take it personally. You’ve had years to deal with your trauma. His is clearly newer. You tell yourself over and over that he’s not angry with you, but with the world. You just happened to be the first available outlet.

 When the others wake up, they assume your red eyes are due to the case. That you are finally breaking down after a month on the job. They offer words of encouragement and promises to be there if you need to talk. They stress how you aren’t alone. They all know how you feel. You simply nod, gathering your things before heading home. You can’t help but think there is one of them who knows exactly what is going through your head. It’s the first time you’ve cried over Cameron in three months, the last time being the anniversary of his death.

 -------

 The next year at the BAU flies by. You actually feel like part of the family, knowing you could talk to any member of the team when you need a friend. Well, almost any member of the team. You and Spencer didn’t click the way everyone thought you would. Ever since the conversation on the plane, you hold back when you’re with him. It’s not that you two avoid each other. You’re just more like coworkers than family. You converse when you need to, but don’t seek each other out.

 Nobody understands why. Hotch especially thought the two of you would become close. You can see why he would think so. From your brief encounters with Spencer, you can tell he’s been through hell. Hotch was probably hopeful the two of you might bond over shared trauma, act as an anchor for each other to know you aren’t alone. Of course that required you to share your trauma with the team, which definitely has not happened.

 It’s not that you don’t trust them. It’s just that the moment hasn’t provided itself yet. First of all, you can’t just casually bring up being kidnapped and tortured for government secrets with your fiancé who was then murdered in front of you. Second of all, something in you says it would crush Spencer. You can tell he clearly still feels bad about what he said to you that day.

 You two hadn’t talked about it. It was a year later, and you still hadn’t talked about it. You would think he forgot, but he does have a rather prolific memory. Everything was fine though. Mostly. He still seemed nervous around you. Or maybe you were projecting. There is something about Dr. Reid…

 “Y/N, can I talk to you?” You were honestly surprised to hear Spencer’s voice saying those six words. Everyone else had already gone home, even Hotch. You just wanted to finish one more file.

 “Of course, what’s up?” You try desperately to sound casual, to pretend like you weren’t just thinking about him. Despite not talking to Spencer all that often, you still have a massive amount of respect for him. Watching him work is incredible. You would expect most people with his intelligence to come off as cocky, but he is somehow still so humble.

 “I just wanted to apologize. For what I said on the jet. I was in a bad place, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have said those things, you were just trying to help me, and I threw it back in your face. Also, I’m sorry it took me so long to actually apologize. I just felt so awful, I didn’t know how to bring it up and the longer I waited the more nervous I became and” “Spencer,” he looked startled at the sound of his name. Granted, you normally call him Dr. Reid or Reid when you’re feeling more casual, but still. It’s his name, why is he so surprised you’re using it? “You didn’t do anything wrong. Trust me. You were dealing with an amount of grief nobody should have to go through. I shouldn’t have tried to step in without knowing more about the situation. I’m sorry.” This is your chance. Tell him what happened to you. Come clean about it all.

 He just looks so… relieved. As if you had lifted a weight off his shoulder just by telling him you understood he didn’t mean it. Seeing the hope in his eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to put any of that weight back on him. He had just freed himself, he doesn’t need your problems weighing him back down.

 You can tell he still feels bad, but maybe now the two of you can try to move on. Maybe you’ll actually become friends. Telling him that you have indeed been through all of those things would just bring all that guilt back. For some reason, there is nothing you would rather do than protect Spencer Reid from pain.

 So, you’ve resigned yourself to never telling anyone unless you absolutely had to. You convinced yourself it was a secret you could take to the grave. Nobody needed to know.

 Until one day, they do. And that day happens to be tomorrow.

 --

 “Hello, crime fighters. This one is a doozey.” Penelope walked into the round table room and immediately jumped into the case. “Three heterosexual couples in Plano, Texas have been killed. The details are on your tablets. Be warned, it is not a pretty sight. All the victims were tortured. The men all died of blood loss. The women were drowned after multiple non fatal gunshot wounds and other various forms of torture.” You tensed ever so slightly at the description of the crimes. Hotch shot you a concerned glance, but you waved him off with a slight shake of your head. You zoned out for the rest of Garcia’s description, deciding instead to focus on every detail you could learn from the case files on your tablet.

 “Wheels up in 20.” Hotch’s voice drew you from your focus on the files. “Y/N?” You looked at him from your seat at the table, realizing everyone else had already left. “If this is too much for you, everyone would understand.” You stand, plastering the fakest smile Hotch has ever seen on your face.

 “I appreciate the concern, but there is a job to do. And I intend to do it.” There is no malice behind your words. Only a fierce determination to catch this unsub before he can hurt anyone else.

 “Alright, but Y/N, please. Let me know if you need to talk about it. The whole team is here for you.” You features soften into a genuine smile before you respond.

 “Thank you, Hotch.” And with that, you exit the room. You grab your go bag, meeting the other agents by the elevator.

 The flight to Texas is long enough that the team’s discussion doesn’t prevent everyone from catching up on sleep. While everyone else is resting, preparing to start up again on the ground with fresh eyes, you are pouring over every detail again and again. You just need to know if it’s the same people. The same people who killed your fiancé. The same people who tortured you.

 It was a day like any other. You had just gotten to the bar you were working at as a cover. Cameron was working security, you as a bartender. The mission was supposed to be simple.

 There was a domestic terrorist cell operating just outside of Plano in Addison, TX. The leader was believed to own the very bar you had gotten a job in. You were supposed to gather intelligence, and report back. You weren’t supposed to engage with the terrorist cell. It was a simple mission.

 That day, the day you could never forget, started exactly how you expected it to. The leader was supposed to be meeting with his right hand. You were supposed to learn who or what they were planning to target. You still can’t pinpoint the moment you knew something was wrong.

 Everything was normal when you clocked in. Everything was normal when you served you first few customers. Everything as normal when you walked up to the table hosting the meeting and asked if you could get them anything. Everything was normal until it wasn’t.

 You remember waking up in a warehouse. Cameron was tied to a chair across from you. He was injured, bleeding from a cut in his side. It didn’t look that bad, but there was so much blood. How could such a small cut produce so much blood?

 You had a million questions, but couldn’t form the words to ask them. You’re mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Cameron looked at you as if he knew something you didn’t. You suppose he did, given that he was awake before you. But that’s not what concerned you the most. No, it was the look of pure terror in his eyes. Pure terror, mixed with… resignation? That doesn��t make sense. Why would he be giving up?

 Finally gathering enough strength to speak, you mumble “What happened?”

 “Y/N… they know who we are. I don’t know how they figured it out, but they did. They are going to hurt me to get to you. You can’t let them, okay? Stay strong. Everything will be fine.” His words are rushed. You have a hard time following them, as if the words drift into the air, only to enter your head in a different order.

 Before you have a chance to ask any more questions, you hear a door swing open behind you. You can hear the footsteps, but can’t turn around enough to see who they belong to.

 “Do it.” You know that voice. You know you know it, but you can’t place it.

 A man appears from your left. He stands in front of you, a mask covering his face so you can only see his eyes. “Let’s have some fun.” You’re ready for him to hit you. Or cut you. Or hurt you in any way. What you’re not ready for is him pulling a knife only to walk over to Cameron.

 “No” The word is barely there. You aren’t even sure you said it out loud.

 “Y/N, don’t tell them anything. Okay? I’ll be fine.” Cameron is looking at you with pleading eyes. You both know he’s lying.

 “Your fiancé here is a liar.” The man sneers, dragging his knife down Cameron’s arm. “He will most certainly not be fine.” With that, the man plunges the knife into Cameron’s stomach. A gut wrenching scream leaves his mouth as the man moves the knife around inside his body. You try to control your reaction, but tears instantly spring to your eyes.

 “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll leave your man alone.” There’s no point. Cameron would never forgive you if you gave up information to the enemy. He’s always been a loyal soldier. Either way, deep down you know he won’t live much longer. He’s lost too much blood. You are going to have to watch the man you love die. He’s going to bleed out in front of you. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

 You are shaken back to reality after the jet has landed. You slowly come to, realizing you must have fallen asleep while you were looking at the files. You can’t get the eyes out of your head now. The last time you had a nightmare was 6 months ago. Although, this was more of a memory than the usual nightmares you have.

 “Y/N/N? You good?” Morgan is looking at you with concern that hasn’t been there since your first month on the job.

 “Yeah, I’m fine. Just groggy.” You try to laugh it off, walking past him and jumping into an SUV. You’re supposed to go with Hotch to the precinct to set up, so you can avoid the rest of the team’s questions for now.

 You bury your head in the files again, trying to discern if anything feels off or if it is all too similar to be a coincidence.

 “Just answer the question. This will all be over.” Cameron is dead. You are staring at his lifeless body as the man tries to torture you to get the answers he wants.

 With all the strength you can muster up, you spit at him. “I didn’t break before and I won’t break now. Do what you want to me. You’ll never get your answers.” “Oh everyone’s got a breaking point. I’ll find yours.” With that, he storms passed you and out of the room.

 You try to inventory the damage he’s done, but it’s hard because he typically drugs you when he leaves. You’re too disoriented to remember everything. You haven’t heard anything else from the first voice, but you finally realized it was the owner of the bar.

 You are just about to drift back into unconsciousness when you hear a loud crash from somewhere in the building. You expect the masked man to come running back into the room, but instead you’re greeted with the face of the terrorist cell leader. He pulls you to your feet, mumbling about how this wasn’t part of the deal.

 You don’t have the energy to protest as he pulls you down hallways and through doors. He bursts into a large open room. It smells like chlorine, but your eyes are too fuzzy to figure out why. The lights just got so much brighter, and you can’t see. You keep slipping on the floor. The third time, you fall to the ground. Everything is wet. He’s kicking you now. No, rolling you. It all feels distant. As if it’s not happening to you, but rather you are watching it happen to someone. Like a movie.

 You hear the splash before you register the water surrounding you. You’re sinking. It’s actually quite warm. Like a comforting blanket tucking you into bed. The sounds of people yelling fade out as the water covers your head. You feel at peace as everything fades to black.

 Suddenly, the peace is gone. You can hear voices. They sound loud, but still distant. Like you are swimming and someone is trying to talk to you from above the water. But the ground is hard now. There’s loud bangs too, but you can’t figure out what they are. There’s no pattern to them, but suddenly they stop. Maybe you’ll never know what they were, oh well. You just want to get back to the peaceful darkness.

 Instead, you feel burning in your lungs and a pounding in your head. It feels like someone is punching you in the ribs. No. No. No. Where’s the peace?

 All at once, the burning liquid is expelled from your lungs and your eyes fly open. You try to spin around, to see what’s happening, but everything hurts. Your lungs are trying to fill with air. Your eyes are trying to adjust to the lights. You head is begging everything to just stop making noise. Then, darkness. It’s not a peaceful transition this time. It’s sudden, as if someone turned everything off.

 “Y/N?” The sound of your name draws you out of the memory again. You turn to see Hotch’s concerned expression. He’s parked the car outside of the station.

 You take a few deep breaths before speaking, trying to prepare yourself for what you never wanted to have to do. “I have to tell them.” Hotch nods with a grim expression on his face.

 “The team won’t judge you for keeping it a secret. We’ll all be there for you.” He tries to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. He’s too worried about you.

 “I know. It’s not me I’m worried about.” For the first time since you met him, Aaron Hotchner looks confused. It’s actually kind of funny. Although, your laughing sounds more delirious than amused.

 “Hotch, my first case with Spencer, do you remember it?” You shudder at the memory.

 “Of course. It was hard on both of you.” Your smile feels weak, even to you.

 “Well, I tried to check on him. I had only just met him, but he looked so sad. I wanted to take his pain away.” You can feel the tears coming, but you can’t figure out why. “He said unless I had been kidnapped, tortured, and drugged, shot multiple times, and witnessed the murder of the love of my life there was nothing I could do to help him.”

 You can’t bring yourself to look at Hotch. His worrisome expression will just make you feel worse.

 “You didn’t tell him.” The realization is evident in the lilt of his voice. Turning toward him, you try to explain, but he cuts you off. “He was listing trauma you’ve both experienced, and you didn’t tell him.”

 “Of course not, he would’ve felt so guilty! He already feels so guilty and he has no idea. We talked it out, you know. We were actually becoming friends, although it was hard to see from an outside perspective.”

 “You had me fooled. The two of you barely talk.” Hotch looks incredulous. You’ve never seen so many emotions on his face in one day, let alone one conversation.

 “I know. It’s still new. Honestly, it happened yesterday.” Hotch actually chuckles at that. “I think he still feels bad that my first impression was him yelling at me. He’s going to feel so guilty, and I just wanted to keep that pain away from him. He doesn’t need my emotional baggage on top of his own.” You can’t read the expression on his face anymore. You can tell he’s thinking something, though he doesn’t intend to share.

 “It’ll all work out in the end, Y/N. Reid is stronger than he looks. He’s been through a lot, but so have you. Let’s go catch this son of a bitch.” And the two of you exit the car as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

 Your nerves build waiting for the rest of the team at the station. Spencer and Derek are last to arrive. You were hoping to have a few more minutes to figure out how to tell them all about the worst moments of your life, but alas the time has come.

 Hotch clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. The conversations about theories die out as all eyes turn to him. “Y/N has a theory to share.”

 That’s one way to put it. Before you can back out, you jump right in.

 “The unsub was a for-hire torturer. I think he left the business and started killing for fun. A sadist. He enjoys the psychological torture of killing the one person you love more than anyone.” You can’t bring yourself to say another word. Spencer looks grief stricken. Everyone else is looking at you in confusion, except Hotch who is looking at you with sorrow. You can’t decide which is worse.

 “What makes you say that?” Derek is the first one to speak. He clearly doesn’t understand why you came to that conclusion. Plus, he’s probably confused that Hotch had to introduce your theory rather than just include it in the brainstorming.

 “Before I worked in violent crimes, I worked in the National Security division. I focused on domestic terrorism. We had a mission go wrong. It was supposed to be a simple, just gathering intel. Something went wrong and two agents were abducted.” You unconsciously decided to depersonalize the story. It’s something Hotch quickly caught on to, but what can he do about it? You just need to get the words out.

 “They were a couple. Engaged. The man, he died from three precise wounds to the abdomen. He bled out while his fiancé was forced to watch.” You’re grateful when Emily interrupts.

 “Did the woman drown?” The woman. You.

 “No. Well, yes. She was dead for 3 minutes when they found her. The cell leader dumped her into a pool in the building she was being held in. They caught him trying to flee the building. When they questioned him about a partner, he said he hired someone to torture the couple to get information. He didn’t know where he went. I think that’s the unsub.”

 Instantly, the team is theorizing. You stay quiet, listening. Where could he have hidden for this long? Were there more crimes in other states? Can Garcia look through unsolved double homicides that fit the signature? Before long, Derek asks the question you’ve been dreading.

 “Can we interview the agent who survived?” You’re grateful that he’s looking at Hotch when he asks. Spencer, though, his eyes haven’t left you since you started speaking. He knows. You know he knows because you can see the weight bearing down on him. You tear your eyes away from him when Hotch clears his throat to get your attention.

 “Y/N, can we interview the agent?” His tone is gentle. Hotch knows what he’s asking. Are you ready to tell them the truth? To share this pain with all of us?

 “Yes. You can interview her.” You are visibly tense, but Morgan is just confused about the interaction. Why would Hotch need to ask you for permission? Why does he sound like someone just kicked his puppy?

 “Great, when can she get here?” Of course, Morgan would ask the next logical question.

 “She’s already here.” Your voice is quiet. He almost doesn’t hear you.

 “What? Where?” He knows he’s missing something. It’ll only take him a few more seconds to put it together, but you save him the trouble.

 “Right here.” You gesture to yourself, eyes flitting between Spencer’s and the ground. The rest of the team didn’t hear you. They were still working out theories as you, Morgan, Hotch, and Spencer converse in cryptic sentences and brief eye contact. Spencer is frozen in place. Hotch was stressed for you. It’s never easy to share past trauma, let alone when you feel like you don’t have a choice.

 The realization hits Morgan so fast he almost falls to the ground. He rushes to you, pulling you into the tightest bear hug you have ever experienced. Morgan has become like an older brother to you. He always jokes about how he would beat up anyone who hurt you. You always joke right back about doing the same for him. He told you about Carl Buford a few months ago. It was also on a case. You would’ve told him everything then, but you didn’t want him to feel like you thought the two were comparable or that his trauma was somehow less important just because you’d been through some bad shit too.

 His actions drew the attention of Rossi, JJ, and Emily though. You weren’t an overly emotional person usually. Undercover work made you good at compartmentalizing, so you never really sought out someone to comfort you. The sight of you in tears, wrapped in Morgan’s arms threw them for a loop. You normally waited until you got home to go through your routine to decompress. It was easier that way. But right now, the thought of even looking at Spencer was enough to bring tears to your eyes. You just couldn’t stop thinking about him. It felt weird, to be sharing such an intimate part of your life with everyone and still be thinking about him. You had moved on from it all though. You knew how to deal with it. Of course, you still love Cameron, but you talk about everything in therapy once a week so you won’t break down like this.

 You see JJ look to Spencer for an explanation, but he’s too busy looking at you with more pain in his eyes than should be possible. He knows how it feels to see someone you love die right in front of you. He knows how it feels to try and move on from being drugged and tortured. He knows how it feels to be alone in it all. What he doesn’t know is how it feels to try and help someone through that grief only to have your own thrown back in your face. That’s what he did to you. Albeit, unintentionally but he did that. And it is so clear that he feels awful. You wish you could talk to him, but Morgan is pulling you into a different conference room for a cognitive interview that you somehow agreed to in your state of shock.

 Hotch explains the situation to Rossi, Emily, and JJ. Spencer’s guilt only pushes further down on him when he hears it all again.

 He stares at the room you’re in through the class doors of the conference room. He hasn’t moved in the ten minutes you’ve been gone. He expected JJ to talk to him first, but he was surprised to find Hotch instead.

 “Y/N told me in the car that she was scared to share that story.” Hotch starts slow, trying to ease Spencer out of his own head.

 “I would be too. It’s a painful memory to relive.” Spencer responds with a familiar tightness in his chest.

 “She wasn’t worried about herself though.” Spencer’s head jerks up to meet Hotch’s stare.

 “What do you mean? Who else would she be worried for?”

 “You.” Hotch says it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. You being worried about him when you share your darkest memories.

 “Me?” Spencer practically falls out of his chair in an effort to sit up straighter. “Why would she worry about me?” Despite his genius IQ, he can’t fathom why you would worry about him in this scenario. If roles were reversed and he had to tell the story of watching Maeve die, he wouldn’t be worried about you. He slowly comes to the conclusion that he would be worried about you though. Now that he knows you’ve been through something similar, he would worry about you anytime it was brought up. Anytime anything remotely similar was brought up.

 “She told me what you said to her on the jet after your first case together.” Spencer falls into himself at the memory, his guilt pushing his shoulders down. “She said you still feel guilty about it. That hearing the things she has been through would push all that guilt back to the surface. More than anything, she wanted to protect you from more pain.” Hotch seems to know more than he’s saying, but Spencer is too shocked to profile him.

 “But, I, how would, but…” Spencer is muttering the beginning of every thought running through his head, but he can’t seem to form a complete sentence. “Why?”

 “You’ll have to ask her.”

 --

 Between your cognitive interview and Garcia’s sleuthing, the team find the unsub rather quickly. You stay at the station when the team goes to catch him. You try to protest, but Hotch, Morgan, and Emily stare you down until you concede. Really though, it was the concerned look from Spencer that convinced you to sit down and wait. The case wraps up quickly after that. The masked man ended up being Kyle Beckett. A classic sadist.

 It brings you more closure than you would have imagined to know he will be locked up for the rest of his life. You spent a lot of time in therapy trying to cope with the fact that he was never caught. And now, it’s over. You’re also extremely grateful you didn’t have to face him, although you would never admit that you were actually glad to stay behind. They can all tell though. They are profilers after all.

 You can’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu at all the stares you’re getting on the jet. It’s as if time itself was rewound to a year ago. You feel like the newbie again. Getting ready to have a heart to heart with Spencer. You’d be blind not to notice the parallels of the two situations when Spencer slides into the seat next to you on the jet after everyone else falls asleep.

 The silence is comforting at first, but quickly becomes unbearable.

 “Hi” You have a sleepy smile on your face when you say it. You are unbelievably exhausted after everything that happened. Too tired to fully conceal the emotions you know you have been denying. You’re always happy when you talk to him, even if the occurrences are a bit far and few between compared to other members of the team. “You look sad.”

 His mouth actually twitches upward at that statement, which you count as a win in your book. “You’ve been through hell on this case, and you’re still worried about me.” You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s too good at hiding his thoughts inside that big beautiful brain.

 “I’ve always worried about you. Ever since I met you. You just looked so sad and I wanted to make it stop.” You aren’t thinking before you speak anymore. Probably why Spencer suddenly looks so surprised.

 “Is that why you didn’t want to tell me?” Now it’s your turn to look confused. How did he know that? “I may have talked to Hotch earlier…” It takes longer than you’d care to admit for you to understand what exactly Hotch told him. But still, you’re too tired to be bothered.

 “I’m sorry if that was weird for you. It’s just, after we talked about it I thought maybe we could eventually be friends or something. I didn’t want you to be sad again. I know what it feels like to be sad. I also know what it feels like to be sad again when you realize someone else is sad for that same reason.” You must actually be exhausted because it feels like you’re talking in riddles. “Sorry, that doesn’t make sense. I just mean, I didn’t want you to feel bad about it again. I didn’t want you to feel more pain” You’ve started leaning toward him, about ready to pass out.

 “You’re incredible. You truly are amazing. I don’t think a day will go by where I don’t feel awful for what I said to you, but maybe with enough time I can make it up to you.”

 “I would like that.” You smile brightly as you look into his eyes. They seem sad still, but there is a brightness there that wasn’t there before.

 Spencer doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he lets you lay down in his lap as you drift off, the soothing feeling of his hands in your hair lulling you to sleep.

 You wake up as the jet touches down. The memories of your conversation with Spencer bring a smile to your face. He looks down smiling when you shift in his lap.

 “Thank you” You’re not surprised he still feels like he needs to thank you.

 “I would do anything for you Spencer Reid.” You get up to collect your belongings, turning back only when you realize he hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch.

 “Spence, let’s go.” Spence. He likes the sound of that. Maybe, just maybe the two of you will be okay. 

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #spencer #spencer reid one shot #mgg

[bluemusickid]

Hi! I hope you're doing well 🥰 Can you I request one where Steve breaks reader's arm or leg by mistake during training and has to take care of her afterwards? Definitely won't mind if some smut is added 😅 Thank you!!

OMFGGGG MY FAV WRITER SENT AN ASK ASDFGHJKL (Also full disclosure: this has been one of my kinks for a while :P)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Warnings: slow burn (just a tad), 18+, SMUTTTT, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), did I mention NSFW? Read at your own risk.

A/N: I would like to thank @imdarkinme for sending in this AMAZING ask! She’s a doll and I’ve been a fan of her writing for so long!! I would also like to thank @donutloverxo for converting me to a Steve Stan loool. I wanted him to be a bit dark here, but in the end his dorky side won. :P Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!! Send in your requests here and you can join my taglist here (or you could just send an ask lmao)! Thanks!

I post my stuff only on AO3 and here, nowhere else. 

The Learning Curve

You groaned as you got up from the mat, yet again. It was dumb of you to ask Captain Rogers to train with you. As a new recruit, you’d obviously wanted to impress him; he was the leader of the Avengers after all. There was only one tiny problem you forgot to factor in: the man was a Super Soldier, while you were...not.

“Come on, get up! We still have two rounds to go!” a voice bellowed from above you.

You mentally cursed at the voice. You’d tried to not let it affect you, but like many others, you had a bit of a crush on the Captain. But it wasn’t solely because of his looks, it was more about his passion to help and save and to protect. He was always so passionate, it was hard to keep away(which was a fiercely guarded secret). You felt like Icarus, when you were with him.

Getting up, you tried to block his punches, while getting in a few yourself. It was impossible, the man was a champ. You saw your opening, however, when he seemed to be distracted by someone approaching him from behind you. Seeing this as a golden opportunity to catch him off guard, you threw a punch aiming for his face. Unfortunately, he blocked the punch and pushed you, to ward you off. It seemed as if he too, forgot that he was a Super Soldier, pushing you a bit too hard.

You screamed as you fell to the ground, twisting to save your face, your arm breaking your fall. Your suspicions were confirmed as you tried to move your arm but couldn’t. Steve heard you yelp and rushed to your side, carefully inspecting your injured appendage. You squealed as he touched your arm, the pain indescribable. Steve whispered his apologies a million times, trying to haul you up by your waist, in vain. Finally, he gave up and picked you up bridal style, like you weighed nothing.

You gasped, partially out of pain, but mostly out of surprise at the sudden move. 

“Umm...Cap..tain..I..can..walk..” you stuttered, unable to keep the pain out of your voice.

He looked into your eyes and smiled, shaking his head. Oh dear lord. This man truly was gorgeous. Nearing the MedBay, he slowly placed you on the bed, his mouth tantalisingly close to yours as he lowered you onto the surface. You never realised how blue his eyes were, which at the moment were filled to the brim with anxiety and some other emotion; which you couldn’t quite place your finger on. Deciding you were probably delirious from the pain, you tried to focus on what the doctor was telling you.

“...so you’ll have to be on constant bedrest for the next two weeks before we can check again to see if you need a rod put in.” 

“Err, I’m sorry doc, what?” you mumbled apologetically, embarrassed by your thoughts.

“As I was telling Captain Rogers, you seem to have a hairline fracture in your ulna, which could require support. You need to rest and take it easy for at least two weeks. Training will have to be put on hold, and I suggest you call a family member to take care of you in the meantime.” the doctor said, scribbling notes.

“Oh, that..won’t be necessary. I can do stuff on my own, I’ll be very careful.” you said with a grimace, not wanting to seem weaker in front of Steve.

“That’s not gonna happen.” Steve said, firmly. “She’ll stay in my quarters. It’s the least I can do after breaking her arm.”

You stared at him, a million things going through your head. You and him, in the confines of a room, alone. Oh no. This was going to be torturous in more way than one.

“Oh no no no, Captain. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t like to impose. Plus, I’m feeling better already! I’m sure it’s more than manageable. Please..I..I’ll be okay, really.” you rushed, pretty sure that your voice was betraying just how fast your heart was beating.

Steve smirked. “This isn’t up for debate. Plus, I’m sure it would be easier for the others to check up on you when we’re away on missions.” he said, taking the prescription from the doctor.

You winced as he helped you up from the bed, the warmth of his hand making you hyperaware about what your life was gonna be like for 2 weeks. You sighed. It was gonna be a loooong two weeks.

-------

You realised after a week that your worries had all been for naught. Steve was an excellent caretaker. He made sure you took all your medicines at the right time, ate properly and rested enough. He was also a thorough gentleman, always calling a lady nurse when you needed to take a shower or get dressed; really respected your boundaries. But you couldn’t deny the shift in his behaviour towards you. At first, you felt like you were reading into it too much, but then it started to get more noticeable. They were little things, but it meant so much. He would insist on having lunch with you, no matter if you were quiet or chatty; Steve always was there. He brought your favourite blanket from your chambers to make sure you felt more comfortable. At night, he would make sure you were comfortable, get you hot chocolate, maybe even sit next to you till you fell asleep. One time, he held your hand till you drifted off; but you were sure that you felt him leave a small peck on your cheek as you nodded off.

If you weren’t falling for him earlier, you sure as hell were now.

------

After hitting the two week mark, you went to the doctor again for a checkup. All seemed well, there was no need for a rod to be put in but the cast would have to stay on. Steve was there throughout the appointment, listening intently at everything the doctor said with his full focus. It was quite distracting and kinda hot, and you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him periodically. On one occasion, he caught your eye and grinned, catching you in the act. You wished the ground would swallow you up just then: this man fully well knew that you had a crush on him and was enjoying messing with you.

You nearly gasped as you felt his hand on your shoulder, guiding you to the lift. Something was different today. Steve seemed buoyant, which was very out of character for him.

“The nurse isn’t available today, she had some prior commitments. If it’s ok with you, I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” he said, softly. You gulped, his tone messing with your train of thought.

“Uh, that’s ok, I can manage things for a night. I’ve already imposed on you quite a bit and don’t want to create more of a hassle.”

Steve smiled. “Sweetheart, you’ve not been a hassle, trust me. It felt nice having you around, I enjoy your companionship. Just a few weeks more and you can get rid of me.” he said, with a mischievous grin. You groaned inwardly; this man was driving you nuts.

“Oh no, I really liked staying with you. You’re great company! I don’t think I want to get rid of you, ha.” you said in a flourish, mentally cursing yourself for being such a blabbering fool around him.

Steve looked at you, his eyes darkening. He stepped closer to you, opening his mouth to say something, but the elevator seemed to sense the tension rife in the air and opened at that exact moment. You both snapped out of the haze you were in with Steve beckoning you to his quarters, his hand resting softly on your back.

Back in your room, you realised you needed to take your nightly shower. You were about to call for the nurse, when you remembered that she wasn’t gonna come. Shit. You’d have to call Steve to help with your sling. Closing your eyes, you sighed before you walked to his room, praying to God that you would get through this. Just go in, get the brace off, and get out, you whispered to yourself. With that mantra in mind, you hesitantly knocked on his door. A muffled ‘come in’ reached you, and you timidly entered the lion’s den.

Steve was tinkering with the laptop, clearly engrossed in some work. You felt guilty disturbing him, but it was kind of an emergency. 

“Is everything ok?”

“Yes, I..just needed some help with my sling; I tried to take it off, but it’s not coming off. Can you..unfasten it? I’ll be out of your hair in no time..”

Wordlessly, Steve sauntered over to you, turning you around to face the wall. Softly, his fingers undid the clasp of the sling, pulling the straps off your neck, his fingers grazing over your skin gently. You jerked, surprised by the small currents you felt with these small touches. Turning you around, he helped you take your arm out of the sling, his hands accidentally brushing the sides of your breasts. You didn’t dare make eye contact with him; you were sure you would say or do something you would regret later on. 

“All done.” he whispered, his eyes not leaving yours. You realised he was merely inches away from your lips; the proximity driving you crazy.

“Thanks.” you mumbled, wanting to run out of the room.

“Are you going to bed? Do you need anything to drink?” 

“Yes, I was just gonna head to bed after my shower.”

“You can shower here. I’d be able to keep an eye on you then and you won’t have to worry about any mishaps. See? Win-win.” he said with a grin.

You were about to decline his offer but stopped when he held up his hand. “You need to stop thinking that you’re a burden on me. I like doing things for you, it makes me feel like I’m not totally alone. These two weeks have undoubtedly been one of the best weeks in my life. I like you, and I know you like me. I just want to show you how much I care for you in my own, peculiar ways.” he said, taking your hand in his, drawing patterns on your knuckles softly.

Your mind raced with all the information. You never knew Steve felt this way, he was always so taciturn. Your gaze flitted to his face, his eyes darkening the way they did in the morning. He didn’t need words to convey what his eyes said; he felt the same way you did about him.

