#but if he was caught and put under torture? he would outlast all of the anbu imo

[sinnbaddie]

I know Gai isn’t anbu material, but i do believe he could withstand mass amounts of torture.

His own technique’s consequence is extreme pain, the mental fortitude he has would make torturing him a very tedious and boring job. You couldn’t get anything out of him

[bloodycassian]

Reader x Cassian - Hellish Prompt: Reader is an assassin/spy that was caught and azriel has spent months torturing her for information and can’t get anything out of her and cassian eventually goes to see who this assassin/spy is and the mating bond snaps and cassian beats the $hitt out of az bc of the mating bond instincts and rhys has to intervene and break up the fight (i was thinking this could switch between azriel’s POV at the start and then switch to cassian's POV)

AN- this was SO fun to make. Please more requests like this!! I love the idea of unexpected mates!

TW -blood/ blades.  

Drip, drip, drip. Copper smell filled the small room. Blood leaked down the drain in the floor. You wheezed a laugh bitterly and spat on the ground at his feet. Azriel's rage simmered calmly under his dark shadows. They coiled, ready to strike. Wanting to strike. The sound of your feeble laughs was practically the only sound Azriel had gotten from you for the first week of torture.  The second week was worse, even for him. Truth teller revealed nothing when he gouged into your skin from the bottom up. Truthfully, he was impressed beyond measure. But that didnt mean that he could stop the job at hand. He had to know, and wished he didnt have to do this kind of thing to get the information from you. "Listen..." He sighed, cleaning his blade. He was always nervous whenever he had a back turned to an enemy, no matter how well they were restrained. But he trusted his shadows enough to tell him if something was wrong.  "If you just.. Cooperate and tell me where the Queens are, we can let you go. No trouble, just releasing you back to Rask." He tried to keep his tone neutral, but he was nearing an exhaustion point. Torture every day for two weeks had its toll not only on the victim, but the dealer as well. His shadows seemed to be growing restless too, waiting for a chance to strike.  He watched your reaction from the corner of his eye. Noted the way your head hanging loosely seemed to gain a bit more strength before you spoke. "Losing your touch, Spymaster?" You revealed a row of bloody teeth to him, and grunted when the chains at your wrists stung the magic that weakly attempted to help you.  Azriel could have sighed. He could have laughed and bled you dry. Have a healer come and patch you up enough to keep you alive. The idea was tempting, but he didn't like having anyone besides his brothers see him in this mode of darkness. He could have brought Rhys down to attempt to break into your mind again. After the first attempt and Rhys' reaction to being blocked, he wasn't eager for that again. So he sighed, and brought out the potions laced with Faebane.  + He was convinced you weren't a normal Fae. After months of his best torture methods he was a wreck. "She just-" He tried to hide his frustration, but his brothers knew him best. Cassian smirked by the fire, warming his wings. Rhys seemed a bit more concerned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Azriel had never been one to spend a long time on torture. Rhys saw the frustration flowing from him after every session with the stubborn Fae in the dungeon cell.  "I dont know what to do anymore. She's the only one to have never broken." He ran a hand though his hair. His shadows seemed weak, exhausted like him.  Rhys considered for a moment, looking between his two brothers. Cassian seemed to be enjoying Azriel's frustration. Maybe a bit too much. Rhys sipped his wine then, with a look of innocence, "Maybe we will have Cassian end it. Perhaps seeing the Lord of Death in front of her will knock something loose."  Cassian's stare whipped to him, a silent plea on his face. "We should leave it to our expert Rhys-" Azriel laughed, cold and bitter. "The expert hasn't got a damn thing out of her. We either kill her or send her back to Rask with all the information she's collected about us. With nothing in return." Shame lined his features. The sense of failure to his high lord was a heavy weight to bear. "Cas...I expect you down there tomorrow afternoon. It will be her last chance." Rhys' no nonsense tone shut down Cassian's retort. His jaw locked with distaste. He hated the cramped cells below the house of wind. Hated the way going underground made his wings feel like they needed to stretch. The worst was when that stale air was laced with the rotting smell of dead mice or old blood. It made his skin crawl just thinking about it.  "Come on Cas, dont you want to see the only one that's outlasted me?" Az asked with a mock grin. He couldn't give the same smile back. Turmoil spilled inside him at the thought of going so far below the mountain.  + Cassian took a long time to go to bed that night. His restlessness about the next day made him wake up over and over, never having more than an hour of peace before being waken up.  Azriel held up a mug of tea to him the next morning. "You look like shit." He handed his brother the mug with a small smile. Cassian glared at him, but took it anyway. He went to the balcony, his heavy wings needing to feel the fresh air. It was like taking a bath after being covered in grime. He sighed in relief, letting the late morning sun graze his body. The cold wind from Illyria was beginning to come in for the winter, and the familiar smell ignited something in him. He felt a draw, but shoved it to the back of his mind. He knew what he had to be this day. "Why the hell do we have to keep them so far down again?" Cassian complained. Around and around and around. Down deeper and deeper into the pit of the mountain that the house above was carved out of. Cassian felt like his lungs were collapsing the further they went. He tried not to let his nerves show, but he knew Az's shadows would pick up on it anyway.  "Remember when you broke your arm chasing down that Attor?" Azriel could have laughed at that memory, but the story surrounding it made the experience soured. More shame on top of the guilt already there.  Cassian hummed in approval, welcoming the distraction the memory brought. He tried not to focus on how each turn of the staircase got darker and darker. How the air seemed to compress around him. He locked his eyes on the scar on one of Az's wings. "And we spent a week fixing the top story of that apothecary?" He asked, keeping his voice steady.  "Yes. Dont you remember how the Attor got out?" Cassian shook his head, and Azriel huffed a laugh. "I left the door open for just a second to get a new knife and..." He shook his head, part in anger and regret, part in shame. "It had escaped before I turned around. I dont know how it happened, to this day."  Cassian stared at the back of the shadowmaster's head. The dark ripples around him seemed to spike. "It happens Az, you can't be perfect."  "It's not perfection, its basic thought. After that we moved all enemies to the lower dungeons. No matter the threat. Rhys even put wards on the arches." He ran a hand over the walls, his fingers catching a few of the grooves that linked each spelled archway to the other.  Cassian left the conversation at that. At least his brother wasn't brooding as much as before. The dim lights began to come into view, and his heart began hammering. Adrenaline singing through his veins. His polished siphons glowed, reflecting red off the dark stone ceiling. He had polished all his black armor the night before, when he couldn't sleep. Something poked, prodded at him all night. Keeping him awake. He figured he may as well make use out of it.  "She's not going to talk to you unless you show..weakness first." Azriel said in a low voice. Cassian nodded, reaching the end of the stairwell with him.  Cassian couldn't see the dark figure in the cell, but he felt the presence nonetheless. The dark draw that you demanded. He wondered how Azriel had dealt with that pull this whole time. The tantalizing draw to you. He shook his head, pushed the hair out of his face and nodded to Azriel.  He opened the door, then began his ritual. At the start of every session he would toss a bucket of water over your body, then a bucket of salt. It made the wounds that handn't healed fully scream in pain. You jolted at the suddenness of it this time. "Good morning, shadowsinger." You ground out, voice rough with strain. Cassian watched in awe at his brother.  Cassian was never one for torture. There was a reason Azriel was appointed to this position. Watching the calm cruelness of him was jarring, but Cassian kept his face straight. He stood behind you, watching the flimsy attempts to pull at the shackles holding your arms up. Lacerations dotted each arm, some light pink scars. Some were still scabbing over. A chill ran down his spine.  "You have a guest today, would you like to see him?" Azriel's voice was cool, calm. Like he was speaking orders to a group of soldiers. He began slicing new lines into your arms, moving up to your neck. He had left your ears in tact, as a last resort if you refused to speak to Cassian. The pull Cassian felt was overwhelming. He walked a bit too quickly around you, plastered on a wicked smile for show, then crouched down. The smile faded when he finally saw your face. Your dripping hair was a horror on its own. Plastered to the skeletal cheekbones, and pale eyes. Those eyes were brighter than anything he'd ever seen. A field of flowers down the slope of Illyrian mountains. His world shifted, drawing the breath from him. "Mine." His mind seemed to roar with that alone, but in a thousand different variations. "Lover, friend, partner, mine mine mine. Mate. My mate." His lips quivered with the realization. With the way his heart soared, and the way he moved without realizing it. He choked a gasp, and fell forward on his knees before you. He saw the same astonishment in your reaction. Azriel dropped his sword, confusion and concern alert on his features. "Cas wh-" Before he could finish, before his shadows could detect that Cassian had even moved, his brother was on top of him. Cassian's knuckles stung with every punch. A new kind of rage flared inside him. It made his muscles yearn for violence. Made his teeth crave the flesh of those that so much as looked at you wrong. There was no mercy for Azriel, it was as if he was an enemy on the battlefield. Cassian held nothing back. You hung limply from the chains that bound you. Crunch after crunch sounded from Azriel. He eventually managed to push Cassian off of him. Then they locked together in battle again. Clashes of armor against armor were deafening. The snarls they ripped at each other were loud enough to make you cringe. Your heart squeezed at the sounds of Cassian's breath. At the scent of blood spilling. You pulled feebly at the chains, your mind roaring to protect him.  Your mate. You tried to watch the battle, but the weakness in your body refused to let you turn more than a few inches. They were panting, Cassian fighting with a ferocity Azriel had never seen. His eyes flared with rage, like he was possessed. "Cas-" Azriel grunted, shoving his brother backwards. His back hit yours, pushing you down and digging those stone cuffs into your wrists. You hissed in pain. Cassian roared and lunged at his brother again, and again.  The darkness that boomed outside the cell was jarring. The stone ceiling shuddered, small rocks and dirt falling from it. Cassian did not stop. He didn't hesitate, coming at Azriel with punch after punch. His fist crushed the wall behind where Az's head had been. 

"Enough." The high lord's cool command was enough to make you still your weak attempts at looking at the two. Cassian's chest heaved as he tried lifting his arm to punch Az again. Pure fury in his heart was enough to make him disobey Rhysand's order.

  Then Rhys' talons gripped him. Freezing his mind, stilling him. Rhys' face shifted to surprise at what he glimpsed at there. "Oh.." He breathed. Azriel panted, backing away from his brother, out of the cell. He locked the cell and wiped the blood from himself, his wings hanging limply behind him. "What- the hell." He panted, nursing his arm. Cassian's eyes locked to your small frame. How your muscles quivered, how your arms shook with the effort of holding yourself up. He felt Rhys' claws recede slowly from his mind, releasing each part of him one by one. He rushed to you.  He picked up Azriel's sword and with a clean, masterful swipe, broke the enchanted stone that bound you. The weak sigh that came from you was heartbreaking. His eyes pricked with tears, and he caught you before you could fall to the floor into the puddle of dried blood. He didnt notice, or care that it was there. He sat there with you, cradled you and shook with you. 

"Cassian... She's.. Cassian's mate." Rhys said slowly, astonished. He didn't take his eyes from his brother in the cell. Azriel froze in place. For a moment, the dungeon was completely still. Totally silent, as if the world waited for what was to come next.

Azriel turned on a heel and left, trudging up the stairs. Rhys dared not touch his mind. "Cassian...." He spoke, trying to get his brother's attention. He did not glance at Rhys, just curled around your body more. Protecting, nesting almost. Rhys knew the feeling too well from the weeks after he and Feyre's bond snapped into place.  "We will check in tomorrow. Be safe, brother." Rhys spoke to Cassian's mind. It was nothing but an ocean of rushing thoughts. Cassian could have bared his teeth, could have tried to fight his brother through the bars of the cell. Hell, he could have probably broken through those bars with the primal strength flowing through him with the rush from the bond. 

But he didn't. He stayed, his warm body pressed against yours. Those siphons glowing against your skin like a fire. He stroked your hair soothingly, his tears like rainfall on your body, through your bloodstained clothes. He didn't remember falling asleep there, but it was the most restful, peaceful night he'd ever had in his existence. 

[dean-winchesters-gardian-angel]

The Same Bed - Chapter 5

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Friends are there to help each other out, but can they help falling for each other when all the long days they spend together turn into late nights they have and their reliance on each other.

Word count: 2044

Warnings: Fluff, angst, blood, description of injury, swearing, heated scene, slow burn.

A/N: “Welcome to the end” as chuck so bluntly put it. This is the last chapter of The Same Bed and as exited as I am for the story to conclude and for you all read it, I am as much saddened by its departure. It’s been a highlight of my week. I love Fridays but to me it’s as mch because of the weekend as it is because of my posting the next chapter. You have all been so kind and your reactions to this story are so heartening but alas this is the end. Not to say there wont be more to come ;) So for the last time on The Same Bed; Read it, enjoy and I’ll see you on the other side. There’s a tag list, so be sure to tell me if you want in, as well as a masterlist so be sure to check it out. As are all that came before; Unbeta’d all mistakes are mine.

Series masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They sat in the bathroom without a word while Y/N pulled the glass from his palm. The occasional flinch would draw her attention up to his face. His eyes were half-closed all cockiness washed away. This was the Dean no one else got to see. The Dean that was allowed to feel pain even if from the comparatively small cuts on his hand though to anyone else they were considered bad and warranted a visit to the hospitable for stitches. This Dean didn’t use all his energy blocking out natural reaction to stimulus or emotions. This was Y/Ns Dean.

