#even the original front-facing angle was strange and you could barely tell it's front-facing

[front-facing-pokemon]

[writing-in-april]

Helping Hands

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: After a bad case Spencer needs help shaving after getting injured, he gets help from the least likely person to help in his life.

A/N: Day two of my 750 follower celebration is here! This was totally supposed to be a blurb and ended up being so much long lol. Thank you @imagining-in-the-margins for this idea and letting me write it! And thanks to @spencers-dria for helping me out as always! This fic wasn’t originally going to be Gender Neutral I just ended up writing it that way on accident which is cool, I want my blog to be as inclusive as possible! I’ve had someone check it over for pronoun mistakes but please let me know if you spot any! This is also my first time writing in second person for Spencer!

Warnings: 18+, Enemies to lovers, Knife kink (use of a straight razor), Dry fucking, Humiliation, ONE slight nick to the skin- there’s just a very small bit of blood

Main Masterlist Word count: 1.68k

Your friendship with Spencer was shaky at best, the truth was you two were barely able to work together without biting each other’s heads off. It’s not that you wanted to butt heads with him almost every day, but when he picked apart everything you said constantly you always felt the need to bite back.

Emily just had to put you as roommates for this case so you guys could ‘work out your issues.’ Of course the case then ended up becoming one of your longest cases all year. The tension between you and Spencer ran high throughout the entire case, the petty arguments grew in rate as the team got less and less sleep each day. The case combined with the sleeping arrangements was definitely making you feel miserable.

Unfortunately these hellish two weeks didn’t even end with a completely good outcome. We had caught the unsub, but not before one of your own had ended up injured. Spencer had been securing the perimeter around the suspect’s house when the suspect (who ended up being the unsub) attacked him. Luckily, you hadn’t been that far away from him and were able to help him apprehend the man. You may butt heads with him almost every working day, but he was still a part of your team. You would never want him to be seriously hurt or worse. His knuckles ended up getting bruised and bloodied from his unexpected scuffle with the unsub today although he insisted he was fine.

The sight you were looking at now directly contradicted his words. His fingers were shaking badly as he tried to move his straight razor along his jaw that was coated in shaving cream. When he let out a frustrated grunt when he couldn’t get the right angle you decided to try and lend a helping hand. He seemed to get even angrier when you walked into the hotel’s bathroom, this wasn’t new however, he always seemed to get more agitated when he sensed your presence.

“Let me help you.” You snapped while reaching forward to grab the razor, your movements were in stark contrast to your words, only doing that softly as to not cut the both of you.

“Why do you want to help me?” He snapped back with just as much bite in his tone and jerked his hand away so you could not reach the razor.

“Does it matter? You need help and I’m offering to help. So sit down and let me help.”  The real reason that you wanted to help didn’t have to be known by Spencer, he didn’t have to know that you felt guilty. His injuries were from no fault of your own however, you could not help a little bit of guilt pool in the bottom of your stomach. You may not like him very much, but again you did not want to see him hurt.

He finally acquiesced to your request sitting down on the edge of the tub that just had enough of a ledge so he could sit rather comfortably. You reached out and gestured towards the razor letting out a little sigh of relief when he handed it to you, glad that he was finally letting you help.

The handle of the razor was simple in design with no ornaments adorning it and it was made of a dark wood, perhaps mahogany. The simple design of the handle and blade did not mean that it was inexpensive, the weight in your hand alone was a testament of how finely made it probably was. You suspected it might have been one of the only things Spencer splurged his money on.

Soaping up his cheeks again, you then straddled his thighs so you could get as close as possible to him. He squeaked a little in surprise at your sudden willingness to be close to him. In all honesty, you didn’t really want to be that close to him, but you had promised to help him, this just was the only way you could get the correct angles.

Besides the initial squeak the fell from his lips Spencer had become strangely quiet as you got to work shaving off his stubble.

His silence was then replaced by something else, the inability to sit still. Each time you started to scrap the razor against his jaw his hips shuffled under you, making it extremely difficult to get a close enough shave.

“Stop squirming.” He of course felt the need to again not listen to you and he continued to squirm underneath you. You ran your fingers through his hair then tugging on the stands to crane his neck backwards so you could get full access to the underside of his jaw. He defiantly squirmed again, causing you to falter with the razor again, this time accidentally nicking the underside of his jaw.