You melted as he raised your hand to his lips, placing a kiss which felt like petals grazing your skin. Leaning down, his lips inched closer to yours, his breath tickling your face.

“Tell me if I should stop, and I will.” he whispered.

You waited a beat before making your decision. Raising your lips to his, you touched his lips slightly before murmuring, “don’t stop.”

And that was it. You were lost in the maelstrom of emotions that was Steve kissing you. It started off sweet, with Steve engulfing your lips within his, taking his time to make sure you were enjoying. It turned heated the moment you ran your fingers through his hair, gently tugging on it. Steve ran his tongue over you, begging for entrance. You moaned and opened your mouth, prompting him to unite his tongue with yours, as if to memorise every inch of you. You broke apart, the need for air greater than your desire. 

He picked you up and carried you to the bed, placing you on it carefully. Being extremely careful, he pulled off your tee, eyes widening as he took in your bare chest. Kneeling in front of you, he took off your sweatpants and your underwear, leaving soft but searing kisses at every inch of skin he exposed. You sharply inhaled, already feeling yourself get wet even though he hadn’t even touched you properly.

Lowering you to the bed tenderly, he made sure your arm was resting comfortably, placing a pillow underneath the appendage. Placing his hand next to your head, he kissed you deeply, pouring every emotion he felt into that kiss. You moaned as you felt his lips trail lower, leaving kisses along your neck, laving your pulse point. Moving lower, he kissed your breasts, leaving small bites along the way. Taking a swollen nub in his mouth, he sucked on it while massaging the other, prompting you to groan and run your uninjured hand through his hair, wanting him inside you.

While he moved his attention to your other breast, he trailed his fingers down your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He finally reached his destination, his fingers soft against your wet nether region. 

“Steve, please..I need you..” you whispered in urgency. His intrepid fingers found your swollen nub and circled; gently at first, and then with more intensity. Moving lower, his digits swirled around your wet lips, before plunging into your tight channel. You gasped as he began thrusting, his knuckles bumping along your front wall, hitting your sweet spot. You had to refrain from arching your back, instead relegating to pulling his head down for a kiss. He increased his speed, adding another finger once he sensed how close you were. You shrieked as you reached your peak, breaking apart from the kiss. 

As you opened your eyes, recovering from your orgasm, you saw Steve look at you, an unspoken question in his deep blue eyes. You nodded, cupping his cheek, running your thumb over his soft, soft skin. You don’t know what power he wielded over you, but it didn’t matter. You had no qualms being caught in this spell he wove.

Shedding his clothes, he returned to his place, widening your spread legs with his torso. Sitting back on his heels, he took in your body, his gaze running over every curve, every stretch mark, every beauty spot on your body. Taking his hard member in his hand, he gave a few strokes before lowering himself, running his nose against yours. He ran his tip along your wet folds before plunging into you in one swift move. You gasped and closed your eyes, your head falling back against the pillow. He gave you time to adjust to his size, your walls snug against him. After a moment, he began moving, careful to not move your arm. He started off slow, making sure you felt every inch of him. You hooked your legs around his hips, urging him to move faster. He took the hint, his pace increasing with each thrust. The coil in your belly was tightening and you could feel yourself hurtling towards completion for the second time. Running your hand along his back, your hand made it’s way to his ass, pushing down, begging him for more. Steve held himself up, looking deeply into your eyes, as he sped up his thrusts. You could feel him within you, each thrust hitting your weak spot over and over again.

You screamed his name as you reached your peak, your legs tightening around him; wrapping yourself around him like a vine. He was close too, his thrusts now becoming frantic as he was chasing his end. Your walls contracting around him set off his orgasm as he moaned, spilling every last drop of himself inside you. You both panted, as he dropped his head on your chest, trying to catch his breath. You both stayed like that for a while as you ran your fingers through his scalp, enjoying the feel of his weight on yours. 

There were many things to talk about, sure.

But for now, this was more than enough.

-----

Tags: @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @donutloverxo @worksby-d @gotnofucks @imdarkinme @chris-butt @ozarkthedog

#chris evans #chris evans blurb #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader #shamelesshoesforchris #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans x ofc #chris evans x poc!reader #chris evans x woc #chris evans x reader insert #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers imagine #request #captain america x reader #captain america x woc #captain america x poc #captain america smut #steve rogers x plus size reader #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x fem!reader #marvel x reader

[slashbitch2]

Extra Complications PT3

Previous Chapter

"Don't bother coming back into work tomorrow."

Her words had been replaying in your mind since the final encounter, bouncing round like a taunting echo. It'd only been a week since you'd stopped working at Alchemex, yet had felt like a lifetime of boredom and fatigue. With no job or persistent villain to chase after, if you could even call Liv a villain anymore, there was no reason to get out of bed in the morning, nothing to stop you from moping around your apartment. The days blended into what felt like one long sick day, disregarding the occasional break to rescue a cat stuck in a tree.

Although, your only sickness was of the mind. Whenever you attempted to get some rest, your thoughts would inevitably drift to Liv; the cold, distanced tone to her voice, the look of betrayal in her eyes, how empty the week had felt without her. By the third night plagued with insomnia, you were starting to accept that your feelings towards her may be more than a simple crush. On the eighth night, you decided you ought to do something about it and began to formulate a plan.

Entering the building like you were still an employee would be almost impossible since anyone who left their job was rarely welcomed back with open arms. It'd also be better to avoid the security and CCTV cameras, which you'd learnt used face recognition technology. And finally, locating a security card would pose a potential problem, as walking round the facility until you happened to stumble across a janitor to steal from was unfortunately no longer a possibility. So, what was the solution to all your problems? Vents.

Which is how you found yourself scouring over blueprints like a cliched protagonist from a bygone age movie, but at least the irony hadn't escaped you, and thankfully laboratories generally required a great deal of ventilation, so you had multiple routes memorised by the time the bus had arrived at Alchemex. You'd spent the entire journey on edge, fearful that any fellow passenger might accost you for looking so suspicious. But apparently an agitated figure buried beneath a pile of blueprints wearing a spider-suit underneath a jumper was normal enough to be ignored.

Nonetheless, stepping onto the concrete ground of the car park was a relief which inspired a tad more optimism. Moreover, leaving the burdening stacks of blueprints behind further alleviated some of your anxiety. It felt like a final confirmation that this was your one and only chance, and you weren't about to mess it up. Even as the building loomed over you casting a shadow of uncertainty, nothing could discourage your determination.

There was the remarkable sense that you didn't belong here, though it was a familiar sensation. One that persuaded you to tug the mask over your head before darting toward the edge of the car park. It was your belief that as long as you stuck to the outskirts of the facility, few would pay you any attention while you were out in the open. Therefore allowing you to manoeuvre into position and take the quickest passage straight to Liv's office. Which is exactly what you did.

The first stretch of the vent system was a straight drop, a narrow plunge that went on for longer than anticipated. Like a slide with no angle of inclination and a lot less fun. You hit the metal base with an ungraceful clang, certain that your legs would've buckled upon impact had it not been for the lack of space to do so. Overall an uncomfortable start. The remainder of the journey was a lot of crawling and muscle cramps, your only incentive being the occasional grate to peer down which reassured you that your destination was drawing nearer. Everything was going to plan.

Until you heard her.

Olivia's voice rung clear as if from a dream. It stood out from the general ruckus, initially leading you to believe you were hallucinating, that it was some kind of audible mirage. Yet you refocused your senses and it didn't go away. She was almost directly below you, separated simply by a thin layer of metal. With renewed ambition, you crawled toward the nearest grate as quickly and quietly as possible, frantically lowering your head to find the perfect angle, all just to catch a glimpse of her.

"What do you mean the program hasn't worked?" Liv pinched the bridge of her nose, her words laced with an an uncharacteristic anger. You'd never known her to be an irritable person, she loved her job and every challenge that came with it. Was she uptight? Sure. Passionate? Undeniably. But never angry.

"I've tried rerunning and rewriting parts of the code. And it just doesn't work!" Some poor employee (Mark, if you remembered correctly) was fighting for his dignity below. You could see he was flushing, wildly flailing his hands around as he tried to justify his mistake.

"You've rewritten part of it?!" She repeated, volume rising in frustration.

"I- I thought I knew how to fix it."

"I told you not to mess with my work." She growled, stepping closer.

"With all due respect," He didn't back down, clearly caught off guard and unsure how to deal with an irritated Liv. "it's actually Y/N's work."

Upon hearing your name, you ducked out of view as if you'd been seen. Although, it was evident that this was not the case, so slowly you edged forward to peer down at them once more.

Liv's face had dropped at the mention of your name. But by the time you'd settled back in place, anger was already seeping into her expression, then was suddenly smoothed into disturbingly sweet smile. "Well, Y/N isn't here anymore. So I suggest you keep your incompetent hands off of things you don't understand."

Judging by her vague wording, you guessed she hadn't told anyone the real reason you'd been fired. A fond appreciation flooded your mind. Despite everything that had happened, she still respected your secret enough to keep it. You begun to consider that maybe Liv cared about you as much as you did her. Why else would she lie on your behalf?

Mark muttered an ashamed. "Ok." Then left to try and atone for his mistake.

Liv stayed where she was for another minute before taking a deep breath, shaking off her annoyance, and setting a determined path. You assumed she was heading for her office and were about to follow, but then paused. Was this really the best time for a reunion? She obviously wasn't in the best mood, and if you had to guess, it was likely due to your betrayal. Was it too soon to reappear in her life? You'd arrived here with the intention to apologise and make amends, however, you had no idea how Liv would react or what would happen after. If there would even be an after. She could attack you on first sight for all you knew.

No. You'd come too far to turn around now. You continued along the vent before you could overthink the decision. It would be foolish to turn around now: the end was in sight, and rapidly growing closer.

Reaching the final grate, you were greeted with the familiar yet new aerial view of Liv's office. It'd remained mainly the same since your departure. She hadn't even bothered to remove your lab coat, which was still carelessly thrown over the chair you'd frequented everyday. And Liv herself hadn't changed much either, disregarding the seemingly permanent anger lines upon her face. She was sitting at her desk, head in hand, mindlessly flipping through a folder. It occurred to you at that moment that she didn't look irritated, rather sad. Another unexpected emotion for her to display.

After a minute, she sighed, tossing the papers to one side and bringing her other hand up to crash forward into. She looked defeated, seeing her this way felt wrong. You honestly preferred the anger because it showed she'd maintained at least some of her usual intensity.

You sighed. It was time to fix this. With unsteady hands you delicately unscrewed the bolts holding the grate in place, careful to make as little noise as possible. It was as you were removing the final screw that you realised something: you had no idea what to say to her. No planned speech or prepared apology, you'd resigned to hoping for a spontaneous burst of thoughtfulness in the moment. You sat there for a minute, fidgeting with one of the screws while attempting to come up with what you would say. Should you start by apologising for breaking in, or for lying to her, or for applying to the job in the first place? You had a lot of things to apologise for.

And unfortunately, the chance to think it through any further was taken from you as the screw slipped out of your hand. You gasped watching it fall, hitting the ground with an faint thud. Although quiet enough for most people to ignore, you knew Liv was too thorough to not investigate. And as expected, following your sharp intake of breath was the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, then footsteps gradually approaching.

Liv appeared below you, bending down to inspect the screw before glancing up. Her eyes locked with yours through the mask and widened in shock.

"Hey." The casual tone to your voice sounded forced and you grimaced. But rather than dwelling on it, you dropped from the exposed hiding place and pulled off your mask. You smiled awkwardly, eyes scanning and overanalysing her reaction.

Liv stepped back to lean on the desk for support. Her mouth was agape, but otherwise her face was worryingly blank.

"If this is a bad time I can come back later."

Still no response. The room was drowning in a tense silence.

"Well, actually I probably can't come back." With no social cues to interact with, you began to ramble aimlessly. "I'm guessing you'll find a way to patch that particular security breach." You gestured up to the gap in the ceiling and laughed lightly. "Sorry about that. I didn't know how else to-"

You're cut off as Liv moves impossibly fast, grabbing your shoulders and shoving you backwards against the wall. A thousand different thoughts run through your mind at once, all wondering what she's about to do. The majority are focused on the possibility that she's going to hurt you in some way, although, even if she did have the intention to cause harm, you wouldn't fight back. You were tired of conflict, especially when it involved Liv.

She was standing close, breathing heavily and saying nothing. You couldn't help but let your eyes flicker down to her lips, the temptation to kiss her becoming increasingly vehement. So instead you forced your attention up to her eyes, which held an air of confusion.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice was deep, full of unvoiced emotions.

You licked your lips, glancing at her mouth one last time. "I came here to apologise. I didn't mean for any of this to go so far."

"You're lying." She backed away slightly and you immediately missed the proximity.

"I'm not! I just-" You stuttered, then admitted in a quieter voice. "I never meant to hurt you."

She inhaled shakily and swallowed, your eyes tracing the movement of her throat. "And?"

"And because I care about you too much to let you think I did any of this on purpose." You lowered your head, her invasive glare becoming overwhelming.

Soft fingers firmly gripped your chin, compelling you to look up. Her eyes displayed distrust, confusion which you suddenly feel the need to wipe away. You wanted to make your affection for her clear, but found yourself annoyingly speechless. All the recurring thoughts and confined confessions that had been plaguing you for a week suddenly gone from your mind. You were infuriatingly at a loss for words. Although, the warmth of her fingers against your skin reminded you that actions speak louder than words.

You leant in slowly, giving her sufficient time to stop you. She didn't move so you kissed her lightly at first, searingly next. Your arm shifted to wrap around her back tentatively and she moaned faintly in response. Although, it wasn't until you allowed her to take control that any remaining anger dissipated. At that point the kiss became bruising, her hold on you tightening as a wave of shared desperation rolled over the both of you. Before the desperation could reach its peak, however, you separated from her.

Liv was almost panting, her cheeks tinged pink and hair a mess. She promptly attempted to kiss you again, though you dodged the advance and she whined. Her mouth latched onto your neck, sucking at the skin there.

Your head fell back against the wall, dizzy from lust. "Does this mean I can have my job back?" You quipped, running a hand through your hair.

"Depends." She murmured in between kisses. "Do you have anymore secrets?"

"None that I can think of." You smiled, the prospect of returning to what you'd come to consider as normality was an appealing one. Of course there were things you would need to work through with Liv, and many, many extra complications alongside having a relationship with your boss. But nothing easy was ever worthwhile, and Liv was living proof of that.

"Alright. You're hired."

#olivia octavius x reader

[imagine-loki]

Hiding in Plain Sight

TITLE: Hiding in Plain Sight

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 11

AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE:Imagine coming from a line of nobility or royalty and being in an arranged marriage with Loki in an attempt to strengthen your kingdom / alliance with Asgard. You’re not entirely on board with the idea but figured that the best you could do was to get to know your fiancé. You form an agreement with Frigga for you to pose as Loki’s personal servant for a few months so you can get to know who Loki really is – beyond the veil of his responsibility to the Asgardian throne, behind all the masks he wears when facing the public, to really know who Loki is behind closed doors as you slowly fall for each other.How long will you keep up the ruse with the God of Lies? 

RATING: General Audience

“Loki?” Frigga looked worriedly at her son who burst into his parents’ shared rooms. “Is everything…?”

“You conspired with that elf against me?” He snapped. 

Sighing, Frigga gave a slight wave to her maids who all left the room. “Conspired is a strong word for it,” Her voice was calm and steady as she rose from her seat. “She wrote, asking of your character and I suggested she get to know you. Tatianna needed time with family and thus, I realised she could get to meet you without you being guarded as I knew you were unsure of the situation and were not likely to open up to her.”

Loki gasped in shock. “So you planned this? You were the one to actually suggest it?” He became more hurt at that revelation. 

“You treat that maid with nothing but kindness, I thought if Raven saw that side of you also, she would see how caring you are. I knew that you would not open yourself as willingly to her otherwise.” “I…” he could not explain his anger, such was its intensity. 

“Loki, I am truly sorry for doing this, clearly, it was a mistake on my behalf. I am genuinely sorry for hurting you so, my son.” She tried to have him look at her so that he would see she was being genuine. “In turn, I also hurt Raven.” Loki scoffed at the mention of the elf. “She is a lovely woman. Bright, kind, a good partner for you but instead, it appears my little idea has hurt you both so.” “Even after what you have done to me, the two of you, you care about her?” “Loki, Raven has had a very restricted life, she only wanted to know if she would be forced to endure the same here. I know you will not believe this but she simply wishes to be happy and knowing I am integral to the suffering of more unhappiness for her is upsetting for me. It does not take for my upset at the hurt I caused you.” 

Loki scowled. Raven’s words came back to him again, of her loneliness and the life she was forced to lead thus far. He didn’t want to feel pity for her. He wanted to loathe her, something quite easy to do with her actions but it still played on his mind. Without saying another word to his mother, he turned to leave. 

“I genuinely believe that given the time, you will see you are well suited, Loki,” Frigga stated. 

“Perhaps we could have been.” Loki acknowledged. “But you scuppered our chances significantly with your idea.” With that, he left the room. 

* Raven sat in her room, the door between her bed chambers and front chambers locked and with a sofa in front of it in case any thought to try and open it. She had been ready for Loki’s ire and remarks, she had long built a thick skin being the youngest of five and with four older brothers, what she had not been ready for was her own words. The idea of sitting alone in her rooms for days on end was nothing new to her, what was new was the knowledge that it would not come to an end. Growing up, she had hoped the day would come that she would have a happier existence. Even as a Ljósáfar wife to a Ljósáfar husband, she could not possibly be forced to remain as she had been growing up. On hearing she was marrying an Aesir, she knew life would be far different and on knowing it was Prince Loki, though she knew little of his demeanour, she knew the Aesir way of life would allow her far greater freedom and she also knew him to be very intelligent, allowing her to fantasise of the many conversations and discussions they could share. The debates they could muster in private in the evenings after court was complete for the day. She had been excited about that. Even if they did not see eye to eye, she had dreamed of debate and conversation where she was not required to remain silent. Instead, now she had ruined any such an idea and would be forced to look at the walls that currently surrounded her for considerable years yet to come and that felt far more daunting than she could ever fathom. It filled her with a dread that made her feel like she would begin to hyperventilate at any moment. She felt entirely trapped. 

Questions swirled around in her mind. Would Loki take a mistress? Would he take many over the years? Would she have to endure dark-haired offspring he sired outside of wedlock to mistresses being recognised unofficially? Would she go to empty rooms every night while his were filled with love, passion and the giggles of a lover? Would she remain alone? Would people whisper how she was not a fit spouse? That she was not up to the task of securing the line of her husband. Or, just as heart-wrenching, would she be forgotten about, again. Only recognised and remembered when she stood in the shadow of the important male she was tied to. 

Thoughts of her perhaps finding love, feeling unconditional love could not come to her, after all, such was preposterous to her current state. She remembered the affections she felt before with Lord Arden. The stolen kisses, the sneaking around and indeed, the illicit actions of it. When it was made clear that she was to wed Loki, he left immediately with no thorough explanation. She always wondered if it was because it hurt too much to see her being wed elsewhere and he wanted a clean break, or after a while, she suspected it was because he realised he would not achieve his goal of a respectable dowry from her and decided to try other women. She was unsure if she had come to that second conclusion in her own mind to placate her feelings or not but that was going to be her excuse to make her feel better, factual or otherwise. 

Curled up with her head on her knees and her arms wrapped around them, she did nothing but think sadly of the situation at hand. 

* “You insulted the Ljósáfar.” 

Thor had Mjolnir ready for what was to come and chuckled to himself as he deflected several knives that Loki tossed his way. 

“You’re never able to aim properly when you are overly angered.” “You said nothing.” Loki’s voice was barely over a hiss. “I was sworn to secrecy.” “By someone you don’t even know?” “By our mother, a being I know even longer than you do,” Thor stated, avoided a blast of magic by using Mjolnir’s own version of such. “Raven only agreed because she wanted to get to know you.” “And that was how she decided to do so?” Loki spat. “Not by engaging me in any manner that would signify any attempt of an honest and healthy introduction?” “Since you failed to answer her three written attempts at such, I cannot imagine she felt she had many other options.”

Loki froze. “What?” “Raven wrote to you. On three separate occasions, and you ignored all three.” 

“No, she did not.” Loki shook his head. “Indeed, she did.” Thor reiterated. “This was confirmed, not only by her but when I asked the Postmaster, he confirmed it. I asked him so I could confirm it because you are not one to ignore a letter and I suspected you would call her a liar to save yourself. Three separate letters, dated months apart so to allow for time to receive and reply should you be otherwise busy, giving you time to do so. All three remained unanswered.” “I received no such letters,” Loki repeated. 

“Well, three were sent from Alfheim, sorted by the Postmaster himself and delivered to your rooms,” Thor informed him. “She tried before now. It is why she had to try and find reports on your personality elsewhere.” Thor slapped his shoulder. “I wanted to warn you. Well, I mostly wanted to warn you. Part of me also wanted to see the look of shock on your face when you realised who she was. That was until I realised what you were saying about her. I told you many times, Loki, this is very hard on her.” 

Loki had been bothered by the supposed letters he had not received until Thor mentioned Raven’s ‘struggle’. “Norns, if I have to hear this again.” He threw his brother’s hand from his shoulder. “Poor Raven, how lonely she has had it. How she had to remain seen and never heard. The Elf I have borne witness to is no such shrinking violet. She literally feels like she has to have the last word, come Helfheim or high water.” 

“Because that is who she is. She feels here like she does not have to be a statue any longer.” Thor argued. “Do not lie for one second and tell me that you want a silent and boring wife because you and I both know you rather lose your life than being forced to wed someone without their tongue. How else could you ever have someone at your beck and call to argue with day and night? I would have thought an opinionated and in your belief, an argumentative wife would have suited you to the ground. I doubt you want a wife that would agree with everything you say without question. Where would be the fun in that?” 

Loki could not argue that point. Nothing would disgust him more. “That does not negate her actions.” 

“She felt she had no choice. Was it something I would suggest? No, but it was for a good reason. She just wanted a good partner.” 

Loki scowled. “And in doing so, ensured she would not get one.” 

“Loki, please. This is going ahead whether or not you are happy about it, so you have two choices, be angry with her for this, accept any and all apologies, learn about her and try and form a healthy and fulfilling marriage with her or continue this animosity and live an unfulfilled marriage. I will soon have to court my betrothed and if the options of both were on the table, I know I would not wish to remain arguing.” “She already made it clear, the hope is to perform some sacred ritual, ensure you and your wife spawn multiple times and stay as far away from me as is physically possible.” 

“Loki, the woman I have spoken to multiple times wants entirely the opposite of that and I know you don’t want to believe it but to her, coming here, having a husband such as you was something she wanted. Sadly, things have gone slightly awry.” Loki began to scoff at his words before pausing. “When has all this conversing been taking place?” “Through her stay here.” Thor kept his answers broad so as to not have Loki sense any dishonesty. 

Loki studied his brother closer. “Like when?” “Do you honestly think I can recall days and times off the top of my head?”

“Do you know where in the palace she is?” Thor tried to think of something to say to argue that but silence or a no would immediately be sensed as a lie. “Why?” “I deserve to know, as her betrothed, surely?” “Not if you are going to add to her loneliness with it.” “Loneli…If I wanted to add to her loneliness, the last thing I would do is ask where to find her, Thor.” Loki scoffed. “Where is she?”

“I am not going to tell you if you are going to use it to add to this farce.” Thor’s declared. 

Loki knew he was telling the truth, much to his own annoyance. “Then leave.” “This is the royal hallway, I don’t have to leave. I live here, same as you.” Thor reminded him. “In your time speaking with Raven, what have you learnt of her?” “That she’s a conniving wench.” 

“No, Loki. In all seriousness, what have you learnt of her? What did it reveal of her knowledge of you?”

“Nothing, she knows nothing of me. Made clear by how she thought to get to know me.” He snapped. “Her way of speaking to me was not to introduce herself but to act like a maid, to scrub toilets and rummage through my belongings. That’s how little she thinks of me.” Loki paused. He had not thought of that previously. She had been privy to all of his belongings. Letters of private matters, items of personal value that he would not have wanted her to see. It annoyed him greatly that she had touched and rummaged through such things.

Seeing his brother getting irritated, Thor decided to alter his train of thought before he focused too greatly on what was annoying him. “So in that time, she got nothing right about your personality? I refuse to believe that because when I discussed the issue with her, I think she got your personality to perfection. The anger, the silent treatment, she even apologised to me for the aggression you would show me, both physical and otherwise.” “That, she did ascertain correctly. That is hardly surprising as it would be considered a normal reaction by most.” Loki dismissed. “I will not repeat myself, where is she?” “You’re repeating yourself saying that to me again.” Thor pointed out. “Until you are willing to speak with her like an adult, I will not tell you.” “You owe me.” “You owe her, considering you never even wrote back when she tried to engage you herself.” Loki said nothing as Thor walked off, leaving him to his thoughts. He walked back to his room and looked at the platter his letters always were placed when delivered to him. There were three there at that time. He walked over and looked around, noting there was nowhere any letter could have fallen for him to not have seen it. 

The Aesir Postmaster was a man of set ways. He was practically devout in how he viewed his role. If a letter went missing in his office, Norns have mercy on the being that moved it. He took the role as seriously as Odin took the role of Allfather. If he genuinely told Thor that there had been three letters from the Ljósáfar palace for him, then there had been. So where were they?

#Loki #others #submission #submitted fic #chapter 11 #hiding in plain sitght #wolfpawn

[miss-nov]

Over-Emotional: Danny Phantom Oneshot.

Original idea by @amabsis on their post right here!!

[Originally written on a reblog of the prompt but it went all screwy and left an incomplete version so I made it it's own post and I've made a few grammar and spelling edits. Sorry for any confusion!!]

(This is the first thing I've ever written for the DP Phandom so I apologize if it's a little OOC)

⚠️(TW: DESCRIPTIONS OF A PANIC ATTACK AND GORE!!!!!)⚠️

  Danny drifted through the skies of Amity Park, following the streets which were slick with recent rain. The stars twinkled merrily above and the beams from the street lights seemed to buzz through the comforting, crisp air. Not a sound disrupted the mellow atmosphere and ghosts had appeared to leave tonight alone and retired to their lairs. A soothing night such as this would have been Danny's favorite; it would have been a much needed break from his overly stressful life.

  Yet Danny couldn't shake off the creeping apprehension even as he twisted in and out of alleyways back into the lit roads.

  His parents had been working tirelessly  on a project that they wouldn't tell him and Jazz about. Jack, their father, would always jump at the chance to describe what he was doing and couldn't keep his antics quiet for long. Maddie's, their mother, eyes would have brightened as she recounted the innovate idea she had conjured and the necessary calculations she could toy around with. These facts coupled with Jazz and Danny casually inquiring about their latest project would make them incredibly ecstatic.

  But whenever the two had asked about it, put off by the unusual quiet of the parents, had only been given an amused smile and an occasional wink.

  Tonight, before Danny's patrol and during dinner, Jazz had managed to weasel some information out of them. Though, it left more questions than answers.

  "So, you guys have been in the lab a lot recently," Jazz said conversationally. "Working on some new ghost stuff? It seems important if you're spending most of the day down there."

  Maddie had given her a deliberate look like someone who'd finally decided to take a second cookie.

  "It's our greatest invention yet," she said lowly and excitedly. "I think your dad and I have found the solution to our little ghost problem."

  The siblings gulped and tried to suppress their shudders.

  "It's not going to hurt them is it? Phantom and the other ghosts." Jazz's voice was even and didn't show a hint of a tone shift.

  "Surprisingly, no. No harm will be dealt to them. It's not like they can feel anyway. That's exactly the problem," Jack chimed excitedly before going back to his ectoplasm contaminated lasagna.

  "Besides, we wouldn't want to hurt the object of our daughter's affection.  We all know about your crush on Phantom," Maddie teased but then added with a small frown. "Though it's not healthy to have a crush on ghosts at all."

 Jazz gave an aggressive gagging noise and Danny was torn between hysterical laughter and a gag of his own. Dinner resumed as normal —well, as normal as you could get being a Fenton— and Danny took note of the fact his parents had refused to say anymore.

  Danny was busy going over and dissecting the conversation and lax in his attention to his surroundings by the inactivity that he didn't notice the two shadow-cloaked figures tailing him. The taller one with a broader build was holding an intimidating gun, that looked like it was straight out of an eighties sci-fi movie, on his back.

  Maybe I should head back, Danny thought to himself. I have so much homework due and a test tomorrow. A pop quiz in calculus and a lab in science. I have to meet Nathan at my study hall period and at lunch. Liz needs my help…

  On and on the list went as Danny subtlety started flying home. Just thinking of things that needed done was making him more anxious and tired.

  "Phantom, we'll have you now," Jack cried, his voice echoing in the hollow streets.

  Danny turned around, slightly aggravated when he was struck by a violet beam and plummeted, crashing to the sidewalk.

  "Jack! I told you to wait," Maddie chastised as they walked over to Danny who had barely sat up.

  His head swam and Maddie and Jack looked like the reflections of a carnival fun house mirror. Though his vision corrected itself quickly.

  "I think you might have given him a concussion. But that doesn't make sense, ghosts don't have brains," Maddie said, slightly confused. She reached out to gingerly place her fingertips on Danny's temple and he flinched.

  "Don't touch me!!" Danny had yelled louder then he meant to and his voice came out with an extra echo; like he had been about to use his ghostly wail. The three stilled before Danny began crawling backwards, keeping his eyes on Jack and Maddie at all times.

  "I don't wanna hurt you," Danny whimpered and tears sprang to eyes like a line of men ready to battle. Why the hell was he crying!? He didn't cry easy, at least not of late, and he'd been in these situations and worse without crying so why was he breaking down now??

  Maddie looked at him with wide eyes and her hand, which had still been suspended in shock, dropped to her belt and Danny panicked.

  "Don't hurt me!" Danny tried to pick himself up to fly, to get the hell out of dodge but when he went to stand his vision and black an —god why were his veins burning with adrenaline???

  Danny's chest was caving, that was the only explanation as his ribs seized and threatened to crush his lungs. His heart had left its place and sprinted from the back of his throat down to right beneath his collarbone before starting all over again. Has his hands always been this sweaty??? Tremors wracked through his limbs —he couldn't deal with this now!! He needed to finish his Hamlet essay, and review his history notes, and hadn't Liz asked him to buy popsicle sticks for their art project??? That's what he had forgotten!! He can't think of this now!! Maddie and Jack could easily catch him now —but oh, God was he screwed when —if— when he went to school the next day.

  "Phantom, you're having a panic attack," Maddie said calmly.

  "No, shit there, Sherlock." Danny bit his bottom lip to prevent another scathing comment from escaping. Usually he had better control of his mouth believe it or not. He put his head between his knees, closing his eyes and trying to focus on, well, nothing. He felt tears slip from his eyes and barely stopped himself from screaming.

  "You know what a panic attack is?" Jack titled his head as he scanned over his shaking form.

  "Jack did you put the settings up too high while we were following him?"

  "Of course not! I was very careful not to bounce anything out of place. You've Done the math, four times, it should be perfectly calibrated." Jack twisted the purple and silver metallic gun in his hands, giving it a thorough look over.