Y/N was delicate as one could be when removing glass from an open wound. She cleaned his lacerations with alcohol holding it over the sink as the reddened liquid pooled in his palm and streamed along his skin, dripping off the back of his hand. She rinsed off his hand and dried it before taking a bandage wrap from the kit and spinning it around his hand. Tapping the ends securely, she looked up at him. Y/N cupped his face urging him to look at her but as a result, Dean squeezed his eyes shut leaning into her hold, before pulling away avoiding her gaze.

“We should go to bed.” Dean nodded acknowledging her whisper. She followed Dean back to his room. He picked up the glass on the floor and nightstand as she watched him from the doorway. She took a step forward.

“You can’t stay here.” Y/N scoffed as Dean hardly even glanced over his shoulder moving the glass into the little garbage can next to the nightstand.

“Why the hell not? I don’t care how much you hate me, Dean, I’m just trying to help you.”

“I don’t hate you…”

“Seriously? You can’t even look at me god damn it! Dean what have I done to you other than support you! I don’t deserve this! You kick me out! You ignore me! You have no right to treat me this way!  I helped with your nightmares! With anything you asked me to and even when you don’t ask me to, I’m there for you Dean! I deserve an explanation! That's the very least I deserve!” Dean spun around quick as a wink. He’s been expecting this but nonetheless hoped they’d manage to avoid it. He had scripted what he’d say though apparently, he subconsciously knew what he truly wanted to say because given the opportunity he went off.

“Because I fell in love with you! I was better off pushing you away and hurting you myself than risk losing you because I was too caught up with loving you. To get distracted and miss something on a hunt! Or have some demon take you and hurt you to get to me! I had to push you away because I fell in love with you!”

“That makes two of us Dean! You think you’re the only one with feelings! You really think pushing me away is going to stop me from getting hurt!? And you’re hardly careless enough to miss something on a hunt because you were distracted by me! Also, how dare you blame me for that Dean, what you’re saying is utter bullshit! God, I just want to punch you right now, knock a little sense in into that brain of yours, you’re being so stupid! You’re also not the only one with enemies! I’ve killed countless demons! Maybe you’ll be the one taken and tortured to get to me huh! Ever think of that! I’m not asking for a goddamn marriage proposal Dean! I want my friend back! I want you back Dean you have no idea how much I miss you!”

“‘That makes two of us?’ You’re in love with me too?” Dean was looking down at his aching palm, holding it in his healthy hand.

“Did you completely ignore everything I just said after that?” 

“No, no I heard you, and you’re right. I have no excuse for the way I treated you and you do deserve better. And God did I miss you too. I’m really, truly sorry.”

“Good, you should be.” He could hear the smile on her lips before he looked up to see it. “That’s the most ridiculous reason I’ve ever heard for pushing someone away by the way.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Also, really unfair.” The smile was gone again.

“I know.” She laughed softly.

“Dean you realize I’ve loved you for -- jeez -- for forever. Notice I didn’t push you away when I became aware of it.”

“Forever? Like since we met?”

“Yeah, and I still outlasted you before turning into a complete dick.” Dean chuckled looking up to the women he now openly loved. She had moved closer to him and the door had been closed.

“Yeah, I was really just sick of you being so nice but look at you know.” His words were laced with sarcasm as he smirked, awaiting her reaction.

“Well, you did say you loved me so I guess I can stop now.” She took a step closer just as Dean did.

“It was that spaghetti sauce you made. I love a woman who can cook.” Another step closer.

“That, I must say, is one of your more sexist comments.” She reached for his hips pulling him against her body.

“Well, I guess since I’ve made one, I might as well make another. You’re mine.” His hands came to her cheeks as his eyes bore into her own.

“That’s not sexist, that just possessive.” Y/N had never been one to welcome possession in that way. She was her own person and would be treated as such, but the way Dean said it didn’t imply possession or ownership, it implied protection. He was promising that he would do everything in his power to keep her safe and she knew he would.

“I mean it though, you’re mine.”

“As long as you’re mine.” Dean didn’t waste any time, responding with a strong, insistent kiss. His demands were met as she pressed her lips against his. Their moves were synchronized, hands sliding over shoulders and under shirts, feet ambitiously stepping towards the bed, lips sucking on whatever skin they could get at, eyes closed as the verbal communication had been put to a minimum, all words translated into touches. Dean backed his way to the bed dropping his weight gracefully while still holding Y/N as she braced herself on her hands on each side of Dean's shoulders. Y/N moaned into the kiss as she straddled Dean's hips, moving her hand under the hem of his shirt sliding them over his taut torso. They parted, catching their breath as she rested her forehead on his breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut, with a smile.

“Dean.”

“I know,” He opened his eyes brushing her hair from hers to look into them. “hunt tomorrow.” She smiled holding back a giggle.

“I was really hoping you would forget about that and just kiss me again.”

“I still can.” He leaned up capturing her lips with his. “We really should sleep though.”

“I know but,” She kisses him again working her hands over his body “I really don’t want to.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said as he sat up holding her in his lap kissing her once more. “I really, really want to, but there’s this part of me that wants to do this properly.” He brushed more hair from her face to behind her ear cupping her cheek.

“Properly?”

“A date, dinner, a movie maybe.”

She chuckled. “That’s lame. But I accept.”

“You realize you’re the cheese ball romantic who forced me to watch Grease.”

“Not anymore, mister ‘I don’t sleep with a girl before I take her out.’ Also, you love Grease.” He kissed her again acting as though he couldn’t get enough of her, which, had she asked him, was true.

“Sleep then?” She asked.

“Yes, please. Haven’t slept properly in two nights.”

“How’s your hand?” They shuffled around in the bed to be in their respective spots.

“It’ll be fine. Thank you by the way, for taking care of me even when I really didn’t deserve your kindness.”

“Just promise me you won’t push me when I try to help you next time, okay?”

“Nuh-uh, it's my turn to help you.”

“You know,” She lifted her hand for him to take which he did only to pull her over into his arms. “to be fair you had the opportunity to help me a couple of seconds ago, but you turned me down.” There was a smirk on her face as she looked up to him from his chest.

“Oh, don’t you worry your little head about that. I’ll make sure you get all the help you need…and more” He winked at her before kissing the top of her head as they did their collective best to fall asleep.

“Dean?”

“Mmm.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Course.”

“What are your nightmares about?” There was a substantially long pause in which Y/N considered telling Dean not to worry about telling her if he didn’t want to but he finally answer. Though it was a whisper, it rang through the room being the only sound to be heard.

“They used to be of my mum, or Sammy getting hurt.”

“And now?”

“You.”

“I’m not that scary am I?” Fully aware that that wasn’t why him dreaming of her was scary, Y/N rubbed his chest with her hand in a reassuring manner. She managed to get a chuckle out of him though.

“No…you dying. I’ve lost you thousands of times in thousands of different ways. And I’m never able to save you.” He stopped there fearing he’d sob if he kept going, nevertheless losing the battle against a single tear that ran its path on the side of his face. Y/N turned gently in his grip holding his face against her hand to kiss him tenderly.

“I’m not going anywhere, Winchester… Promise.”

“You can’t promise something like that.”

“Sure, I can. I just did, didn’t I?”

“Y/N—“ “Dean. Stop worrying, just stop. Let it all go. I’m right here, I’m in your arms, alive and safe. Stop worrying about what could happen, be thankful for what you have. With the life we live Dean, it’s the only realistic way of being happy.” Dean took what she said to heart though it would inevitably be hard to follow through.

“I promise to try.”

“That’s all I ask… me huh... you dream about me.” Y/N was flattered though unmistakably hurting on behalf of Dean.

“What can I say, I’m hopelessly devoted to you.”

“I knew you love that movie, and don’t even try to deny it Dean-o”

“Still sounds stupid.” Dean said with his eyes closed referring to his nickname.

“Good” There was a giggle before they settled. With one last kiss she rested her head over his heart and fell asleep closely followed by Dean.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They never go to ‘properly’, instead, agreeing, after a not so long talk, that they had had enough dinners and movie nights to last a lifetime— though they wouldn’t write off their traditional movie night. In reality, they were both too impatient after sleeping in the same bed, the sexual tension had become tangible. They had also come to an agreement to continue sharing the same bed seeing as it was the only way either would sleep properly, holding hands of course. Y/N had gotten hurt on multiple occasions and Dean naturally blamed himself. Meanwhile, Y/N didn’t give in to his behaviour; telling him to grow up and that ‘Shit happens’ as she politely put it before telling Dean to get the first aid kit or back in bed seeing as he always picked the topic back up before going to sleep. Dean had also gotten hurt on several occasions as well, though Y/N would help him without a word. Y/N didn’t care about how many times she would get hurt and Dean was the same with himself. They were both happy at the end of the day, as long as they got to fall asleep in the same bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   Fin   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I just want to say thank you to everyone who has been here since the beginning as much as those who have join since; I appreciate you all.

I had so much fun writing this story and even more fun having you read it. I’ve gotten so much love out of writing this and it’s thanks to my readers. So thank you. 

Tag List: @akshi8278​ @bargedog @just-someone-difficult​ @mila-dans​ @valhallavxlkyrie​ @thoughts-and-funnies​

Series Tag List: @autobotgirl15-blog​ @classyunknownlover​ @laycblack​ @lovememisha​ @music-is-all-i-need​ @redbarn1995​ @wellfuckmyexistence​

[secretlysheikah]

Tower Trouble:  A Plan

Yahaha! Another chapter done! Enjoy the peace while you can, because it might not last too much longer.

As always the Linked universe belongs to the amazing @jojo56830 go check them out!

And of course, I own nothing. I’m just a dope of a person who likes to put words together in something approximating a story.

Start here:

Wild laid still for a while, completely overwhelmed with the pain that was shooting through his body. He blinked away the lingering fog of sleep and pain. He could feel a weight draped on top of him but he had to work up the energy to even move his eyes. Slowly he slid his eyes over to his side and saw a passed out Twilight half draped on top of him. Wild squeezed his eyes shut when his broken ribs gave a particularly painful throb. Muttering a soft apology he slowly began to work himself free from Twilight’s weight trying his best not to wake him. Wild was happy that Twilight was actually getting some sleep but his added weight was making it hard to breathe. Panting with the pain and effort and suppressing a coughing fit Wild managed to get most of Twilight’s weight off of him. He paused when he felt Twilight shift and mumble and he prayed he hadn’t just woken him. Wild decided to take a break at wiggling himself free to make sure he didn’t wake his friend and took a look around camp.

Based on the lighting Wild guessed it was a couple hours off from dawn. The camp was quiet all around him, the fire burning low at the center. Squinting Wild saw the distant form of Warriors sitting on a rock. His back was turned toward the camp cross legged not too far away. With a little more squinting Wild could just make out that Warriors seemed to be working on something, maybe polishing his boots? This was confirmed when he straightened and lifted a boot up to catch the fire light behind him before returning to his task. Wild let out a huff of air, he could never understand why Wars bothered to shine his boots, they only got dirty again.

Wild gave a mental shrug and continued to scan, his eyes landing on the sleeping forms of Four, Wind and Sky piled on top of one another, limbs thrown haphazardly over each other. Wild really wished he had his slate to hand, it was a cute picture not to mention great blackmail material. Mourning his bad luck Wild cast his gaze in search of the final three heroes and it didn’t take long to find them.

Hyrule and Legend weren’t too far away from the sleeping pile, their bed rolls were situated close together and they were sleeping back to back. Hyrule’s arm was stretched out behind him and was resting limply on Legend’s shoulder. Wild shook his head slightly, there was no way that was a comfortable position for Hyrule and he could only imagine how stiff his shoulder was going to be in the morning.

Wild lifted his head slightly and caught sight of Time sitting on the other side of Twilight a few feet away. He was straight backed and his head seemed to be on a constant swivel as he scanned the slowly brightening field. Wild could just make out Time’s quiet humming. It sounded like a lullaby of some sort, but Wild couldn’t place which one it could be, not that he knew many lullabies. Satisfied that he let enough time pass to ensure Twilight had fallen back to sleep, Wild slowly worked on extracting himself the rest of the way from under his mentor.

It took a few minutes and more than a little cursing but he finally got himself free and quickly placed a pillow in his stead. Wild couldn’t help but smirk when he heard Twilight sigh and pull the pillow closer before burying his face into it. Though Wild’s slight enjoyment of watching his self proclaimed mentor snuggle a pillow quickly vanished when another flash of pain rippled through his body making him flinch and wince. Wild doubled over on himself and let out a quiet groan. He rubbed his eyes before pinching at the bridge of his nose in irritation. Farore’s grace, he never thought he’d admit it, but he really missed red potions. He was going to have to get this pain under control, he had delayed the group too much as it was and he was tired of feeling weak. Decision made, Wild straightened himself the best he could and closed his eyes.

During his adventure Wild had encountered instances where he found himself wounded and stranded somewhere remote, unable to teleport thanks to storms that messed with his communication with the towers. During those times he had to push his pain to the side and outlast the storms until he could get help. Because the wilds didn’t care if you were hurt or sick, no, in the wilds you kept moving. To stop for too long would be a death sentence. Wild learned quickly that you either became very good at compartmentalizing the pain so you could function or you laid down and died. Needless to say, he became very skilled at pain management after some very long days and nights of seemingly endless storms.