Instead of hissing and pulling away from you would expect; Spencer threw you for a loop when he let out a loud moan while jutting his hips up into your own. A look of mortification came over Spencer’s face at his actions, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, but with your body straddling him he couldn’t quite escape your grasp so easily.

You weren’t going to lie, Spencer was an attractive man, your favorite part of his looks being his fluffy locks and the scruff he left behind after shaving. You weren’t going to pass up the opportunity of having an attractive man underneath you and begging. Experimentally you reached up with your free hand to brush up against the small nick that had only let out just a little drop of blood. Pushing down slightly on it you then rolled your hips to grind against his hardening cock in his slacks. His response to your actions pleased you, his slacks becoming more strained and another moan left his lips, this one much more high pitched.

“Are you ok with this? I won’t be gentle.”

“Yes, please do whatever you want.” You were pleasantly surprised how quickly a plea fell from his lips. It was going to be so easy to ruin him.

“Tell me if you want me to stop. You may infuriate me, but I do not want to make you uncomfortable.” He nodded quickly in understanding before tentatively moving his hands to rest on your hips lightly to make sure you were ok with his touch and so that his hands didn’t suffer from any unnecessary pain.

You were right, it was extremely easy to ruin him. It only took a few short minutes of grinding your hips into his own before you could tell he was getting a little close to his release.

“Is this all it takes for you to get off? That’s a little pathetic.” The humiliating words only made Spencer’s moans louder though at this point they had devolved into high pitched pitiful whimpers. You were glad he was keen on the idea of some light humiliation and decided to continue with some more harsh words, “I haven’t even gotten a chance to use it anywhere near any more exciting places yet. You’re so needy, Spencer.” The evil smirk that made its way onto your face at the thought of getting to use the razor in more, exhilarating places, made Spencer visibly gulp hard.

You shifted a little forward which brought more pleasure to you, enough to push you to teeter on the edge. As you felt your release begin to wash over you surged forward to mark up Spencer’s neck with a hickey to go along with the other slight mark you had left. The rocking of your hips sped up as you worked yourself through your blissful release. Spencer may have been one of the most infuriating people you knew, but you couldn’t deny that even with a few swirls of your hips together he gave you a stronger orgasm then most men ever had. After a few gasps of your breath into his neck after your release you began to focus on his own. You could just leave him hanging and force him to take a cold shower to alleviate the straining in his pants, though you couldn’t deny how good he had been for you.

“Beg me. Beg me to let you finish.” Carding your fingers through his hair once more you yanked hard so you could get to catch a glimpse of his gorgeous neck again. You brought the razor up to rest at the underside of his jaw close to the previous cut you had accidentally given him.

“Please!” Even though his begging was only one word, you were satisfied with how desperate he sounded for you. You had completely ruined him without even taking off a single article of clothing.

“Cum for me Spencer.” As soon as the words of permission fell from your lips, his hips started to meet yours with more vigor. His groans came impossibly louder as he neared his finish, so you surged forward to capture his lips with your own for the first time. Immediately you slipped your tongue into the cavern of his mouth, swallowing all of the noises that tried to escape. He rocked his hips forward once, twice, three times before feeling the front of his slacks dampen with his own release.

When you had both calmed down and slightly processed what you had both indulged in you separated from him to help clean up the nick on his jaw and to grab him a pair of sweatpants to change into. You returned to help him finish shaving making sure to leave the little bit of scruff you liked. As you finished he moved to rub slight circles into your hip, you didn’t let him do it for very long until you made sure that it wasn’t hurting his hands too much. You were both extremely content with your current position. Maybe he wasn’t as infuriating as you once thought. In any case you had enjoyed lending him your helping hands, maybe you could help him again if he was willing.

——

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

Spencer Reid/CM taglist- @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss

Sub!Spencer taglist- @thatsonezesty13- tags are not working for you for some reason!!

[limenysnocket]

The Plan

Summary: It's your birthday (hooray!) and you still have to work (not so hooray). Nevertheless, you can still count on your friends to cheer you up, but not as much as your loveable boyfriend who insists you spend your birthday with him and a romantic dinner, rather than at a party your friends set up.

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, Taika (yes, he gets his own warning), some content may be explicit-ish.

Request: @whatwememeintheshadows

A/N: So people are actually planning their fics nowadays???? Did I not get the memo or something??? These come straight from my head????