  "What the fuck are you two talking about!!" The scientists' head whipped back to see Danny's eyes glowing a tad brighter than before and his mouth transfixed into a snarl. Maddie slid a careful hand to her holster.

  "Our newest invention. Ghosts, well most of them, are just whispers of feelings that people once had. They can't actually feel and so they do bad things or... or they mimic human behaviors really well to make it seem like they do, like they're human." Maddie's voice trailed off at the end as if seeing if he would explode.

  Danny felt that normally he would have but he started to hyperventilate. How was he going to reverse it??? Was there even a way to do so or did they not include a reverse button by mistake (on purpose?) like they had mistakenly put the 'on' button inside the portal??

  "We're going to take you to the lab. Check your... concussion and to stabilize your mood. Run a few tests..."

Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodoh—

   They would strap him down and cut and lay his chest open like a butterfly steak and their hungry eyes would roam over him and their hands would devour him by pulling at his nerve endings and removing his organs and Danny would scream until his voice was hoarse and then some like a helpless lamb. Would he bleed blood or ectoplasm when they drained him? Would they take turns as he bleed out?? Or would they flow out together like some sort of demented, holiday dinner?? Or—

  "Phantom! You need to calm down." Maddie was at his side (when had she gotten there?) and was squeezing his hand. Danny briefly noted her eyes were filled with worry as her goggles hung at her neck. "Just breathe with me okay, please."

  "Breathe with her, buddy" Jack, who sat on the other side of Danny, whispered as he gently rubbed circles on the boy's lower back. "It's gonna be okay. We aren't going to hurt you."

  Danny wanted to say a smart aleck remark about them not having the same sentiment five minutes ago but instead focused on his breathing. He faced his head skyward and tried to count the stars. Nothing but him and the stars, no home— just the stars.

  Danny was reminded of the time he went stargazing with the rest of his family. A rare occasion as Maddie and Jack seemed to always be working. They had smiled so big at him as he pointed out constellations, awestruck. Jazz had nodded along as she listened attentively with a smile of her own. The night hadn't been more clear in months and more stars then usually were out. The picnic blanket they laid on was soft and him and Jazz had rested in between their parents and God they had been so happy then—

  Danny let out an involuntary sob. The melancholy seemed to come from the depths of his chest but at least it seemed to push out the panic.

  "Phantom," Maddie asked as she huddled closer to him. Phantom, not Danny. It hadn't really bothered him before; they didn't know it was him so why would they call him by his name?

  But it still made him cry harder. He wanted to tell them. He wanted to so, so bad.

  Jazz had urged him to tell them. But Danny had always been afraid. Scared that they wouldn't want him anymore.

  Now the sadness had overwhelmed the fear and the panic. He felt so isolated even when his parents were next to him, right there, trying to coax him into being calm. He had to tell them. He had to do it now because he wouldn't be this impulsive again.

  He felt the white rings gloss over him and heard Jack yell out "Phantom". When it was over he heard them gasp.

  "D-Danny," Maddie choked out.

   "I'm so sorry," Danny said through his tears. He chanted it over and over again as his parents reassured him that he had nothing to be sorry for and that they should apologize.

  The three sat there for quite some time, huddled close and crying together.

  Soon they would head home and take care of Danny's quickly healing concussion and reverse the effects of the gun. They would ask questions tomorrow after school but, for now, they tucked him into bed, something they hadn't done since he was eleven, and gave him their good night kisses on his temple before creeping to their room unaware of Jazz watching them from her bedroom door. She would text Sam and Tucker an explanation and ask them to give Danny the answers to the homework in the morning. She slipped into bed and fell asleep.

  The streets were barely slick with rain anymore. The stars twinkled merrily and the street lights buzzed. The crisp, cool air was calm and mellow. The night soothing and the Fentons were a family once again.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #maddie fenton #jack fenton #jazz fenton #danny phantom prompt #danny phantom prompt fill #danny phantom oneshot #danny phantom fic #prompt fic #prompt fill #prompt oneshot

[alwaysmychoices]

Jealousy & Pasta

Synopsis: After a long day at work, Charlie and Ethan are ready to go home, make dinner, and finally have a date night, if Charlie’s jealousy of the new intern won’t get in their way.

Chapter 14 of the “with and without” series

Previous Series: “a weekend with dr. ramsey”

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlotte “Charlie” Greene)

Words: 4.7k

Rating: T (suggestive language at the end)

Charlie was staring.

She couldn’t stop, no matter how hard she tried.

She came to the nurse’s station to find a quiet place where she could finish her paperwork for the night, but the paperwork quickly fell to the wayside.

She was watching Ethan – or rather, she was watching Ethan interact with her.

Ethan was working with Ava Silva, the new star intern. About half an hour ago, Ava found Ethan in his office, waiting for Charlie to finish for the night so that they could go back to his apartment and make dinner. When she presented Ethan with her patient, he was intrigued enough to join her on the case, and Ava did something to impress him. He didn’t watch Ava like he watched the other interns, like he was studying every moment for a sign of a mistake. He looked… pleased. Maybe even a little proud.

Ethan Ramsey was unusually agreeable, and that intern was standing unusually close to him.

Until tonight, Charlie flattered herself as being the only intern Ethan Ramsey regarded like that, but now that specialness felt mundane. Had his approval really been so miraculous, or was Charlie just hoping it was?

Charlie felt ridiculous as she watched the two of them. She knew it meant nothing. She knew that, once he finished in that patient’s room, he would take Charlie home. Yet, something eerily resembling doubt left her feeling unnerved and – dare she say – jealous.

So, she kept staring.

“You and Ramsey, huh?” Esme’s voice startled Charlie. With an expression that could only be described as pure horror, Charlie looked to her intern, hoping for a clue that she’d misheard Esme and hadn’t been caught.

Esme’s smirk dashed those hopes immediately.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Charlie’s voice wavered, making her lie even less believable. She gripped her pen tighter and cast a glance down to her unfinished paperwork as if trying to belatedly establish an alibi.

For all her attempts to hide, she was only making it more obvious.

Esme cocked her eyebrow, looking surprised by Charlie’s audacious lie.

“So, you just stare at everyone then?” Esme challenged, casting a meaningful look in Ethan’s direction. Charlie didn’t bother lying this time, which relieved Esme. For the last ten minutes, Esme passively watched Charlie, waiting for her concentration to break. When it didn’t, Esme cemented her long-held suspicions about the two colleagues.

“I’ve just never seen Dr. Ramsey get along that well with anyone, especially an intern,” Charlie shrugged, forcing herself to look at Esme and not Ethan, “I was just curious.”

“He gets along that well with you,” Esme countered, turning her gaze back to her paperwork as she scribbled a signature. She didn’t intend to let Charlie explain it away, and Charlie grimaced.

“It just seems like that now,” Charlie shrugged, “He hated me when I first started here.”

“I highly doubt Dr. Ramsey has ever hated you,” Esme mumbled, checking a box and signing a corresponding signature.

“He did,” Charlie asserted less confidently. Had he ever hated her? Certainly, he had insulted her, and more than once, his criticism had driven her to drink and complain after work. But had he ever hated her? Or were his expectations just high?

Or… had he always liked her? Had he just been an asshole to keep his distance?

Charlie felt less sure than ever, but she tried to keep her uncertainty off her face.

Esme paused for a moment, looking between Charlie and Ethan and Ava. She mulled it over and finally decided to ease Charlie by saying, “Well, even if he hated you then, you shouldn’t worry now. He doesn’t look at anyone else like he looks at you.”

Charlie blushed, which was all the confirmation Esme needed, but she allowed Charlie to deny it anyway. Truthfully, Charlie didn’t want to deny it anymore. She wanted to ask Esme a thousand questions. How long had she known? Were they obvious? Did he really seem to like her that much?

She longed for Esme to resolve all the timid doubts that came with a new relationship, especially because she couldn’t ask her friends to do so.

Their secret relationship was just two weeks old, and though Charlie felt secure in Ethan’s affection and her own decision to pursue a relationship, she couldn’t deny the series of small insecurities that sprouted under the secrecy. Without any outside opinions, she was left to interpret everything herself, and her own tendency to doubt had no one else to counter it.

“I think you’re just reading into it too much,” Charlie decided innocently, purposefully keeping her eyes off Ethan as she looked down to her paperwork.

“Maybe,” Esme shrugged, “For all I know, you two aren’t together.”

Charlie let out an inaudible sigh of relief.

“But,” Esme continued, knocking Charlie’s victory, “something is there. When I got here, you two couldn’t be in the same room. Now, I rarely see you apart. So, whatever it is, you two are certainly back on now, whatever that means for you.”

Charlie's expression went slack. She had nothing to counter that with, so instead of stumbling through an explanation, she just stared with dismay.

Just then, Ethan and Ava concluded their examination of the patient, and together, they exited the room. The spoke briefly to confirm the diagnosis and next steps. The entire time, Ava stood just an inch too close. Though he may not have looked at her with anything other than professional approval, there was undoubtedly a glimmer in her eye. Oblivious, Ethan affirmed that he would check on the patient in the morning, and when he left, Ava’s eyes followed him.

Charlie saw the whole thing out of the corner of her eye, and her stomach lurched.

Ethan saw Charlie immediately, and in the split second before he noted Esme beside her, his face broke out in a warm, wonderful smile. It disappeared when he realized they weren’t alone. Startled, he tried to twist his face into something normal, and instinctively, he cleared his throat and tightened his jaw.

He looked imposing. Maybe even intimidating.

But still happy.

To Charlie’s chagrin, Esme was always observant, and now, she had no doubt. She knew what they were doing, even if she lacked the details. Fortunately for both of them, she had no interest in stirring up hospital gossip. She liked Charlie, and that was enough for Esme to feel sworn to protect her. Besides, Esme felt like she owed Charlie for defending her encounter with Dr. Thorne.

“Good luck,” Esme whispered meaningfully to Charlie, and before Charlie could stammer out a final denial, Esme collected her paperwork and left the nurses station.

Charlie had only a few seconds before Ethan replaced Esme by her side. It wasn’t enough time to wrap her head around the conversation, nor her jealousy. She hardly knew what to say to him and was relieved when he spoke first.

“Are you almost done for the night?” Ethan nodded towards the paperwork in front of Charlie. He could see several blank spaces, but he hoped it was near completion. He had looked forward to taking her home all day.

“Nearly, maybe fifteen minutes left,” Charlie confessed sheepishly. She should have been done by now, but her envious stares and awkward conversations cost her time. She was cutting into their date night, a rarity given their schedule and secrecy.

She wished they could have just left anyway. She was happy to drop everything just to shed her jealousy and insecurities. She was eager to adore him without fearing unknown eyes and to get back to the basics of this relationship – the parts where they were happy, not anxious.

Ethan, casting a casual glance in both directions, made sure that no one was watching before he leaned closer, squeezing her hand and smiling softly, “Meet you in the garage in 20 minutes then?”

Charlie instinctively melted into the intimate warmth of the moment, and just for now, she forgot about Ava and Esme and secrets. Squeezing his hand back, she whispered, “You’re willing to be seen with me in the garage? How scandalous.”

“I think we’ll survive it,” Ethan shook his head softly, amused by her dramatization, “Besides, I’ve missed you today.”

“It’s your fault for not giving me any cases.”

Other than the brief diagnostics meeting to discuss the senator, they hadn’t interacted, save for fleeting glances and small talk in an elevator.

“I apologize for not overworking you, Charlotte,” Ethan tried to sound stern, but it came it just as love-drunk as everything else.

Giving up, Ethan squeezed Charlie’s hand one more time and commanded, “Now, finish your work so we can go home.”

“Fine,” Charlie teasingly grumbled, watching as Ethan gave her a warning glance and retreated to his office.

With the offer of homemade pasta and a night with Ethan Ramsey, Charlie worked much faster. Charlie powered through the material as fast as she could while staying thorough, and soon enough, the paperwork was completed and submitted. Eager to get to the garage, Charlie took off for the locker room to collect her stuff.

The room was empty except for the back corner, where a handful of interns crowded around a locker. They were talking loud enough that, if Charlie had been interested, she could have heard it all. But because she was far more concerned with quickly changing and meeting Ethan, she ignored them and focused her energy on shimmying into her jeans.

That was until one of them said Ethan’s name.

“I can’t believe you just spent thirty minutes with Ethan Ramsey,” one of them exclaimed, sounding overjoyed for her friend.

“And he said she did a ‘good job.’ I didn’t even know he knew how to compliment people,” another chimed in.

Charlie’s skin prickled with horror. She wanted to stop listening, button her shirt, and have a lovely night with Ethan. But she felt frozen, unable to escape the conversation.

“Stop, you guys! It wasn’t that big of a deal!”

This time, Charlie recognized the voice. It was Ava.

Fuck.

With her back the group, Charlie continued to eavesdrop.

“Please, if Bryce Lahela ever told me I did a good job, I would offer to marry him on the spot,” the first girl asserted confidently.

If they hadn’t been talking about Ethan, Charlie would have laughed and told Bryce the next day, but they were talking about Ethan. So, Charlie hardly registered it.

“Guys, shut up,” Ava hissed at her friends, suddenly swatting at her friends to stop talking. Charlie had a hunch for why Ava shut down the conversation, and to test her theory, she cast a casual glance in their direction.

All three women were staring at her, with Ava in the middle looking particularly mortified.

Equally embarrassed, Charlie looked back to her locker. She was now determined to leave as quickly as possible and put the entire encounter behind her. Maybe she would joke about it with Ethan at dinner. Or maybe she would quietly mull on it for days. Either way, she needed to leave.

Charlie finished buttoning her shirt, and after shoving her belongings in her canvas tote, she was ready to get the hell out of there.

“You’re Charlie Greene, right?” Ava asked just before Charlie could make it to the door, forcing her to stop in her tracks.

Great.

Now, she had to talk to her.

“Yeah, I am,” Charlie affirmed, not offering any more information. She didn’t want to make this conversation longer than necessary.

This was the woman who had just flirted with her boyfriend and bragged about it with her friends. Was she wrong for instinctively hating her?

“So, you work with Dr. Ramsey, then?” Ava inquired. On either side, her friends squirmed and evaded eye contact. Perhaps they expected a lecture about professionalism. Perhaps she should have given them one.

But when you’re secretly dating your boss, can you really yell at someone else about staying professional?

“I’m on the diagnostics team, yes,” Charlie corrected. She didn’t enjoy framing her accomplishments through a man, even if it was her favorite man. She earned her spot on that team, and even if she frequently felt out of her league in their meetings, she deserved recognition for standing on her own.

“Right,” Ava swallowed, “I’m actually a big fan.”

Oh.

Charlie squirmed, and something strange stirred in her belly. The instant hatred felt weak and perhaps even misplaced. Was it Ava’s fault for being attracted to Ethan? Almost everyone was. Even patients tried to sneak their number in his pocket when he wasn’t looking.

Now, Charlie looked directly at her, and she was struck by their similarities. Physically, they were different of course. Ava was shorter, yet leaner and more muscular than Charlie. Her hair was much darker, as were her brown eyes. Her skin was nice and tan, a stark contrast to Charlie’s perpetually pale body that burned if untreated with sunscreen. Yet, there was something similar in their posture and expression. They were both dedicated and hungry. They were both, at some time, the star intern, and they both earned Ethan’s approval.

And that was what flared Charlie’s jealousy.

They were so similar that, no matter how much Charlie reminded herself of Ethan’s affection, she worried that she wasn’t really special.

And if she wasn’t special, would Ethan still be so enthralled?

“I’m sorry about, um, before. We were just joking around,” Ava explained, her voice shaking from fear. She dreaded the idea of her words making their way back to Ethan. “You know how it is.”

Charlie did understand how it was.

And thus, Charlie decided she didn’t hate Ava.

She was just another girl to whisper about her crush in a locker room. Charlie wasn’t angry at her. She was angry that she couldn’t publicly claim Ethan as her own.

“It’s okay. It happens,” Charlie shrugged and watched as Ava let out a sigh of relief.

Tentatively, one of Ava’s friends asked, “So you know Dr. Ramsey pretty well then?”

“I do,” Charlie confirmed.

The girl seemed to deliberately consider her next question, wondering how best to take advantage of this opportunity. Charlie decided to indulge her but only her. She had pasta and Ethan to get to.

“So, is he… dating anyone?”

Charlie was shocked by the question, and she realized that the Ethan these women knew was a very different man than the one Charlie knew. Their Ethan was fiction, an assortment of assumptions and experiences morphed into one gorgeous but grumpy figure. He was easy to fall in love with, but it was even easier to fall out of love when he failed to live up to expectations.

But Charlie’s Ethan was real. He was handsome and guarded, and he struggled to express his feelings, even when they threatened to overflow. For him, Charlie stumbled in and out of entanglements, recklessly tearing apart her life in the name of forgetting him. Together, they had smiled and cried and laughed and screamed. They ran away so many times, to so many places. Yet, just for the chance to say she adored him, she ran through the rain and stood on his doorstep, braced for rejection.

After a beat, Charlie decided to answer honestly, “He doesn’t talk about his personal life, but I’m pretty sure he’s dating someone.”

The three women blinked in surprise.

Charlie had been risky enough with that answer that she didn’t dare stay for follow-up questions. Bidding them all goodnight, she locked her stuff up and made a beeline for the garage.

The entire walk, she tried to put her thoughts together, but so much had happened that they were all jumbled.

She was jealous, insecure, and disappointed, but she also felt remarkably safe and known – and happy.

All the more so when she saw Ethan in his car.

He was waiting for her, his Charlie.

“That was longer than 15 minutes,” Ethan greeted her as she climbed into his passenger seat. Despite his complaint, he was smiling wide enough for her to know that her presence was appreciated.

“Interns stopped me in the locker room,” Charlie explained as she buckled her seat belt. Ethan pulled the car in reverse, and with his arm behind her headrest, she caught her first, unreserved glimpse of Ethan that day. It was enough to remind her why he was worth running through the rain.

“It’s starting. One day, you will dislike them just as much as I do,” Ethan gloated. Once out of the parking space, he easily navigated the near-empty parking garage. Feeling safe in the solitude, he found Charlie’s hand in the passenger seat and tangled his fingers in hers.

He was surprised by how much he enjoyed holding her hand. He had never been particularly fond of it in past relationships, nor was he partial to most physical displays of affection. But there was something different about holding Charlie’s hand. He felt a constant craving to be near her, one he couldn’t always satisfy. Holding her hand felt reassuring that she was still there and still willing to take on the inconveniences and burdens of dating him.

Part of Ethan kept waiting for Charlie to come to her senses and run away. When he was touching her, he could silence those thoughts.

“I don’t think the medical community could handle two of you, Ethan,” Charlie squeezed his hand softly as they exited the garage.

“I’m not sure the medical community can handle one of me, to be frank,” Ethan thought aloud, and he noted Charlie’s grin out of the corner of his eye.

The drive was largely uneventful after that. Occasionally, he had to return his hands to the wheel to manage Boston traffic, but once the streets settled down, he found himself touching her again. They were comfortable in the car’s silence, and they were equally intrigued by the occasional quip or comment on the road.

It was comfortable.

It was… natural. Like their steps were in sync as they walked Ethan’s hallway. Like Ethan knew when to press the elevator button and Charlie knew exactly where to be. Like Charlie knew to lean against his shoulder and he knew to kiss the top of her head.

It was right.

As soon as Ethan opened his front door, Jenner joined the happy pair. He leaped from his comfortable bed in the living room and sprinted towards them. Jenner made a general acknowledgment of Ethan, but he lost all interest in his master when he noticed Charlie. The dog’s whole body wiggled as he jumped into Charlie’s open arms. He showered her face in adoring kisses, and likewise, she rewarded him with head scratches and a stream of compliments.

Ethan watched from the doorway with a mix of adoration, amusement, and frustration.

It was arguably the cutest thing he had ever seen, but after a long day away from Charlie, he now had another competitor for her attention.

“He likes you more than me,” Ethan commented, stepping into his apartment and dropping his keys in on the nearby table. He didn’t interrupt Jenner and Charlie, and when they were ready, they joined him in the apartment, Charlie walking with Jenner following on her heels.

Charlie found Ethan in the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he assembled the necessary ingredients on his kitchen island. He had been saving this recipe for a night that Charlie could help him make it, and he beckoned her to his side.

Charlie obliged, stopping only to wash her hands. But when she stood that close to him, she could think of a million things she’d rather do than make pasta.

“What do you need from me?”

“If you can mince the garlic, I’ll start the pasta,” Ethan decided, placing his hand on her side to pull her closer to him, and he kissed her temple, “Then, you can make the sauce, and I’ll make the seafood.”

“Seafood?” Charlie clarified, peaking through the ingredients to find clams, shrimp, and scallops. She stared at the pile of food with unfamiliarity. She never did this much for a casual, weeknight dinner. Truthfully, she was a bit intimidated that Ethan did.

“What?” Ethan asked, noting her stare, “Charlotte, are you allergic and neglected to tell me?”

“No, no,” Charlie clarified quickly, “I’m just…” she motioned vaguely to the kitchen island, “I’m just amazed you put this much effort into a weeknight.”

Ethan eyed her suspiciously and, after a beat, he said, “I have a feeling that, if I press you on that, I will be very disappointed in your habits.”

“Probably,” Charlie conceded, smiling softly as she watched him shake his head in preemptive disappointment. He squeezed her side and then pointed to the garlic.

“Mince,” Ethan commanded, trying to get himself back on track. Charlie made a show of rolling her eyes, but she happily crushed, sliced, and chopped garlic until she had a suitable product to give to Ethan.

Next, he tasked her with blending the tomatoes and let her freely spice the mixture, taking the risk she would lean into her affinity for heat. He sautéed the garlic in olive oil and added the seafood. When she delivered her sauce to add to the pan, she hummed, and Ethan smirked as the tune got stuck in his head. He watched the pasta and the sauce, but he also watched her dice peppers and gently sway to the song she sang.

When she turned around to add the peppers to the mixture, she was startled to find that he was watching her.

“Are you staring at me, Dr. Ramsey?” she asked, standing right beside him as she dropped the peppers into the pan.

“Yes.”

Charlie beamed as he leaned down to kiss her softly, his hand resting comfortably on her hip. With his head ducked, he felt like the perfect height for her to wrap her arms around his neck. Of course, there wasn’t much about him that didn’t feel perfect right now.

Ethan only pulled away when dinner demanded their attention. Nearing the end of the recipe, Charlie wasn’t much needed in the kitchen. So, she got out plates, and under Ethan’s instruction, she poured two glasses of wine. She poured more in her glass, just so she could sit at the island and drink wine as she watched him assemble the final stage of the recipe.

He plated the pasta and, wine in hand, he led her to the balcony so they could enjoy one of the last warm nights of the season.

And they did enjoy it.

Naturally, the pasta was delicious. Ethan had never cooked anything bad, as far as Charlie was concerned, and he was confident that her assistance made it that much better. Of course, he may have just been distracted by the view. While Charlie looked out over the Boston cityscape, he was more than satisfied to admire her alone. They talked about work for a while, but quickly, the conversation diverged to something more intimate and playful. Despite having met a year before, they were still getting to know each other, and effortlessly, they dipped into past relationships and all of the humorous stories associated with them.

Charlie's list of previous partners was short, with only a few meaningful names. She had been too focused on her career to develop a serious relationship, save for one or two, but she had plenty of funny anecdotes. Ethan’s list was longer but with far fewer meaningful names. He didn’t broach the most meaningful ones because their stories were too sad and too much time had passed for the discussion to feel necessary. He did, however, tell a very embarrassing story from his middle school dance that made Charlie lose her breath laughing.

Maybe it was the honesty of the moment, or maybe Charlie was just inspired to hear how jealous little Ethan had been of that popular boy and his 7th grade date. Whatever it was, Charlie said something she didn’t intend to say.

“You know, today, I overheard someone talking about their crush on you,” Charlie announced. She said it so casually that Ethan missed the underlying jealousy and self-doubt, so he chuckled.

“When?”

“At work,” Charlie didn’t betray Ava by saying it was her. Even if Ava wanted her boyfriend, Charlie didn’t feel justified in exposing her to her boss.

Ethan laughed and shrugged it off, taking a sip of wine like the whole thing was just another funny story.

It could have been. She could have left it there.

But squirming in her patio chair, she added, “I… I might have been a little jealous.”

Ethan’s face fell just a bit, like he was unexpectedly sobering up and becoming present in the moment. And, as he studied Charlie, he was suddenly aware of how meaningful this might be.

“You were?” He was shocked. Had she not seemed so serious, he surely would have thought this a joke. He had been jealous, of course, but that was before. Now, could she doubt him?

“I mean, she was very pretty,” Charlie was eager to justify her jealousy with all but the truth.

Ethan’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it was increasingly somber and concerned. The sight made Charlie squirm even more. She’d said something real, and she couldn’t hide from it now.

“Do you doubt me, Charlie?”

Hurt.

Ethan’s hurt.

She didn’t mean for that to happen.

“No,” Charlie answered quickly – maybe too quickly because, when faced with saying anything else, nothing came to mind.

Ethan waited, but he didn’t feel less injured.

He thought, once they risked everything and promised to make this work, that everything could stay perfect. Yet Charlie was jealous. And he didn’t really understand why. He couldn’t imagine being anywhere else but here, with her.

“I’m a little...” Charlie stumbled to untangle days’ worth of messy, uncomfortable thoughts, so she stammered, “I love this. I really do. I am so, so happy that we’re here, but… I’m still a little insecure in all of it. I know we’re together, I do. But nobody else does. Secrecy is tricky, and it’s just…”

Charlie felt like there was an explanation out there, a perfect combination of words that would make sense of everything, but if they existed, she couldn’t find them.

“I’m so happy, and I think I’m afraid of messing it up somehow,” Charlie settled on this answer. It didn’t encompass everything, and something was surely missing. But it had to be enough for now, “And I wish I could just say you’re mine.”

Ethan sat in the wake of her speech, its weight sitting on him thoughtfully.

He wanted to erase all of it. He wanted to free her from insecurities and doubts. He wanted to give them both the happy ending they deserved after their bitter ups and downs.

But there was a bitter truth to swallow. Happy endings were just the beginning of something that could easily turn messy and painful, and they were responsible for maintaining happiness, even if it meant uncomfortable conversations.

“Charlie, I’m yours, secret or not,” Ethan, though shocked that he had so say it at all, meant it, and Charlie knew it. He stood, crossing the small distance be next to her. In the dim light, he found her hand and squeezed it, reassuring them both.

“Even when I’m not special?” Charlie laughed at the end of the question, framing it like a joke, but the laugh was hollow. And it was never a joke.

“You’re always special, Charlie,” Ethan kissed between Charlie’s eyebrows, where worry creased her skin.

“You’re not just infatuated with the star intern?”

“There have been many star interns,” Ethan consoled her, “I’ve only run away to the Amazon for one.”

Charlie chuckled, the light coming back into her face as she teased (for real, this time), “I thought you were just dramatic.”

Ethan laughed – for real, as well.

And they were okay. They were.

Ethan picked up the bottle of wine, which they’d nearly drained, “What do you say to another bottle?”

“It depends. What’s your policy on wine in bed?”

Ethan had a mischievous smile as he disappeared into the apartment to retrieve more wine, which they would hopefully share from the comforts of his king-size bed soon. Sitting on the balcony, content and waiting for him, Charlie struck with the realization that this was the happiest she’d ever been in a relationship.

As he walked back to her, she found a star, and focusing all her hope, she asked it to let them stay like this forever.  

I’m kinda iffy on if I like this chapter, but here it is anyway. 

Also, if you’re interested in making the recipe mentioned, here it is: https://rasamalaysia.com/seafood-pasta/ 

TAG LIST:

@honeyandsunfl0wers​ @jens-diamondchoices​ @desmaranj​ @octobereighth​ @flyawayboo​ @fanficnewbie​ @togetherwearerapture​ @perriewinklenerdie​ @noboundariesplease​ @paulfwesley​ @x-kyne-x​ @caroldxnvxrs​ @paisleylovergirl​

@chasingrobbie​ @soft-for-drake​ @choicesyouplayandmore​ @crazy-loca-blog​ @playchoicesheaux​ @senseofduties​ @queencarb​ @save-the-sky​ @openheart12​ @omg-its-vixen​ @odetomars​ @rookieoh​ @drakewalker04​ @mysecretlifeofdaydreams​ @delaytheinevitable​

@hopefulmoonobject​ @malvolari-take-my-soul​ @nomadics-stuff​ @the-pale-goddess​ @schnitzelbutterfingers​ @trappedinfandoms​ @heauxplesslydevoted​ @lilyvalentine​ @mvalentine​ @elwetritsche75​ @jessirosebud​ @lion-ess24​ @calibuckley​ @canknot​ @wonderwithrobin​ @jooous​ @eramsey28​ @binny1985​ @canigetanawwjunk​ @padfoot0415​ @ermidc @beastlyinstrument​ @shanzay44​ @dulcehernandez​ @starrystarrytrouble​ @lucy-268​ @kaavyaethanramsey​

@nerdydinosaursweets​ @blossomanarchy​ @openheartthot​ @thegreentwin @akshara16​

#open heart #open heart 2 #ethan ramsey #choices #choices stories you play #ethan ramsey x mc

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @saraben00 @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane

~^~

Monday, 14:12

Song: gnash - i hate you, i love you

Lucas tugs absentmindedly at a loose thread on his pillowcase as he waits for the boys. He’s been staring blankly at his laptop screen for a quarter hour already, the only tab open to Jens’s Instagram. Devoid of any new posts but with recent messages that Lucas still hasn’t responded to.

Maybe he’s overreacting, but he physically can’t do it. Not after hearing Jens explain that he’d ditched him for Jana. Without so much as a single warning.

It had taken Lucas over half an hour of waiting like a fool and sending Jens messages before he was able to admit to himself that he’d been stood up. He’d gotten Jens’s urgent apology when he was already halfway home, and at that stage, he’d struggled to care what the excuse was. He was tired of feeling stupid. He was angry.

He still is, but he also misses Jens already.

The tone of an incoming video call stops him from falling into that pit of self-pity, and he answers with probably a little too much enthusiasm. He doesn’t care, though, as Kes and Jayden pop into view on his screen, grinning just as ridiculously, cheering as soon as they can see Lucas. Lucas ducks closer to his screen and examines, noting that they seem to be in Jayden’s room and both have a little more scruff on their chins than when he’d last seen them. Weeks ago, he reminds himself. This is his first time seeing his best friends—the people he used to talk to everyday—in weeks.

“Hi,” he says, giddy, already grinning wider than he has in days.

“Hey,” Jayden leans in to examine him closer, blocking Kes and beaming. “I was hoping I could be like ‘you’ve changed’ but you haven’t even changed your hair, Lucas. It looks like you’ve been frozen in time since you left.”

Lucas snorts as Kes shoves him out of the way. “Shut up, Jayden. You look fucking great, Luc. I missed that pretty face.”

“Funny,” Lucas muses, “I haven’t thought about your’s once since I left.”

Kes squawks, and then he’s leaning forward to take up the frame, pointing a finger at Lucas threateningly. He then turns it towards himself and circles the air in front of his face. “You love this face. Don’t even try to lie to me.”