With his eyes closed he slowly took note of all the aches and pains he had and pictured a lit candle in a darkened room. The flame of the candle represented the pain. He breathed in a steadying breath, held it and slowly released it. He watched the flame grow brighter and larger, flickering and guttering with the ebb and flow of his tortured nerve endings. The goal was to dim the light, shrink the flame to just a glowing ember. He couldn’t stop the pain completely of course, but that wasn’t really the point of the exercise. He found that all he had to do was shrink the flame small enough so he could put the ‘candle’ away for later. He breathed in and out slowly and focused on the light, watching it gutter and fade with each breath as he worked to tuck the pain away for later.

It took some time, but Wild managed to get most of his pain to fade into background noise. He knew he was still hurting but it was manageable for now and with that little bit of clarity he moved on to his next task. He had to deal with his depleted energy. Clearly relying on sleep to get his energy back was out of the question. It seemed Dark had every intention of making ‘sleep’ as exhausting as possible. So that left him with elixirs and whatever meals he could scrape together. As quietly as he could Wild scooted over to his pack and grabbed up his sheikah slate and began to scroll through his inventory.

When it was all said and done, he had about three elixirs to boost his stamina. They wouldn’t last long, but if he planned out when he should take them it might just be enough to keep him moving for a day or two. Wild chewed on his lip, and tapped his finger against the slate slowly scrolling through his ingredients to see what he had to work with. He let his mind drift a little as he sorted through the various monster parts and food stuffs.

Dark had wanted to make a deal, and he would be lying to himself if he said it wasn’t a tempting offer. Betray everyone in exchange for redemption, to help Zelda, to fix his mistakes? How could he not be tempted by that? He paused in his scrolling and closed eyes feeling absolutely disgusted with himself for even entertaining the idea. He took a deep breath, grounding himself with the pain he allowed to flare in his chest before carefully working the pain back into a manageable hum. He let the breath out slowly and held back a ragged cough that wanted to burst out from his throat. When had he become a monster? Or maybe he always was?

Wild paused in his scrolling again and ground his teeth. He didn’t feel like himself. His mind was becoming divided and tangled together all at once and it made his thoughts a confused mess of conflicting thoughts. He took a shaky breath, willing the shame filled tears that had unexpectedly welled up back. Crying wouldn’t help get him out of this situation, he had to think.

Carefully Wild deconstructed the dream. Dark had said he wanted to make him a puppet, but said he would much prefer an ally. So his choices were either become Dark’s alley, or become a puppet. Either option wasn’t great for him or the others.

What if this deal of Dark’s was only a red herring? A convoluted plan to keep him off balance and therefore all the more easier to tangle him up in his web? One thing was for sure, he had to tell the others about his dream, they had to be made aware so they wouldn’t be caught if guard if… No he didn’t want to think of that.

Another thought popped in to his mind then, what if Dark could see and hear Wild planning with the others?  It was clear Dark had some sort of attachment to him, what if he was using Wild as a sort of listening device, like Wind’s stone? If that were the case, then how was he going to inform the others without alerting Dark? Maybe he could sign it to them? But what if Dark was out here with them, watching from a distance? If it was true that Dark was a mixture of all of them then there was a good chance Dark knew how to read sign as well. No, signing was too risky. He racked his overly tired brain trying to figure out what to do.

Then a thought occurred to him. Maybe he could use Dark’s plan against him. Pretend to consider the deal, buy himself and the others time to… To do what exactly? It’s not like Wild had any idea how break Dark’s hold on him short of somehow killing him or himself. Wild shuddered at the thought of having to end himself in order to protect the others, he could only imagine the trauma that would cause everyone left behind. Wild sighed and opened his eyes again when he heard someone sit beside him.

“Hey there cub, what are you working on?” Time asked quietly as to make sure he wouldn’t wake anyone. Wild shrugged and tapped at his slate.

“I’m planning on making myself some elixirs to help with stamina.” Wild answered distractedly as he pondered which monster part would give him the strongest elixir.

“Sleep isn’t helping?” Time asked as he leaned over and joined Wild looking over the various ingredients.

“Not in the slightest.” Wild sighed, finger pausing over a shard of dragon horn.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Wild shook his head, his heart beginning to race. He needed to tell Time but he still couldn’t figure out a way to do that safely just then. He could see Time crinkle his eyebrows but thankfully he said nothing.

“Okay, would you like some help getting the pot then?” He asked gesturing to the pot that was sat next to the fire.

“That would be very helpful, thank you,” Wild said with a weak smile and Time nodded and went to set up the pot for him. Soon the pot was filled with various lizard and monster parts and set to boil. The task done Time and Wild sat in silence watching as the sky began to turn a light shade of pink at the edges.

“I need to talk with you all about what’s happening.” Wild said suddenly and Time shot him a glance.

“Oh, has there been developments?” He asked his calm voice belying his suddenly tense posture. Wild nodded before he continued.

“There has, but I don’t know how to explain it to you guys safely.” Wild said head bowing in defeat. His fingers tracing lines in the dirt in front of him.

“Safely? What do you mean?” Time asked shifting his weight so he was turned to face him.

“Well I… it’s… possible that…” Wild trailed off not knowing how to articulate his thoughts. He didn’t want to risk alerting Dark that he suspected that he was listening in. Wild chewed on his bottom lip, an idea creeping in to the corners of his mind. Before he could think too much about it he decided to take a calculated risk.

“I’ve been worried, that we aren’t alone. What if there’s something in the shadows listening in? Watching us?” Wild finally said as he began to write in the dirt in front of him and glanced quickly at Time. Time said nothing, only looked at him with an odd expression of confusion and sudden tension. Wild prayed to Hylia herself that Time understood what he was getting at. Slowly Wild stopped writing and met eyes with the older hero again before moving his eyes exaggeratedly down towards the ground in front of them.

Wild had carefully wrote the word ‘trust’ in the dirt with an arrow pointing towards himself. Making sure Time was watching Wild drew a line through the word.

‘Don’t trust me’.

There was no way of knowing if Dark was actually spying on them let alone how he was doing it, but Wild had to try something to get his message across. Wild just hoped that Dark wouldn’t be able to see him drawing in the dirt. Wild could see Time glance at the ground before he opened his mouth to say something but Wild shot him a terrified glance. ‘For the love of Din, don’t say anything.’ Time caught the message behind the look feigned a yawn before stretching his leg out, surreptitiously erasing the word.

“Well if that were the case I’m sure we would have noticed. But I’ll keep that in mind.” Time said leaning forward and idly doodling the letter ‘U’ in the dirt before drawing an eye over top of it.

‘Keep an eye on you?’.

Wild nodded slightly keeping his posture casual and his voice light.

“I’m sure you’re right, I guess I’m just jumpy is all.” Wild said as he watched Time continue to draw nonsense into the dirt obscuring the eye.

“How are you feeling? Are you in much pain?” Time asked slowly as he drew a series of eight stick figures of various heights into the dirt leaving room for one more.

“I’ll manage, for what it’s worth, I’ve got the pain mostly under control for now.” Wild said adding emphasis on the word ‘control’ and idly drew a ninth figure. He drew it a little farther behind the group of eight, it’s arm outstretched with a little sword held in its hand pointing at the backs of the others. Casually Wild added little lines connected to the ninth figure’s arms and legs, a parody of a marionette before adding a frowny face to the figure. Wild could hear Time hum in thought for a moment clearly thinking. After a minute Time began striking out the other eight stick figures and cast a quizzical eye towards Wild, a clear question in the act.

‘Take us out, one by one?’

Wild gave a another slight nod and swallowed down the lump that formed in his throat. ‘He must think I’m a monster’ Wild thought to himself before continuing in the most casual voice he could muster.

“I’ve learned some tricks in my past adventure that helped keep me going when the chips were down. Though I have to admit I’m not feeling quite like myself.” Wild said once again adding emphasis on the last part of his sentence. Wild could hear a small quiver creep into his voice. He felt Time shift uneasily next to him.

“Not feeling like yourself? How so?” Time asked cautiously his nimble fingers drawing an intersecting line across the ‘strings’ of Wild’s stick figure. Gods was Time asking him if he had a plan? Wild felt dread bubble in his chest. He had no idea how to answer that so he gave a small shrug instead instead of drawing anything.

“Have I ever told you about the times I’ve come in contact with the malice?” Wild asked his mouth suddenly feeling dry. He cleared the drawing away and drew small spirals in the dirt.

“Malice? That the stuff around the tower right? You had mentioned that it made you sick.” Time answered slowly, carefully placing his hands on his knees.

“It didn’t just make me sick. It felt like I was losing myself. I would lose chunks of time. One moment I’d be trying to sleep, and the next I would be standing in the remains of a monster camp. My thoughts felt muddled and broken and I felt so…” Wild trailed off, his hands gesturing in the air in vague circles as he tried to think of an appropriate word. “Angry? Frustrated? Like I wanted to brake things, or I don’t know. But it wasn’t myself.” Wild finished letting his hands drop back down to the dirt and smearing the spirals out of existence. He felt a pang of shame at that admission and he found he couldn’t meet Time’s eye.

“At one point when I snapped back to myself, I had my sword pointed at a traveling merchant. They looked terrified.” Wild whispered quietly, his voice hitching slightly. He felt Time shift again and this time Wild felt a hand land on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. Are you feeling that way now?” Time asked as he leaned forward to get a look at Wild’s face.

“Not as bad fortunately. But it’s noticeable. I feel like I can’t get my thoughts in order. It’s frustrating but I haven’t experienced any blank spots in my memory which gives me some comfort.” Wild said his fingers traced the bruising on his forearm gently. Pain tickled at the edges of his mind and he stopped before it could break through his careful control.

“What happened then?” He heard a groggy voice pipe up from behind them. Wild gave a little start before he turned to see the tired blue eyes of Twilight staring at them over top of the pillow he held.

“Oh uh, I can’t really remember what happened, its all a blur with lots of blank spaces. I assume I tried to stay away from people as much as possible. I must have wandered for a while because I found myself at the spring of courage. By that point I felt dead on my feet and delirious from fever, and I don’t even know how I got to the spring.” Wild trailed off and rubbed his forehead trying to bring the foggy memories back into focus.

“I do remember collapsing, and I must have fell into the water because I remember how the cold water felt nice against my skin. Then I woke up at the feet of the goddess statue and I finally felt like myself again. I was still incredibly weak, but the fever had finally broken. From there I was able to get myself to a stable and properly rest.” Wild said with a shrug. Time looked from Wild’s pensive face to Twilight who had sat up fully and was staring at Wild. Twilight was clearly turning something over in his head, drumming his fingers on the soft pillow he held.

“You said you went to a spring, and you felt better?” Twilight ventured and Wild nodded slowly not entirely sure where Twilight was going with his question.

“Yeah I’m not sure how it helped but it did. So naturally whenever I had the misfortune of coming in contact with that hellish stuff I would hightail it to the closet spring. The recovery always took forever but it was never as bad as the first time I was exposed.” Wild said with a sigh.

“It sounds stupid I know, but going to the spring, it always seemed to negate the worst of the effects of the malice.” Wild said sheepishly letting his eyes drop to the ground again in embarrassment. He knew that Twilight didn’t really hold any faith in the Goddesses and he hoped he didn’t sound like a crazy zealot.

“That’s not stupid at all, in fact it sounds like a plan.” Twilight said his eyes lighting up with hope. Wild tilted his head in confusion not fully seeing the connection.

“A plan? Do you guys have springs for the three goddesses or something?” Wild asked as his sluggish thoughts finally clicked the pieces together. Twilight shook his head.

“Not exactly, but there are springs for the Light Spirits and one of those springs just so happens to be very close. I helped the spirits who live in the springs during my adventure. The waters healed me on more than one occasion. I wonder if they would help you now.” Twilight thought out loud and suddenly he seemed full of energy. He stood and began to pace.

“Now that does seem rather interesting. Maybe that’s why we were dropped here.” Time said as he gave Wild’s shoulder a squeeze. Wild didn’t know what to say, could it really be possible that this would work? He didn’t want to get his hopes up just yet.

“How can you be sure it will work?” Wild asked still not sure what else to say.

“There’s no way to know for sure, but it’s a chance. The trip shouldn’t take more than two days, and there are some monsters in the way…” Twilight said distractedly his fingers tapping his chin as he planned. Wild thought for a moment, Twi was right, it was a chance but what else could they do?

“Alright, I say we go for it.” Wild said with all the energy he could spare. Time slapped his back gently with a hardy chuckle.

“That’s the spirit, We’ll start making plans as soon as everyone wakes up.” Time said with a smile.

“Will you be okay for the journey?” Twilight asked snapping out of his reverie. Wild gave him a tired nod and jerked a thumb behind him towards the cooking pot.

“I’m making some potions to help keep me moving. I’ll make it.” Wild said reassuringly and Twilight squinted at the pot. A look of faint disgust flitted across his face when he saw what was boiling away. Twilight was about to say something when they heard the sound of heavy breathing and whimpering coming from the other side of camp.

The three of them looked over to where the sleeping group of Four, Wind and Sky were laying. Sky was beginning to twitch and gasp in his sleep, his brows creasing and a look of distress falling over his face. Time stood and started to walk over to Sky to wake him up but was brought up short when Sky gave a little cry and sat up suddenly dislodging Wind’s arm from over his eyes. Sky’s eyes were wide with the fading nightmare, his brow beaded with sweat.

“Sky, are you okay?” Time asked quietly a hand raised as if he was going to place it on Sky’s trembling shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just uh, had a nightmare is all. It was just a nightmare.” Sky said and it almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself rather than Time. Wild squinted at him and examined Sky’s pale face.