THIS IS SO LATE I'M SORRY. Happy (very) belated birthday.

Tags: @honorarytenenbaum @olyvoyl

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Okay, so maybe work was less of a bitch today, you had to admit. People were nicer to you today, you got an extra thirty minutes added on to your lunch break just because, and, of course, you got a couple of dirty birthday cards and some cash, but that really shouldn’t matter, should it? What did matter, is that you would get to have some you-time, all by yourself, with your vibrator, a couple of movies, and some nice, low calorie ice cream (that tasted like total shit). At least... That’s what you thought would happen.

“You should totally come party with us! I’ve got the booze, Jess has the men, and we’ll make a whole night out of it! Alcohol, strippers, and dancing! How does that sound?” your friend, Enid, reiterated everything for you at least one thousand times today.

“If I wanted a stripper, I’d ask Taika to dye his hair, shave himself everywhere, and oil up a little. That’s the only sight I’d be happy to see, thank you,” you huff and smile. You appreciate the effort to get you out and about, possibly be a little frisky, but your heart just wasn’t in it, and that was much to Taika’s luck.

“Oh, come on. Taika can’t have that much of a grip on you! He has a lot of ‘female friends’, so what’s wrong with you having some ‘male friends’ hm?” Jess cooed to you, but you immediately whirled around, insulted that she would even suggest that you would do such a thing. And you were sure Taika had female friends, yes, but they were just friends. Nothing else. Although, his flirtatious behavior scared you sometimes, at parties. Some of the women would just swarm him, and you feared any one of them would catch his fancy more than you did.

“No. I don’t want strippers at whatever the hell you’re planning,” you stated again, firmly this time. Your two friends whined again, Jess lowering her head in defeat.

“Fine, but can we still bring booze? Invite a few more friends to party?” Enid asked, setting a hand on your shoulder and pleading to you with large eyes.

You chew at your cheek and think for quite some time. Your friends want to throw you a genuine party, and God knows how long it’s been since you’ve hung around a group of unfamiliar faces, especially since you started to date a Hollywood writer. Maybe it was just what you needed. Taika was supposed to be busy for the night, anyway.

You succumbed to the pressure, and nodded. “Okay,” you agreed. “But if we get any noise complaints, your talking to the cops for me.”

“Hell yeah! You’re not going to regret this! Just you wait! Go home and clean your place up a little. I’ll be by in an hour or two to get things set up!” Enid clapped her hands together in mischief, and Jess suddenly looked more spry. You gave her a warning glance, and she only grinned back, before skipping away, chatting gayly with Enid at her side.

You can’t believe the shit you just got yourself into, and you still wouldn’t believe it, the moment Enid and Jess arrived with their arms full of cheap liquor, streamers, finger foods, and a bunch of colorful-looking lights that look like they just came from a Wal-Mart Christmas sale. As soon as you gave them the go-ahead, they started tearing shit open. Between setting up, your phone started to ping over and over again, as well as your friends’ phones. Apparently, just a few hours was enough time to notify everyone in LA about a party, who it was for, and where it was going to be at. 

You just sat back and sipped on frozen margaritas (meant for the party, but it's your party so you didn't give two shits), until the party started and there was a heavy flow of people rushing into your home. Invited or uninvited.

When things started getting wild, that's when a pact was made. Enid and Jess would be cleaning up your house after this was over. You were already stepping over beer cans as it was.

You can't even say you were having fun there. You barely knew anyone. Most of the people there were just randoms looking for a good time, and unfortunately you saw some of them getting that good time in a dark corner. You made an excuse to run upstairs and lock all the doors of the bedrooms before anyone could think about getting there. That's what you thought, at least.

The party was getting to be too much, too quickly. In haste, you locked yourself into your bedroom, and took a step back. You could still hear the muffled voices and loud, posh laughter on the other side of the door. Those girls would pay. You rush over to your window, overlooking your backyard and see people divebombing into your pool, creating waves and getting people outside of the pool wet. People were leaving their trash everywhere, and many red, plastic cups floated in the (for now) clear waters. You didn't know how much more you could take. Maybe parties weren't your thing after all. Especially with strangers.

You sit back on your bed and you don't even bother looking out the window anymore. It was best to stay inside your room, if you didn't want to be molested or assaulted by some dumbass who thinks it's okay to anonymously grope women in crowded areas. Your face buries in your hands, griping to yourself how this would be over in a few hours. Right?