It is a lie, so Lucas doesn’t bother arguing any further. He’s missed them both more than he’s willing to express, for surety they’ll make fun of him in response. They do, however, still have their own ridiculous grins stuck on their faces, so maybe Lucas is judging them too harshly.

“Are you going to tell me what I’ve been missing then?”

Jayden scoffs. “You’re the only thing that’s missing, man. It’s boring as hell without you.”

Lucas shakes his head. “Come on, you’re seriously trying to tell me you haven’t gotten in any trouble the whole time I was away.”

“Well, no one said that.”

Kes rolls his eyes and offers Lucas a shrug. “There hasn’t been much, man. You’ve only been gone three weeks.”

“I’ve already been gone three whole weeks, you mean,” Lucas raises a brow, even though the realisation sinks in and scares him. He’s only been here a little over three weeks. He hadn’t known Jens for the first one, meaning it has hardly taken any time for Lucas to develop such a strong, ridiculous crush on him.

Really, can he even call it a crush? The word feels much too tame to describe the force of his feelings, sometimes.

He has to swallow down the sudden anxiety crawling up his throat as Kes says, “Surely you have more exciting things to talk to us about then.”

“Yeah,” Jayden urges. “You get to meet all the new people. Did you find any of the hot girls yet?”

Kes bumps his arm. “Luc doesn’t have to find the hot girls. They come to him. It’s weird as fuck, man.”

“Fuck you,” Lucas retorts, and it’s half-hearted. His chest feels tight, all of a sudden, and there’s a heaviness that sinks into his stomach and takes root. It’s a weight that had slowly began to drift away, as Lucas let himself drift and entertain the possibility of accepting that part of him. Of thinking that part could be known alongside all the rest without changing anything. He’s reminded now, with his best friends of years looking at him, that it’ll never be that easy. “There are plenty of girls that I’m sure you couldn’t get, yeah.”

The boys both ‘oh’ dramatically in response and Lucas rolls his eyes fondly, even as the ache in him does nothing to dissipate. His smile still feels tight, stretched thin, and he feels suddenly helpless. He’d been hoping that seeing them would put him at ease, would make him feel normal, would allow him to stop thinking about his dad, still at work, and his mother, still in Utrecht, and Jens, still being avoided.

He supposes he should have known better.

“You can at least tell us about this new fancy friend group of yours,” Kes says, casual and genuine, and Lucas wishes the simple request didn’t make him feel worse, but it does.

He forces a shrug. “They’re cool.”

“That’s it?” Jayden scoffs. “Come on, tell us who’s the pretty boy you’re always with, at least. We have to know something about our replacements, yeah?”

“They’re definitely not replacements,” Lucas assures. “No one could replace you. I wish I could just come back.”

The boys share a look, and when they turn back to him, they’ve softened. Lucas’s chest only grows tighter, the ache more thorough. He misses them now even more than he had that first week, when he’d been left feeling completely alone, even wishing for the presence of his dad on occasion just to have the company. It hurts twice as much to be reverted back to the stage when he’d had a taste of something different.

“We’d love that, too, Luc,” Kes promises, and Lucas misses him so much he could cry, and he almost does when he goes on to ask, “Are the pretty boys not even treating you right?”

Lucas shrugs, looking back down at that loose thread on his pillow, smoothing his hand over it this time to feel the bump under his fingers. “They’re cool. Some of them do remind me of you guys. Aaron’s kind of the funny one, I guess, and Moyo’s really cool and kind of freaked me out at first. But they’re nice. Then there’s Robbe, he’s the smaller one with the curly hair? He’s sweet. But his boyfriend, Sander, is really cool. He’s studying art.”

He watches them intently over the word ‘boyfriend’, but nothing in their expression changes other than their smiles widening fondly at the mention of art.

“You’ve already found your perfect clique, then,” Jayden teases. “So what part are you? Still the nice face?”

Lucas shakes his head and pulls the thread. “That’s Jens.”

“That’s right,” Kes drawls. “‘Jensrolt’, yeah? You mentioned him before too.”

Lucas nods. “He was the first one of them I met, so.”

“He seems pretty cool. He’s got the chill, Kes-like vibes,” Jayden muses, elbowing his friend, and it’s enough to finally drag another proper smile out of Lucas.

“He does kinda remind me of Kes, actually.”

“What, ‘cause he took pity on you or because he’s hot as fuck?” Kes raises his brows cheekily and Lucas resists the urge to answer honestly by simply saying ‘both’. Instead he focuses on his best friend calling his crush hot as fuck. Which is weird, but not wrong.

But really weird.

“Maybe because he’s full of himself,” Jayden raises his brows at Lucas, exaggeratedly, mocking, and he and Lucas both laugh as Kes tries to shove him off the bed. Lucas watches them wrestle and glances at his phone.

“I think he might be too pretty and too cool for me, actually,” Lucas mumbles.

Kes and Jayden both stop and look at him, and they’ve lost all previous hints of amusement. “What do you mean?” Jayden asks. “Is he being a dick?”

Lucas shrugs again. “I’m probably just overthinking. I was supposed to hang out with him yesterday and he couldn’t make it, that’s all.”

“He couldn’t make it as in he cancelled on you or he stood you up?” Kes prods.

“It wasn’t a date,” Lucas says, too snappish, too petulant. They can both see right through him. “But he stood me up,” he mumbles.

“Fuck that. Like it’s not hard enough to get used to new friends without them being assholes. Did he tell you why?” Jayden asks.

“He was meeting up with his ex-girlfriend.”

“Fuck that. How long were you waiting for him?”

“Like half an hour? Then I gave up and left. He text me to tell me he forgot because she’d asked him to meet up.”

Jayden scoffs as Kes frowns. “It seemed like you two were getting on well before, though. He’s been friendly enough so far, right?”

“Yeah, he’s been cool right from the start and I thought it was great. I’d found friends. And then he completely forgot I existed. And now I wanna come home to you guys.”

“He obviously didn’t completely forget about you,” Jayden attempts to comfort. “Maybe he had something else going on, too.”

“Yeah, Luc. And if he did then he sucks and you can get better friends than that. But you like them, right? The whole group. And you should trust your own judgment. You’re pissed right now but it probably is a genuine mistake and you probably know it.”

Lucas considers this for a moment and begrudgingly admits that he’s probably right. Kes beams and adds, “But for now, we can say fuck him. It’s us time. Did you talk to your dad about coming down another weekend?”

“Not yet,” Lucas says, sinking into the pillow behind him. “Right now I still have a curfew.”

Jayden snorts. Kes elbows him. “Is he there? We could try to talk him around.”

“No, he’s working. As usual.”

“Fuck that,” Jayden repeats. “Man, you’re lucky you have us. Jens is the last straw. If he fucks up, you tell us, and we’re coming over there to steal you back, okay?”

Lucas laughs, and reminds himself that he is lucky.

#van der stoffels #vds #wtfock #skam nl #sink or swim #vds season fic #sos clip

[transmisogyny-explained]

you pretty much just called people you think are transmisogynists delusional, and then you directly referenced multiple common delusions people who are severely mentally ill have (thinking aliens are talking to them)… I have a hunch you have issues with disabled trans men. maybe look in a mirror and analyze your hatred of psychotic ppl before you go making callout posts

Okay, the first issue I need to address here is your usage of the term "hatred." It's really important when calling out bigotry and discrimination that we don't conflate such things with hatred or dislike. While, yes, these things can and often do play a role in an individual's bigotry and how they express it, it is entirely possible for someone to be discriminatory without intending to be. You know the old "I don't hate women, I married one!" line that cis men sometimes say in response to accusations of misogyny? Reducing discrimination down to hatred can make it difficult to discuss how oppression works systemically and institutionally. I hope that makes sense, but I’ll happily clarify further if needed.

Secondly, I haven’t made any callout posts (that I remember, but my memory problems have been acting up lately, so I may have forgotten). As in I didn’t make a post that said, “Hey, don’t interact with this person, they’ve done xyz and here’s the proof.” If you mean the blocklist, I tried to be thorough in not including anyone who isn’t part of the “transandrophobia truther” sphere as I defined it here, so if I’ve made a mistake, please let me know.

Now, onto the rest of your ask: I, as an apsychotic person, acknowledge that I am entirely capable of being ableist towards psychotic people, that I am not the authority on what is or is not ableist towards psychotic people, that I have an obligation to educate myself by seeking out the works of psychotic activists against ableism, and that my understanding and perspective of ableism against psychotic people is limited by virtue of being an apsychotic person. I can and do apologize for the harm and discomfort I have caused to any of my psychotic followers, but I also acknowledge that apologies can only go so far if I do not dedicate myself to learning and being a better ally to them. So, if you would be willing, I ask that you please help me understand in what ways I have been ableist towards psychotic and delusional people. I would also really appreciate it if you could show me specific examples, as my memory is not the best. Thank you sincerely for your time.

#ask to tag .

[intelligentdumbass]

My Sweet Prince (2.0)

“What do you do when you’ve done all that there is to do? When you’re too bored to do nothing and yet too tired to do something? When you want to talk but at the same time not?

Well, everyone knows I love to sing and, in times like those just described, I prefer to only sing to myself; to sit in the forest and play my cithara for no one in particular but the random fauna that decide to stay and watch.

…

It was a morning like any other, or at least it was supposed to be.

There was a prince, Hyacinthus, who had set off with his dogs to go hunt in the wooded outskirts of his kingdom. I imagined him to be confused, for it must’ve been quite the strange sight to behold; the trees nothing but silence for hours and hours on end. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, when he and his hounds managed to catch a scent, it was accompanied by a song, and the voice was not of a bird’s. It led them into a small clearing and instead of drawing his bow, the hunter froze.

There was, in the middle, what he perceived to be a fair maiden strumming on their lyre; golden hair shimmering under the sunlight as a wide range of animals sat around them. The young man was entranced, and so were his dogs, so for a while he just stared until the musician finally decided to acknowledge the new addition to their audience.

The notes slowly faded but, before the singer could say a word, Hyacinthus snapped out of it and spoke first.

“I’m sorry miss but… Who the hell are you?” He slowly approached, cautious of all the critters. “What in Zeus’ name is a lass like you doing out here of all places?”

I raised an eyebrow, but I decided to play along. “Oh you know… boredom.”

“I assume your father’s somewhere close by, then.” He glanced around, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh no, I came here to have some me time with myself.”

Hyacinthus looked dismayed. “Not even a brother, cousin, or a friend?”

I shook my head; he frowned.

“It’s not safe to be all alone out here.” He insisted. “As a prince, it is my duty to protect-”

And alas, it was in that moment that he had accidentally stepped on the tail of a lion. Fortunately, a second later, a silver arrow rushed by; barely missing the young man and piercing the cat’s heart. The rest of the animals took this as a sign to scram.

Hyacinthus blinked, and muttered a silent prayer to the god of archery. Ironically, this is what he said immediately after:

“See my point? Come on, I’ll escort you back.”

He reached his hand out to assist me, but only got a punch to the face in response. As he staggered back I took the opportunity to speak in my normal, deeper voice.

“Really??”

Needless to say, the mortal was mortified. Gazing into my sapphire eyes, he suddenly understood. He hastily tried to get his shit together, smiling in embarrassment.

“A-” “Apologies my lord. I suppose you’re just… that enchanting.”

I scanned him from head to toe. My instincts told me he wasn’t lying; it wasn’t merely empty flattery. “Hm… I suppose you’re not that bad yourself.”

“Ah well, of course! I’m Sparta’s heir after all.” He proudly exclaimed. “Still though, I am, uh terribly sorry for interrupting your song-”

“Save your apologies; it’s fine. I’m not going to smite you for that.” I sat down and placed the cithara back on my lap. “In fact, you’re welcome to stay if you so desire. I won’t mind.”

“But you said you wanted some time alone?”

“Away from the other gods, I mean.”

Hyacinthus was reluctant, but his puppers seemed eager to hear me continue my song.

“…alright. Only for a bit, if that’s okay with you, Lord Phoebus.” He said, sitting next to me; the dogs following suit. I suppose he had nothing better to do. Then again, how could he?

I smiled. “Please, just call me Apollo.”

Unbeknownst to Hyacinthus a ‘bit’ was quite the understatement. It was like time itself ceased to exist, and for once that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Soon the sun was setting and the prince was leading his pack back to the palace. I chose to stay. It was then that the west wind materialized before me.

“I was just passing by, so here’s a quick tip.” Zephyr murmured. “If I were you, I’d restrain myself. He’s already caught the eyes of two other gods and one mortal.”

“And you’re telling me this because?” A smile crept its way onto my lips.

“…what’s with that look?” He frowned; I said nothing as the god slowly fizzled out into thin air.

Hyacinthus had invited me to go out and hunt with him!

As expected of two skilled hunters, the trip went exceptionally well. Still, as we sprinted through the trees, I couldn’t help but sense the eyes of someone else; immediately knowing who it was. If Hyacinthus knew too, then he merely chose to ignore that suspiciously strong scent of spring. Still, I had a little sympathy for the intruder. The prince was easy to like, and I’m sure many have fallen for his bodily charms alone.

When we paused for a break, I said:

“Has anyone ever made a move on you before?”

Hyacinthus froze; I held in a chuckle. It was easy to see his attempt at holding my hand just as the question was asked.

“At least three other men have, but I’ve rejected them all.” He then quickly added, “That isn’t to say I’m only into woman though!”

I laughed. “Having trouble finding the right one?”

He stared a bit before suddenly grinning. “…Who knows, for all I know, I already have.”

My answer was a line I’ve paraphrased a hundred times. “Because I’m smart, talented, and very hot?”

“Maybe.” He inched closer. “But it’s also because of, or rather, how you smile.”

That response was a little… refreshing. A faint flush of red spread around my cheeks as I flashed a smirk, probably further proving his point. Then in the blink of an eye he leaned in; a hand holding my chin and his murmurs softer than any other breeze against my ear.

“May I?”

He only got a kiss in response.

However, even when the hunt was over and he was already making his way back home, I couldn’t help but… follow him back to Sparta, if only for a bit.

Turns out, Hyacinthus had showed up to his training with hundreds of flowers still intricately woven into his hair. It was hilarious how everyone else looked too scared to comment; well, except for Thamyris.

“What in the actual fuck?” He exclaimed.

“Okay, short version is: I fell asleep during the break after the hunting trip, so now there are a bunch of flowers in my hair.”

“Out of all of your suitors, you chose a god; hell, not just that, one of the fucking Olympians.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

I grinned, but then the other said: “Marpessa wouldn’t.”

…

Hyacinthus sighed. “Look, we all have our own preferences. Don’t tell me you’re jealous?”

“As if.” He turned around, about to leave. “Just don’t come back crying to me when shit goes downhill.”

I… suppose you could say that Thamyris had the kind of arrogance that reminded me of Marsyas. They both dabbled in music too. Hopefully he doesn’t end up making the same mistake that the satyr did. Thankfully, the prince seemed to be trying to ignore him.”

  “…You know you could’ve just said “Sorry I’m late, I stalked my date.”” Athena raised an eyebrow; yet her voice carried not a single trace of annoyance. Doing their father’s paperwork was a task she was well accustomed too, and a very boring one at that.

“Hey! For the record I didn’t stay any longer after that conversation he had with Thamyris. Plus, it’s not every day that I almost forget about my duties. I figured you’d want a thorough explanation.”

“Well, as long as it isn’t too thorough.”

The god laughed. “Oh wait, shit-” “What was I doing again?” His eyes scanned the documents he forgot he was holding.

The goddess sighed. There was but one thought in her mind.

‘This is going to start happening much more often now, isn’t it?’

And she was right.

A few days later, Hermes was swiftly flying through the halls until he stopped in front of the studio’s door. He carefully pushed it open, but despite being the lord of communication, he couldn’t utter a single word.  

It was late in the evening, and his brother wasn’t alone.

Apollo was sitting down, writing on a scroll, and behind him was a mortal curiously peering over his shoulder. Then the boy moved closer, and wrapped his arms around the blonde’s waist; tenderly whispering sweet nothings into his ear. To Hermes’ surprise, Apollo allowed himself to be pried away from his research.

The younger god decided to just slowly close the door.

Athena was right and apparently she didn’t seem to mind.

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

Thamyris wasn’t the only one with a complaint.

Hyacinthus was sitting under a cypress tree; trying to practice playing the lyre his lover had gifted him, when the breeze whispered into his ear.

“Look at it.” He said. “Your reflection in the water.”

The prince raised an eyebrow, but he glanced into the stream in front of him anyway. The top of his head was adorned with all sorts of flowers, no doubt due to the breath of the west wind.

“Hm… I think I liked it better when Apollo did it.”

Zephyr frowned; materializing seated down on his left.

“You’re not giving me a chance-”

“Except he already did.” Apollo sighed, suddenly appearing on Hyacinthus’ right. “For fates’ sake, take a hint and go blow someone else.”

The other god glared, but gave in, yet not before yelling something on a whim.

“So in one of the few times a mortal catches my fancy, you, who have already had many, get to have him instead?” He suddenly stood up. “You’re as greedy and insatiable with your lovers as you are with your domains.”

Apollo said nothing as the god disappeared into the wind.

Hyacinthus surprised him with a hug from behind.

“His argument is invalid. This isn’t just your choice, but mine as well.”

Still, after months and months of general bliss, the prince couldn’t help but ask:

“Those laurel wreaths you wear; they mean a lot to you, don’t they?”

The god felt his chest hurt. “Well, of course; there are many reasons as to why I care about them, one of them being that they remind me of something I shouldn’t ever forget because I don’t want to make a mistake like that ever again.”

There was a brief moment of hesitation before he continued.

“Hyacinthus?”

“Yeah?”

“Never doubt my feelings for you, okay?”

“I never did.”

“…even so, you really must know that, because of you, right now is the best I’ve ever felt in literal decades.”

“Oh don’t flatter me, sunshine.”

“You know I can’t lie. So really, trust me when I say that I’m here to stay.”

Hyacinthus’ eyes darted around the room as the musician’s head rested on his lap; the prince’s fingers twirling around in his golden locks. The floor was littered with paintings and marble statues of varying shapes and sizes scattered all over.

“Something caught your eye?” Apollo said as he saw his lover look at a painting of Crete. “You can take one of them home if you’d like.”

“Oh-” “Oh no it’s fine, really! I was just… enjoying the scenery.”

“Hm, you know I can take you there myself, right? Oooooh, imagine! A tour around Greece with yours truly.”

The boy smiled. His gaze shifted from a painting of Delphi to some art work of Leto, then Artemis, then Zeus, Athena and the rest of the other heavenly gods.

What he stared at the most were the ones next to those works about the Muses and the Thriae.

The names were many, Admetus, Cyrene, Branchus, Hecuba, Helenus… then there was Cassandra, Daphne, and an unfinished Coronis, and as he continued to look, the prince could’ve sworn he felt the god gently squeeze his hand.

“Everything alright, my Phoebus?”

The god smiled. “I’m just… tired.”

The prince leaned to give him a reassuring kiss.

Two years, or at least, about two years, their laughter almost lasted for about two years.

Alas, what’s two years in the life of an immortal that can never die?

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

Olympus’ garden was huge; its depths filled with paths most don’t even know of. It was here the two gods sat down on top of a small hill, right in front of a giant crevice that overlooked all of their creations.

“I hate how I can still feel a-” “and remember every single…”

Hermes was never good at these kinds of talks. “You wanna let it all out?”

Apollo sighed, carefully breathing in and then breathing out; repeating that process for a good minute.

Ai, ai, ai-

...

 “It was a morning like any other, or at least, it was supposed to be.

The prince was an athletic young man, much like us, and there were many things that were done on the field. One of them involved the discus. He’d always try to run and catch the disc once I had sent it hurling into the air.

…

The crack echoed- no, roared, and my body screamed like every bone in my system had snapped a hundred times over.

I was by his side in an instant, cradling him in my arms until he was nothing more than a poor flower that had broke its stem; all due to the breath of the west wind.

It was so… quiet and I was so close; close enough that I could feel him go, like I could reach out and grasp his hand to prevent his soul from drifting away. I felt it all: the desperate breaths, the steady weakening of his heart and that last flutter of his eyelids as he looked at me, as scared and overwhelmed as I was with all that was happening and yet I-

I still failed. I’m the god of healing and medicine and I was right there, I was so close and he still managed to slip away!

If only he could take me with him too.

It was like time itself ceased to exist, the exact second that last spark of life faded into the depths of Hades repeating on and on and on, again and again and again-

…

My arms were hugging a lump of ice by the time Artemis found me.”

 “…I heard you tried to murder Zephyrus?”

 “W-” “Well... I think I recall hearing father’s voice when I had rushed into the halls.

“Athena, Apollo’s neglecting his duties.” He said. “When was the last time you saw him walk into Olympus?”

“Give him some more time and I’m sure he’ll-”

It was then that someone, the bastard himself, had noticed me.

“Fear not my lord.” Zeus’ old messenger, the west shit, proudly exclaimed. “He’s already here!”

And indeed I was, fingers stained with crimson red; purple petals falling out of my hair.

A smile crept its way onto Zephyr’s lips. “You’re welcome.”

Needless to say, I immediately started chasing him with my bow.”

 “And then Athena stopped you, right?”

 --------------

It must’ve been quite the strange sight to behold for our winged eavesdropper. Apollo had a blank look in his eyes and Athena was standing in his way; Zephyr a little further down the hall behind her, curiously peaking over the corner.

Unbeknownst to any of them, Hermes was a lizard hiding inside of a jar.

“Athena, move.”

“Apollo,” Surprisingly, the goddess was perfectly calm. “Father has already retired him as his personal messenger, and he is now going to serve under Eros to repent for the very stupid thing he did in ‘the name of love’.”

“It’s not enough-”

“I know, and it’s never going to be enough.” Then she muttered. “Look, what happened with Pallas was much more justifiable than what this idiot wind bag did and even then, even if it was our father, to this day a tiny part of me is still pissed even if I knew he did it because he was worried about me.”

For a moment, the god was quiet. “Zephyr isn’t nearly as important.”

“But still crucial enough; I think it’d be best if we didn’t lose the west wind. Listen to your head, you know this isn’t worth it; it’s never going to be worth it.”

After a few seconds of silence, in the blink of an eye, Apollo was gone.

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

 “I really am unreasonable, aren’t I, Hermes? Crying over beings much lesser than myself…”

“You knew you had your heart set upon a mortal, so I guess it does sound foolish to grieve over their mortality but… I think we’re all a little unreasonable sometimes. On the brightside, I’m sure you’ll meet someone new eventually. You are Apollo after all.” He offers his friend a reassuring smile.

The blonde smiled back, yet his eyes were impossible to read. “I suppose…”

“Is there anything you want to say? To Hyacinthus, I mean, if I encounter him down in Hades.”

…

..

.

“If we should ever meet again

No matter how long the wait

No matter how many lifetimes it takes

My arms will be glad to welcome you in an embrace

Until then, just know

That even when man has forgotten my face

And I roam the world as nothing but a shade

Your memory will continue, forever living on

In all the flowers that the earth will cover itself, bearing your name

Goodnight, my sweet prince”

 And as Zeus’ newly appointed messenger left, Apollo decided to merely sing to himself; to sit on the hill and play his cithara for no one in particular but the random fauna that decide to stay and watch.

Athena was surprised to see him enter Olympus only a week after, even though she should’ve seen it coming. He is Apollo after all.

There were duties to fulfill.

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

(The original one I made)

#no i totally didn’t need to uh #get something out of my system- #apollo #hyacinth #hyacinthus #greek mythology #greek gods #mywritingshit #hyapollo #I added way too more details #than i prolly should've- #welp #here's the hyapollo rewrite

[commie-eschatology]

Return to Redcliffe

particularly proud of this Solas + Trevelyan scene from “Return to Redcliffe” so gonna do some shameless self-promotion. Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33444538

When all her companions are asleep, Trevelyan leaves the Inquisition camp. She isn’t sure if she’ll come back. Someone is clearly following her, but she ignores that for now. The road back to Redcliffe stretches in front of her, but she hesitates. This is an extraordinary bad idea, she tells herself, but when has that ever stopped her? Lydia used to complain about her tendency to just act on desire alone. But Lydia is dead, she tells herself, you broke her head open with your staff until her brains spilled all over the floor. You killed the woman who raised you, only for the rebellion to sell themselves into slavery. ` In the woods, she stumbles upon a templar caravan. Very fortunate for her, very unfortunate for them. Their screams echo through the Ferelden forest; she imagines getting incinerated from inferno magic would hurt quite a bit, but it’s certainly not her problem. Trevelyan leaps onto the, now empty, wagon, and finds a crate of apples. She takes a few bites of one and monologues, “I rebel, therefore I am,” to the half eaten piece of fruit.

There’s groaning from underneath the wheels, and a jumble of words that vaguely sound like “what the fuck?” so she asks, “Sorry, are you still alive down there?” There’s no response, so in the interest of being thorough, she throws a fireball at the voice. The smell of burnt flesh follows, so she assumes it got the job done, but then again, Ferelden usually smells like that. Really not a terrible scent, she considers. Or perhaps she’s just gone mad.

Trevelyan looks at the Mark on her hand- staying with the Inquisition is the clever choice, she tells herself. Only she can close the rifts, after all. The rebels have been utterly defeated, the movement badly needs allies if it’s to survive. Still, her logic feels cold and hollow. The Venatori ships are already in Redcliffe harbor. She asks herself, how many will be shipped up to the Imperium in chains, in just the time it takes to travel between the Hinterlands and Haven?

Fire burns underneath the wagon. It’s always been fire for Trevelyan- burning the family manor during a childhood nightmare, cremating Lydia’s mangled corpse with her own spells, and, most recently, incinerating more templars than she can count. It’s the same fire that she could use to burn those Tevinter slave ships tonight- despite Fiona and Linnea’s betrayal, she has no doubt that at least a few of her people would join her.  

“Do you want to keep staring at me from the woods then?” she asks the person shadowing her. Solas steps out from the shadows, clearly surprised at being discovered, but he tries not to let it show. He’s usually far more subtle, she doesn't doubt she could be more stealthy if he wanted, but he clearly believes everyone around him is an utter idiot. Fair enough, she supposes. He gives a slight smile, the kind that might say “well done.”

As with everyone, Solas projects emotions into the Fade- but his are more tightly moderated than any other mage she’s ever seen. Now though, Trevelyan sees a wave of complex feelings she can barely sort through, radiating from him: rage at the Tevinters, intense all-consuming fear of something she can’t sense, great sadness for something lost, but all controlled, and directed by conscious purpose.

“These woods are dangerous,” he says, characteristically naming the obvious, “and you have the only means of closing the rifts.” He regards her for a moment. “I apologize if I intruded. You have proven yourself a capable fighter, but I have found it is far too easy to make rash mistakes when one is alone.” His actual meaning is not lost on her: don’t be an idiot and run, is what he wants to say.

He adds, “And in my defense, you did just eviscerate an entire troop of men.” She expects him to ask her why, but he doesn’t; apparently needing no explanation for her small act of rebellion.

“They were templars,” she explains anyways, “most are awful. The others just look away when the Circle rapes happen. Honestly, I’ve always preferred the former.”

“I can’t disagree with you,” Solas says, “my few interactions with templars have been... unpleasant. Either they are accustomed to following the worst orders, as you have said, or they just enjoy inflicting pain, especially upon those without recourse.” There is clear contempt and disgust in his voice, it’s as if he’s speaking from experience.

“That’s why we rebelled,” she says, taking another bite of the apple, “also,  I was hungry. Inquisition rations weren’t doing it.” Solas actually laughs. Trevelyan idly wonders when murder became so casual for her. Kill the woman who raised you, and everyone else becomes easy, she supposes.

There’s a short, but not awkward, silence between them. She knows exactly why he is here, to prevent her from defecting back to the rebels, but his presence is, surprisingly, not unwelcome. They haven’t had much time to talk like this; the conversations they’ve had have so far been in either the shadow of Haven’s Chantry, or on the road with Cassandra.

She motions to the adjacent seat on the wagon. To her surprise, he nods, and walks, or more accurately, struts over, butt wiggle and all. Like most mages, he usually makes himself seem as small as possible, scuttling rather than walking, but unlike the rest, it’s almost as if he has to consciously remind himself to do so.

Solas likes questions, she reminds herself, so ask one. He jumps up on the wagon, and she says, “do you like apples?”

Solas doesn’t even blink. “Apples were first domesticated in this part of the world.” How the fuck does he even know that, she wonders. “I saw a memory once, of a horde of human barbarians, desperately defending a part of these woods they held sacred, from the legions of the Imperium. When the barbarians were slain, the Tevinters marched forward, only to find a simple apple orchard, one which hundreds gave their lives to protect.” He takes one out of the crate, and takes a bite. “However, if you were asking about the taste- no, I detest apples.” He takes another bite. “This one in particular tastes sort of like burnt human flesh.”

“Dying for a lost cause. You really never miss an opportunity to make a point, do you?” she says, “also, how do you even know what burnt human flesh tastes like?”

Solas smiles mischievously. “I don’t like to waste words,” he says. The other point he is suspiciously quiet on. I don’t judge, Trevelyan thinks, you go eat as much flesh as you like, Solas.

His words are somewhat slurred, and she smells something in the air, besides the burning templars of course. She recognizes it as the unmistakable stench of peach whiskey, suspiciously similar to the bottle she had nicked from Dennet yesterday. Solas seems to notice and says, “Master Dennet had many such bottles wasting away on the shelf. He will not miss one, or two, I suppose.” He shrugs.

On the topic, she notices a small bottle of ale in one of the templar crates; the cork is stuck when she pulls on it, so she simply uses a bit of force magic to smash the top of the bottle off. It smells absolutely wretched, and tastes even worse, but she drinks it anyway. Solas watches her, possibly judging her, but he’s always hard to read. “Been a shit day,” she explains. Linnea said, go back to your templars. Fuck her. Tevinter apologist. Shockingly flat ass. Terrible kisser.

“Was today your first time in Redcliffe?” she asks. Solas chuckles softly to himself, apparently a joke only he understands.

“A long time ago, before your rebellion,” he says, “it’s changed since, of course. But I assume you’re asking my opinion on the rebel mages, rather than the settlement itself.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Despair sticks to most of the mages like gnats.” He’s right, during the retreat from the Free Marches, every morning some mages wouldn’t wake up, taken by Despair demons in their sleep. And the war has only gotten worse. She can’t even imagine. “Still, they endure. Their fight against oppression is admirable, and utterly hopeless.” , “Hopeless?” Trevelyan raises an eyebrow. She should be angry, but more than anything she feels exhausted. “You seem rather certain.”

“Of course I am.” he says, matter of fact. Trevelyan picked up some dalish during the rebellion; she’s not ignorant as to the meaning of his name. “In my journeys through the Fade, I have seen countless rebellions rise up, confident in the just nature of their cause, only to be crushed mercilessly. Righteousness, unfortunately, is no match against steel.” Good poetry. She’ll give him that.

“And, yet, Recliffe is still standing,” she says, “for the first time in a thousand years, in this part of the world, mages govern ourselves. No templars. No Chantry. We built that. Isn’t that freedom worth defending?” Trevelyan spent most of her life in the Circle. No price can be too great, she thinks.