“What was the dream about?” Wild asked eyes still squinted at Sky but the other only shook his head.

“I can’t really remember, but I know it wasn’t pleasant. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.” Sky dismissed shakily as he rubbed his eyes. Wild pursed his lips but nodded, they all had nightmares. He told himself he was just being overly sensitive due to his own recent issues with nightmares.

“Did you want to try to go back to sleep? There’s about another two hours before everyone should get up. You look tired.” Twilight asked softly. Sky blinked a few times and sucked in a deep breath to try to calm his breathing.

“I think I’ll stay up, I’ve had enough sleep for tonight,” Sky said as he seemed to finally collect himself.

“Alright, just be quiet. I don’t want to disturb the others just yet.” Time said in a hushed voice as he gestured around the sleepy camp. Sky nodded quickly and carefully untangled himself the rest of the way from the pile.

“Honestly I have no idea how they didn’t wake up.” Twilight snorted as he looked around the sleeping group.

“It’s been a long couple days, I’m sure everyone is played out.” Sky said kindly as he gently tugged up the blanket around Four’s shoulders. Wild looked away at that, he couldn’t help but feel reasonable somehow. Sky noticing Wild’s guilty face changed the subject.

“What do you have cooking there? Please say it’s not breakfast.” Sky joked as he scooted closer and wrinkled his nose.

“Nah, it’s a stamina potion. I’m making some for myself to give me a little boost during the day.” Wild explained giving the potion a quick stir.

“Actually it should be just about done. Would you mind helping me scoop it into some jars?” Wild asked Sky with a small smile.

“Sure! I’d love to help.” Sky said moving to Wild’s side grabbing spare empty bottles as Wild produced them from his slate. Time and Twilight left not long after Wild and Sky began to bottled the bright green solution, apparently to go talk with Wars about the plans for the day to come. As they were finishing filling the last of the bottles Sky covered his mouth as he coughed but waved away the concerned look Wild shot him.

“It’s okay, my throat feels a little dry, just need a drink. I must have been sleeping with my mouth open.” Sky said with a little laugh and a shake of his head. Even though Sky’s explanation made sense Wild couldn’t help but feel a little suspicious. There was no reason for it Wild knew but he still couldn’t shake the feeling.

“Are you sure? I can get Hyrule, maybe you’re getting sick?” Wild prodded and was met with stony silence.

“It’s okay, really. I’m fine.” Sky said after a beat and handed him the last bottle. Wild didn’t miss the slight tremor in Sky’s finger tips.

“Sky, maybe it would be better if you got looked at?” Wild tried again and was graced with a flicker of anger that sparked across Sky’s eyes.

“I told you, I’m fine. I swear you and Time are so overly cautious sometimes, it’s suffocating.” Sky said as he stood and brushed dirt off his pants. Wild felt stung by Sky’s words and he felt his eyebrow raise. That was very out of character for Sky, he was usually so patient and slow to anger, maybe that nightmare was worse than he thought? Wild opened his mouth to say something but closed it with a soft click. Was he being overly cautious? He could definitely see where Sky was coming from, he didn’t like being mother henned either. But there was something off and Wild couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I’m going to go and get cleaned up. Maybe you should too.” Sky said sternly as he turned and padded away towards his pack, clearly done with the discussion. Wild sat by the fire for a little while longer, feeling as though something of note just happened but couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.

[outroshooky]

chrome, leather, and a night on the town | pjm

⇢ genre: drabble (1950s bad boy au) (fluff, some smut) 

⇢ pairing: park jimin x reader

⇢ word count: 1.6k

⇢ warnings: uhhhh, there’s like brief swearing, a friendly amount of banter, and some dirty talk near the end. that’s it folks

⇢ a/n: so this is completely unedited and yes, i wrote a one hundred percent self-indulgent greaser jimin drabble today because i had nothing better to do. i apologize in advance. i also wanna send a heartfelt apology to gregory peck and audrey hepburn for desecrating a fine piece of american screenplay, roman holiday, that i’m sure is nothing like how this drabble portrays it to be

There’s something somewhat gratifying about dragging your boyfriend to a drive-in movie theater to see a horrible rom-com that you know will bore him to tears.

Naturally, there is a small part of you that feels bad about putting Jimin through an experience he compares to medieval torture. But, being the kind of person he is, he doesn’t complain- instead taking it as time to appreciate you and your reactions, the glow in your eyes sparkling, he says, like the Milky Way did that one time you two drove to the outskirts of town and stargazed for hours. That’s one of his favorite memories with you, and it’s, in fact, something he brings up as he swings a leg over the door of his creamy white Thunderbird, popcorn tucked in the crook of his arm.

“Are you sure I can’t pay you back for the popcorn?” You ask. “I’m already subjecting you to one hundred and eighteen minutes of Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck tripping over each other, surely you don’t need to pay any more.”

Jimin shrugs one shoulder, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t worry about it, doll. I’ll get you back next date night.”

You clamber to take the popcorn and drink trays from him. “Swear to god, if you drive us up to Make-Out Mountain-”

“Oh come on, I’m cruel but not that cruel.” Jimin settles into the driver’s seat, his hair perfectly styled over his forehead, cascading like tawny waves over honey skin. He relaxes, his own leather jacket squeaking against the fabric. “I have other date ideas planned anyways. Remember that night we took the T-bird and parked it on that cliff and just watched the stars?” He turns on his side to face you. “I miss that.”

Perhaps what you loved most about Jimin was the tenderness underneath the chrome and leather exterior, the heart he so confidently placed in your gentle hands with all of the intention to let you keep it for a long, long while. You cradled him close to the heat of your own love, warming his adoration with a quietly blazing fire of your own. Not once did he ever doubt his decision, not even while watching his best friends move through girl after girl like flipping through cars in those sleek magazines that were all the rage these days. They took what they wanted and moved on, while Jimin had everything he ever wanted right next to him, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

You couldn’t help but feel heat blossom in your chest, cheeks warming under the love embedded in his warm eyes, and you mirrored his position in the passenger’s seat. “I miss that too. Next time, I promise.” You reach to take his hand, brushing his knuckles with the pad of your thumb.

Jimin hums, his eyes flicking to the screen. “I think this is the last preview. Wanna move to the backseat?”

You nodded, somehow managing to finagle yourselves into the backseat without getting out of the car, nor without spilling any cola or popcorn. Even if you did, it would be well worth it when you curl into Jimin’s side, his chest warm under your cheek.

The first forty minutes of the film pass without interruption, your eyes constantly jumping from the fluttering pictures onscreen to the light that dances across Jimin’s face, painting his visage in light and shadow and everything in between. His lips have never looked so wonderfully plush, and it’s when they wrap around the mouth of his cola bottle that you begin to feel the first ounce of your self-control eroding.

To say that you enjoyed being the spotlight was an overstatement. How ironic, considering you were dating a token local bad boy with a Thunderbird as brightly polished as the sun, but regardless, you noted that your car was completely blocked in on all sides, some with their tops down, others without.

Your attention was no longer on Roman Holiday, but it was definitely on another kind of holiday.

If you were to get what you wanted, it would have to be done with a bit of subtlety.

Your shoulder brushes Jimin’s when he nudges you in a silent ask to pass the popcorn and you decide to play coy, plucking a single piece from the greasy cardboard to press against his mouth. Eyes unmoving from the screen, he delicately nibbles at the snack, tongue lazily darting from between his lips to rid them of the butter and salt. He takes his sweet time with it, sweeping the muscle high to low, and something burns low and sweet in your gut.

This was so unfair.

Your fingers find their way to his own, one arm behind his head and out of reach, but the other resting just across your rib cage and thus, his hand is yours for the taking.

You marvel once again at how soft they are, nails short but neatly cut, especially for a man his age. You trace the birthmark on his wrist to the silver ornamented ring on his pointer, align your pinky with his to compare and massage your thumbs into his palm.

“Are you paying more attention to Gregory Peck or to me?” Jimin’s whisper in your ear makes you jump, and he chuckles breathily as he gazes down at you. His tongue pokes in his cheek when he sees you squint up at him, caught in the act. “Guilty as charged,” he hums, turning his attention back to the screen.

“Not my fault your lips are so pretty. And your thighs. And the rest of you,” you grumble with a huff.

He smirks, his eyes crinkling with humor and confidence.

“And you know it too,” you continue, pouting for good measure. “You know you’re hot and you use it against me because you like making me blush, and it’s just not fair, Park Jimin.”

Jimin noses at your jaw. “I’m going to tell Gregory you paid a whole forty-eight cents so you could sit in front of him and compliment your boyfriend.”

“You're a germ,” you huff.

“But I’m your germ,” Jimin hums, pressing a kiss to the apple of your cheek. “And you hate me so much.”

“Obviously I do. What a hood you are,” you declare quietly, folding your arms for good measure.

Jimin’s nose scrunches as he pulls back in mock offense. “Hey, I know I’m bad, but this baby can outlast a bike any day.” He pats the seat affectionately.

“Did you just call your car baby? I thought that was reserved for me and me only.”

He cocks his head teasingly. “Mm, someone’s gettin’ jealous now.”

“Shut up,” you huff, flopping back against his chest.

“What’s on your mind, doll?” Jimin’s lips find purchase in your hair and when your heart does a flip-flop in your chest, you’re suddenly reminded of your original mission.

“You,” you muse. 

“Ah,” Jimin hums, nodding slightly. Then he smiles in that way that makes your stomach flip, and you know you’re done for. “Well, I guess that’ll have to wait till we get home, considering the movie and all.”

You sit bolt upright, watching in disbelief as he reclines back on the seat, eyes firmly glued back to the screen. “Y-You-”

“You were the one who wanted to see it, babe.” Jimin is the picture of total innocence and cocky assuredness. “I’m just along for the ride.” A mutual silence settles, thick and weighted, as you glare at him, hands curling in on themselves. He raises an eyebrow. “Are you not going to watch it?”

It is, at this unfortunate moment in time, that the exchange between you and Jimin is coincidentally timed with a somewhat suggestive film dialogue, one that is actually quite like several that have gone down between you two in the past. It's a devil of a line, one that you're half-inclined to miss, but your ears catch it just as it's spoken, bold and brave and the penultimate peak of the tension that's been building up for some seventy-odd minutes not only on screen, but in the backseat of your boyfriend’s Thunderbird on a hot summer evening.

“Would you help me get undressed, please?” The main character asks, a note of impatience in her voice.

The male lead pauses, obviously conflicted. “Okay.” He removes her necktie delicately. “There you are, you can handle the rest.”

You feel Jimin’s breath at your ear before he speaks, a gravelly tone to his voice that wasn't there just a moment ago. “But you can never handle the rest, can you?”

The little self-control you have left, frayed down to the bone, snaps in one quick movement.

Fuck the movie. 

Fuck the other people around you.

That's it.

In one motion, you reach across Jimin to the lapels of his jacket, yanking him across the seat, but most importantly, on top of you. He catches himself on one arm, eyes wide in surprise. 

“Don't tease if you can't handle it either,” you hiss in his ear, stamping kisses down his jawline. 

“Oh doll,” Jimin breathes, gentle fingers brushing your hair back from your face. “I’ll do more than just tease you, if that's what you want.”

You bat your lashes at him and mirror his earlier movement, poking your tongue in your cheek coquettishly. “That's exactly what I want.”

“Fuck, angel-” Jimin groans low, raspy and dark and heated. “Fuck the movie, fuck anything else, I want you.” His eyes are narrow, hooded, sending heat down to your toes and chills up the back of your neck.

“And you’ve got me, baby boy,” you coax, whining faintly in his ear. Jimin’s eyes flick up above you, over the edge of the door to the other cars just a few feet away. He shakes his head.

“This isn't gonna do. What do you say we finish this in the bathroom, considering we’re probably gonna be here for a while?”

“I thought you’d never ask. Let's go before I find out if Gregory actually does end up undressing Audrey.”

[marquiswrites]

White Christmas

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)

Characters: James “Bucky” Barnes, Reader, Tony Stark [Guest Appearance]

Relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Reader,

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1535

Warnings: FLUFF, small language

Author’s Notes: Written for @mypassionsarenysins for their  #mypassionsarenysins1k challenge! My prompt was “White Christmas” by Bing Crosby. This was super fun to write and gave me a chance at some sweet sweet fluff to balance out my usual Angst and Mystery categories. I hope that you enjoy! [also, nothing against Las Vegas for the people who live there, but I too live in a desert, and no snow on xmas is a sucky tradition]

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One hundred and ninety four days.  

That’s how long you and Bucky had been undercover in Las Vegas. Trying to catch out a Hydra base that was somewhere in this miserable desert. It was far too cold for the fact that there was absolutely not a single snowflake in sight. 

You pouted once more, leaning over the balcony of the hotel suite that they had put the both of you in. Under the guise of foreman overseeing the construction of yet another Casino and hotel. It gave you both reason enough to be in the city for as long as you had been, and to chat up the other managers and foreman. But you had made little to no headway on figuring out whether the intel was good. 

And now here you both were, on Christmas eve, in weather more suited to fall or even late summer. Clear and dry.

After so long on the east coast, or even the occasional trips to Europe, it was depressing. To put it plainly. And to make it all worse, you were with the one Avenger who couldn’t stand to be around you for more than a few minutes at a time if you weren’t actively working. 