There's a subtle knock on your door, and you jump. It's in the regular, stiff-three order, so you are very hesitant about going and getting it. Then, there comes the "shave and a haircut" tune. Not a very good one, and kind of slurred, guessing by the way there was a loud thud at the very end, the person knocking was shoved against the door. Damn you and your pity.

You're quick to move, despite the strong feeling telling you not to. You just knew some poor soul was being smooshed out there. Fuck, you were nervous. This was screaming bad idea, but you were going to pull through anyway. The plan in your head seemed childish, but it should work fine if the person was desperate enough to get in. One quick swipe of the door, and you're golden! Surely...

You flick the doorknob lock and gulp, keeping a tight grip. On the count of three-- and after having to restart because another desperate knock jumbled up your thoughts-- you sent the door flying open. Sure enough, a heavy body came tumbling in with it, tripped, tried to balance, then ended up crash-landing cartoonishly into your bed, bonking their head a tad on the wooden post at the end of the frame. You hissed a little bit, then closed the door again. You rushed to their aid as the person looked up.

"I thought you liked private parties more than this," a soft, kiwi accent cooed at you, obviously through unbridled pain. This bewildered you even more.

Taika was sitting on the floor, legs extended out in front of him, making him look like a giant from your angle, and he was dressed in a blue tux, black dress shirt, and polished black shoes. Well, they seemed a little scuffed now.

"Shit, Taika-- what the fuck are you doing here?" you drop to your knees and cradle his aching head. He winced at the touch, but was too happy to see you again to deny it.

"Well, I came to take you out on a surprise birthday dinner. Maybe pick up a bottle of wine and go dancing with my favorite person, you, under moonbeams and twighlight," his head bobbled from side to side, which didn't help his animated character, "but it seems to me you have company... and a lot of it."

You sigh and brush an unkempt curl back into place while he cheekily grins at you. "This wasn't my idea," you murmur. "Friends set this up. They'll also be the ones to take it down. I didn't really want to spend my birthday with anyone this year. Makes me feel old."

"Well, you seriously should have known someone was about to stop you from taking another bite of that shitty ice cream in your freezer. They dished it out in shot glasses down there. Even a sober chick couldn't handle the taste," Taika snorted playfully and you rolled your eyes. He seemed to be taking this situation surprisingly well. It was weird. "But it was much to my misfortune that your 'friends' got to you before I could. Maybe I should have settled on a birthday lunch, but that didn't sound too appealing to me."

"Would have been much better than the chicken salad and dry-ass piece of cake I had for lunch today," you fired back. He sighed again and stood up with a groan. You followed with him.

"What now?" he mumbled, stroking the stache on his upper lip, then letting the tips of his fingers wander down to his smooth, freshly shaved cheeks.

"Well, we're both stuck here, so I suppose we settle in for the night and wait it out." You plop yourself down on your bed again and just stare up at him. He doesn't move, however. His eyes were focused on the window, more specifically the lock on it, and he was nibbling at his bottom lip. He was thinking. Some people might call it strange to watch him think sometimes. He really was like a cartoon. With one tap of his foot, he spun around on his heel and faced you.

"New plan," he clapped his hands together. "Get dressed."

You were confused for the next fifteen minutes or so. He helped you pick out a deep blue dress that would somewhat match his and black heels. He was escorting you all over the room with his hand on your lower back. He even tried to do your makeup for you, but he was so inexperienced, you had to take over. The last time he had to do someone's makeup was on the set of the original, five-minute What We Do in the Shadows film.

While you finished your makeup, he was practically smooching your window. He was staring at it like a dog asking to go outside. It made you a bit nervous, seeing the cogwheels turn in his head. He took your hand and lead you to the window, unlocking it and pushing it up.

"Want to go first?" he said behind a proud smile. When he only received silence and a pure, "what the fuck," stare back to his face, he shrugged, and stepped out the window himself. Luckily, you knew fully well he wasn't about to fall flat on his face and die on the pavement below. You had a screened back porch, with a roof over it's head as well, since the seasons tend to get very hot and sticky and mosquitoes just love to lay visits. He stepped onto the roof, trying not to bring too much attention to himself. Once he had bounced down, he brushed himself off, then looked up at you, expectantly.