“You forget you aren’t speaking to Cassandra or Varric. We do not disagree on the necessity of rebellion,” he smiles, just a bit, mostly to himself, “but, in order for a rebellion to win its immediate demands, as well has change what it is possible in the long term, something you once told me that you seek to do, they must do one thing.” He pauses for dramatic effect, and honestly it works. “They must win.”  

“Even failed revolutions can teach lessons,” she says, the only dogma she’s ever needed to believe in, “no matter what Varric says, the mage rebellion didn’t manifest spontaneously.” She thinks of the thousand year struggle for freedom, and what feels like generations of the dead on her shoulders. In the distance, Trevelyan can just make out the flag of the Venatori, waving from the ramparts of Redcliffe. The ships are not far behind.

“No,” Solas says, suddenly melancholy, “or if they do, it is always the wrong lessons.” He’s silent for a long moment, staring into the ground. “I saw a memory once in the Fade. A man who sought to overthrow a tyrant. Then, a half-hearted assassination attempt, tailored for drama, instead of results. It of course failed. The man himself was burned alive, defiant at first, but when the flames reached his body, when his skin began to melt off, he screamed for mercy that never came.”

Trevelyan takes a long drink. Solas adds, eerily calm, “In the end, martyrdom is just melted flesh upon a wooden stake, and a name utterly forgotten.”  She drains the rest of the bottle.

“I killed my mother,” she says, suddenly, without really meaning to, “when the Circle was annulled, I tried to give her the courtesy of a quick spell, but the tower wards blocked magic so…” she makes a motion with her staff “I, well, had improvise.”

“Your first murder?” he asks. She shakes her head. Definitely not. “If you want absolution, I’m not the person to give it.”

“Oh fuck no, I’m not Andrastian,” Trevelyan scoffs, and Solas chuckles softly. The Andrastians think they can solve all the world’s evils, all their many personal failings, through a song. It’s childish. Besides, Trevelyan would rather hold onto her sins for now- keep them close like a badge of honor. She looks down at the dead templars, corpses bathed in green light from her Mark.

“I don’t regret it,” she says, and she thinks she means it, “not if it served a purpose.” Trevelyan looks again towards Redcliffe, and thinks, everything I am, I owe to them. “In just the time it takes to travel back to Haven, how many will already be on the ships?”

“Likely a few dozen,” Solas answers, “there will be far more, thousands, if these Venatori are not defeated, which is a battle only the Inquisition has the resources to win. It is fortunate, then, that you have a position where you can speak on behalf of the rebel mages.”

The sun begins to rise, bathing the forest in dim orange light. “We should get back then ,” she forces herself to say, though every word is like a block of lead. Solas exhales in relief.

“One final thing,” she says as Solas moves to get up. She looks at her counterpart, studying him best she can, sensing his projections into the Fade. He’s unlike any other apostate she’s ever met, and there’s something about him she can’t quite put her finger on, much less vocalize. “You know quite a bit about rebellions,” she says.

“I have seen much in my travels,” he says, pausing as he considers his next words, “and you could say I had a dramatic youth.”

“One I’d be interested in hearing about,” she says, genuinely. “Especially if it involves more surprisingly melancholy stories about apple domestication.” Solas seems taken aback for a moment, but recovers quickly, chucking politely at her joke. He then smiles quietly to himself.

The two apostates return to the Inquisition camp, though Trevelyan keeps Redcliffe in her sight for as long as she can.

Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33444538

#dragon age #solas #f!trevelyan #tara trevelyan #mage trevelyan #mage rights #mage rebellion #enchanter lydia #redcliffe #hinterland #dragon age inquisition #in your heart shall burn

[ieattaperecorders]

Something’s Different About You Lately - Chapter 4: No Security

Jon and Martin deal with some things that have been gnawing at them.

Read on Ao3

Martin drew his coat in closer, wishing he'd worn more layers. He'd been in such a hurry to leave that he'd thrown on his coat, socks and shoes right over his pajamas. But that was before he'd spent what felt like more than half an hour in the cold night air, feeling foolish, wondering if he ought to have taken the time to dress properly. Or charge his phone, it would have certainly been nice to have that as a distraction.

Well, too late now. He was there, standing outside the Institute and waiting for Jon to arrive. Hopefully with an explanation.

Eventually, Jon appeared at the end of the block. He was carrying a backpack, one of the big, padded ones favored by hikers, and it seemed like an odd thing for Jon to have. He wasn't exactly the outdoorsy type as far as Martin knew, but he supposed that people could surprise you. He leaned out from behind the column and waved so he was more visible, and Jon's face took on a measure of relief.

"Ah, good." Jon closed the distance between them in a quick jog. "Everything all right? No, ah, pest problems on your way out?"

"Didn't see any worms, no." Martin said. "Maybe they're shy about the cold."

He hadn't meant for that to come out sounding so grumpy, but Jon didn't seem to notice. If he saw anything odd about how Martin was dressed he gave no sign of that either, he was oddly energized.

"All right." Jon said, "there's a motel about three blocks that way. Nothing luxurious, but it's open, and according to online reviews it doesn't have bedbugs. You're booked for three nights there, you'll just have to show identification."

A dozen objections fought their way through Martin's brain. As little as he wanted to go back to his cot in the archive, wasn't he staying there because it was safer? What if Jane found him at the motel? Also, he couldn't afford to move into a motel!

"Wait, I can't just- - " he began.

"It's been paid for," Jon interrupted, anticipating at least one of his concerns. "And - and since it's work-related I used the Institute expense account so, don't worry about that."

Martin raised an eyebrow. That didn't sound . . . true. "Since when do you have an expense --"

"And it's already paid, so there's no point in arguing." Jon said firmly. "I'm sure you could use a good night's sleep, now, off you go."

He gestured back towards the direction he'd come from, as if shooing Martin away. It was the gesture as much as anything else that made Martin dig in his heels.

"Wh- - no! First tell me what's going on!" Martin protested. "Why did I suddenly have to leave? What - what is all that for?" He gestured to the backpack.

"Martin, please!"

Jon seemed to catch himself raising his voice, and stopped. He took a deep breath, pressing his palms together in front of his face, then continued in a slow, controlled tone.

"I promise, I'll explain things tomorrow morning. But right now, I need you to go to the motel, and spend the night there, and not come back to the Institute tonight. Can you do that for me?"

Martin pressed his mouth into a hard line. Frustration and worry and an embarrassing desire to just do what he asked because he sounded so earnest wrestled in him. It may have been sheer physical exhaustion that won out in the end, because after a moment of silence, he reluctantly nodded.

Jon stood there, looking expectantly at him. Already feeling like he was making a mistake, Martin walked a few steps past him, then turned.

"Three blocks this way?" he asked, not really needing the clarification.

Jon nodded. "There's a neon sign out front, it'll be obvious."

". . . See you tomorrow, then."

He continued down the block. Whenever he paused and glanced back Jon was there, standing outside the Institute and watching him walk away, which only added to the strangeness of it all. Eventually Martin stopped turning and just looked at the ground in front of him. Everything about this felt wrong and weird and maybe it was just because he'd started accepting "wrong" and "weird" as descriptors of his life nowadays that he was going along with it.

Especially where Jon was concerned. Everything was weird where Jon was concerned.

Was it something personal Jon had with Jane Prentiss? That could explain why he'd believed Martin's story so readily when he was ordinarily such a skeptic. Did he have some past experience with her, a personal vendetta? Had he come here tonight for revenge?

Martin slowed his pace and looked back again. Jon was nowhere to be seen, but from where he stood, Martin noticed lights inside the building being turned on.

Hell with it, he thought, and headed back towards the institute at a jog.

* * *

Jon looked forward to being able to set the backpack down, just carrying it from the train station had made his shoulders ache. He'd been buying CO2 for days, he'd intended to take another week or two to sneak supplies into the Institute more gradually. But he was ready enough. And he wasn't letting this continue for another night.

He'd known these months were hard for Martin, known about the anxiety and paranoia, but this? Was the Hive singing to Martin just as it had sung to Jane? And had it always sung to him?

Was this new? Jon couldn't imagine how his actions so far might have altered events to cause it. Then had it been this bad the first time around? Martin hadn't ever mentioned hearing these things, feeling these things before. But then, he wouldn't have at the time, would he? And later, during those quiet nights in the cabin where they'd speak softly to one another about things too fragile for daylight, these early days had already begun to feel distant. Other nightmares, other traumas that were more immediate had overwhelmed them. It might be that he just never mentioned it.

It didn't matter. Whether this was a new development or not, it wasn't going to go any further.

He wondered if he ought to have walked Martin to the motel, rather than leaving him the way he did - all alone, downtown in the middle of the night. Then he shook his head, dismissing the thought.

"For God's sake, he's not a child whose hand you need to hold," Jon muttered to himself. "He's a grown man who's survived one supernatural attack already. I'm sure he can manage three blocks on a well-lit street on his own."

If there was a part of him that just wanted to have walked Martin there, just to spend a few quiet moments with him before facing this, well, it wasn't relevant now. That moment had passed, and he had to focus on the task at hand. He couldn't fail. If he died now, Elias would just start his plans over with a new Archivist, probably Sasha, and that was unacceptable.

He had a plan, he had the memories of a man who had wandered the tunnels a thousand times. He had fire extinguishers, torches, a hatchet from a hardware store, and, - just in case - a corkscrew. There would be no security in the building until six am, so no one else would be in danger. And he was months ahead of schedule, their numbers would still be low. Jon could do this. He found the right spot and began working.

It was difficult - the wall that had crumpled into rot when he'd slammed his palm against it the first time seemed stubbornly well-built now, taking several cracks with the hatchet just to open a few inches of space. When the hole was barely big enough for a fist Jon pulled back and hesitated, waiting for any reaction. None. So he went back to swinging until the hole was big enough to step through

Warily, extinguisher at the ready, he shone the a torch into the darkness beyond. The tunnels stretched down as expected, but besides that there was nothing. No quick, squirming movement, no Prentiss. He took as thorough a look as he dared, shining the light in every crevice. Nothing at all.

Was he too early? Surely the awful things were there, but how far along were they in their own preparations? Doomed to fail or not, he needed their ritual to be put down as they attempted it or the Corruption might continue to attack the institute, making further attempts in ways that Jon couldn't predict. All he really had on his side was his knowledge of their movements, if he lost that - -

"Jon, what--"

He leaped back and screamed, spinning around. Martin stood by the door, flinching from his reaction. Jon leaned heavily on his desk, every nerve lit up with shock.

"Martin," he growled. For the first time since the new memories, he found he was really, truly angry with him. "What are you doing here!? I told you to leave."

"I know! I know! But- -" Martin held his hands up defensively. "It's obvious that something's going on here, and I don't know what it is you're doing with - - with that - -" he gestured at the hole. "Or what your history with Jane Prentiss is - -"

"I don't - - you need to go - -"

"And I know you think I can't help with whatever this is- -" Martin's voice rose in pitch, fast and nervous. "But I could if you'd just trust me enough to tell me what's happening- -"

"Please . . . " Jon glanced uneasily back towards the hole. How far into the tunnels did sound carry? Would the noise of their talking attract something? "We can't - - I can't do this now - -"

"- - And anyway, this is my fault, isn't it?" Martin lowered his hands, a tremor entering his voice. "I'm the one they followed here. If . . . if they're here because of me, I should - - I want to help . . . ."

There was a moment of silence, then Jon sighed - shoulders sagging, anger melting off of him. He looked at the person in front of him and wondered who he really was.

He tried to remember. Had Martin's voice been so full of sorrow and self-reproach when he'd apologized for losing him in the tunnels? Had that small, quiet furrow been in his brow when he'd tried so valiantly, so fruitlessly, to make Jon and Tim speak to each other again? When he'd confronted Elias, had he taken that same stance Jon saw in him now - determined, stubborn, but hands trembling at his sides, anticipating the worst? Or was it foolish to even ask these questions, to look for someone who wasn't yet real in the face of a person who was?

"Martin . . ." he sighed, "this isn't your fault. This is - - well, it's bigger than either of us. And - -" he rallied again, stepping closer and trying to turn him physically towards the door. "And I'm sorry but - - this just isn't the time for a heart to heart. You have to get out of here before - -"

The two of them froze. It was hard to tell who heard it first, but they both recognized it. The wet, sticky, crackling sound of a thousand squirming bodies.

"Jon . . . ." Martin whispered, staring over Jon's shoulder.

He turned just in time to see it start - - tiny, silver things dripped from the edges of the hole in the wall, swarming over the floor with impossible speed. They seemed to multiply, doubling and tripling before their eyes, and Jon grabbed an extinguisher, pressing himself in front of Martin.

"Get back," he shouted. "Get back. Run!!"

To his relief, Martin ran, bolting through the door. The sound of his footsteps vanished back into the hall, and Jon gave silent thanks to the fight or flight response. He wouldn't have far to go before he was out of the archive and safe, and in the meantime Jon would give the crawling bastards reason to keep their attention on him.

Refocusing, he opened the valve of the extinguisher and pushed forwards, spraying everything that moved. The worms died off en masse, the slow ones thrashing and going still, the quick ones retreating back into the tunnels. He slung the regrettably still heavy pack over his shoulder and pressed forward - he'd need to find Prentiss, get to where the circle of corruption had been forming and put it all down.

Jon was barely a few feet into the tunnel when something felt off. He glanced around, eyes peeled for anything crawling. Something wet and cold hit the back of his neck, and pure reflex made him bring a hand to slap it. It wriggled under his palm, fangs biting down - not deep, not yet, but god it hurt. Swallowing panic, he pinched the squirming body between his fingers until it stilled, jaws releasing, a foul-smelling fluid leaking onto his hand.

There was a tense moment as Jon wondered where the worm had come from. There was a far worse moment as he realized that he hadn't yet looked up.

Deep inside Jon rested the echoes of a thousand fates worse than death, horrors he had witnessed and fed upon in another lifetime. There was a part of him that knew these things so intimately, understood there was a shape and a rhythm to them and knew what had to happen next. The thing that would be his doom was waiting for him to realize it was there, to understand, to feel that fear all the way to his core. A part of Jon knew, all things considered, the worst thing he could do at that moment was look up.

Unfortunately, that part of him did not control the muscles of his head and neck, and instinct is hard to resist. Jon turned his face up towards the writhing carpet of bodies that covered the tunnel's ceiling, and as one the worms rained down on him.

His reflexes were still not enviable. He narrowly avoided being buried alive, but dozens landed and Jon staggered back towards the hole in the wall, shaking and clawing at himself. They were on his arms, his throat, slipping down the neckline of his shirt and latching on to the tender skin below, and more were advancing from behind.

Idiot. He'd acted as if they were ordinary creatures, mindless bugs that would just crawl one way or another, not capable of setting a trap. He should have known better. He did know better, but he'd charged forward like a fool, and now they were on him and in him and for each one he pulled out two more were burrowing down. He couldn't let this happen, they couldn't have him, he couldn't die now but the pain was blinding and the panic was frothing and his hands were too slow and there were too many - -

A cold, white cloud enveloped him, he chocked once then instinctively stopped inhaling. His mind was a chaos of don't breathe in and get them out and can't see can't see can't see. But the horrific sense of invasion, of violation, of gnawing, growing vileness spreading into his body stopped. The sound of gas dispelling stopped too, and there were strong hands grabbing his shoulders, dragging him towards the door.

Jon stumbled along, blinking through the pain. Still digging at his skin, pressed with a need to pick and pull the rotten things out of himself. His eyes were tearing from the CO2 and from pain, everything was blurry and confused. He strained to see if there were still worms coming (yes) where they were coming from (everywhere) and who was pulling him to safety (he already knew, of course he knew, he had known from the moment the gas hit him.)

Still half-blind, Jon felt himself being let go and heard a door slam, but he barely registered it. His ability to think was quickly narrowing to a single point of revulsion, the need to get them out of him now. He found what he needed in the pocket of his bag, and painfully, messily, did what he had to do. At the end of it he was bleeding and his wounds were screaming agony but they were empty, thank God, and that was enough.

His vision cleared enough to see Martin a few feet away, shoving some sort of cloth under the door to block the cracks. He looked frightened, very frightened, but he had a single-minded focus turned towards keeping a barrier between the mass of parasites flooding into the next room. When the door was secure he turned to look at Jon, and his face went ashen.

"Oh my God . . ." he breathed.

It took Jon a moment to realize that ah yes, he probably did look gruesome. Swaying on his feet, dotted in holes with a bloody corkscrew in his hand.

Jon looked down at it, then back up at Martin. A strange, stupid smile spread across his face, and quite against his will he began to laugh. It started as a weak, breathy sound but quickly ran away from him and soon he was shaking with it, knees wobbly, tears trailing down his face. The look of confusion and fear on Martin's face got worse, and Jon wanted to stop, he did, but it just wasn't possible.

He truly was a fool. How could he have thought, even for a moment, that Martin would run to safety and leave him behind?

Jon sank to the floor, the moment of mad laughter passing. Martin pulled hesitantly from the door and took a step towards him.

"Um. . . are you . . . all right?" There was an uncertain note in Martin's voice, and Jon suspected he wasn't just referring to his wounds.

Still trembling a little, smiling like an absolute idiot, Jon nodded. "Respiratory acidosis," he muttered. "Must be. From breathing in the gas."

"Oh." Martin glanced nervously at the door, which held for now. "Is that serious?"

"I'll be fine." Jon shook his head, tried to take a measure of himself and see how accurate that actually was.

The pain was distracting, but not debilitating. He doubted he'd be able to do much with his left arm for a while, but they hadn't gotten to his legs. Which meant that he could run, and he could use a weapon. Which meant that this wasn't over. He slid the bag off his shoulder and pulled out another extinguisher. There were four more inside, it would have to be enough.

"Here. You're stronger than I am," he said, holding the bag out to Martin. As an afterthought, he added, "I imagine."

"Oh- - ah, all right?" Martin took the backpack, confusion writ large across his features. "Look, I don't know how long the door will hold, we should - -"

Martin was turning towards the exit, gesturing for him to follow, and that wouldn't do. Jon reached out and gripped his arm with a bleeding hand.

"No. Not that way," he said, taking a few steps towards the hall. "Over here. There's another way in."

"Another way into what?"

"That passage beyond the wall, the one they were pouring out of. You saw it, correct?" Jon asked. Martin nodded. "There's another way in, but we'll have to hurry. As you said, that door might not last."

"Excuse me?" Martin gaped at him. The poor man had surely assumed they'd be fleeing the building, but that would have to wait. "Why are we going towards where the worms are!?"

We, Jon thought. He felt a manic grin spread across his face.

"To finish this," he said, looking back over his shoulder. "You said you wanted to help, didn't you?"

He took off before Martin could protest, something rising in him that he couldn't name. It felt like a laugh or like a scream, but it was silent and blinding and bright. He was running, and he was bleeding, and he heard Martin catching up behind him. And Prentiss could be anywhere and they weren't safe, weren't safe, and no place in this world was safe. But if Jon couldn't send Martin out of danger he could at least keep him close. And he knew - oh, he knew - that if he ran, Martin would follow him.

* * *

Jon had lost his mind, there was no doubt about that. But Martin was the one running after a madman, so he probably didn't have room to judge.

They ended up in another room where Jon started knocking at the wall, listening for something. Upon finding it he wordlessly grabbed a chair and used it as a makeshift battering ram, smashing open another hole. Martin wondered what it said about him that, despite the real, horrific danger they were in a part of him was still worried about getting in trouble for all the damage they were causing to the building. But that part of Martin wasn't powerful enough to keep him still when he heard the door down the hallway splinter and burst. He hurried to join Jon in pulling away sections of damaged wall - which seemed like it wasn't a proper wall anyway, just a thin layer of plaster - and in a moment they were down the dark passageway, running again.

The tunnel dipped and swerved and turned like a maze, but somehow Jon seemed to know where he was going. He grabbed Martin's hand at the first turn, pulling him to the left with no explanation beyond "this way," and didn't let go after that. Martin quickly lost track of the turns, and found himself hoping that the ‘run your hand along the right wall' trick really worked, because he had no idea how they were going to get back if it didn't.

It was scary, god, it was terrifying. But it was also a little bit thrilling? Running around in these mysterious secret tunnels that had apparently just been there, hidden under Martin's feet the whole time he'd been at the Institute. And it was downright surreal seeing Jon like this, guiding them along based on some direction or intuition Martin couldn't fathom.

When they'd first met Jon had been sharp and stern and so intimidating. After a while, Martin had decided that much of his manner was an act, beneath which was someone odd and a little awkward but well-meaning. Now it seemed there had been another layer under that, and this one Martin couldn't figure out at all. Breaking into the Institute in the middle of the night, going after supernatural infestations? He was like a character from an action movie.

Well, Martin reconsidered, as Jon stumbled ahead, muttering under his breath, maybe not one of those big budget action movies. Some sort of indie film, or maybe a satire.

At one point Martin noticed that a few spiders had crawled onto the back of Jon's neck. Four of them, big ones, too. Jon hadn't noticed them yet, and Martin wondered if he could shoo them away without alerting Jon, knowing what an arachnophobe he was. But then a sound from down the tunnel distracted him, and when he looked back at Jon the spiders were gone. So he stopped thinking about it.

Eventually they reached a large chamber and Jon held an arm out to stop Martin from going any farther. He really didn't need to - the room was full of worms. Martin felt nausea roiling up in him as the smell hit his nose, and he froze in place. Weirdly, they didn't react to Jon and Martin's arrival, didn't seem interested in them at all. They were too focused on doing. . . something. Something that involved wrapping around one another in a huge, growing circle.

Martin had no idea what they'd stumbled into - - horrific possibilities of worm reproduction had barely even entered his mind before he was ready to run. But Jon shouted for him to start spraying gas into the room and he realized with a sinking sensation that this place was what they had been running towards all along. They emptied the remaining extinguishers into the room until they were sure that everything was dead. Jon nodded with satisfaction and took off running again, and Martin was once more focused on keeping up.

He sensed that they were going back to the institute. Even lost and disoriented, some intuition told him they were returning to light and warmth and surface, away from the dark damp of the tunnels. Relief washed over him as they clambered through the hole in the wall and out into the hallway, escape finally in sight.

That was when they ran into Prentiss.

It was as if she'd been waiting outside the door, ready to pounce. Martin acted on reflex, throwing an arm around Jon's frame and pulling him into the nearest room. He turned the lock and pressed himself against the door just as he heard Jane slam against it heavily. Jon was once more operating under some indecipherable internal logic, rooting through boxes, overturning files and moving furniture. Martin didn't even ask. He just dug his heels in and braced himself against the door as Jane thudded against it. This wasn't the steady knocking he'd come to dread after a week in his apartment, no. This had force behind it. Could she break the door down if she tried?

Just as Martin asked himself that question, the knocking stopped. He pressed his ear to the door, listening for . . . well, he wasn't sure, honestly. What he heard was Jane stepping back and moving down the hall, which should have been a good thing, but just made Martin more anxious. And as he leaned against the door, straining to hear, he felt something cold drip onto him.

He manged not to scream or thrash or fall to the ground. He pulled away from the door and saw the crack that a small handful of worms had wriggled through. He also saw the small handful of worms that had latched onto his arm. He didn't need to see the small handful of worms that had latched onto his head and neck to know and feel exactly where they were.

Biting back panic, silent to keep from screaming, he went for the front pocket of Jon's bag. His hand closed over the corkscrew - and God, what did it say that Jon had gotten the exact same idea as Martin for how to get them out? He held the sharp end to his face, grimacing in anticipation.

Something spoke. It said, please.

Martin stopped moving, hand an inch from his cheek.

Please . . . .

There hadn't been a voice, not really. It wasn't sound, not something he'd heard in his ears or even inside his mind so much as felt it deep in his bones.

Please . . . I need you.

They weren't words, but the meaning they carried was as clear and articulate as any language. More so. There was no doubt about what was said, he understood it, understood its need in a way words and knowledge and intonation would never be able to convey.

We need you, a second voice joined the first.

It hurts, the voice was pained, and formless, and demanding. It's so harsh and so bright here, this cruel and sterile scrutiny. It's so cold, and you are so, so warm.

Warm and dark, full of heat and hiding and dark, damp things never to see the light. We need your heat. We need your limbs and your stomach and the gently gurgling secrets of you.

Please. We need your heart. It hangs so soft and tender between the lattice of your ribs.

We need your throat, pink and heavy with words unspoken. We can give it new language, a tongue understood by everything warm and wet and living.

Time was moving syrup-slow. The panic that had lit Martin's veins grew sluggish. His thoughts crawled. The voices came lovingly, hungrily, and he made no move to dig them out.

They pulled at an emptiness in him. Something that ached whenever he had looked at other people and sensed they were a world he couldn't be part of. He felt something whisper that the painful hollow inside him could be filled. It spoke of movement pouring into him, eating the parts that hurt, filling him until he could no longer remember being without it. The thought made him shiver, but with it came a strange, growing warmth.

It should hurt more, some sensible part of his brain observed, so many of them burrowing into him. There was pain, yes, but it was distant and dreamlike. Almost satisfying, the not-quite-pleasurable feeling that compels you to pull at a sore tooth, to pick at a scab, to squeeze a pimple. The more he listened, the deeper the voices went, the closer he felt to that wonderful moment of release when the boil finally splits.

We need you, they said. We need all of you, every inch.

So cold so hungry so hurt so alone.

Open and blossom and bloom and rot.

You're ours. You're ours. Let us give you our song.

Martin heard a crash, and the sound of Jon shouting loud enough to shake his focus. Revulsion at what he'd been thinking washed over him, and he dug the sharp tine into his face as quickly as he could. He repeated it until the tiny, terrible things that had been crawling their way into him went silent.

It only took a minute, but it was a very, very long minute. Martin backed away from the door, a trickle of silvery bodies still coming from the crack at the top.

It looked as though Jon had been dumping the contents of file boxes onto a table, piling paper statements out of order on top of one other until he'd made a small pile. He'd knocked over a cabinet - the crash Martin had heard, probably - and used it to climb on top of a second one, a crumpled wad of paper in one hand, lighter in the other.

"Closet door's on the opposite wall," he shouted, barely even glancing at Martin. "Get ready to run!"

The lighter flicked on. The flame caught the page in Jon's hand, and he held it at arm's length, waiting for something. For a moment, Martin didn't understand. Then the fire alarm went off, and he understood horribly well. Jon dropped the burning pages onto the pile, which caught and began to spread. He leapt from the cabinet, stumbling, and movement returned to Martin as he realized what the room would soon be filled with. They reached the door in seconds, scrambling inside and slamming it shut just as CO2 flooded everything.

A scream ripped through the air, one Martin felt more than heard. Thousands and thousands of things without mouths, screaming as one. It flooded him, crescendoed, then died out, leaving his knees weak.

There was shuffling in the dark, he heard Jon shift and knock against something. As awareness of his body slowly returned to him, Martin felt a light bulb dangling near his head. Reaching up, he pulled the cord. Light filled the small space of what looked like a janitor's storage closet. Jon was on his hands and knees, he'd removed his jacket and was stuffing it in the crack beneath the door.

"Not a perfect seal against the gas, but hopefully good enough," he muttered. He turned to glance at Martin then, and his face fell, he looked suddenly heartbroken. "They got you too? I didn't even see. . . ."

"Oh. Yeah," reflexively, Martin reached up to touch his face and was punished by a sharp stinging pain as a finger brushed one of his wounds. "Got them all out, though."

Jon stood and looked at him searchingly, frowning. "Are you sure? Certain you got them all?"

"Think I'd know if I missed one." Martin grimaced. "It's not exactly a subtle sensation."

Jon hovered a hand in front of Martin's arm as if to grasp it, but didn't make contact. He looked at him with a strange intensity. "And you definitely didn't . . . let any of them stay in you?"

"Sorry, what?" Martin balked.

"Answer the question, Martin." Jon's gaze was steady and serious.

"No?" Martin's tone must have been uncertain, because Jon's frowned deepened, so he tried again. "No! Of course not!"

". . . All right." Jon nodded solemnly, "I trust you."

With no further explanation than that, Jon turned to examine the rest of the room. He clambered onto an overturned bucket, bracing himself against a shelf that was so unsteady Martin had to bite back a reflexive warning to be careful. He stood nearby - there was nowhere to stand that wasn't nearby, it was big for a closet but still a closet - hands half raised so at least he'd be there to keep Jon from cracking his head if he fell. Jon stood on his toes and examined the vent near the ceiling.

"It's giving out air," he announced. He placed a hand on Martin's arm and stepped down, using him as support. "There's no CO2 vents in any of the closets. As long as the seal on the door holds, we should be all right here." He paused, considering something. "You aren't claustrophobic, are you?"

"Not really." Martin said. "You?"

"A lot more than I used to be." Jon smiled ruefully. "But I can handle this fine."

Jon sat down heavily on the overturned bucket, exhaling with the effort. He no longer looked anything like the hero from a movie of any genre. Just tired, and small, and very, very chewed on.

Martin glanced around, began rummaging through the shelves. Jon lifted his head and looked curiously at him, but said nothing. After a moment, he found what he'd been looking for and held it out with a triumphant grin.

"First aid kit," he said, as if the red cross on the bag wasn't clear enough. "Thought there might be one in here."

"Oh, thank God." Jon said. "Does it have painkillers?"

Martin unzipped it, taking stock of what was inside. "Yeah, in little packets. Aspirin and acetaminophen, you got a preference?"

"Either. Both," he held out his hands. "Please," he added.

Martin passed him two acetaminophen packets, then sat on the floor and ripped two open for himself. The half-sweet sensation he'd felt a few moments ago had solidly turned back into deep and gnawing pain, and he swallowed them pills dry. He then took out a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and some squares of gauze and turned back to Jon, who was at the holes in his own arm with grotesque fascination. He seemed miles away. Martin cleared his throat and he turned, blinking at him.

"Here . . . let me do the ones on your face." Martin said. "We should get those disinfected as quick as we can."

Jon frowned. "You need tending to as well . . . you're bleeding."

"Yes. But you've had your wounds open and bleeding and exposed to God only knows what for a while now." Martin reasoned. "We should do you first."

Jon wavered. For a moment it seemed like he might protest. Then he shrugged and leaned forward, silently accepting. Martin dabbed at one of the wounds which was already an angry red at the edges, and Jon immediately flinched back, a sharp ah of air as he breathed in.

"Sorry. Probably stings a bit."

"Mmnhmm."

Jon leaned in again, this time only tensing slightly as the gauze touched him. Martin moved his fingertips carefully over the ridges of Jon's skull and the place where his jaw and neck met. He used up one square of gauze after another, tossing the used one into a tray that was probably used for painting, bloody and stained with something Martin didn't want to think about.

"Do you think they're still out there?" Martin asked after a while.

"The worms? Unlikely." Jon said, glancing towards the door. "We took care of the ones deep in the tunnels, and the fire suppression should have taken out the rest. There weren't really a lot of them."

Martin gave Jon a look.

"What?" Jon asked.

"What exactly counts as a lot of worms to you?"

"Fair enough," he smirked. "I suppose what I mean is, I think the CO2 got them all."

Martin shook his head and dug around in the kit, finding bandages and medical tape. "I never thought I'd see you of all people start a fire in the archive. . . ."