You and Bucky made a good team, Natasha’s training had helped you to come far in hand to hand combat since your first days with the team; and your enhanced ability made Bucky an absolute force of nature, strength and endurance expanded even past the capabilities of the super soldier serum, with absolutely no side effect due to the increased healing component. You worked well together, and your histories with Hydra helped you to understand each other on a level that none of the rest of the team shared. 

But he also absolutely refused to acknowledge your existence half the time. Maybe it was because he was finally regaining memories, maybe because it was of the fact that you had grown up a Hydra Princess for the first half of your childhood, privileged compared to how he was tortured. Likely it was just because that was how he was. Reticent with most of the crew, except for Sam and Steve. 

And you were so desperately in love with him that it hurt. Sending flutters through your chest every time your gazes met. Your mouth ran dry with his every smile, though it was usually saved for when you were actively on the job, a facade, no matter how real it looked.

Now you were stuck with each other on Christmas. 

Happy holidays to you.

You tucked your hand against your cheek. Sighing to yourself once more as you watched the lights of the Strip. You were far enough away that the noise fell away across the desert, so much quieter than anything that you were used to. 

Which made it worse that you didn’t realize Bucky had joined you on the deck until he was clearing his throat. “If you want, you can always go and do somethin’. I’m not about to make you miss christmas just cause Stevie’s got a stick up his ass about this case.”

Jumping out of your skin, you whipped around to find Bucky leaning against the open sliding glass door. Shirtless. 

Which made you lose all ability to form words until it was almost too awkward to pick the conversation back up. 

“You alright there, killer?” A raised brow suddenly brought you back to your senses. 

“Uh yeah… just got caught up in my head.” Lifting a hand to rub at the back of your neck, shrugging slightly while you flicked your tongue against your lips. “But… what do you mean?”

Bucky chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair to push it back from his face. Possibly the most distracting habit that he had, well, the second most distracting at any case. “I mean if you got plans for the holiday. Go and catch a show. Get some drinks. Ice skate. Don’t have to be cooped up in here with me the whole time. Sad way to spend christmas, Doll.”

“I don’t mind. I mean… Everything is probably packed anyways, and there’s no snow or anything. Doesn’t really feel like Christmas, you know?” Shrugging once more as your gaze dropped. Missing the way that Bucky frowned at you. 

“Yeah, guess that’s right. I’ll leave you to it then.” Bucky pushed himself off of the door jam, turning back inside. Leaving you with a growing pit in your chest. That niggling of anxiety that you tried to ignore most of the time. Resigning yourself to spending the rest of your evening out here, avoiding him in the hopes of keeping you from making a fool out of yourself. 

It was quickly approaching midnight as you finally pushed off from the balcony, shuffling your way back inside the hotel room. Trying to keep quiet so you didn’t wake Bucky. 

The only reason that you stayed out this long was to try outlasting the man’s seemingly incurable insomnia. Making it to the door of your room, pulling it open just to freeze as you caught sight of Bucky sitting on the edge of your bed. “You’re up late.”

You wet your lips and huff a laugh. “Says the man who never sleeps.”

“Did enough of that in Cryo. Come on, have something I want you to see.” Bucky stood, offering you your heaviest jacket and a pair of boots. Leaving you tilting your head up to him in confusion. 

“Umm… I mean…”

“Doll, trust me.”

You wanted to tell him that you trusted him with your life, but those weren’t words that you said to people who couldn’t stand your company for more than five minutes. Instead just nodding dumbly. Slipping your feet into the boots, and the jacket over your arms. Watching as Bucky pulled out a blindfold, then swallowing tightly as he tied it around your eyes. “We’ll be there in just a few moments.”

It certainly felt like more than a few moments before you felt the car stopping. Listening for the opening of Bucky’s door, then the way it shut. Your own door opening, with a hand reaching gently from yours to lead you from it. 

“I hope you know how very kidnappy this feels.”

“Don’t worry, Doll, if this is kidnapping, it’s the gentlest I’ve ever done.”

“Buck… That really, really doesn’t ease any of my concerns.” You manage to laugh as he guides you through what you are assuming in a parking lot. Ears straining as you caught the unlatching of a door, lifting a hand to feel the edge of it to confirm your thoughts. 

“Smart, Doll, but stop cheating.” The warm laugh comes once more, bringing a heat to your cheeks. Warm in comparison to the sudden chill creeping along your skin. No wonder that he had  wanted you to wear the coat. Your brow furrowing in confusion. Then wetting your lips as he moved to untie the knot at the back of your head, gently pulling the cloth from your eyes. 

When you open your eyes, you can feel your breath catch in your throat. You heart skipping several beats as you stare out at the ice rink. Completely covered in snow from a machine blowing it in from one corner of the room. “But… how?”

“Made a call to Stark.” You can feel him shrug from where he stands just behind you, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. Sending chills up your spine. 

“But… why?”

“Because you deserve a White Christmas, Doll. And if I can do that for you, even if just for this one night, then I’m damn well gonna make it happen.” 

In a sudden flurry of emotion, you twist on your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your lips finding his in a desperate sort of gentleness, not caring how he might pull away at any second. Not caring that this might ruin any hope of him reciprocating those feelings. Just needing to express how much it meant that he would do this for you. 

And then slowly melting in his arms as he met your kiss in return. A hand moving to cup the back of your head while his free arm slipped around your waist. Cradling you in place against him. Keeping you there, lips gently sliding across yours, for what felt like an eternity before he was pulling back to grin almost shyly. 

“Well… if I had known it only took a bit of snow for you to notice me…”

You blink up at him before your forehead thuds against his shoulder. “We’re such idiots…”

“Yeah you both are, now get out there and enjoy the snow before they have to open this back up to the public. And turn off your coms next time old man.” Stark’s voice suddenly rings out across the loudspeaker system as a spotlight lands on you both. Leaving you and Bucky to both groan with embarrassment before bursting into a quiet sort of laughter. Bing Crosby’s classics gently filtering through the air as your gaze meets Bucky’s once more. 

“Come on, Doll, let’s go enjoy our white christmas. Together.”

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

New fic!! The original idea was for a steamy one-shot gift fic for the wonderful @krisrix but the plot ran away with me and it’s now a full-blown multi-chapter fic. Updates will hopefully be on a regular basis. 

Hope you like it @krisrix! I”ve been meaning to write you something ever since you created that amazing art for Can’t Find My Way Home! 

Behind Closed Doors

Baz

I can’t get out of David Mage’s office fast enough. I thought weekly one-on-one meetings with him were torture but now he’s moved them up to twice a week, as we reach the end of year, and it’s simply excruciating.

I hate him. I hate this job. I’ve come to despise working at Watford, which breaks my heart. But I won’t leave. I’m going to stay the course and I’ll be damned if I don’t outlast Mage here.

My mother started this company. This is her legacy and I won’t let that pompous bastard ruin it.

He’s doing his best to do just that. The numbers bear that out. Month after month I’ve been trying to communicate to him what a disaster his policies are. How they’re actually weakening the company. He just spouts some drivel about “fresh starts ”and “thinking outside the box” and then the phrase I absolutely abhor: “take it to the next level.”

I damn near leveled him when he said that today.

Father still sits on the Board of Directors but it hasn’t been much help. Somehow the rest of the Board has morphed into collection of lackeys for Mage; sycophants, supporters, cronies. It’s sickening. I think the only reason Father still has a seat is because he started Watford with Mother. They can’t vote him out.

At least I don’t think they can.

I’m storming down the corridor to get to the blessed isolation of my office when a voice calls out behind me.

“Baz!”

I can’t deal with Snow right now. I really can’t. I quicken my pace but the wanker just speeds up to catch me. Literally. He actually tugs at my sleeve.

I stop and level a glare at him. “What do you want, Snow? Some of us have work to do to keep this company afloat.”

Simon Snow is Mage’s personal assistant. His right hand man. His closest confidant and staunchest supporter. His jack of all trades.

I wish I could hate him as much as I hate Mage. I’ve tried.

I’m stupid enough to have fallen in love with him instead. It’s a cross I have to bear, but at this moment being in his presence after that disastrous meeting is almost more than I can handle.

“You haven’t sent in an RSVP for the Christmas party yet. I need to send the final number to the caterer today. I’ve sent you three emails about it, Baz.”

I arch my brow and give Snow my iciest sneer. “As if I have time to read frivolous emails about social gatherings. It’s end of year, Snow. The busiest time for the financial department, which you should know. Happens this time every year.”

“Christmas comes this time each year,” Snow mumbles.

Did he really just quote the Beach Boys most idiotic lyric at me? It shouldn’t surprise me that Snow likes that utterly insipid Christmas song. It’s absolutely endearing that he does.

I harden my heart against his charm.

“Yes, Snow. I’m quite aware. End of year financial accounting also comes this time each year and that’s rightfully occupying far more of my attention than the utterly useless Christmas party you’re harping about.”

He looks hurt. I internally curse myself. It’s not Snow’s fault I’m in this mood. It’s not Snow’s fault that he’s in charge of the dreaded Watford annual Christmas party. It’s not Snow’s fault I’m in love with him.

Actually, that last one is entirely Snow’s fault. He can’t walk around this place with that riot of disheveled bronze curls, the constellations of moles and freckles on his tawny skin, that bloody dimple on his left cheek when he smiles, his distressingly charming personality, completely unwarranted kindness, and expect me not to fall recklessly, hopelessly in love with him.

I’m so weak for this boy.

I soften my voice. “Listen, Snow. I know you’re putting all your energy into the party right now. I’m putting all mine to the financials.” I take a breath. I can do this. “I’m sorry I haven’t responded to your emails.”

Simon perks right back up at my apology. “That’s alright, Baz. I know how stressful end of year is for you. That’s why I emailed, so you could get back to me when you had a free moment.” He glances back towards Mage’s office. “I should have known better than to run you down after a meeting with Mr. Mage.”

Two years working here and he still calls him Mr. Mage. It’s ludicrous. And that bastard never corrects him. It’s some hierarchy, respect bullshit. It’s not like Snow doesn’t know Mage well enough to call him David.

He’s Mage’s pet project. Scholarship student out of the care home system and under Mage’s tutelage for years at that small university Mage worked at before he inflicted himself upon us here at Watford.

Corporations don’t function like universities though and Mage’s management here is a testament to that. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’d come to Watford to purposely run us into the ground.

Perhaps he has. I wouldn’t put it past him.

Snow is still looking at me, likely waiting for a response. Instead I let my mind wander, like I usually do when I am confronted with him.

I have to, for self-preservation. Being near Snow is like being caught in a tractor beam, like he’s the sun and I’m crashing into him. It’s why I try to avoid him at all costs. He’s too distracting.

I’m doing it again.

“So, shall I put you down as a yes, then, Baz?”

“Yes, fine, whatever.” I’m pathetic. I hate the party. I only go because I know how much work Snow puts into it and because he looks so damn good in a suit.

“And shall I put a plus-one?”

“What?”

“Are you bringing a date?”

Bollocks. This is why I should have answered his email. To avoid awkward questions like this. To avoid inadvertently saying something monumentally stupid like “you can be my plus-one, Simon.”

“Ah, no, no, just me.”

“Right, then.” Snow beams at me. “I’ll mark you down for one. We’ve still got a spot open at our table. I’ll put you with us.”  His smile grows even wider. “Saturday at seven. At the Club. I’ll see you there, Baz.”

He nods and then scurries back down the hallway towards Mage’s office.

Fuck. How am I going to get through an entire evening at the same table as Snow?

Simon

I really should know better than to interrupt Baz when he’s in a snit and storming down the hallway from Mage’s office.

If it weren’t for the fact that he’s always in a snit after a meeting with Mage.

I know they don’t get on. It’s too bad really. Watford’s a family thing for Baz. But it still must be hard to see someone else in his mother’s place. In her office. Running her company.

I’m not sure I agree with all of Mage’s policies either. I know he was the dean at the school but I uni isn't like the corporate world.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t work here, with him. I mean, I know it’s a good job, with solid prospects, a good salary, stable environment. But I’m not using my degree here, am I?

I double majored in Sociology and Human Resources. I’m actually overqualified to be a personal assistant, but here I am planning Christmas parties and managing Mage’s schedule.

I owe him. For a lot of things. Getting me out of the care home system. Supporting me for that scholarship to the private secondary school that paved my way to getting into uni. Being my mentor at uni. Hiring me when he got this job.

It’s quite a lot. I can’t just walk away from this. I like Watford. I like what they do here. I like the values this company has. Or had, I suppose. Things are changing quite a bit under Mage.

He’s the one who would write a reference for me, if I left. Which is why I don’t dare leave. I’m not sure he wouldn’t consider it a betrayal. He’s funny that way. Very focused on loyalty and allegiance. Everything seems to boil down to “us and them” with him. He and I are the “us” and it seems everyone else is the “them.”

Particularly Baz and his father. The other long-term Watford employees. Half the Board.

Well, less than half now. A fair number have ‘retired’ and been replaced with people who are friends with Mage.

I didn’t think that’s how Boards worked. Maybe I’m just naïve.

I can’t let myself think about all that. I just have to concentrate on doing my job and doing it well.

I’m glad I caught Baz, even if he was in a mood.

I think he’s always in a mood. Two years I’ve been here and Baz is still an enigma to me. I’ve asked Penny about him. She’s been here longer than I have. She just says he’s brilliant and a tosser and that I should let him be.

Easier said than done.

There’s something fascinating about Baz. It’s not just that he’s fit either.

He’s quite fit.