"Hmm, yes." Jon got a strange sort of smile on his face, something wicked and satisfied, and he muttered to himself. "Hope that one hurt." Then he cleared his throat and looked back at Martin. "Anyway. . . you heard that scream. It sounded. . . " he paused, searching for a word. "Terminal."

"Yeah. Wish I didn't hear it, but yeah." Martin shivered. "S'probably gonna be in my dreams for a while."

Martin finished covering the damage on Jon's face and neck, then passed the kit to him so he could take care of the rest himself. Jon did so haphazardly, scrubbing at the marks on his arm hard enough to make Martin wince, though he said nothing.

"The real danger now is the CO2." Jon continued, tearing open a bandage with his teeth. "It'll take some time to disperse enough for us to get out. Do you have a phone?"

"Battery's dead." Martin said. "Wasn't able to charge it. You?"

"Dropped it while running, I think. No matter," he shrugged. "Won't be more than a few hours before the morning staff gets in and sees the state of things. If they're smart they'll call the ECDC, who'll come in looking for survivors," he smiled wryly. "Then we'll have all the fun of quarantine to look forward to."

Martin stared. Jon shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

". . . What is it?" He asked.

"Who are you?" Martin gestured in Jon's direction, trying to indicate, just, all of him. "Five weeks ago I couldn't convince you that no one is ‘naturally' suffocated by cobwebs, and now you're coming in the middle of the night to fight a worm queen like some sort of academic Van Helsing!"

"Ah. I . . . " Jon glanced off to the side, "I believe the original Van Helsing was actually a professor of some sort, so . . . ."

"Whatever!" Martin threw up his hands. He was exhausted, and confused, and he didn't know why he was shouting except that he'd been too nervous to shout while they were running for their lives and now it was all coming out. "You show up with a bunch of gear and start knocking down walls and finding hidden passageways! How did you even know they were there? And what was with that phone call, I mean, why tonight? What do I have to do with it all?"

The rare sight of Jon looking speechless might have been more satisfying if Martin wasn't hoping to get answers from him. He looked down at his fidgeting hands, avoiding eye contact, and was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, it was in a different voice. A dark, measured tone, as if he was reciting something.

"It is not the patterns that enthrall me, it's what sings behind them," he intoned. "Sings that I am beautiful. Sings that I am a home. That I can be fully consumed by what loves me."

"Wh- what?" The strange, poetic words tugged at Martin's stomach, bringing up a deep, disquieting nausea that made him itch everywhere.

". . . Jane Prentiss. She came here sometime before - before she became what she was." Jon said quietly. "She gave a statement, spoke of something like the melody that you described. Something that frightened her even as it lured her closer. That got inside her and twisted and changed her until . . . well. You saw her. Twice now."

Martin felt cold. He didn't like what he feared Jon was implying. Does it sound like it's for you? he'd asked.

"First she heard them sing to her." Jon continued. "Then she resisted. Then she was drawn in. Then she gave herself to them."

"So . . . so you're saying they can do, what, mind control?" Martin asked, unsteadily.

Jon shook his head. "I don't think it's direct as that. It's more of a slow corruption. Or a call. Or a wearing down of resistance. By the time you realize you're changing, you've already changed. Too far gone to be saved," he said, looking into the middle distance. "That's, ah, how it seemed from Prentiss's statement, anyway."

Martin was quiet. Jon unwrapped some fresh gauze and dabbed it with disinfectant. He gestured Martin towards himself.

"Come here," he said.

Martin leaned forward reluctantly. After seeing Jon scour his own wounds he braced himself for a similar treatment. But Jon's touch was remarkably light and careful as he dabbed at Martin's face. Even the sting of alcohol wasn't so bad - it made him feel cleaner, less worried about whatever horrid traces those things might have left behind in him.

"Is that going to happen to me?" Martin whispered. "What happened to Jane?"

"No." Jon said firmly. "No. We aren't going to let them have you. Besides, the worms are all dead now."

"But do we know that?" Martin asked, worry tightening around his chest. "How can we be sure?"

He half expected Jon to just insist they couldn't have survived the CO2, ignoring everything about them that didn't make natural sense. Instead, he paused and considered.

"Well. We can keep watch. If there are any left, their only means of ingress are the vent and under the door," he nodded at both. "If it came to that, they'd only be able to get through a few at a time. We could probably take care of them with something heavy. And when the ECDC arrives they'll seal off and fumigate the building, so as much as one can ever be certain things like this have been destroyed, we will be then."

Martin nodded slowly. All right. That was reasonable enough.

"And . . . if you do ever hear them again . . . ." Jon added after a pause. "Hear or feel something strange, you can talk to me. I promise I'll listen. Ah, Tim and Sasha too, you can, you can come to us for help, you know?" He looked down, changing out the square of gauze. "I think that isolation makes this sort of thing worse. From - - from what I've read. In the statements."

He added that last part so hastily Martin couldn't help raising an eyebrow. His guess about Jon having some past experience with Prentiss, or at least something like her looked more likely by the second. But so did the sense that there was something big there, some raw emotion Jon didn't want to touch. Martin decided not to press it.

Jon placed a hand against Martin's jaw, gently tilting and angling his face as he needed it. He leaned in with the same look of focused concentration Martin had seen on him while reading, brow crinkling, mouth turned into the smallest hint of a frown. Jon's face was very, very close to his, and Martin closed his eyes so that he wouldn't have to worry about where to look. He tried to cover his shyness with a laugh.

"You know," he said, "if I didn't know better I'd think you were saying there might be something, I don't know, not-normal about these person-devouring parasites?"

Jon sighed heavily, pulling back. Martin opened his eyes just in time to see Jon roll his.

"Yes. I realize these things are not natural," he fished around in the kit for bandages. "And I've always believed in the supernatural, even before I came here. The skeptic act, it - it felt safer at first to just deny everything, I suppose. But lately I think it's just done out of habit."

Jon frowned, pressing a clean bandage onto Martin's neck. "Still. Perhaps it's a habit I'd be better off discarding."

He reached down and tugged the collar of Martin's t-shirt to the side, exposing the flesh over his shoulder which was pocked with tiny holes. Martin looked hard at the opposite wall as Jon tended. When the last of them had been bandaged, Martin expected him to pass the kit back and let him handle the bites on his arms himself. But without a word he pulled out a new square of gauze and gently took Martin's wrist, moving his arm to rest on top of Jon's knee and turning it to show where it was hurt. He touched Martin so carefully, so gingerly, and Martin couldn't think of a thing to say as Jon resumed his ministrations.

"Probably is better. Discarding the skeptic act, I mean," Martin eventually said, grappling for something to fill the silence, "I almost didn't want to tell you about Prentiss at first. Was pretty sure you'd say I was losing it. Or, I dunno, lying to get out of work."

Jon winced, and he immediately regretted bringing it up. It was such a petty thing. Not worth discussing over a month later, especially not at a time like this. For a while Jon was silent, focusing on Martin's arm while Martin wondered if he'd just spoiled what might have been a moment of connection. Then abruptly, Jon turned to look him in the eye.

"I owe you an apology, Martin. Probably several apologies. This job I've taken on, I - I don't think I was prepared for it at all. It certainly wasn't what I'd expected," he said ruefully. "I've been frustrated and - and confused, and afraid, and I've been taking it out on you. Which isn't fair at all."

Jon's eyes flicked away from Martin's face, and he turned to stare nervously at the floor.

"I don't - " he sighed. "I don't, ah, dislike you, Martin. I've been lashing out, and you've-" he winced, "well, been a convenient target, I suppose. Which is inexcusable, absolutely inexcusable, and I'm not trying to justify it, but -" he spoke slowly, his voice earnest. "You should know that it's been nothing that you did. It's really had nothing to do with you at all. It's entirely me and my own failings, and I'm sorry for that. I just . . . hope that you can forgive me."

"Oh. I mean, ah . . . sure?" Martin said it unthinkingly, as reflex, just reacting to the fact that he was being apologized to. But after a moment, he added, "yeah. Yeah, it's all right. I forgive you," and realized that he meant it.

Jon seemed immensely relieved, he looked at Martin and smiled. Martin felt a soft little twinge in him and smiled back.

"I'm . . . very glad to hear that." Jon said. "Because I think there's something wrong with this place. I don't just mean - " he gestured around them, indicating their current situation " - Jane, the worms. I mean the whole archive. I have a feeling that things are only going to get worse from here." Jon tilted his head, looking at Martin sincerely. "And if they do . . . I think I'm really going to want you in my corner."

Martin felt heat rise to his face in a familiar way that he couldn't ignore. And God, what a mess he was. Getting weak-kneed over his boss while they were locked in a supply closet waiting for a decontamination team to rescue them. But Jon's face angled towards him just then, in the close, stuffy air. His voice intense and serious but his expression so unexpectedly delicate, soft and hopeful. It did Martin in. He chuckled awkwardly, trying to clear the tension.

"Oh! Well, sure," he laughed. "I mean, that's my job, right? Assisting the archivist."

Jon got an odd look at that, but after a moment he smiled. He glanced back at the vent and sighed. "I think we're going to be waiting here a while. You should get some rest if you can."

At the words get some rest, perhaps just the concept of rest sinking into his mind, Martin felt himself sway. The adrenaline had passed, and while his wounds were still hurting the painkillers had taken the sharpest edges off.

"'If I can' being the key bit," he said.

"Mmm." Jon glanced disapprovingly around at the small room. "Not exactly the most comfortable surroundings, I suppose."

"Every time I close my eyes I feel something crawling on me."

Martin had meant it lightly, even jokingly, a sardonic complaint about the bizarre situation they were both in. But when he said it Jon looked at him with sudden concern. Not the quick, searching worry from when he'd asked Martin if there were any worms left, something less urgent, more quiet and sad. Martin shifted uncomfortably, about to say that he didn't mean it, he knew they were dead and it was fine. But before he could speak, Jon got down from the bucket he'd been sitting on and moved closer to him. He leaned against a shelf, legs out, his small body forming a third wall around Martin's corner.

"I can see the vent and door from here. I'll keep an eye out, and if anything comes through rest assured I'll make enough commotion swatting it to wake anyone."

Martin laughed once, a quick, short breath. "I bet. Um," he fidgeted. "We could take shifts? That'd be fair."

"Told you. I keep odd hours." Jon waved a hand dismissively. "I've already gotten some sleep tonight, which, unless my guess is wrong, you haven't. Besides, it should only be a few hours before someone arrives. Don't see the point in splitting the time up."

"If you're sure."

Jon rolled his eyes. "Go to sleep, Martin."

His voice held a familiar annoyed creak, but softened with something friendly, even affectionate. Martin pulled a few drop cloths off a pile and stuck them where the walls met, giving him something to lean more comfortably against. He was slumped against the wall of a storage closet, the sores on his face and arm still ached, and it was far from comfortable. But when his eyes closed and his mind conjured images of squirming things, he felt Jon's presence next to him. Someone was there keeping watch over him, someone who'd see if anything got near, and that was enough to make the crawling feeling fade. For the first time in a long time, Martin was able to drift, his skin calm, his mind settling. A moment later, he was asleep.

He didn't dream much, and what dreams he did have were echoes, brief half-images and sounds replayed from their flight through the tunnels. But there was one moment when he dreamed of opening his eyes, half awake, still there in the supply closet. He'd slumped over onto Jon in his sleep, but Jon didn't seem to mind. He sat with Martin laying across his lap, one arm draped over him protectively, an easy smile on his face. Then the dreamless darkness took Martin back.

Just a dream, of course. When he truly woke he was lying on the floor and Jon was standing, banging on the door and shouting to the emergency workers outside.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #jonmartin #time travel au #the canon typical worms are strong in this one

[linklethehistorian]

Randou and the Sins of Season 3's Fifteen Adaption (Interlude)

Episode  27 — The God of Fire: A Post-Section Addendum

Forgive me for backtracking for a brief moment, but in hindsight, there were two small things — particularly relating to the subsection of this section, which is titled “The Confrontation with Sheep at the Arcade” — that it seems I failed to properly address in my initial posts on this subject.

After realizing this mistake during the long struggle to get back on track with rolling out the rest of my article, it became apparent to me that I had three choices: I could go back and try to edit this information into the main article, hoping that it would fit well into what already existed without clashing with the carefully written transitions between sections, I could wait until the very end of my article and then make a post addressing the matter in hindsight, risking my audience becoming and remaining conflicted over certain bits of information until then, and being totally unaware of the one thing I accidentally skipped over, or I could simply make a separate addendum such as this to address it here and now, as soon as possible, and not have to worry about fitting it directly into the previous section for the time being — without having to give up either the chance to talk about it now or even to potentially go back at the end and try to fit it back into the main article at my leisure, as well.

Naturally, as I’m more than sure you can already see for yourself, given that you’re reading this, I decided to go with the last of these options, as I felt that this was the one that would offer the greatest amount of opportunities, with the least amount of potential problems that could come out of it. As for whether or not I will eventually, upon the completion of this very long analysis and review, attempt to backtrack and merge this added data into its rightful place in the main piece, that is something which I will have to decide when the time comes, even if I have a very optimistic outlook on this prospect right now, but in the meantime, I will just be sharing it with you here, and placing the link to this post somewhere in the Masterlist between the discussions on Episode 27 and Episode 28.

On one final note before we jump into this, if this post seems a bit sloppier than usual or just flows less smoothly than the rest of the article in any way, I truly apologize, but if that is indeed the case, it is likely due to the fact that I have had much less time to plan for my discussion of these things than I have had for everything else I’ve talked about up until this point. I promise that if in hindsight I should sense any need for it, I will attempt to re-write it in a better, more comprehensible format at a later date, but at the moment, I’m afraid that this is the absolute best that I can do if I am to get this information out in a timely manner.

Now, with that said, let’s go ahead and get into the actual things I’d like to talk about.

Dazai’s Previous Invitation to Join Sheep, and the Gang’s Initial Misunderstanding About His Affiliation

Okay, so this one is honestly a little embarrassing for me to admit to forgetting in hindsight, purely because of how often the subject is referenced in the novel despite being completely removed from the television series’ adaption, but in earnest, part of the reason I didn’t even think about it at the time was due to just how inconsequential this information was in the grand scheme of things; nevertheless, for those of you who truly want to know everything that was changed or omitted from Fifteen in the anime — or even just want to know more about the events and details of Dazai’s life — these facts probably still will be of some interest, so I will mention them anyway.

Contrary to how the show presents it, in the original version of the tale, Sheep actually do not immediately look upon Dazai as a threat when they first meet him in the arcade, nor does it even cross their minds that he might be a member of the Port Mafia; rather, their first thought upon seeing and conversing with him was simply that he had to be someone whom Chuuya had been looking to recruit into their own ranks.

Interestingly, it was also very briefly mentioned much earlier in the novel by Dazai himself — back during his and Chuuya’s initial meeting in Suribachi City — that the bandaged brunet actually was once handed a formal invitation by Sheep to join their organization but ultimately refused their offer, although this does not appear to be the reason why the gang now mistakes him as a potential new member of their group, given that, at the very least, the members there in the arcade seem not to recognize him whatsoever; in fact, they even question Chuuya’s behavior in seemingly having chosen to induct him without first receiving the council’s pre-approval — an accusation which Chuuya curiously, actively chooses not to correct, likely purely because he does not want to look like a traitor in their eyes, should they realize Dazai was actually with the Mafia. Indeed, it isn’t until Dazai purposefully outs himself as a mafioso in order to stop them from taking the redhead away with them that Sheep realizes the truth of things — at which point Dazai ends up having their captive members released in order to appease them, as we see in the anime, and things then go on to unfold as I have described previously in my article.

However, while of this might be very intriguing and, at the least, a bit insightful into how Dazai knows as much about the organization as he does, to be totally earnest about the matter, I must reiterate all the same that the removal of this information from the show was on the whole a very wise one that I can wholeheartedly support, for its existence truly doesn’t affect the overall storyline in any majorly impactful way, whatsoever — so much so that even I, a very dedicated Fifteen enthusiast, was able to easily forget about its existence during every one of the multiple times I wrote, read, and re-wrote the section dealing with the episode in which it mostly would have been present.

Looking back on it from that angle, I suppose, then, that my failure to bring it up prior to this probably did not change all that much, but still, in the interest of transparency and thoroughness, I wanted to make a small addendum post about it, anyway — and besides, there was already another matter regarding the arcade scene that I needed to speak on to begin with, so why pass up the opportunity to do this at the same time? There was genuinely no reason why I should have resisted.

Sheep Truly Being the First to Leave the Arcade in the Novel & DarkestJay8686’s English Translations

Now, in regards to that other matter I needed to address, for anyone who might have already read and/or started reading only DarkestJay8686′s English translation of the Fifteen light novel upon discovering my article, I am sure that there is probably a lot of confusion resulting from the conflict between my assurance that Sheep were the first to leave the Arcade before Dazai and Chuuya, and DarkestJay’s translation, which depicts the exact opposite of this, and for that I deeply apologize — not because I am wrong about it (as I am not), but rather, because I failed to discuss this apparent contradiction back when I first brought it up, even though, rightfully, I should have.

Be that as it may, I need you to understand that I did actually have a specific reason for why I had previously chosen refrain from talking about it, as although I did sincerely think about and even strongly consider adding mention of this whole ordeal to my disclaimers and notes at the beginning of this article back when I had first prepared to post it, in the end, I was simply too concerned that it would be considered somehow rude or unfair for me to do so.

My train of thought back then was — mistakenly — that to express anything other than complete praise and pure, unconditional endorsement of DarkestJay’s work would be to instantly and irrevocably make myself come off as a disrespectful, ungrateful monster who has no appreciation for the people who dedicate their free time to making these stories available to non-Japanese speaking members of the fandom, no matter how kindly I may have tried to word what I had to say. I was utterly terrified that, even if I spoke highly of the translation as a whole and encouraged people to read it, if I also had explicitly addressed the reason why I personally did not recommend using it as the sole source of knowledge of the book at the same time and mentioned any of the mistakes I found to be made within their interpretation of events, then I would be seen as criticizing the author for things that truthfully were likely to largely not be in any way their fault. Obviously, in hindsight, this line of thinking was not the best to listen to in light of the misunderstandings it could cause, and I realize that, but these were nevertheless my thought processes at the time; having had time to think deeper on the circumstances now, though, I of course have also come to the conclusion that none of these other concerns of mine need be had, so long as I try to approach the matter as delicately and respectfully as I can, however big these fears may have been at the time, and so, I intend to finally speak about it at long last.

Furthermore, while I in no way want to seem like an opportunistic profiting off of someone else’s misfortune — as I assure you that I, too, was quite saddened to hear of their struggles and wish it hadn’t happened — seeing as that their work was nonetheless sadly removed from WattPad, and they had to relocate to another platform where they wouldn’t have to fear censorship again, thus requiring me to have to provide y’all with a new link that actually works and leads you to where you need to go to read it, I think that is really the perfect time for me to preface my sharing of that new link with this little PSA of a sort.

So, if you’re keen on getting that new link I mentioned and want to learn about the reason why my information about Sheep’s departure from the arcade doesn’t line up with their translations, as well as why it’s inadvisable to use their otherwise mostly excellent translations as your sole source of info on Fifteen rather than reading it alongside the other trusted translation I have provided at the beginning of my article, feel free to hop on over to this post to find out.

[View the masterlist]

#linklethehistorian #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd spoilers #spoilers #bsd season 3 #bsd novels #fifteen #Arthur Rimbaud #bsd arthur rimbaud #Randou #justiceforrandou2k19 #justiceforrandou2k20 #justiceforrandou2k21 #fifteen article #Randou and the Sins of Season 3’s Fifteen Adaption #Episode 27 — The God of Fire #writing #My writing #my thoughts #The Confrontation with Sheep at the Arcade #Interlude #Post-Section Addendum #Sheep Truly Being the First to Leave the Arcade in the Novel & DarkestJay8686’s English Translations #Dazai’s Previous Invitation to Join Sheep and the Gang’s Initial Misunderstanding About His Affiliation

[hollyhomburg]

Sugary Sweet

(Polyamory au) ( Bunny Hybrid! Reader x Tiger Hybrid! Taehyung x Cat Hybrid! Yoongi x Owner! Namjoon)

SUMMARY: Namjoon has a perfect life once he moves out of the city to a cabin alongside his two rescue hybrids, Yoongi and Taehyung. But then one night in the middle of the rainstorm they find you, a bunny hybrid, hiding in their chicken coop.  

WARNINGS: Anxiety attacks, Anxious! Namjoon, mentions of hybrid abandonment, hybrid mistreatment, Half of this is Domestic fluff, possessive behavior. 

W/C: 5,000 words of backstory you don't need + 5,000 words of pure fluff

A/N: ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ THIS IS A VERRY VERRY HAPPY BIRTHDAY PRESENT TO MY MAIN HUMAN @peeachypop ❤️WHO I KNOW IS A SLUT FOR TIGER HYBRID TAEHYUNG AND CAT YOONGI, AND AN INTELECTUAL BOYFRIEND NAMS.❤️❤️❤️ I HOPE YOUR NEXT YEAR IS FILLED WITH AS MUCH FLUFF AS THIS ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

- Namjoon was not what you call a people person, not most days anyway. 

- Most of the time he preferred to sit at his desk in his little box of an apartment building and write away at his laptop, content only to leave if inspiration was failing him or if his need for caffeine overtook his anxiety. 

- Public places made him anxious, the clawing dread in his chest something he couldn’t shove down and live through, of course Namjoon was admittedly living in the middle of one of the largest metropolitan cities in the world. But the feeling didn’t go away and leave him with age like it should have when he’d aged from being a shy school child into being a full-fledged adult with an anxiety disorder. 

- Instead mid twenties Namjoon sat down at his desk for almost a whole year and wrote a book. Of course it was successful, the fantasy and philosophical tidbits combined to an adventure story that captivated audiences. 

- His publishers tried to get him to go for photo ops and for interviews no matter how much they begged Namjoon even as his novel climbed on the bestseller list. He didn’t want to look like a bumbling idiot in front of cameras, all those eyes on him, just the thought of it made him feel like he was going to be sick.

- So Namjoon’s daily routine was this, he woke up at a time most people would consider lunch or even dinner, and wrote for a few hours. Then he would go  out for coffee at around 6 pm or so when everything wasn’t so crowded in his favorite coffee shop (that his best and only friend Jin owned, they’d only became friends with because back when Namjoon’s anxiety wasn’t so bad Namjoon used to write late night in Seokjin’s 24/hour coffee shop.)

- It’s an idea for his next book that makes him adopt a hybrid, because he’d never had one and Namjoon is always thorough in his research, and if he’s going to write about a hybrid character then he needs to know what it’s like to live with one. 

- The beginning of the process is surprisingly easy, but the next step, actually choosing one is the hardest. Namjoon looks in the room of bounding puppies and foxes and bears that are all playing and biting each other’s ears and Namjoon isn't comforted just overwhelmed. 

- Not able to choose Namjoon turns and walks down the hall, thinking that maybe this was a mistake, maybe he should just make the character in his book a human, maybe it was bad of him too want to get a hybrid for selfish reasons when in reality they where so close to people. 

- “Hey watch where you’re going!” a low grumpy voice says the second before Namjoon trips over a pair of stretched out legs. Namjoonfalls flat on his face barely managing to catch himself against the linoleum. He doesn’t even know how he manages to scratch his palms so bad. They make him hiss in pain as he picks himself up.

- “What the fuck! can’t you see anything with those glasses?” the person growls, dressed in all black baggy clothes, a round face with a hood pulled up over his head and a pair of headphones. “Apparently not” Namjoon says wiping his scraped hands on his jeans. One of the attendants comes crashing through the door. “I’m sorry mister! Did he hurt you at all?” Namjoon stutters out a no before they turn to small man that Namjoon tripped over.

- Namjoon is just about to apologize to him again before the attendant hisses almost lower than Namjoon can hear, “you where supposed to be in your pen Yoongi, making sure you didn’t bother the patrons. Now apologize.” Namjoon spies the electric prod through the attendants waste, the way his hand hovers on it and the way Yoongi shrinks into the back, no not the man- the hybrid, whose hands are covered by the large sweatshirt that sticks over his hands, and the black hood that covers lumps which must be ears of some sort.

- “I’m sorry” Yoongi says, his face downward. And Namjoon feels the protective instinct in him swell up. Thoughtlessly he reaches up and pushes back Yoongi’s hood, Yoongi flinches and Namjoon becomes even more displeased as he spies the small black cat ears that are poking out of the hybrids rumpled curly hair.

- “Actually, I was just talking to Yoongi about the possibility of adopting him when I tripped, we where just on our way to the office.” Yoongi’s eyes are wide as dinner plates alongside the attendants, his lips parted, his puffy tail swishing. No matter how hard they try to convince Namjoon to adopt “a more suitable companion.” 

- Namjoon won’t budge. Yoongi is going to be his hybrid. 

- Namjoon assures the facilities manager again and again that he knows the return policy and that this hybrid is the one he wants. The middle-aged woman goes on and on about how Yoongi is the most disobedient and disrespectful hybrid in the whole facility. But her whole speech about how horrible the hybrid next to him is just makes him want to adopt the other more. 

- Yoongi keeps his eyes downcast for the entirety of the meeting, With every negative word Yoongi shrinks a little bit more, his shoulders crumpling in on himself, it’s only when the woman leaves that he talks, “are you sure you still want me?”

- “You want to leave here right?” Namjoon answers. Yoongi sends a tentative glace in the direction of the corner of the room, and Namjoon spies a camera, it’s red eye blinking, recording their conversation . “Please.” Yoongi begs, low and almost a whisper. His eyes down at the floor. Namjoon’s hand comes up to rub against his ears and Yoongi flinches again.

- A 400,000 won adoption fee later and Yoongi is heading out of the adoption facility side by side with Namjoon. His belongings in a black backpack on his back. “It’s not much,” Namjoon says, when he flicks on the light to his pre-war apartment, the brick walls pained over with white and the old fashion fridge and steal sink filled with dishes that Namjoon meant to do this morning before leaving “But I hope it’s enough.”

- He probably should have cleaned up a little bit and now he finds himself shy over how Dingee his apartment looks with cobwebs in the arched ceilings, the piles of his rough draft on the small circular table by the window where Namjoon eats, the battered curtains drawn up close against the windows and the thread bear blue velvet couch that Namjoon falls asleep on editing 9 times out of ten. 

- Yoongi doesn’t make a sound one way or another, but Namjoon busies himself with dishes when he notices Yoongi’s eyes are filling with tears and prattles to Yoongi about his collection of take-out menus and that Yoongi can choose tonight. Yoongi’s not upset about the state of the apartment though- he’s so so happy, because this place is his, he’d never had his own space before.  

- Over the first few weeks of owning Yoongi, Namjoon starts to realize, Namjoon might not be a people person because he’s hybrid person. 

- Yoongi could be biting in his comments and harsh with his undertones but at the end of the day, he never curled up on Namjoon’s pull out couch to sleep, instead preferring to curl up around Namjoon’s thighs in Namjoon’s bed.

- Even if he pretended that he didn’t want cuddles when Namjoon would enter his room around bedtime and find the small hybrid curled up in the very middle of his bed watching some TV show on the TV propped up on his dresser. Even if the hybrid hissed at Namjoon when he initially tried to pet his ears, it was always around the third of 4th pass when Yoongi finally relaxed against Namjoon, the slow purring filling his bedroom. 

- Yoongi might bitrate and badger Namjoon for more cream in the fridge or laugh openly whenever Namjoon trips, but he always always always purrs when Namjoon shows him any sort of affection. The low rumbling making Namjoon smirk, and Yoongi blush as his eyes blink closed lazily. 

- After the first few weeks, once Yoongi gets comfortable Namjoon is sure that Yoongi is the most affectionate hybrid that he’s ever met. 

- Namjoon doesn’t realize how much the companionship is doing for his mental health, his anxiety, until they go out to the store one-day together. Usually he would never think about going to the store during the day, but Yoongi literally drags him away from the first draft of his novel and makes Namjoon go. 

- “I swear to god Joon if you live off of microwave meals forever you’re going to get an ulcer and die” he hisses when Namjoon tries to drag it out so that E-mart will be a little bit less crowded from people just getting off work. But Namjoon just smiles’, knowing the bickering is how Yoongi shows he cares. 

- They go to the store, and with Yoongi by his side Namjoon doesn’t get anxious at all. It’s a miracle really, and when Namjoon realizes it late one night when they’re walking through the crowded streets of Gangnam, feeling as at ease as he would in his own home. He would have gotten a hybrid much much sooner if he knew it would have had such a positive effect on his life, and as far as hybrids go…Namjoon can tell that Yoongi is special. 

- But then one day, Yoongi looses him in the crowd, there are too many faces, too many people moving at a brisk pace through the lit up streets of Myeongdong, food stalls advertise food with shouts that crowd out his mind, and then someone recognizes him from the cover on the back of his book and shouts his name and even more people turn and Namjoon can’t breath as someone takes out their phone and shoves a camera in his face the flash making white spots dance along with the black in his vision. 

- Yoongi’s hand is like a vice around his as he pulls Namjoon away towards the subway station. Namjoon curls into Yoongi’s shoulder and doesn’t look at a single person as he shakes through the end of the panic attack on the subway ride home. Listening only to Yoongi’s voice as it says low in his ear “we’re gonna be okay Namjoon- you’re okay, no ones looking at you, hell I won’t look at you if you don’t want me too.” 

- It takes a few weeks, and more than a few days with Yoongi curled up on the pull out couch and Namjoon’s bed, Namjoon’s head buried in Yoongi’s shoulder. Before Namjoon can even think about setting foot outside again. 

- And then the eventual question from Yoongi “if Seoul makes you so anxious- why don’t you just move?” 

- “Don’t you like the city?” Namjoon asks, by lew of an answer. Really Namjoon could move, he only meets with his publishers every few months and his editor, Jimin communicates with him mostly through email or Skype call. Namjoon could move to the countryside and out of Seoul. but Namjoon thought Yoongi had grown up in the city like himself, and that he would want to stay, “Not if it make you like this Joon.” Yoongi admits, his teeth gnawing on his lower lip as the hybrid looks up at him from beneath his lashes, concerned. 

- Namjoon searches for a house in the greater Seoul area and comes across a few good options, a modern loft in a residential neighborhood, but that doesn't have a yard, or a condo- which is right next to a park near a train station and this gorgeous little turn of the century cabin, with two stories and two bedrooms. His second novel peaks at number 2 on the best sellers list. “We need to get a car before we buy a house out there.” Namjoon realizes a few weeks after that- because as much as pictures are lovely he knows Yoongi needs to see the house in person. 

- They find a gently used car for sale on Facebook and Namjoon is just walking to pick It up in the theater district early one evening when he spies something.

- The red circus tent is being dismantled, half of the red and white spiral fabric hangs limp or gently flapping in the brisk wind. A lone workman operates a lift putting cages into the back of the truck.

- Namjoon walks by it slowly, eyeing the grubby body in the bottom of that crate. The sound of chains rattling as the hybrid inside pulls against the chains snags his attention.  The workman notices Namjoon looking and Namjoon shrinks, abashed to be caught staring. “Hey cut that out!” the man growls hitting a wrench against the side of the cage. The hybrid inside flinches back for a moment and stills before he starts pulling again. 