But he’s intriguing as a person, not just because of how he looks. He’s young to be the CFO of a corporation the size of Watford. I know he was top of his class at LSE. Brilliant financial mind, could have had any job he wanted but he wanted to work here. With his mother. So, he started in the financial department and worked his way up.

Penny told me he’d just been promoted to CFO when the accident happened. It was a bad multiple car pileup on the M5. Baz actually passed by it on his way home that night. I can’t imagine how that must have felt. Seeing that car, knowing it was his mother’s.

I don’t know how he came back to work here, after that.

But he did. Agatha says he’s much more withdrawn since then. He used to be a bit more social, would occasionally go out to lunch with people, sometimes even to the pub for drinks after work.

Not now.

Baz comes in early, goes home late. He’s rarely out of his office unless it’s to lead a department meeting or meet with Mage. I think he even eats in there.

I’ve tried to get to know him. Hasn’t gone too well. I mean we’ve talked, of course, but not much more than that. Not for lack of trying on my part though.

I plan the corporate activities—the Christmas party, the summer soiree at the Club, periodic department morale boosters and whatnot. Retirement parties, new employee meet and greets. All sorts of events.

Baz rarely goes to any of them. I mean, he comes to the Christmas party every year and the summer event, but it’s more like he makes an appearance. Shows up, has a drink, shakes some hands with Board members and then buggers off.

I don’t know why I’m so determined to be friends with him. Penny says I’m obsessed. I disagree.

I think it’s just that he seems lonely and that bothers me.

I know how that feels.

Baz

The only diversion at the Christmas party this year has been Snow. He spent the first hour rushing around, talking to the caterer, having a word with the DJ, sorting some table seating mishap. We were well into the dessert course before he finally sat down.

In the open seat next to me.

I’d planned to leave after dessert, make my cursory rounds with the Board members and then scuttle out of here before anyone noticed. It’s still my plan, but having Snow seated next to me is definitely putting a wrench in the works.

I go to such lengths to avoid proximity to him. But having him so near, being able to look at him up close—it’s mesmerizing.

I practically swoon when his knee inadvertently bumps mine under the table. He’s left-handed so we end up knocking our hands together as he eats his food. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Snow eat before. He does it with a gusto, determination and rapidity that’s breath-taking. I think he ate every remaining roll in the bread basket. And he took my butter. Not that I was planning on eating it but still. I don’t think he’s quite aware of plate assignments at formal table settings.

Or he just loves butter.

From the way he slathered it on his roll I’m going to assume it’s the latter.

He’s also hitting the wine fairly hard. We have a few bottles at our table but Bunce and Wellbelove have only had a glass each. I’ve sipped at mine. I don’t think Rhys drinks and Gareth has a whiskey by him.

Snow’s on his third glass by the time the DJ starts playing and the dance floor begins to fill.

I think he’s well on the way to being pissed. He hurried off to hand over a check to the caterer but it appears he took a detour to the bar. Snow’s back and he’s got a drink in each hand.  

“Here.” He hands me one.

I shake my head. “Sorry, Snow. One glass limit for me tonight. I’m driving.”

His face falls for a moment but then he shakes his head and beams at me. “More for me then, I suppose.”

“Simon.” Bunce is seated on his other side. “I don’t think you need two Mojitos.” She commandeers the one intended for me and passes it off to Wellbelove.

Wellbelove just shrugs and takes it.

“I think I’m entitled to as many Mojitos as I please.” Snow leans back in his chair and proceeds to down his entire drink.

“What’s brought this on?” Bunce asks, placing a hand on his shoulder. She darts a concerned look in my direction.

As if I would have any idea why Snow has decided to drown his sorrows in rum. It’s a tempting idea to follow suit except for the fact that I despise rum.

And I hate being drunk. Hate the loss of control, the giddiness, the way I find myself saying things that absolutely should not be said. That would be a disaster here, with Snow at my side.

Who knows what nonsense I would start spouting about the blue of his eyes or the light glinting in his bronze curls. I’d never live it down. I’d die of mortification on the spot.

I’ll stick to one glass of wine and then a lonely drive home to end my night curled up with a good book.

Of course, that’s not what happens.

What happens is that Snow continues to drink. Profusely.

Wellbelove offers to take him home when she leaves but he waves her away. Bunce tries to be more forceful with him but he’s having none of her bossiness tonight (Bunce is a force of nature) (I’m secretly relieved I don’t have to interact with her department often).

“I can’t leave, Penny. Not until everyone else packs it up. I’ve got to pay the DJ and make sure everyone’s got a ride home. It’s my job.” Snow’s explaining this to her, with his hands on her shoulders and an adorably earnest expression on his face.

“Yes, I know that, Simon. Perhaps that would have been a good reason not to make so many trips to the bar, now wouldn’t it?”

He laughs. It comes out as a bark, nothing like Snow’s usual laugh. I take a closer look at him. There’s a hint of desperation behind the forced cheerfulness. I hadn’t noticed it before. Something’s bothering Snow, enough to make him behave this way, so out of character for him.

“It’s alright, Penny. I’ll be fine. It’s not like I don’t know how to handle my liquor. Better than most.”

“That’s not the point, Simon.” Bunce groans. She looks at her watch again. “I need to go. I’ve got to get to the airport early tomorrow morning.” She tugs at his sleeve.

Bunce’s boyfriend lives in America. I don’t know how they manage this long-distance relationship of theirs but I do know there’s a lot of flying back and forth for holidays.

I step closer to them and then, even though I’ve just had the one drink, I find myself saying something absolutely rash. “I’ll drive him home, Bunce. You go on.”

They both turn to look at me, Bunce incredulous and Snow inordinately pleased. “There you go, Penny. Baz’ll get me home. You can count on Baz. That’s what he does all day, he counts things. Count on Baz. Baz’ll take care of me, Pen.”

Bunce rolls her eyes and then fixes me with a stern look. “Baz, so help me, you better get him home in one piece.”

I give her a bored look, hopefully masking the ridiculous way my heart is pounding at the thought that I’ll be watching over Snow and at the way he’s gazing at me right now.

Because he is. Gazing at me, I mean. Raptly, intently, fondly. I can’t quite wrap my head around his expression. I want him to look at me like that all the time.  

“Relax, Bunce. I’m quite sure I can handle getting one pleasantly drunk employee home.” I focus on Snow, who is literally beaming at me now. “As long as you remember where you live, Snow, we should be fine.”

“I’m pleasant now, am I?” Snow’s latched onto that unfortunate word choice of mine. I’m not even soused and I’ve already said too much. I am utterly pathetic.

Bunce shakes her head but leaves Snow in my tender care. She writes his address on a paper napkin and shoves it in my pocket before she goes, to his disapproval. “I know where I live, Pen. I’m not a complete idiot.”

She gives him an odd look, her gaze going back and forth between us thoughtfully. “I’m not so sure, Simon. I’m not so sure.” And then she leaves.

It takes a while to sort everything out. Snow has a check in his pocket for the DJ. He has a conversation with the Club manager about sending the bar bill to the office. He wanders around making sure there aren’t any purses or coats or belongings left behind, and then we finally make our departure.

He’s tipsy, that’s for certain, but I think Bunce was mistaken as to how drunk he is. Granted, he’s taken in a prodigious amount of liquor, but I think he’s got the right of it—he can handle the alcohol, better than I had assumed.  He’s uninhibited, that’s for certain, but he’s definitely not incoherent.

I input the address Bunce scribbled onto the napkin in my SatNav as Snow leans back in the passenger seat of my car, a sigh escaping him as he does.

“You alright, Snow?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes are closed. He looks tired. I haven’t put much thought into all he does, to make these parties go off without a hitch. He’s the one doing all the work, behind the scenes, but he certainly doesn’t get any credit for it.

I feel bad for snarling at him as much as I do.

“Are you sure?” Why am I still talking?

“Yeah, it’s just been a bit of rough night.”

“Why’s that? You pulled it off again. Lovely evening for all.”

He turns his head to the side and opens his eyes. “You really thought it was lovely?”

I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight. My voice softens as I answer. “I do. You always do a wonderful job with these events, Snow. It’s a thankless job, I’m sure, but thank you for doing it.”

Snow’s smile is brilliant. I reluctantly turn my eyes back to the road. “Thanks, Baz. I wish everyone agreed with you.”

I frown. “I can’t think anyone would find much to criticize.” I give him a wry look. “Other than the DJ insisting on playing The Electric Slide.” I dare another sidelong glance at him. His grin is even wider now. “That needs to be on the no-play list.”

“Ah, come on, Baz. It got a lot of people on the dance floor.”

“Not me.”

“And what would get you on the dance floor? I didn’t see you out there at all tonight.”

My mouth is dry. I’m not prepared to have this type of conversation with Snow. It’s not intimate but it’s somehow far more personal than any we’ve had previously.

“I don’t dance.”

Snow snorts. Literally. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“And why not?”

I can’t help glancing at him again. He’s laser-focused on me as he answers, an intensity in his gaze that makes my skin tingle.  “You don’t move like someone who can’t dance.”

I swallow. This is definitely veering into intimate territory. I take a breath and answer him. “I didn’t say I couldn’t. I said I don’t. There’s a difference.”

“Ah. So what would it take for you to dance?”

“Nothing that comes to mind.”

“Hmm.”

We lapse into silence. We’re almost at Snow’s flat. I’m utterly failing at the witty banter. I’ve got Snow’s undivided attention and I can’t for the life of me come up with anything to say. It’s tragic, really.

I pull up in front of his building. There’s a spot conveniently open. I manoeuvre the car into the tight space and park. “Alright then, Snow?”

This smile of his is soft, not the heart-stopping brilliance of before. I think I love this one even more. It’s private, personal, like he’s saved it just for me. That’s a load of rubbish, I know, but I let myself believe it for a moment.

“Yes, thank you, Baz. Thanks for driving me home.” Snow’s made no move to unbuckle his seatbelt or get out of the car. He’s just contemplating me. Raptly.

It’s like staring into the sun. I can’t hold his gaze. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, clear my throat and force my eyes away from him. “Alright, then.” Christ, now I’m repeating myself. Will the embarrassments of tonight never end?

He reaches out a hand and gently touches my forearm. It’s electric. I can feel the heat of it through the fabric of my suit. Then it’s gone and Snow is swiftly unbuckling his belt and making his way out of the car.  He leans into the open door. “See you Monday, Baz.” And then he’s gone, the door thudding closed behind him. He’s not the steadiest on his feet but he’ll do. He just needs to get in the building and up to his flat.

I stay parked anyway, to be certain he makes it in safely. It’s a good thing I do, because I can see the distress on his face a moment later. He’s patting down his pockets, face rapidly growing more alarmed as his search continues. He stares at the car, expression frantic now. I roll down the window. “What’s the problem?”

Simon rushes back, stumbling a bit as he does. “Baz. I can’t find my keys. I can’t find them anywhere.” He’s scrabbling in his pockets again—trousers, suit jacket, overcoat. His eyes meet mine. “Fuck. I must have dropped them at the Club.”

“Is there a spare set anywhere?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve been meaning to leave a set with Penny but I keep forgetting.”

Blast it. “Get in. We’ll head back to the Club. The cleaning crew should be there.”

The cleaning crew is not there. No one is. The Club is locked, dark and deserted. I’m a bit taken aback. You’d think they’d want the place cleaned up before the Sunday brunch crowd. I’m rethinking my whole attitude towards the place.

But that’s not helping with the Snow situation. “What am I going to do?” He’s got his hands in his hair, furiously pulling at his curls. “I can’t get into my building. I can’t call Penny—she’s got an early flight, I don’t dare wake her up.”

I make my decision. It’s a stupid, moronic, risky decision, but I’m tired and I’m besotted with this blasted boy and I can’t just leave him to his own devices, now can I? I told Bunce I’d take care of him and I damn well keep my promises. I can’t help the small sigh that escapes me. “You can come home with me, Snow. I’ve got a sofa you can use for the night. I’ll bring you round here in the morning so you can track down your keys.”

His hands drop to his sides and his red-rimmed eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry to be such a pain in the arse, Baz, really I am.” His brow furrows. “You can drop me off at a hotel or something. I’d hate to inconvenience you.”

I can’t help but frown back. “I am not having you spend the night in a hotel. I’ve got a perfectly serviceable sofa at my place. It’s not an inconvenience. It’s easier this way, truly. I can help you search for your keys tomorrow.”

His face softens to that fond look again and I’m wrecked. I can’t think when Snow looks at me like that. “Thanks, Baz. You’ve no idea how much I appreciate this. I feel like such a knobhead.”

I just nod at him. I don’t quite trust my voice at the moment. My heart is beating so rapidly that I swear he can hear it when he gets in the car.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. I’m fine. Snow’s fine.

Fuck. I most certainly am not fine. I’m going to have Simon Snow sleeping at my flat. It’s a fucking dream come true but not in the way I’d fantasized.

I’m simply helping him out. It’s just for one night. This means nothing.  

It means everything.

Christ, what am I even thinking? It can’t mean anything. Honestly, even if Snow were interested, which he’s certainly not, it’s against company policy. No fraternizing. No inter-office romances. Strictly off-limits, especially for one of the chief officers to potentially be involved with a subordinate.

It’s theoretically both an HR and Compliance violation, even if it’s not spelled out explicitly in the handbook.

It’s one of the reasons I’ve kept my distance from him. Not given in to the temptation to test the waters, see if he’s even remotely interested. Because it’s doomed from the start. I can’t date Snow. Not as long as he’s employed at Watford.