- Namjoon make eye contact with the pair of the most beautiful golden eyes that he’s ever seen; the boy is dirty, the striped tail that curls around his body protectively (for some form of comfort or warmth) is grubby brown when it should be orange. He’s probably a few years younger than Namjoon is. Namjoon spies curved orange ears sticking out the top of his head and reverses direction. 

- “Where are these hybrids going to go?“ he asks the workman, who looks down at him before he finishes loading the crate onto the truck and pulls away. Namjoon waits as he gets out of the lift and hops down.

- “The circus is shut down, this ones probably going to be euthanized, he’s the only rare-breed that couldn’t be auctioned off, while the domestic breeds will be sent to adoption agencies.”

- Namjoon peers into the container, and sees a gaggle of dog and cat hybrids that are huddled, each of their hands and feet bound, watching Namjoon with scared and hungry eyes. The tiger hybrid in the cage’s expression is desolate, he knows where he’s headed, but still his hands pull against the chains that fasten him to the bottom of the cage, unable to give up quite yet. 

- The money for the car in his pocket feels so heavy like it might bring Namjoon to the floor or tear a hole through his pocket. Namjoon makes a split second decision, fuck getting a car, “I’ll give you 5 million won right now if you give him to me.” 

- The delivery man looked at the wad of cash in Namjoon’s hands like he might not take it. “You know what you’re offering to do is extremely illegal.” Namjoon’s jaw was tense, he knows the laws about illegal adoptions, but he stares the workman down. The man sighs and takes the envelope, after a moment, glancing at the money inside, before he takes out his keys. Namjoon heaved a sigh of relief. 

- The hybrid had heard the entire conversation but still wasn’t saying anything, he skitters back against the wall when the man unlocks the front door of the cage, taking care to unlock the shackles around his ankles before stepping back.  

- Those golden eyes where stuck open blinking wildly. The boy shivering, his shoulders tense and his curved ears pinned back to his head as he curled his hands around the bars of the cage and hopped out of back of the truck. Namjoon saw a full body shiver run through him as his bare feet hit the floor. 

- The man undid the shackles around his wrists. The hybrid hissing and biting his lip when they rip away from the red skin, broken in the place around the ball of his wrist. 

- The hybrid can barely walk, let alone think about trying to escape as he goes from one captor to another. The man doesn’t look threatening but Taehyung knows you can never be sure.  His muscles are too tired to fight anymore to resist going with the man who looks well dressed, in a thick wool coat and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. 

- Namjoon shocks Taehyung by pulling off that coat and tossing it over Taehyung’s bare shoulders, making him shrink further into himself before he clutches the jacket around his chest and lets Namjoon hook an arm underneath one of his as he sways at the rush of blood to his head, narrowly keeping him from falling over. “It’s okay. I’ve got you” Namjoon says as he starts to lead Taehyung back down the street in the direction of his apartment. 

- “I don’t like him, he take up so much room.” Yoongi whines after the third day, Taehyung is stretched out on Namjoon and Yoongi’s couch on his stomach his bushy tail waving lazily as he dozes, his fun now clean and a light orange color, his golden eyes closed to the world. 

- Taehyung even has stripes, slightly darker patches his skin that tan a little darker and quicker than the rest of him, he’s spent the last few days looking out the “portal” (that Yoongi continually corrected him where called “windows”), so the small ones on his face are the most noticeable. 

- When Namjoon had taken him home and taken a look at his injured wrists, he’d also gotten a look at the back of his thighs and back, scared from countless whippings that where fresh in a few places. It would be a few more days until he could lie on his back comfortably, and Namjoon had already bought the hybrid a can of scarring cream. (He even went to the store to buy it by himself, Yoongi was insanely proud. Even if the shock of Namjoon bringing home another hybrid instead of the car he was supposed to buy prevented him from saying it just yet.) 

- “He doesn’t have anywhere else to go Yoon, and I won’t put him out on the street.” Namjoon hushes from his desk in his bedroom. Aware that Taehyung can probably hear him. 

- Despite his upbringing, the tiger hybrid is anything but cold, though it did take a few days for his sunny personality to shine through the years of trained obedience reinforced by abuse. He’d broken a plate on his 5th night, and Namjoon had blanched when Taehyung had shrunk and pleaded, “please don’t beat me” in a hushed voice. 

- Namjoon had been overcome with guilt and horror at those 4 soft words.  And the hybrid had shook through his first hug ever as Namjoon had wrapped in him in his arms and tucked his orange head against his shoulder. Yoongi too- had folded himself against the hybrids back, and Taehyung had watched astounded as Yoongi scent marked him nuzzling into his shoulder and letting out a reassuring purr that made Namjoon melt.  

- Namjoon sat him down and tried to assure the hybrid that he wasn’t going to be treated that way here. Or ever again if Namjoon had anything to say about it.  After that incident, Yoongi lets Taehyung cuddle him whenever he wants- which is most of the time. 

- After the initial shyness melted away came the unassuming wonder at everything in the world, Taehyung had only ever seen the world outside of a metal cell or a large stage, and now he found the things that Yoongi and Namjoon overlooked exceeding endearing and excited. Taehyung tripped over his words, telling Namjoon about everything and everything that he had spied about the window out his apartment. 

- “You mean we have a mailman!? The same man who delivers mail to all of Seoul stops by our apartment building! Someone should give him a present for doing so much work!” Taehyung is so excited to learn about the most mundane of things that Namjoon can’t burst his bubble, even if Yoongi tries, his nonplused and realist side making an appearance no matter how Namjoon tries to discourage him from bursting the adorable bubble that is Kim Taehyung. 

- Taehyung Splashes in the water of Namjoon’s small bathtub with his large hands making Yoongi hiss when he tries to force the other hybrid to take a bath with him. Whining cutely when Namjoon clipped his nails (Namjoon was lucky that Taehyung didn’t actually have claws- it was just that the people at the circus had made him grow his nails out too look like them) and that endlessly boxy smile that lit up the entire apartment, even making Yoongi blush.

- Taehyung was so loveable, constantly throwing himself on top of Namjoon when he works, never even thinking about sleeping on the couch instead preferring to curl around Yoongi or the foot of Namjoon’s bed at night. 

- Yoongi is his favorite thing to cuddle, no matter how the other hybrid whined and pushed him away, complaining to Namjoon when the younger nibbled and licked at Yoongi’s ears in something similar to grooming. Yoongi yowls and swats at Taehyung when he calls Yoongi “cub” ignoring him for a whole day and almost reducing the younger hybrid to tears. After that Taehyung always calls him hyung. 

- With Taehyung they definitely need more space, and Tae looks so forlorn looking out of the window every chance he gets, his tail swishing behind him every time someone walks down the street below. Namjoon wishes he had a yard or someplace to let Taehyung burn off all of his energy, It’s been a struggle to get legal papers for the hybrid and until he does, Namjoon can’t let him go outside so much. 

- Namjoon expedites the process for moving them. Getting a car finally so that they can take trips with a realtor to the outskirts of Seoul. The cottage that Namjoon finally decides on is a cozy 2 story with 2 bedrooms, the master with it’s attached study making up the entire second floor, it’s got a nice balcony there too and a combined living room and kitchen on the ground floor. the patio doors open up from the kitchen onto an old brick semi-circle. 

-  The whole building is made for a view of the rolling forested hills that start at the edge of their property. The Realator even says there are trails there. Namjoon’s never been a nature person but maybe he could be. It’s a little older, with squeaky floorboards but a lot of chareter, Taehyung says he can fix it up (a nice thought, but Yoongi and Namjoon both cringe when they think about letting Taehyung near power tools) 

- Taehyung certainly loves it- especially when he spies the open back yard and the pond at the border of their property, traipsing through it and getting covered with mud Much to Yoongi’s disgust. 

- “I am not letting you cuddle me until you’ve had at least 2 baths Tae” he growls when Taehyung tries to drown the other with hugs. Namjoon can’t bring it in himself to refuse him as Taehyung hugs him in the yard getting his black slacks dirty. 

- Namjoon’s squeal of protest makes a muted clucking resonate from the side of the house. Taehyung’s ears perk up, his tail stilling. “No no no Tae-“ Namjoon says, dashing after him when he takes off. The realtor mentioned something about chickens, and Namjoon feels dread fill his stomach as he thinks about explaining to them that yeah my hybrid attacked one of your chickens but it’s not really his fault because it’s just in his instincts too want to chase after things that are small and prey sized. 

- Coming around the side of the house with Yoongi hot on his heels. How the hell Taehyung managed to fit his shoulders and his whole body through a tiny door Namjoon doesn’t know, but he’s sitting in the chicken coup with one of the hens forcefully restrained in his lap, the ripple of purring immediately halting Namjoon and Yoongi as Taehyung rubs his scent all over the chicken.  

- “Fluffy babies.”  Taehyung says, while he pets rougher than the chicken likes. The chicken squawks and tries to get away, very uncomfortable with Taehyung’s forceful show of affection but unable to escape his hands. “my fluffy babies.” 

- “Did you like the house?” the relator asks when they come back inside. After they bribed Taehyung with ice-cream to get out of the chicken coop. “We’ll take it” Yoongi smiles, his hand on the small of Taehyung’s back, their tails entwine behind their back, something Yoongi only allows when he’s been feeling particularly affectionate.

- Moving is easy when you’ve got two young hybrids to help pack everything away and shove it into a small moving van. Namjoon says goodbye to his old apartment and the city he grew up in with both of his hybrids chatting away in the back seat of his car. 

- The hills and forest behind the cottage are misty in the morning of late fall. One of the unrealized consequences of moving out of Seoul is that now they can’t eat out for every meal (though there is a pizza place and an panda express in town that they order from often enough) but Yoongi surprisingly becomes the de facto cook.

- The countryside is much better for Namjoon’s mental health than the city was, in the mornings; he looks out from the second story balcony and feels calmness settle into his bones. Sometimes Yoongi will join him, wrapping his arms around Namjoon’s waist and nuzzling his head between his shoulders. 

- “You stole my heater.” Yoongi complains when Namjoon finally turns around. Namjoon kisses the pout off of Yoongi’s face, making him gasp and grip the front of Namjoon’s shirt.

- “You still have your other one back there.” Namjoon nods at their bedroom. The king-sized bed- freshly purchased, and Taehyung starfished in the middle of it, laying on his stomach, his tail flicking in his sleep. “Yeah but that one snores worse than you do.” 

- Namjoon’s chuckle rouses Taehyung from sleep. And he blinks up at them wearily, making grabby hands in their direction and whining for them to keep cuddling him.  Neither Namjoon nor Yoongi can turn him down. 

- It’s not a surprise when Namjoon finds both of his hybrids kissing one morning, Yoongi hoisted up on the counter in the kitchen so that he’s taller than Taehyung for once. Taehyung’s hands wrapped in Yoongi’s thighs almost swallowing them. When they pull away, Yoongi is so flustered that he nearly combusts when he sees Taehyung smirking at Namjoon like the cat that got the cream. 

- One month in, a fox sneaks into Taehyung’s chicken coop and kills 2 out of the 10 chickens, including his favorite one, a caramel colored on that was the softest according to Tae. Taehyung cries about it for a week and then he goes on a hunt, scouring the forested hills behind their property for any sign of the fox, and crying more when he finds none.  

- Thunder and a rainstorm rage outside a week after Taehyung gives up the hunt.  Namjoon’s family sits cozy at their wooden table with the chipped edges, warm soup and fresh bread almost ready to be eaten, Taehyung is telling Namjoon animatedly about a website he found that would let them order chickens like can you even believe that you can get baby chicks through the mail, like what do they eat when they’re- 

- And suddenly Taehyung stops, going still in the listless predatory way he does sometimes, his ears tilt in the direction of his chicken coup. Tae’s ears pick up on some movement outside making him dash out the door in fear, forgetting his shoes. Feet splashing in the mud outside the patio door left open in his hurry. 

- Taehyung has much finer senses than Yoongi does, so its not surprising that Taehyung picked up on the disturbance before Yoongi. But the other still dashes after him, Namjoon pulls on his shoes less quick then the others grabbing a flashlight off the mantle. 

- The wind outside pushes rain in his face as Namjoon trots towards the chicken coup, “Namjoon!” Yoongi yells, his voice panicked “come quick!” Namjoon starts running, not bothering to pull up the hood to his jacket against the coming rain; Yoongi is holding Taehyung back as his low growl ripples threateningly like the thunder above them. 

- And then through the coop a small, tiny whimper. Namjoon grabs a hold of Taehyung and peers around him dropping his flashlight in shock at what he sees. 

- Yoongi manages to tear Taehyung out of the door as Namjoon crouches down. “Hey there- they’re no need to be afraid,” he says, making his voice low and honeyed. Stretching out his hand. 

- The bunny hybrid in front of his is impossibly small, pillowed among the fresh hay that Taehyung had put in there just a day ago, clad in clothes that are no where near warm enough for the weather and soaked to the bone.  

- You shake with a mixture of fear and cold, your bunny ears almost hidden with how they’re tucked close to your skull. “I didn’t mean to trespass- I’m sorry I- it’s just so cold outside and-” you cut off with a whimper hiding your face in your hands.

-  Namjoon feels movement behind him and its Tae who’d momentarily gotten out of Yoongi’s hold Tae’s looking at you like he’s more curious than worried but you whimper and shrink back into the corner. 

- And Namjoon is pushing them both away, “No! no- don’t worry about them.” Yoongi murmurs that he’ll take Tae inside, and you relax when they disappear from view. “I’m sorry about Tae he’s just a little overprotective of his ladies” as if sensing that you’re talking about them- the chickens around you coo and huff in their feathers. You peer out of your hands at the chickens. Who look at you interested- to them you must smell different from the other hybrid they’re accustomed to hanging around.  

- “This chicken coop is no place someone to spend the night” Namjoon says, straitening up slowly as to not startle you, his hand still outstretched, “especially in this weather, but my houses is far warmer.” You stair at Namjoon’s hand for a moment, and internally he coos when your nose and your ear twitches. 

- You gnaw on your lower lip, but then you reach out tentatively so that you can take his hand and he can pull you up to your full height. You don’t even have to stoop in the chicken coop, whereas Taehyung almost has to double over. 

- How can someone be so small, Namjoon wonders as he carefully leads you back inside. You almost bolt again, several times, especially when you see Tae and Yoongi peering at you from around the corner as Namjoon ushers you upstairs. You’re still shaking like a leaf when he settles you into a bath and leaves you to disrobe and warm up in peace, saying that there’s some stew waiting for you downstairs when you’re ready. Leaving some clean clothes outside your door. 

- “I don’t want either of you making her feel uncomfortable when she comes downstairs, she’s skittish, and she’s clearly been through a lot, I don't want her getting startled.” 

- “It’s probably because we’re predators” Yoongi notes, carefully picking the meat out of a portion of the stew he made leaving the vegetables, especially careful to give you most of the baked carrots. Taehyung whines at Yoongi’s words, “I swear I wouldn’t have like- attacked her or anything- I was just so surprised to find another hybrid on our property.” 

- “uhm Namjoon” a quiet voice- your voice says from the doorway, you’re only half in it, hiding from behind the edge to shield your body, even in Yoongi’s clothes the long sleeve shirts is almost falling off your shoulder, the pants tied tights around a tiny waist the little black cotton tail poking out the hole that was usually for Yoongi’s tail.

- Yoongi and Namjoon resist the urge to coo when you blush, Taehyung watches you with his golden eyes, his tail swishing back and forth quickly. “Here darling” Namjoon says, extending a hand which you take and sit at the table, sitting on your hands, your ears are still pushed back against your wet hair. Still pinned back. 

- By the time you’ve finished your stew you’re nearly asleep in the soup bowl, slumped in your chair asleep, tipping to your left into Yoongi who catches you almost barely. His hand comes up shakily, Shure you’re still partially awake when he combs his hands through your hair, feeling the silkiness of your black ears. twined through your hair, pink in the middle and black on the outside, they twitch, your nose mimicking them when your head falls against his shoulder. a little buzzing noise coming out of your throat, sounding something like contentment. 

- Yoongi resists the urge to purr. His hand stills on your forehead, his eyebrows knit together, “she feels a little warm.” He murmurs to Namjoon and Taehyung. 

- Yoongi carries you to onto the couch, which Namjoon has cast a sheet over, lying your head against the pillow where you barely stir as Taehyung throws their fluffiest blanket over you, your feet quirking to the side kicking a little as your ears perk up. 

- Namjoon rests his hand against your flushed cheeks, Yoongi is right, a fever is slowly starting to rise within you. 

- “I don’t wanna take medicine” you whine when Namjoon makes you take some the next morning, though you have to admit you don’t feel so good, the heat in your body makes you feel hazy and not all there as you let a predator, an actual predator cuddle up to your side, though Taehyung whines from the doorway, still watching you. Though admittedly he’d tried, and you’d almost jumped off of the couch before Namjoon stopped Taehyung with a raised hand. 

- You’re not exactly intimidated by the tiger hybrid still, but your first meeting wasn’t exactly glowing by any review- so you’re comfortable with him staying away for now. “Would some carrots make it better?” Yoongi plies, and you’re distracted momentarily, but you still won’t open your mouth to take Namjoon’s waiting spoon full of red liquid for your throat. 

- Yoongi’s fingers tickle your bunny tail and make you shout, giving Namjoon the perfect opportunity to shove the medicine in your mouth. You’re pouty and angry at all of them until Yoongi brings you carrots and some more munchies including strawberry ice cream that makes your ears flop and twitch happily.  

- Namjoon lets you stretch out across his lap as he pets your ears, by the end of the day you’re feeling better, not quite so hazy and you gush to him about how you didn’t know something could be so cute and yummy at the same time.

- Which of course Leeds Namjoon to buying you a light pink pullover and a white skirt as well as knee socks and a whole bunch of pastel clothing that you absolutely adore wearing. Even getting you a little bit of makeup because girls like that sort of thing don’t they? 

- Namjoon cannot resist spoiling all of you; he’s always sitting next to you and pulling you to lie against him, as well as hoisting your feet up in his lap to rub a lazy thumb across your shins. It takes you a little while to adjust to just how affectionate Namjoon and the others can be, but you begin to accept more of it. As spring warms to summer Namjoon finds himself taking the three of you out more often, into town and into the outskirts of the city. 

- Official adoption papers where easy to come by for you and Taehyung now that you where both out of the city where the laws where more harsh. Stray hybrids where often found out here and adopted as farm hands, it was easy to claim both you and Taehyung as adoptees. And Namjoon even got a tax right off. 

- He celebrates by taking the three of his hybrids out to the movies and dinner, and you all argue between which movie you should see, a mystery (Yoongi’s choice), an action thriller (Taehyung’s choice), and a romantic comedy (your choice.)

- It’s not surprising to Namjoon that they end up watching the romantic comedy. All you have to do is pout and Taehyung and Namjoon melt unable to resist you and the way your ears flop around your face, your eyes wide and almost tear-filled, your nose twitching cutely. 

- God they are so so whipped for you already it’s not even funny. 

- Yoongi is the only one who it take convincing, and he ends up pouting on the other side of Namjoon who holds your hand through all the sad parts while Taehyung practically wails on the other side of you, always a little sensitive. 

- “You’re all a bunch of crybabies.” Yoongi complains, but later you catch him holding onto your hand a little tighter, not wanting to let it go when you go to get fresh fruit parfaits afterword’s at the only all-night restaurant in town and you know the sad ending where the two love interests don’t end up together is weighing on him in a way he won’t express. 

- You’re still sleeping in the living room that night when Yoongi comes down and peels back the covers to slip underneath your little burrow of warmth to press his head against your neck and scent mark you, the usual way he greets you now. “Wanna come to the big bed tonight?” he asks, and you make a non-committal noise as he pulls you up. 

- In the main bedroom Taehyung is already asleep, but Namjoon is still writing more, his head against the headboard and his eyes tired, glasses pushed up on his face as he sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, making it stick up in all sorts of directions. 

- “Joonie you should go to sleep.” Yoongi says, “the writers block will be better in the morning” forcefully pushing Namjoon’s laptop closed “just one more second, need to save,” he says, barely casting you a glance as you go over to his side of the bed and tell him too scoot over while Yoongi peals back Taehyung’s arms and settles himself under the crook up his elbow. 

- Yoongi’s tail flicks as he watches Namjoon write a few more seconds. Finally leaning up to press a kiss to his lips and take the laptop out of his lap. “Alright alright” Namjoon says when his hybrid pulls away, his lips pink and damp and cute. “Bed now- I get it-“

- Namjoon runs a hand down your back next to him where you’re propped up on a pillow under your chest too look at him. Namjoon see’s the way you’re looking at him and know, knows what you’re thinking and what you want. After all how many goodnight kisses does Taehyung whine for on the regular? It took at least a dozen to get him to go to sleep that night without Yoongi in the bed even though he was bone tired from repairing the chicken coup today. 

- “Want a goodnight kiss sweetheart?” Your tail twitches happily as you nod, Namjoon leans one hand supporting himself on the other side of your head, his lips sweet and soft that make you sigh against the seem of his lips. 

- Yoongi would never say anything, but in that moment, he looks up at Tae and finds him watching you with something like longing in his eyes. But he doesn’t mention it ever, only holding onto the other hybrids shoulder and nuzzling further into him. 

- Yoongi looks up more vegetable heavy recipes for you, looking up online the correct balance and dietary needs of prey hybrids, as canine hybrids can basically eat like humans with no bad effects but you’ll get sick if you eat even half as much meat as Taehyung, Yoongi, and Namjoon do. 

- You feel a little guilty that sometimes Yoongi has to make you something entirely different when he cooks dinner offering to help him constantly.  You know how stressed it makes him when Taehyung asks for bulgogi and pad thai which Yoongi doesn’t even know how to make. And of course Taehyung is too adorable to turn down, but Yoongi simply can’t make all of that by himself. 

- So you help Yoongi in the kitchen sometimes, because Taehyung manages to cut himself almost consistently within the first 20 minutes of cooking every time. And after the last one needed stitches and had him licking at it for a few weeks, he has been officially banned from the kitchen. Whenever Namjoon tries Yoongi just straight up growls at him because he is not dealing with cleaning up after Namjoon. 

- And you guys have a fun doing it too, cooking is always better with a companion and though you’re not entirely hopeless Yoongi does enjoy teaching you how to cook, humming alongside you in the kitchen as he stirs some fishcake around with wooden chopsticks. 

- You express a desire to learn how to bake and not cook which Yoongi can't help with but agrees to try, and by the time you have the batter for the strawberry shortcake poured in the pan Yoongi’s black hair is almost grey with how much flower is in it. he obsessively grooms himself later that night, alongside you whose ears have turned similarly as powdery from hanging in your face like they do when you’re concentrating. 

- You giggle when Yoongi grooms them giving into his urge to care for you. These instincts regarding mates can be annoying for cat hybrids like Yoongi- who ignores his animal instincts as much as he can most of the time. 

- Yoongi thinks your ears are absolutely adorable when they hang in your face or when one of them lifts in the direction of whoever's talking when you’re concentrated like that. It’s almost like they have a life of their own

- You complain about them sometimes, pushing back your ears from your face when you get a little too focused on something and they block your vision. One morning you come down to find a pink scrunch on the table and ask Yoongi who blushes and stutters.

- “I got it for your ears because you don’t like the way rubber bands feel on your hair” Yoongi recalled that the other day when you went to the store and picked up hair ties, notifying Namjoon that rubber band just wouldn’t work. And that regular hair ties pinch your ears too much “ you know- so that they don’t get into your face when we cook or when you’re trying to do your makeup.” 

- You forget to put it on most of the time until you’re already doing something, because it does look a little goofy when you tie up your ears, your hands elbow deep in the dishes when you call Yoongi’s name and he swoops up your ears and fastens them together on top of your head with the pink scrunchie. 

- And then you start to lose it, Yoongi finds it under the couch and sighs, putting it on his own wrist where it lives when you’re not using it, always ready in case you ask for it. Namjoon smirks at him when he catches Yoongi looking at it one day and tugging at it with a little lovesick expression. “Stop looking at me like that” he growls, trying to disguise the flush on his cheeks. “It’s not my fault I’m the only one who can keep track of things in this house.” 

- Yup, Yoongi is definitely whipped for you. 

- Eventually you get good enough with makeup to try and beg Yoongi to let you put on him “hell no y/n, I’m like some fierce panther or something I am not letting you put me in bubble gum lipstick.” 

- “I could put some on!” Taehyung says, and you giggle a little and shyly put on some red on his lips, and when he leans over and kisses your cheek, making you startle and hop back, he grins when he sees the kiss mark he’s left. Which of course Leeds Taehyung to kissing you all over your face to leave little red marks, and then begging for you to apply more so that he can give Yoongi and Namjoon the same treatments.

- Taehyung wakes one morning early, gets out of bed because he knows its going to be a nice day and the chickens will probably need to be let out to mill about the back yard. And he descends the rickety stairs and find you already in the kitchen, drinking some tea and clacking away on the phone that Namjoon bought you last week.

- Taehyung gives you a small smile, staring at you with longing as he tells you good morning, your ears flick in his direction as you lift your head in his direction as you give him a small smile that makes his heart race. And Taehyung can’t bear it any longer, doesn’t want to stay away anymore, he’s been trying to give you enough space to get comfortable with him like Joonie said. 

- “Do y-you wanna come out and get the eggs with me today?” you take a sip of your earl grey tea, looking like you’re going to refuse and Taehyung wonders why he even bothered when he knew you weren’t ready when your ears perk up in interest, and you stand to put your teacup in the sink. 

- Taehyung stutters as he tells you their names, his too-big boots sloshing a little as you spread some seed around in the grass, making excited little noises every time they cluck, even mimicking the little noises Taehyung makes and giggling with him as he does this little call and response thing with his chickens.  

- “And now the best part” he grins, opening up the back of the coup to have access to the nests, “they’re still warm!” you cry in delight as Tae deposits two brown eggs into your hands and takes the rest that are there in his hands 3 in one hand and 2 in the other. 

- The big fluffy white chicken that’s too shy to let Taehyung get within a foot of her comes up next to you, pecking around your feet as you watch her in wonder. “She’s super shy I wouldn’t try to pet her” Taehyung warns, he himself had gotten pecked more than once.  You stoop down, the chicken gives you soft clucks as Taehyung pouts, and your smile soft and eyes wide in wonder as you she lets you pet her before fluffing her feathers and moving away. 

- “She never lets me do that!” he cries later when they’re inside, Yoongi clacking away on his computer and Namjoon upstairs writing. Yoongi’s ears flick in annoyance as he spies the way you’re no longer skirting around Taehyung like he has the plague or some very nasty infectious disease, “I can’t believe you got marshmallow to trust you! I feel betrayed!” 

- “Marshmallow did what now?” Namjoon says as he descends the stairs, still in his pajamas even though its nearly 2 in the afternoon his hair sticking up the way it does when his writers block is particularly bad. Of course all of them know the names of Taehyung’s chickens by now, given how much he talked about them.

- Taehyung launches into the story as you fold yourself against Yoongi on the couch, your body a line up against him, he purrs and nudges into your shoulder, tempting a lick against your cheek, which make you squeak. 

- “Stop that” you whine as Yoongi pulls you against his chest, lying his laptop on your lap instead of his but hooking his chin over the side of your shoulder so that he can still see it “Don’t lie and say you hate it,” which makes you pout but you accept his affection, your small cotton tail twitching against his thigh. 

- Seokjin comes to visit Namjoon’s new house and you’re entirely smitten with the gorgeous human, your ears shyly pinned to your head the entire time he’s here, smoothing out the giant sweater of Namjoon’s every few seconds and almost melting when Seokjin says “you have the best luck finding the most well behaved and beautiful hybrids.”

- Seokjin even reaches out and closes his hand around the base of your ear, drawing his hand away to feel the silky texture, “I have half a mind to take one for myself.” You squeak and blush and hide your face in Namjoon’s shoulder as both of them men chuckle.

- But Namjoon smiles as you perpetually hide behind him, “he’s just teasing you sweetheart,” Namjoon says as you shyly peer at Seokjin out of your protected place behind Namjoon’s chair. It feels kind of nice when you hide behind him, trusting your human to be your protector.

- It was easy for Namjoon to rely on Taehyung and Yoongi for most things, especially when it came to his anxiety, but to feel depended on in the way you depend on Namjoon makes his heart swell with this different kind of pride. You make Namjoon feel strong and protective. He pulls you to sit across his lap and lock his arms around you. You still hide your face in Namjoon’s neck, peering out at the other human every few seconds. 

- Yoongi and Taehyung boil though at Seokjin’s words, because no one is going to mess with your little unit even if they’re just joking, and Tae can’t believe that Namjoon’s human friend got to touch you like that, though a look from Yoongi stops Tae from growling at Seokjin. 

- Petty as always, Taehyung and Yoongi don’t let Seokjin pet them like usual before he leaves, instead he snuggles up to you screaming “Aish! You brats- you don’t know how to properly love your hyung!” Tae even steps forward like he’s going to do something when Seokjin presses a kiss too your cheek in goodbye, making you squeak and blush.

- That night Taehyung and Yoongi are a little bit possessive of you crowding you in-between the both of them on the couch while you watch movies, not letting you get up to make popcorn or for drinks. Taehyung even squeezes your shoulders in a relaxing back massage, smirking when you relax into his hands, tipping your head back, your ears relaxed at your size even when he nibbles a little at your ears. 

- Namjoon thinks it’s absolutely adorable how possessive his two hybrids are over you. 

- You and Namjoon go on walks in the mist in the early mornings sometimes when Taehyung and Yoongi take forever to wake up, with him by your side the woods don’t seem as scary as they did back when you lived in them.  

- Most of the time Namjoon will link his arm with yours and tell you in his low timbre about the fantasy worlds he imagines just behind the hills that you walk through. And it’s amazing how for Namjoon, it always seems like adventure is around the corner of the wooded path. 

- Living in the wilderness has been amazing for his productivity, writing, and imagination. He’s content to bounce his ideas off of you in your morning walks and not actually live through the adventures he dreams up. Namjoon finds you a surprisingly good beta reader as well and you absolutely swoon when he writes romance into his fantasy stories. 

- One day you read his draft and stomp up to his office and pout, your ears twitching agitated and your foot even stomping, “you can not leave a romance story this good at such a cliffhanger Namjoon! Your readers are going to hunt you down and slap you before I do!” Namjoon just grins and says with a wry smile, “I can tell you how the next book ends if it will make you feel better?” 

- Some mornings you don’t join Namjoon for his early walk, and on those you’ll wake up to soft bluebells or pink cosmos from the feilds lying on his pillow next to your head, or on one of the shelves in your closet, or in one of the brush containers by your makeup stash in the bathroom. 

- Sometime Taehyung will wake up early as well and join you- though in those times the conversation will often turn into a horror story retelling which will make you press closer too the two of them with every strange noise that greets you on your walk- which of course was Taehyung’s plan all along. 

- One day Taehyung goes into the shared master bedroom to find it in chaos every single blanket and pillow in the house alongside some of their clothes piled into a big puddle. He finds you sleeping in one of Taehyung’s red sweatshirt in the center of the nest. Your cream silk shorts poking out from underneath the hem, one of your socks pulled up your thigh and the other down around your ankle. 

- Taehyung huffs and crawls into the middle of the nest and wraps his arms around you. Nesting or burrowing is a regular enough behavior of rabbit hybrids that it doesn’t alarm Taehyung though you’ve never made one out of the bedroom before. 

- You wake up a little making sleepy noises and letting out the cutest little yawn, your black bunny ears twitching aggressively for a moment and then going totally still the next as he snuggles in next to you. You let Taehyung manhandle you across his chest and you’re vaguely aware of him purring and rubbing his chin around the top of your head.

- “You’re mine- my fluffy bunny.” He murmurs his voice a low growl as he scent marks you again and again until you’re bathed in the tiger’s rich spicy scent.

- You’re in and out of a haze sleeping in your little nest/fort thing that you’ve made but somewhere along the afternoon Yoongi joins in on the other side of you, rubbing at your shoulder too, crowded in between both of them and unbelievably warm. 

- Yoongi’s tail, always more dexterous than Tae’s thicker one curls around one of your legs, and there is one hand running endlessly over your ears, especially around the base of them, and another rubbing a hand down your back under your shirt, scratching a little lightly around the base of your tail. 

- And then the next time you come too in the haze of your nap you’re on your back, and you have one face resting on your stomach, Yoongi’s judging by the black hair that pushes against where the sweatshirt has ridden up, Yoongi’s arms wrapped around your waist. 

- But that’s not why you’ve woken up, your back arches and a sigh leaves your mouth as Tae nips along the edge of your jaw sometimes stopping to suck at the skin, his oral fixation that all hybrids tend to have acting up maybe, or maybe not, especially when you start to squirm he lets out a low growl. “Would you let me mark you, let me make you ours?” he grounds out his voice low and breathy. 

- Namjoon can only smile in amusement as he finally reaches his writers block for a day and comes in to find his bedroom torn apart and his three hybrids lounging in each others warmth, both your and Yoongi’s necks are a masterpiece of red and purple marks and Taehyung humming happily as he tries to snuggle closer to both of you.  Taehyung even has a few marks on his collarbones.  Your head pokes up at the noise, your ears at attention as Yoongi whines when you remove your neck from the reach of his mouth, 

- You smile sleepily up at him eyes closing slowly before you reach up, Namjoon entwines his fingers with yours slowly, his large hands dwarfing your small ones, until you tug him down with a little yelp on his part. 

- You get so many kisses on a daily basis. You get your good morning ones from Namjoon, usually tasting like coffee, and Kisses that are smiley and almost taste like a laugh when you pout from Namjoon, and slow relaxed kisses that happen in the hazy gray light of the living room when it’s gotten late enough to turn the lights on but no ones bothered yet.

- You get ones from Yoongi when you do something cute or just because he wants too (usually when you’re drinking your tea or smiling softly at something and he gets this burst of emotion that prompts him to stop whatever he’s doing and kiss your pink lips).

- And endless kisses from Tae- though both Namjoon and Yoongi are as much a victim of his kisses as well, whenever he bounds in from the outdoors, whenever someone does something particularly cute, like drop a mug or crash into the door without his glasses (Namjoon,) like pout and say something biting and grumpy (Yoongi) or when you do that little thing where you crunch your jaw happily around your food or excitedly run around one of the three of them in circles.

- That particular behavior has Namjoon smiling something soft and suspicious and even Yoongi starts to grin after a point. And it feels like the two of them have some secret inside joke that Taehyung’s not apart of when he sees it. 

- “What are you hiding from me- why did you look at Yoongi like that when Y/n started to do the circle thing.” Taehyung pouts one morning after it happens in the kitchen. 

- “We’re just happy Tae” Namjoon soothes, Taehyung’s head is lying across his lap in the office and the hybrid pouting lips tickling against his bare thigh. 

- “I looked up hybrid behavior on the internet a few weeks ago- you know because you and Yoongi are a little easier to read but Y/n has a few indecipherable behaviors- its actually really interesting from a genetic point of view why prey type hybrids tend to have more typically animal behaviors-“ 

- Taehyung lets Namjoon ramble on about some paper he read when he was doing research for his last book, straightening up to press a kiss to his lips that makes Namjoon stop and blush because an excited Namjoon is an absolutely adorable Namjoon and Taehyung always always always wants to kiss his boyfriends.

- “Oh just spit it out,” he says when Taehyung sees that adorable shy smile that Namjoon’s says, running his fingers through his kiss mused hair. 

- “The circling thing- it means she’s selecting us as her mates.”

(Please comment and Reblog! likes are nice but they do little to support content creators!)

#bts hybrid au #bts poly au #bts #bts scenario #bts reaction #hybrid! reader #hybrid! taehyung #hybrid! yoongi #hybrid bts #bts hybrid fic #bts poly fic #taegi #sugamon #Vmon #Taegimon #tiger and bunny #bunny! reader #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung #min yoongi x reader #writer! namjoon #kim namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #yoongi x reader #taehyung x reader #namjoon x reader #bts fluff #bts angst #bts hybrid fluff #hybrid fluff

[lynne-monstr]

Writers Month Day 23: Poison (tka, yuhuang)

king’s avatar shadowhunters au requested by @thorndykechristopher

summary: yu wenzhou is a warlock with a very slow spell casting speed due to a childhood injury. huang shaotian is the shadowhunter assigned as his bodyguard. Their first mission together is an unmitigated disaster but it all works out in the end.

ao3 link

.

With a loud, foreboding clang, the door slams shut and every window in the warehouse seals up. By the time Yu Wenzhou is able to coax his stubborn magic to his hands, it’s too late.

He’s trapped. They’re trapped.

He turns to glare at his latest Shadowhunter bodyguard, poised between Yu Wenzhou and the door with his blade raised. “I hope you’re happy now.”

Not for the first time, he laments the day Huang Shaotian roared into his life like a typhoon, loud and obnoxious and with no respect for Yu Wenzhou’s quiet life. He’s an accomplished fighter, that’s plain to see, but Yu Wenzhou has had doubts about his overall competence from the beginning. This mess of a trap has only confirmed what he suspected.

“Me?” Huang Shaotian points at his own chest with the hand not holding his mundane sword, as if Yu Wenzhou could be speaking to anyone else.

“I told you not to bring anything with adamas to this place. The warlock who owns this place hates Shadowhunters. All her worst traps are sprung by adamas.” Yu Wenzhou regrets not physically searching his new bodyguard before allowing him along on their first outing together.

He should have known better to think a Shadowhunter would listen to a warlock. It always took them a few months in his employ to learn basic respect. This one in particular seems more interested in listening to his own voice than following orders.

“Wait, wait, wait. That’s not what you said, Yu Wenz—excuse me, High Warlock Yu. If you’d said that, I would have done it. I know how to listen, I’m a great listener. You said not to bring my seraph blade or my stele and look,” he twirls in place, showing off his empty thigh and back holsters. And incidentally, a very nicely shaped backside. “I only brought the sword you gave me. See, do you see? You might be very smart, but you’re also very wrong.”

The unexpected compliment throws him but he brushes it aside. “You must have missed something because look around, the trap is sprung. We’re trapped here.”

“I didn’t miss a blade. I did what you said,” Huang Shaotian insists. After a beat, he presses his lips together in thought and pulls out a necklace from beneath his black tactical gear. “My necklace had adamas in it. Maybe next time tell me why you want me to do something, instead of treating me like an idiot and leaving me in the dark. Do you treat all your bodyguards like this?”

Yu Wenzhou searches his memories and feels a flush of embarrassment. The Shadowhunter is right. He’d specified seraph blade and stele in his preparatory instructions, not adamas. Huang Shaotian followed him to the letter. Unfortunately, he’d been chattering non-stop during their preparations, something about why everyone called him the Sword Saint. Yu Wenzhou had tried to tune it out as he went over his part of the plan but he had reluctantly learned that the ridiculous nickname was one Huang Shaotian gave himself. If Yu Wenzhou hadn’t been so irritated at nearly being late, he might have been charmed.

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Yu Wenzhou says. He pauses and adds, “My apologies, Huang Shaotian, it won’t happen again,”

It’s not just lip service. Yu Wenzhou is far from perfect but he doesn’t make the same mistake more than once. And as it turns out, Huang Shaotian is sharper than he appears at first glance.

“Apologies later. I don’t plan on dying here so let’s concentrate on not dying.” The words are barely out of his mouth before he sheaths his sword and stalks off to prowl the edges of the room, searching for weaknesses.

The warehouse is large, an old storage facility gone to seed. The weak overhead lights flicker as they open the boxes and search for anything they can use to escape. Most wards this strong are anchored by a physical object but Yu Wenzhou doubts the object is within the bounds of the wards. A powerful enough warlock could keep the object with them and the warlock who set them up was more than powerful enough.

For the sake of thoroughness, Yu Wenzhou, examines each of the sigils on the doors and windows with exploratory tendrils of magic. It confirms what he already knows. The spells used to seal the room were perfectly cast. The only curiosity is the strange variation in part of the magic. Some kind of clause for breaking it, though the terms for fulfilling it are vague.

Something about The Kiss to End Life. Talk about needlessly dramatic.

The occasional banging and tapping comes from where Huang Shaotian is probing the physical defenses of the room, chattering to himself while he works. His voice echoes off the metal walls and for a brief moment, Yu Wenzhou is struck by the horrifying thought that Huang Shaotian has managed to replicate himself into multiple copies, all of them speaking rapid-fire nonsense. Thankfully, it’s nothing but a flight of fancy and perhaps a sign that Yu Wenzhou is stretching himself too thin lately.

From the frustrated look on Huang Shaotian’s face, there won’t be any forcing their way out.

Eventually, they both give up on the main room and branch out. The only object of note is a table in the center of the largest of the secondary rooms. It probably functioned as an office when the warehouse was in use. On the shabby, dusty desk is a single vial of liquid.

Huang Shaotian brings the vial to his nose and sniffs. And curses.

“What is it?” Yu Wenzhou asked.

“Poison. Really bad poison, ugly poison. Nasty stuff.” Huang Shaotian frowns. “You ever heard of Death’s Kiss?”

Yu Wenzhou takes a step backwards before he can help himself. “Yes.”

“I figured as much. It’s deadly to warlocks.” It’s hard to say whether the amusement in his voice is a threat or merely the type of dark humor common to a race of people whose life expectancy doesn’t often exceed twenty-five. “It isn’t much better for Shadowhunters,” he adds with a laugh, and that settles that question.

The quirk about the wards tugs at his mind. The line about the kiss to end life isn’t difficult to decode. If one of them drinks the poison, the wards will come down.

Yu Wenzhou is suddenly grateful he held back that particular bit of knowledge from Huang Shaotian. He has no intention of sacrificing his bodyguard to save his own life but he can’t say for certain whether that courtesy extends both ways.

He’s still pondering the implications when Huang Shaotian picks up a folded piece that had been placed under the vial. “Looks, there’s a note.” He wrinkles his nose when a plume of dust rises up into his face. “Ugh I hate old creepy buildings almost as much as this old, stupid language.”

Yu Wenzhou peers over his shoulder and is surprised when he can’t read the writing. He’s been around for a millennia, there aren’t many languages that are a mystery to him. This one isn’t unknown to him, but in this case, his knowledge doesn’t help. “That’s a Shadowhunter language.”

Huang Shaotian nods. The crease between his brows deepens as he reads. “Oh wow, this warlock really doesn’t like you,” he says. “Is she your ex or something?”

“Or something.” Yu Wenzhou would prefer not to dwell on their history. “I might have embarrassed her when she made a bid for High Warlock of Guangzhou about fifty years ago and failed miserably.”

“I’m no expert on women but I think she still has a grudge. You should send her flowers or something. Or jewelry, that’s what they do in the dramas I—I mean, my friend—the dramas my friend watches.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, the note says that if I force this poison down your throat, the wards will drop and I can walk out of here alive.”

Yu Wenzhou goes from trying not to laugh at his bodyguard’s antics to springing backwards, his magic rushing to his hands.

Any spell powerful enough to fight off a Nephilim will take time to cast. Time he doesn’t have. Ironically, this is exactly what he needs a bodyguard for.

The sad part is that he understands why Huang Shaotian would betray him. From day one, he made it clear this assignment was a punishment from his superiors, and that he’d much rather be killing demons than playing babysitter to some stuffy warlock with slow magic, and how could a warlock even have slow magic anyway? The fact is, he has no real reason to be loyal.

Killed by his own bodyguard. Life has always enjoyed laughing at Yu Wenzhou.

Except Huang Shaotian doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t attack, he doesn’t even draw his sword. His eyes dart between Yu Wenzhou’s faintly glowing hands and his defensive stance. “What are you doing?” His nose wrinkles in a way that could almost be called cute except that he’s a trained killer by birth. “Wait, wait, wait, you don’t think—do you think I’m going to kill you?”

“You wouldn’t be the first who’s turned on me.” It’s both an answer and a warning.

Surprise fades into alertness, like Huang Shaotian is suddenly considering the need to defend himself against Yu Wenzhou. “Did you get your own note? Are you trying to kill me? Most people say it takes at least a week for the talking to make them want to do murder. This is a new record.”

Against all odds, Huang Shaotian laughs, warm and amused, the same way he does when he’s talking to himself and breaking Yu Wenzhou’s concentration. The edge of an angry black rune flashes against his collarbone in the flickering light. Who knows, maybe to a Shadowhunter, a fight to the death is amusing. They’ve always been a strange breed. Yu Wenzhou considers being offended but decides he has bigger things to worry about.

Luckily, the unexpected diversion works to his favor. He’s nearly halfway through his silent casting. Halfway towards being able to defend himself. Each passing second feels like a year but he’s slowly closing the gap.

Between them, the vial of poison sits innocuously on the table.

Something settles in Huang Shaotian’s gaze, though whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing is too soon to tell. Yu Wenzhou braces himself for the worst. His magic may not be ready to use yet, but he trained extensively in mundane martial arts for exactly this type of situation. It’s not enough to defeat an armed Shadowhunters but it doesn’t need to be. It only needs to be enough to keep him alive until his spell is ready.

“You’re a powerful warlock, right? That’s what everyone says. The High Warlock of Guangzhou is scary strong, it’s too bad his magic is so slow.” When Yu Wenzhou doesn’t answer, Huang Shaotian makes a hurry up gesture. “Well, are you good at magic or not?”

“I am. What does that have to do with anything?”

Huang Shaotian’s eyes are bright, like he’s found the flaw in the neatly laid trap they’re in and is excited for the opportunity to burst it wide open. “If the wards came down, could you get us out of here? Both of us?”

Yu Wenzhou looks at him strangely, not sure where this is going. Because the wards can’t come down. The only option is the poison. Whatever Huang Shaotian is seeing is beyond Yu Wenzhou and that makes him uncomfortable.

He answers anyway. Huang Shaotian has earned his honesty, at the very least. “Yes.”

“Okay.” And with that, Huang Shaotian grabs the vial of poison and drinks the entire thing in one large swallow. “Don’t leave me behind, okay,” he mumbles, before staggering to his knees with a crunching sound that makes Yu Wenzhou wince.

He stares in shock. A tiny part of his brain is impressed; it’s been centuries since anyone managed to truly shock him.

The wards trapping them fall. There’s no outward physical difference but Yu Wenzhou can feel it humming against his skin, a pressure value suddenly released.

“Yu Wenzhou,” Huang Shaotian’s voice is barely more than a rasp, the poison already ravaging his body. “A little faster if you don’t mind.” Huang Shaotian sways forward, and it’s enough to break Yu Wenzhou out of his stupor.

He rushes forward and catches him before he can crash face first into the concrete floor. “Huang Shaotian, what did you do?”

“I thought you were supposed to be smart. I saved us. I did my job, now it’s your turn.” His forehead is drenched in sweat, his normally sharp eyes glazed. There's a faint smile lingering on his lips.

If he was a warlock he’d already be dead. As it was, he doesn’t have much time left.

Yu Wenzhou turns his concentration inwards, letting his eyes fall shut. The incantation to his previous spell is still unfinished and it’s only minor work to take the building power and twist it into a new form. The magic quivers beneath his skin, eager to be used but still too wild to be controlled. He takes a breath and calmly, quietly, coaxes it to do his bidding.

It’s harder than it should be. There’s an unexpected, persistent thread of worry and fear clouding his mind. His eyes keep glancing down to where Huang Shaotian is slumped against his chest. He’s shaking now, tremors swelling into convulsions as the poison spreads. He looks nothing like the fierce, loud Shadowhunter who told Yu Wenzhou off for keeping mission-critical knowledge from him.

He nearly sobs in relief when his magic finally flares to life in his hands. Mustering this much power for two different spells in quick succession has left him exhausted, but there isn’t time for fatigue and so he ignores it. He wraps his arms around Huang Shaotian’s back, pushing as much magic as he dares into him. It’s not an antidote and it won’t save him but it will hopefully keep him alive until Yu Wenzhou can fix this.

By the time he waves his arms in the familiar gesture of a portal, Huang Shaotian is unconscious. Even in sleep, his face is creased, like he’s still in pain.

Yu Wenzhou gathers him into his arms and takes them home.

.

Huang Shaotian has never been hit by a mundane car but if he was, he imagines it would feel like this. And by that he means really crappy. He aches so deep down even his bones hurt, and his head feels slow and fuzzy.

That’s alright, though. Pain means he’s alive.

The last thing he remembers is drinking poison like an idiot—and hasn’t Su Mucheng told him a million times that the biggest threat to his own safety is himself—and then nothing but agony. There’s a vague impression of strong arms and being carried and he really hopes he hallucinated that part because it’s not quite the impression he wanted to make on his first mission of his new assignment with stupidly good looking High Warlock Yu Wenzhou. His hot but stodgy boss aside, he has bigger problems. Like figuring out what happened.

Opening his eyes is a struggle, but it’s one that he wins. Of course he wins, he always wins.

The room around him is thankfully dim, but even the small amount of light makes him wince. Through the haze of his slow brain, recognition filters in. He knows this place. A rush of relief sweeps over him. He’d been pretty sure Yu Wenzhou had saved them but it’s nice to get confirmation he’s not in enemy hands. Tense muscles relax and he lets himself sink into the comfort of the very soft mattress under him.

A soft mattress. This isn’t his room at the institute (not that his room there has an uncomfortable bed, but it’s the firmer kind of mattress he prefers). This here is his room in Yu Wenzhou’s home. He tries not to spend too much time here if he can help it, but he needs to learn Yu Wenzhou’s habits well enough to fight alongside him, well enough to protect him, and that’s easier to do if they’re living under the same roof.

He blinks the haze from his eyes, taking in the weapons rack in the corner, the books on art and history and weapons lining the bookshelf, arranged by color because he likes the horrified expression on peoples’ faces when they realize.

The opposite wall is a bright, cheery blue when the lights are on, but right now it looks like a dark shadow in the poor lighting. He likes the way it stands out against the soft gray of the rest of the room’s walls. The room is decorated with photographs of far off places he’s never seen, and the occasional mounted sword. The night table next to the bed is clean except for the knife he sleeps with and a photograph of him and his friends.

He wonders if they know he nearly died. He can’t hear Su Mucheng chewing anyone out so he thinks maybe they don’t. He suddenly feels very alone in this empty room.

And then the dark lump of blankets at the foot of the bed shifts and he realizes it’s not a lump of blankets at all, but High Warlock Yu Wenzhou, sprawled forward in a chair and sleeping with his head on against Huang Shaotian’s bed.

That can’t be good for his back is, strangely, the first thing that crosses his mind.

He must still be woozy, because Yu Wenzhou pulls himself up with excruciating slowness. A popping sound echoes through the room as he twists towards one side and then the other. Once he’s straightened his glasses, he looks straight at Huang Shaotian and says, “As a matter of fact it’s not, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with magic.”

What the hell is Yu Wenzhou doing sleeping by his bedside, holding vigil like they’re friends or something? Like he’s worried. They barely tolerate each other. Surely Yu Wenzhou has better things to do with his time (and his back) than keep watch over someone who’s basically his employee.

And perhaps more urgently, “Please don’t tell me you’re a mind-reader, too. Have you been listening to my thoughts? You should ignore the ones from 3pm yesterday. And also the ones right before bed and in the shower, I take no responsibility for those, I’m still a young guy, you know. Not all of us are old and boring because we’ve been around for a thousand years.”

Yu Wenzhou laughs, he actually laughs. Huang Shaotian’s been here for nearly a month and he’s never heard him laugh before. It’s a nice laugh. A warm laugh. “No mind reading, Huang Shaotian. You spoke out loud.”

“Oh. You can just forget all that, let’s pretend it never happened.”

“Okay,” Yu Wenzhou says.

It’s annoying to try and see in the dark and so Huang Shaotian leans over and taps the fancy alarm clock he bought himself that also doubles as a light. He bites back a hiss when his body protests the movement. And yeah, he can take a hint; no more moving until he feels a little less like he nearly died. Which he did—nearly die, that is—so that’s probably a good plan on his part.

When his eyes adjust, he blinks just to make sure he isn’t seeing things.

At the foot of the bed, Yu Wenzhou looks the most rumpled Huang Shaotian has ever seen him. His glasses are askew on his face and his clothes from last night’s failed appointment are dirty and wrinkled. Even his hair is astray, sticking up on the side of his face that was laying against the bed.

He looks unkept. And worried.

And that, well…Huang Shaotian’s not sure what to do about that. He can handle an angry Yu Wenzhou and a powerful Yu Wenzhou and even a condescending Yu Wenzhou, but a concerned Yu Wenzhou is new territory for them.

Huang Shaotian deals with it the same way he deals with everything. He runs his mouth. Sue him, it’s a tried and true strategy and he’ll fight anyone who says that his words aren’t as powerful as his seraph blade. Patting the side of his own hair, he says, “Um, High Warlock Yu, your hair is…um, you might want to take a look at that. You can’t expect anyone to take you seriously looking like an escapee from an evil hair salon”

Yu Wenzhou lets out a small huff and smiles. “You saved my life, Huang Shaotian, you can use my name.”

Oh fuck, is this going to weird now? Huang Shaotian has just gotten used to the way things are. He talks and his hot boss glares. It’s a good routine and sure, it’s annoying that the guy clearly thinks Huang Shaotian is an idiot, but he;s used to being underestimated at first glance. “Alright. Yeah, I guess I did save your life, Yu Wenzhou. Don’t go getting weird on me, now. I just did my job.” He pauses and tries again “Your hair really is a mess, did you know?”

Yu Wenzhou tilts his head, the hint of a smile spreading on his lips. He doesn’t fix the half of hair that looks like a hedgehog stuck its snout in an electrical socket, and it’s very distracting. “I find it difficult to tell when you’re being sincere and when you’re backtalking. Do you do that on purpose?”

This isn’t the conversation Huang Shaotian expects to be having at—he looks over at his cool alarm clock that can simulate the sunrise and notes the time—nearly four o’clock in the morning. He laughs, a little uncomfortable. “I think you’ve got it wrong, High War—I mean, Yu Wenzhou. I’m an open book, I say exactly what’s on my mind. Anyone will tell you the same.”

“You have a lot of people fooled.”

He’s right, but Huang Shaotian is in too much pain to lower his guard enough to admit it. He grew up in an entire Institute filled with attractive people, it takes more than a nice smile to get him to crack. “What do you want me to say?”

Thankfully, Yu Wenzhou doesn’t press him. He merely nods and asks “How are you feeling?”

“Like I drank poison.”

Yu Wenzhou laughs. “You’ll make a full recovery. I had the antidote in my potions stores and we got it to you in time. The residual aches should fade in a day. Let me know if they don’t, or if they get to be too much.”

“You’re not going to dock my pay for using up your pricey potions, are you?”

“I don’t pay you. I pay your Institute.” Yu Wenzhou presses his lips together, eyes scanning over Huang Shaotian as if physically checking him over. His voice is soft when he asks, “Why did you do it? You could have been killed. What were you thinking?”

It’s the same question Huang Shaotian has asked himself more than once. Like a coward, he takes the easy way out. “I was thinking it’s my job to keep you alive. I was thinking it was our only way out. And I was right. Don’t try to tell me I’m not because I am.”

“It was my mistake that got us trapped. It was my responsibility to fix it.”

And fuck, if Yu Wenzhou goes on like this, Huang Shaotian might actually start to be attracted to his personality as much as his stupidly good-looking face. “Yeah, it was. But you seem like the kind of guy who learns his lesson pretty quick. So don’t do it again and we’ll call it even.”

Yu Wenzhou frowns, and inwardly, Huang Shaotian groans. He’s too tired for wherever this conversation is going. “You still should have waited for me. You know my magic is slow. What if I wasn’t ready in time and you died?” By the time he’s finished, Yu Wenzhou looks angry. Angry like he was when he thought Huang Shaotian didn’t follow his directions, which is…more than a little strange. It’s not like he wouldn’t get a new bodyguard if Huang Shaotian kicked it.

“As if you’d care. You’ve hated me since I got here.”

“Do you really think that little of me? Do you think because I’m a warlock I don’t value the lives of the people around me?”

And shit, shit shit, he’s going to cause a diplomatic incident after his first assignment to the High Warlock. Only he could manage that while barely able to move. Ye Xiu is going to have him cleaning stinky ichor off blades for the rest of his life if he doesn’t fix this. “That’s not what I meant, High Warlock Yu.”

He struggles to sit up and a lance of fire races through his chest. Gasping, he falls back against the pillows, his vision going dark at the edges.

“Don’t move, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

When his vision clears, Yu Wenzhou is standing at the side of his bed, a hand hovering over Huang Shaotian’s chest.

His bare chest, Huang Shaotian realizes, when he looks down to see his runes on stark display. No point being embarrassed about that now. Besides, it’s not like he has much body modesty left. Showering in the Institute barracks saw to that a long time ago. It’s just that there’s something about Yu Wenzhou’s refined demeanor that makes him feel so much more exposed than he ever has standing bare-ass naked in the same room with a dozen other Shadowhunters.

No point worrying about that now. Yu Wenzhou has seen what he’s seen and it’s a small price to pay for not being dead. He puts on a smile, the one he knows for a fact irritates people. “I already hurt myself, remember.”

“How could I forget.” And that strange, fond tone is back. Huang Shaotian isn’t sure what it means but he kind of likes it. Or maybe it’s the residual effects of the poison rotting his brain.

Yu Wenzhou withdraws his hand back to his side, but not before Huang Shaotian notices the tremor in his fingers. “High Warlock Yu, are you—”

“I told you, no titles.” His voice has a worrying rasp to it that wasn’t there while he was seated.

Huang Shaotian has seen enough. He pats the empty strip of bed beside him. “Stop being a stubborn bastard and sit down before you fall down, Yu Wenzhou.”

“I’m fine. It’s been a long night, that’s all.” This close, the tight lines around Yu Wenzhou’s mouth are obvious. As are the tremors which have reached his shoulders, He looks like he’s one deep breath away from collapse.

The sight of him sleeping slumped over Huang Shaotian’s bed replays itself in his memory and he wonders whether part of the reason he stayed was because he was too drained of magic and strength to leave. He suddenly gets the feeling it took much more power to keep him from kicking the bucket than Yu Wenzhou has let slip.

Luckily, he’s spent enough time in the medical wing of the Institute to know how to get his way with stubborn Shadowhunters. He’s betting it works on warlocks, too. “If you fall down, I’m not scraping your sorry ass up off the floor, you got that? Or do you want me to injure myself worse after you spent all this time and magic on me?”

It works like a charm. With a faint nod, Yu Wenzhou sits. The bed dips with his weight. Immediately, some of the color comes back to his face.

Huang Shaotian thinks about all the teachers who lectured him about how Downworlders are different, are inferior. He looks at Yu Wenzhou who, despite his own exhaustion, rushed to his side when Huang Shaotian was in pain, and thinks those old lessons might be more than a little bullshit. If he’s learned anything in the last ten minutes, it’s that he’d drink poison for Yu Wenzhou again.

He thinks that might be a bit much to say right now. “You can stay here the night, I don’t mind,” is what he says instead. “Wouldn’t be the first time I shared a sickbed.”

Yu Wenzhou gives him a tired smile but doesn’t commit either way.

They sit like that, nearly close enough to touch, until he hears Yu Wenzhou’s breathing calm down into something approaching normal. “Hey, about what you said before. About how I should have waited for you to be ready before downing a poison shooter like a fraternity stud in a dive bar?”

Yu Wenzhou nods. “I don’t recall phrasing it like that, but yes.”

“You’re wrong. I didn’t need to wait. I’ve been watching you for weeks. You started casting the moment I read that note because you thought I was going to kill you. Wrong, wrong, wrong, you were so wrong all night, Yu Wenzhou. And by the way, but I won’t be offended this time that you thought I’m that type of person but if you do it again I’ll be very sad. But what I mean is that I drank the poison when I did because I knew you were almost ready with your magic.”

Yu Wenzhou’s breath hitches and he can practically see him wondering if Huang Shaotian purposefully read the note aloud to facilitate his plan.

“I didn’t plan it like that,” he answers the unasked question. “But once you went on the defensive, I saw the opportunity and I took it.”

“You’re very good at that.” Yu Wenzhou says. In the next breath, he lists to one side, barely catching himself from tumbling head first into the night table.

Huang Shaotian’s hand is already reaching out to steady him, but his help isn’t needed and he lets it drop back to his side. He keeps a closer eye on Yu Wenzhou, just in case.. “I’m not just good, I’m the best.”

Yu Wenzhou’s normally sharp gaze is dulled but his words are as sharp as usual. “Your first week here, you said you noticed holes in the protections on my home.”

“I did but you didn’t want to hear them. You said, ‘Huang Shaotian, you’re here to guard me not to poke holes in wards.’”

Yu Wenzhou nods his head. “I’d like to take you up on your offer.” He scoots forward so that he can lie down. It’s strangely intimate but Huang Shaotian doesn’t feel uncomfortable. “If I were to ask you what you noticed? Would you tell me?”

Huang Shaotian can feel his own exhaustion dragging him under, but still he answers. “Will you listen this time?”

“Yes,”

“Good. Okay yeah, we’ll do that,” Huang Shaotian mumbles, and lets himself lapse into tired silence. Beside him, Yu Wenzhou’s watches over him until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.

He doesn’t realize at the time that Yu Wenzhou isn’t just answering that specific question. He’s making a promise.

Over the next several days, once they’re both recovered, Yu Wenzhou listens to his assessment of the ward placements. It’s only the beginning.

Because he doesn’t just listen to him when they’re working, he does it all the time.

Yu Wenzhou listens to him chatter about his seraph blades while he cleans them. He listens when Huang Shaotian complains about how bitter Yu Wenzhou’s coffee is on mornings when he’s so groggy he drinks from the wrong mug. He listens to him sing while he does the dishes, even when Yu Wenzhou argues it could be done faster with magic. He listens to him yell at the television when they’re watching trashy dramas.

He listens to everything. And he never stops.

#the king's avatar #yuhuang #tka fanfic #yu wenzhou #huang shaotian #tka sh au #ha i actually write something in this verse #thanks for the prompt this was super fun #lynne writes fic