Snow’s still babbling rambling apologies to me. I let him. I’m too tired to argue and too overwhelmed to speak at the moment.

He falls silent by the time we pull into the parking garage at my building. He’s still a bit wobbly but not enough that I have to steady him, thank God. I don’t know what I’d do if I had him leaning into me right now.

I find out the answer to that question moments later as I fumble with my keys. My hands are shaking and it takes me a few tries to fit the key in the lock. Just enough time for Snow to slump against the wall and slide down to a seated position.

“No, Snow, what? Not here. We’re almost inside. Come on, now, get up.” He’s got his eyes closed.

“It’s spinning a bit, Baz.” The words are just a whisper.

“Bloody hell. You were fine just a minute ago. How much did you have to drink?”

He shakes his head and then stops with a moan, both hands going up to grip his temples. My eyes dart around the landing.  I need to get this idiot inside.

“I had a shot of whiskey when I went to get my coat, just before we left.”

“Snow, you are an absolute moron. What the hell has gotten into you tonight?”

“Mage.” It’s even quieter than before but I hear it.  It sears my heart. What did Mage do, to have Simon behave so out of character tonight?

It’s not something I’m going to delve into out here. Somehow, I’ve got to get him into my flat. I should be able to pry it out of him while I fetch him some water and paracetamol. He’ll definitely need both.

And pyjamas.

Blast it. I do not need the mental image of Snow wearing my pyjamas at this particular moment.

I shove the door open, drop my keys in my pocket and reach out a hand towards him. “Up, Snow.” He opens his eyes and stares at my hand. “Come on. Let’s get you inside. We can talk about whatever’s bothering you then, alright?” I’m using my gentlest voice, the coaxing one I used to use on my siblings when I’d try to get them to go to bed.

Snow reaches up and grips my hand and I haul him to his feet. He stumbles a bit and leans into me hard. I’m not expecting it and my arm involuntarily slides around his waist to steady him. We stagger into my flat, Snow a near dead weight in my arms. I manoeuvre him to the sofa where he’ll spend the night and he drops down heavily onto the cushions. The momentum drags me down as well.  

Snow slumps against the back of the sofa and I leap to my feet. “I’ll just be a moment.” I take my overcoat off and toss it on a chair before hurrying to the kitchen to fetch Snow some water. It takes me a few moments to hunt down the paracetamol. I rarely use it so I check the bottle to make sure it’s not expired. Thankfully, it’s not. I tuck the bottle in my pocket and head to my room for a pair of pyjamas.

I return to find Snow, head lolling back on the sofa, snoring gently. He’s ridiculous and entrancing and the line of his neck is utterly enthralling.  I can’t take my eyes off him.  I shake my head in irritation and raise my voice. “Snow. Wake up. You can’t sleep in your suit.”

His head bobs up and his eyes widen. It takes a moment for him to focus on me but when he does a smile lights up his face. “Baz.”

“Present and accounted, Snow. Now, sit up, that’s right. Time for some water or you’ll feel like absolute shite in the morning.” “Think I’m going to feel like that no matter what.”

“You’ll feel worse if you don’t do as I say. Now, come on, drink the water and then I need you to take some paracetamol for your head. It’s going to be pounding soon enough, I’m sure.”

Snow obediently takes the paracetamol and drinks most of the water. I scamper off to the kitchen to bring him another glass. He’s managed to stay awake this time. He blinks up at me. “Thanks, Bazy.”

That’s not going to do at all. I’m absolutely not going to tolerate nicknames from this intoxicated wanker.

“You do not get to call me that, Snow. Under no circumstances do I answer to nicknames.”

“Baz’s a nickname.” It comes out as a mumble.

I roll my eyes. “That’s my name, Snow. It’s not a nickname. It’s what everyone calls me.”

“Not your father. Not Mage. Call you Basilton, they do.”

“I am not going to engage in a debate about my name while you are inebriated. It’s one o’clock in the morning. Give it a rest.”

“Alright, Bazy.”

“Snow.” My voice has an edge to it. I don’t care how adorable he’s being at the moment. I simply cannot allow this.

“Hmm. How’s this then. I’ll stop the Bazy bit if you stop calling me Snow. M’ok?”

“What?”

“M’name’s Simon.”

“I’m aware.”

“Rather you call me that, than Snow.”

I sigh. “Fine, then. Simon. Are you happy now?”

He grins in response and then proceeds to slump further down. This won’t do at all. He’s still in his suit.

“Might need the loo.”

Of course, he needs to use the loo. I position myself in front of him and hoist him up. We lurch our way to the bathroom down the hall. I go in search of a spare pillow and blanket while Snow—er, Simon—uses the facilities. There’s some thumping and bumping, which is likely his attempt at getting out of his clothes and into the pyjamas I left with him. I can feel my face heat up. I’m going to leave him in his suit if he hasn’t managed to change out of it himself. There are some lines that simply can’t be crossed.

Simon’s somehow managed to get out of his suit and into my pyjamas and I can’t say that the sight of him in them doesn’t make my head spin. His clothing is scattered on the floor and over the side of the bathtub. I tut at him and gather it all up, hanging it in the hall closet once I get him situated on the sofa again.

“You need to drink more water, Simon.”

“I will if you sit with me a bit.”

I sit at the far end of the sofa, perched on the edge. Simon tilts his head in my direction, eyes heavy-lidded. “Thanks, Baz.”

“Drink your water.” He takes a few sips and then closes his eyes again. “What’s going on tonight, Simon? I’ve never seen you like this.”

He opens his eyes and regards me thoughtfully. “How would you know? You don’t really spend much time in my company do you, Baz?”

He’s right. I don’t. I observe him from a distance, taking note of every nuance of him, every facial expression, every burst of laughter. I’ve collected scraps of information about him from office gossip and the interactions we’ve had. I know him better than he thinks.

I’ve been to most of the corporate events since he started working here and I’ve never seen him behave in an inappropriate fashion. It’s not that he’s been behaving poorly tonight. It’s just so unlike him. “I know you take pride in what you do and you are usually impeccable in your behaviour. Tonight’s a bit of a departure from that, wouldn’t you say?”

He sighs.

“Simon. What’s going on?”

“I got into a bit of a scrap with Mage.”

“When?”

“At the party.”

I think back on the night. I don’t recall seeing Simon with Mage but I didn’t have eyes on him the whole time. He was running around quite a bit all evening.

“What about?”

“Quite a few things. The party mostly.” Simon exhales again and his expression becomes grave. “No one gave me any new parameters for the cost. I followed last year’s budget. Mage had approved it a few months ago.”

A chill goes through me. I’d just gone over the projected year-end numbers with Mage Friday. They weren’t good. He’s been vastly overspending with marketing and Board-focused events. Retreats. Strategic planning sessions. Consultants. Corporate mumbo-jumbo as far as I’m concerned. Colossally wasteful. It’s done nothing for our bottom line. Made it worse, if anything.

Our customers rely on our thoroughness and reliability. Mage has cut a swathe through the staff in the last two years, alienating long-term employees and hiring toadies who curry his favor. The loss of Possibelf six months ago and Minos a few weeks after decimated those departments. Mage hired Bunce’s brother, but Premal is new to the business and far too arrogant to ask for help. The managers under him have been floundering for months, despite my clandestine assistance.

Assistance Mage has sharply reprimanded me for more than once.  

He was incensed on Friday, with the numbers I had shown him. Accurate, up to date, precise numbers. He’d threatened another round of layoffs, which will only weaken us further. That’s why I was in such a foul mood when Simon caught me.

It seems Simon’s borne the brunt of Mage’s rage as well. “What did he say?” My tone is far gentler than it typically is with him.

“He was furious about the menu. The open bar. The holiday prizes we give out every year.”

That was my mother’s tradition. A series of gifts for random employees. She’d draw the names out of a top hat and the winners would march off with an iPad or a new watch. A television or a swanky SatNav. There were always one or two splashy items while the rest were more moderate. It was a unique way to boost employee morale and add a tinge of excitement to the party. Something a bit more personal than the yearly holiday bonus check.

Simon was still speaking. “Said we couldn’t afford it. Said I’d overstepped my bounds by not clearing it with him.” His face clouds over. “But I did clear it with him, Baz. I cleared it with him months ago, when I booked the Club. When I purchased the items. How was I to know the funds were more precarious now?”

There was no way for Simon to know. Not if Mage hadn’t told him. He is a direct report to Mage, no one else. It isn’t my place to peruse the budgets with the CEO’s assistant. Another example of how unfit this man is to run the company.  

Simon leans forward, his head buried in his hands. “Christ, I feel like such a fucking idiot. I never intended to make things worse.”

I’m not sure how I end up with my hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. You did what you’re supposed to do. It’s his job to keep up with the finances. It’s his job to communicate if he needs plans to change.” My hand makes its way across his back and then he’s leaning against me, his head on my shoulder.

I can smell the clean, fresh scent of his hair. His curls are tickling my neck. He’s pressed up against me and I can’t pull away. I’m riveted to the spot.  

I find myself crooning soothing phrases into his hair. It isn’t Simon’s fault and it’s complete bollocks that Mage has made him feel responsible and guilty. No wonder he was hitting the drinks hard tonight.

If I know anything about Snow it’s that he’s frugal to a fault. He grew up in the care system, had nothing of his own. The scholarship may have rescued him from that environment but he’s never lost his sense of caution about expenses. It’s a well-known office fact. I don’t need to know him well to know this about him.

It’s obvious from where he lives. How he eats. I think he’s the only other employee who brings food from home almost exclusively. I do it because I’m anti-social and I don’t really like eating in front of others much. He does it to conserve his finances.

I keep murmuring comforting words to him. It’s basically a litany of “it’s alright, you did nothing wrong” repeated over and over at this point. I’m not quite sure what else to do. I really should get up and get him settled for the night.

But I don’t want to. I know it’s wrong to relish the sensation of him near me but it’s been far too long since I’ve had human contact like this. I know I’m supposed to be comforting him but this is consoling me as well.

I may never have another chance to hold him in my arms like this.

I don’t know how much time passes. I’ve stopped speaking now, I’m just holding him. He stirs and lifts his head. He’s so close. Our eyes lock and I’m lost in the blue of his gaze.

“Thank you, Baz.” It’s a whisper but the feel of his breath ghosting against my lips makes me shiver. His hand comes up to cup my face and his head tilts up.

And then he kisses me. Simon Snow is kissing me and it’s simultaneously the best thing and the worst thing in the world.

The best because it’s Simon Snow kissing me and I’ve desperately wanted this for so long. I’ve never been kissed quite like this. He’s doing this thing with his jaw and it’s overwhelming me. It’s soft, passionate, so devastatingly sensual that my lips part of their own volition and I lose myself in the taste of him.

It’s the worst because I can’t let him keep doing it. He’s not himself. He’s had too much to drink. He doesn’t mean this. He’s not thinking clearly. I pull away, every nerve in my body alight with the sense of him. I’m literally dragging my lips from his as the regret pools in my stomach, weighing me down.

“I’m sorry, Simon. That was uncalled for. I apologize.”

He blinks at me, face flushed. “What’re you apologizing for? I kissed you.”

“I know that. But you’re not yourself. I shouldn’t have let you do that.”

Simon frowns at me. “But I wanted to.”

I’m not prepared for this. I feel exposed, raw, vulnerable. It’s all I’ve wanted and the reality that I can’t let myself have this is devastating.

“You may think that now, Simon, but you likely won’t feel the same way tomorrow.” I shift away slightly and then stand up. I can’t help but reach out one more time, to rest my hand on his shoulder. I can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric. It’s an effort to step back but I have to do it.

I yank the pillow and blanket from the armchair nearby and make a show of fluffing the pillow and settling it in place for him. I give him a gentle push and he slides down until he’s curled up on his side. He looks so young, so trusting. My hand creeps forward of its own volition to sweep the curls off his forehead, my fingers lingering in his hair for a moment. I settle the blanket over him and decisively step away.

Simon’s eyes follow me as I move towards the hallway leading to my room. “Good night, Simon.”

I close my eyes for a brief second and then switch the light off. I see him shift a bit in the dimness,hear his whispered “goodnight, Baz”and then I turn away to find the lonely comfort of my room.

It takes me a long time to fall asleep.

Simon

Baz may think I’m going to forget this or regret it in the morning. He couldn’t be more wrong. The only thing I might regret is the hangover I’m sure to have tomorrow, but I don’t expect I’m going to feel much remorse about that.  

I doubt I’d have had the courage to kiss Baz just now, if I hadn’t had a few drinks in me.

I probably wouldn’t have had the nerve at all, if Mage hadn’t aggravated me to the point of throwing all caution to the wind and indulging in more liquor than I’ve had since uni. Can’t be helped.

It did serve to clarify things for me.

I like Baz. More than like him.

I can’t delude myself that the feelings I have for him are just casual interest or fascination. The truth is I’ve had a crush on Baz for quite some time now.

I’d resigned myself to it being a one-sided attraction but I’m not sure that’s true, if the way he responded to my kissing him is any indication.

I liked that too.

I pull the blanket up to my chin. It smells like Baz; cedar and bergamot.

I breathe the scent in and let my eyes drift closed.

[gendercraft]

Outlast: Revisited [Chapter Six: Waylon]

Read on ao3

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Trigger warnings: Sexual assault plus everything already in the game; eye gore; the gore actually gets kinda intense here; let me know if i missed anything

    The furnace roared to life. Waylon scrambled backwards, as far away from the flame as possible, but it was futile. It caught his pants, chasing his leg.  

    “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He pressed his back against the brick wall. 

    Orange climbing up his pant sleeve, he thrashed his leg out, over and over again. The heat burned through. The pain wracked up his leg, rippling and angry. He screamed and knocked his head against the wall. 

    Something rattled. He gasped and turned around—the wall was crumbling. He could break that. He could. 

    Holding back a moan of pain, he turned onto all fours and rammed his shoulder into the wall. It jostled, but not by much. Again, again, come on, don’t let me fucking die here. The pain was climbing. If he didn’t get out of here soon, he wouldn’t even be able to walk. 

    He launched himself at the wall again, again, again, then finally—CRASH! He oofed as he smacked to the concrete, landing atop the loose bricks. 

    “No! NO! You were MINE!” 

    Gasping for breath, Waylon staggered to his feet. There was no telling how quickly the Cook could find his way to Waylon—he had to leave.

    He hobbled through a door and found himself in a makeshift chapel. A glowing red exit sign hung above a door. His heart stopped. He raced forward, ignoring the burning pain in his leg, and turned the handle—locked. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He pulled and yanked but nothing. 

            Looking around for any way of escape, he brought his burnt leg off the ground to relieve the pressure. His breathing was slowly steadying. 

    In the back of the chapel, he found a transcription from an employee of Mount Massive, Dr. Bruce Newhouse. 

     Father Clarke— 

        Far be it from me to lie to a man of God, so let me at least say that I will do my personal best to improve the safety of your working conditions...if you feel threatened by anybody in particular, simply let us know and we can either increase chemical restraints, or administer a lobotomy or similar calming procedure. 

     Waylon grimaced and flinched. 

     Not all of our poor unfortunates have families to call upon, and so the burden, (and calling,) is yours. We are all of us relying on your faith and hard work. 

     DBNR

    Dr. Newhouse, MD

    May 20th, 1961 

     Surely they weren’t still administering lobotomies. And ‘poor unfortunates…’ it was so distant, so condescending. These weren’t ‘poor unfortunates.’ They were people, people that Murkoff decided to torture. 

    Everywhere else was a dead end, and there was a creeping feeling in his gut that the Cook was getting closer, so Waylon headed back to the furnace. There was a ladder to the top of the ovens, which opened up to a huge chimney full of half-put-together scaffolding and skinny ledges. It went up pretty high. He doubted the Cook would follow him, if he even knew that’s where he went. 

    On the ladder, he dragged his useless leg behind him, relying on upper body strength to get himself to flop atop the ovens. His arms burned, laying like jelly next to him. A scream rained down. 

    Waylon leapt to his feet, gritting his teeth and holding back a hiss. THWAP! Waylon covered his face as the Variant smacked to the brick and cracked their head open. Hesitating, Waylon stared. Blood seeped through the cracks, viscous and crimson. 

    Glancing down at his leg, he sighed. Don’t fail me. 

    He scaled the chimney slowly and carefully. As he inched across a ledge, his vision blurred as Morphogenic rorschach images swam and splattered. He groaned… and his foot slipped. 

    Gasping, his entire body jolted to the ground—then he caught himself, planting his foot firmly on the ledge. 

    “Motherfucker,” he snapped under his breath. He grit his teeth. “Come on, come on… just fucking do it.” 

    He made it halfway up the chimney, where a vent opened into one of the upper floors. Crawling inside and hopping down, he brought up his night vision and looked around carefully. He explored the Administrative section of the hospital block, all dark and empty. 

    Across a boarded up door and through the glass, a group of people ran past. 

    “There!” One of them cried. “I told you it would be open. I told you.” 

    Were they… escaping? Waylon would pry those boards off with his bare hands. 

    “Keep moving, Graham, we’re almost out!” 

    Waylon picked up the pace, limping towards the door and grabbing hold of the board. He pulled, planting his bad leg against the wall, and yanked, yanked, pulled, pulled, pulled until his hands were raw and scraped. He dug at the screws until his nails cracked and his fingers bled. 

    Growling, he slammed his elbow into the glass, over and over until tears came to his eyes. It ached horribly, and the glass didn’t so much as crack. 

    “Fuck!” His voice cracked. Sobs rose in his throat, and he swallowed them back. Don’t you dare fucking cry. 

    If he had to cry—which he didn’t—he could do it while he was moving. He had to get home. He had to expose Murkoff. 

    The only way further was through a small library, so he pressed on, only to freeze as a buzzsaw sounded. 

    “Dinner bells!” The cook cackled as he rounded the corner. 

    Waylon gasped and ducked behind a shelf just as the man entered the room. Shit. Could he still run? He’d been able to block out the pain in his leg, but if he so much as moved wrong, it was overwhelming. Black spots appeared on his vision and he had to grit his teeth to keep himself from crying. It was the worst pain he’d ever experienced. 

    He’d have to be quiet, and quick. 

    The Cook buzzed his saw a few times as he entered the room. Waylon gripped onto the shelf to keep himself upright. In the quiet tension, he couldn’t ignore the pain anymore. It ripped through his skin, pulsing and wet. God, was it blistering? He couldn’t bear to look at it. 

    “I can smell you,” the Cook sung through closed lips. He chuckled. “I know you’re around here…”

    He blocked the light from the hall as he passed the missing spaces in the bookshelf. Waylon held his breath. The pressure on his leg was becoming too much, too much, too fucking much. A few tears trickled down his face. 

    He couldn’t hold it anymore. 

    Falling against the shelf, books scattered onto the ground with a clatter. “Fuck,” he groaned. The Cook had already heard him, so fuck it. 

    The Cook whirled around with his saw in the air. Waylon shoved himself against the shelf as hard as he could and it tipped over. Letting out a choked yell, the Cook stumbled backwards, only for the shelf to take him to the ground. Waylon screamed as he scrambled over the shelf to the door, black spots coating his vision. He sprinted down the hall as the Cook struggled to get the bookshelf off. 

    He sprinted through the halls until he couldn’t anymore. Smacking to the ground, he dragged himself forward. The buzzsaw was getting closer. He gasped and choked for breath, pulling himself towards a barricade of filing cabinets and hospital beds, trying to squeeze through the gap. 

    “You are mine!” The Cook yelled. 

    He was gaining. Waylon’s leg was dead at this point, he was in too much pain to even feel it anymore. He got through the gap just as a slash came down on his leg. He pulled himself through and the Cook tried to squeeze through himself, only to get stuck with a growl. 

    “Get back here!” He screamed. 

    Waylon staggered to his feet and hobbled, practically hopping on one foot, down the hall. He struggled his way through and found himself in a bathroom. Collapsing to the tile, he pressed his back to a closed stall door and pulled the fabric from around his leg. He bit back a scream as the fabric dragged across the burns. It was blistering bad, and the Cook had opened one with his saw, the pus dripping and running down his red skin. The burns covered from his ankle to his knee. 

    “Come on, Waylon,” he whispered. “Keep going. Get out.” 

    It took all of his strength to get to his feet.

    “See me now,” someone growled, their voice raspy. “Just try!”

    Waylon straightened up. It came from right behind him. He hesitated, then took out his camera and swung open the stall door. A Variant stood, holding a doctor on their knees, slamming their head into the toilet over and over again. 

    “What do you see?” He snapped through the blubbering and gurgling. “Who am I? Idiot.” 

    Waylon stumbled over to the sinks and set the camera up to face him. The Variant was barely in frame. 

    “Lisa,” he said cautiously, glancing at the Variant through the viewfinder, “or whoever finds this, know that Murkoff is creating monsters. I’d never seen the patients after they’d gone through that German’s so-called therapy. The Engine. So much worse than I could have imagined. They may still be human, but something’s been ripped out of them. And too many… other things pushed back in.” He repressed a shudder. “They were not all murderers. They were sick, but they weren’t killers. Murkoff made them monsters.” He reached out to grab the camera, then hesitated. “Dr. Roset said the engine had ‘varying effects,’” he made air quotes, “the variant outcomes too erratic for any sort of prediction.” He huffed a laugh. “I took it as idle cafeteria small talk, Raul’s endless chatter.” He swallowed and pursed his lips. “I should have listened.” 

    With that admission, he picked up his camera and hobbled out of the bathrooms. 

He found himself back in the fucking labs again. He made his way to a decontamination chamber full of gas. A man pressed himself to the glass. 

    “Shut it off!” He begged. “Shut down the gas, please, I can’t…!” 

    He had to get through that airlock to make his way to the prison. He’d have to find the valve to shut off the gas. And quickly, if he wanted this man to live. Through the green, he couldn’t tell if he was a patient or doctor, but he couldn’t waste any time. 

    He found a sheet of paper on a desk and snatched it, but didn’t bother reading it yet. While exploring for the gas room, he came across a Variant smacking his head into the door until it bled on the wood. Waylon grabbed his shoulder. 

    “Hey, man, come on, stop,” he said firmly. He looked into the Variant’s eyes and tried not to flinch away. His voice came out a little weaker. “Just… Don’t do that to yourself, okay?” 

    He hesitantly took his hand back. The Variant stared. Then continued. 

    Waylon sighed. These people are broken. 

    The buzzsaw picked up again as he hobbled down the hall. He grit his teeth so hard something cracked. 

    They met eyes through the darkness. Waylon whipped around and hobbled down the hall. The footsteps raced after him. Slamming the door behind him, he pressed himself to the wall next to the door and panted. BAM! BAM! The door nearly came off its hinges. BAM! BAM! 

    BAM! 

    The Cook barged into the room a few steps in and Waylon ducked back into the hall. Before the Cook noticed where he was, he hurried into another room with two beds and an open vent. Could he get up there with his leg? He hopped onto the bed and leapt. Fuck, that fucking hurt. Groaning, he pulled himself up into the shaft, barely biting back a scream as his leg dragged against the metal. 

    He dragged himself through the shaft, only to fall through a grate and land hard on the floor. One of the two doors slammed against its lock. Waylon leapt to his feet and rushed to the other door, swinging it open into the bathroom and slipping through a crack in the wall. He explored the halls a bit, staying low to the ground and in the shadows, until he passed by double doors into a lab room. 

    There was a patient file on the counter. 

     MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS 

    PROJECT WALRIDER 

    Patient: Frank Antonio Manera 

    Page age: 36

    Gender: Male 

        THERAPY STATUS: 

    Minimal Morphogenic Engine activity, and only at extreme (stages 5 and 6) levels of hormone therapy. Dream states return repeatedly to images of isolation and betrayal. Zero lucid state. 

     INTERVIEW NOTES: 

    He was lethargic and largely non-responsive, exhibiting interest only in the hypnotherapy script pattern 9 (Wernicke), concerning drinking blood from the chest of sleeping men. He continues to refuse baths or the attention of a barber outside of general anaesthesia, stating, “if I cannot partake, I cannot share.” 

     Recommended forced nutrition for Manera if we cannot find something he likes to eat. 

     MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS PROJECT WALRIDER

    MOUNT MASSIVE CO 

     The Cook. Frank Manera. 

    He continued through the room, jumping as he found a bloodied security guard curled in the corner. “Get out of here. This is my place.” 

    Waylon stared. 

    “You’re going to get me killed! Fuck off!” 

    Waylon crumpled the file in his hands. He hoped Manera came through here. He continued on, in the wallway finding the signs for the gas room. Following the signs, he continued through the labs, blood and corpses spilled over the slabs of metal. 

    “There you are!” Manera cackled, growing closer from behind. 

    Waylon hobbled forward, his leg burning under the pressure. “Leave me alone, you fucking creep!” 

    He cornered himself against a closed, gas-filled decontamination chamber. Manera stalked the halls. 

    “I won’t be hungry for much longer.” Manera grinned. 

    Waylon looked around for any sign of exit. I have to get home to Lisa. He looked up. A wooden panel hung over the top of the decontamination chamber. 

    Manera lunged. Waylon barely got out of the way in time, lurching to the left, then stomped on Manera’s foot. As Manera howled and doubled over, Waylon nearly lost his balance, vision blacking out for just a second. He regained his footing and shoved Manera as hard as he could. Grabbing the edge of the wood, he hauled himself to the top of the chamber. 

    The gas room was on the other side. He turned the valve and the chamber cleared. He sighed. 

    Now that he had a moment, he pulled out the file from earlier. 

     EXCERPT FROM 1957 AND COMMENT ON IG REPORT “OPERATIONS OF TSD” 

  Influencing Human Behavior 

  The potential use of psychochemicals in political action operations is well recognized...Chemical Division includes it as an objective of its programs to be prepared to support or make such operations possible. Non-chemical methods of accomplishing political action operations are also included in the program. 

     Note: (J.Lawyer/April 15, 1958) Present the above MKULTRA excerpt to Technical Services Division for budgeting and authorization of continued research of Dr. Rudolf Wernicke...and project WALRIDER. Autopsy of recovered test subjects show chemical content of bodies (metallic tumours, evidence of sub-dermal combustion) that indicate heavy psychochemical dosage. 

     MKULTRA? Waylon pocketed the note with shaky hands. That’s why they were experimenting on the patients? As much as he worked on it, he had no idea what Project WALRIDER really was. 

    He placed his hand on the door. He just had to get back to the decontamination chamber, see if that guy was still alive, and get into the outside recreational area. Then he could get to the prison and use the radio.