"Come on, then! Don't have all night!" he hollered and waved to you. "Need me to catch you?"

You gulped, not bothering to answer him. You gently scooted your lower half out the window and taking your heels into your hand. You didn't want to break an ankle on the landing. "Lord, give me strength," you muttered, squeezed your eyes shut, then took a leap of faith. You tried not to squeal as the rushing air flew by you like sticky wind, but before you knew it, your feet touched slanted ground. You felt like you were about to tumble, but strong hands met your waist and kept you up.

"Beautiful!" Taika beamed and kissed your flushed cheek.

"I hate you sometimes," you slapped his chest and made him laugh. He took your hand and started leading you to the other side of the porch roof, and came to the end, where your driveway supposedly was. Parked dead center was Enid's big, black SUV. Tall enough to just be a little hop away from the roof.

"One more, leap, dear?" Taika was on the move again, but you grabbed his sleeve before he could actually make the jump.

"Taika, no. That's Enid's car. She already spends so much on gas, think of how pissed she'll be if she has to remove dents from her roof!" you explain, nervous from the outcome of this little plan of yours.

"Sweetheart," Taika said airily, turning his full attention to you and taking your hand again. "If she was a good friend, she would have known a massive party like this would have pissed you off. Plus, I don't think just cleaning the house is going to get even with this God awful day. So, why not put a few dusty footprints on her car, hm?" Taika was back to grinning, and before you could say anymore, he had leapt away and landed on top of the car with a large thud. He motioned to you with a swipe of his hand. You were in way too deep with him to give up on him now.

You followed through, heels swinging in one hand, and he caught you again like the perfect, Maori prince charming he was.

Car hop, after car hop, he lead the way and made sure you were okay with every stop, until you reached a small enough car to hop down, scale the lawn and make it to his jeep.

"That was," you said, breathless. You couldn't find the right words, and Taika just chuckled at you.

"Exciting?" he filled in the blank space on his own, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah," you laugh, fanning your chest and brushing a single strand of hair back. "That's a good word for it."

"Well, excitement doesn't stop here," he opened your door into the jeep for you, bowing respectfully and playing everything up for you, like you were royalty. "I have everything set up for you to have a great night with yours truly. As long as everything goes according to the plan this time..."

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, part 5 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

 Annabeth is making her periodic pilgrimage to the gynecologist when she gets Leo's call. It's very fitting--two uncomfortable and invasive things for the price of one. She answers her phone, ignoring the doctor's chastising frown. Surely she can place her new IUD while Annabeth deals with whatever Leo wants.

 "What are you doing on the 18th?" he asks, about the only type of hello she ever gets from Leo.

 The two of them never really grew out of pretending not to like each other, after they had gotten over their initial dislike. When he and Piper first got to Miss Minerva's, more or less straight out of juvie after Piper's dad made a lot of calls and called in a lot of favors, she and Leo had really hated each other. They used to fight over everything, from Piper's attention to the position of captain of the Mathletes team. And also, over Leo hating a rich white girl on principle, which, in retrospect, is totally fair. But then, by a weird twist of fate, they wound up in Boston together.

 If Annabeth had to choose between hanging out with her creepy, Norse mythology-obsessed uncle and hanging out with Leo, she'd pick Leo every time. They had gone through a lot together, things both big and small.

 "Of August?" she asks.

 "Please be still, Ms. Chase," says her doctor. Annabeth rolls her eyes.

 "Duh."

 Wracking her thoughts she can't think of any prior commitments she might have had. Maybe there's a concert that day, but if she can't remember, it probably wasn't that important anyway. "Not much."

 "Good, because we have plans."

 She frowns. "Piper didn't mention any--"

 "No, you and I have plans. I'll see you in Philly, yeah?"

 Philadelphia? Ew. "Why Philly?"

 "Our Smarter House thing won an award."

 "No shit?"

 "Eta Industries Award. The gala is on the 18th. You're my plus one."

 She sucks in air through her teeth, readjusting her hips as unobtrusively as possible. Eta Industries was… a very big deal. "Isn't that, like, an engineering specific award? Maybe you should accept it by yourself." She'd be better off staying out of the limelight for this one, she thinks, even as some part of her longs once again for recognition.

 Something electric whirs in the background, tinny and buzzing. "I'll see you on the 18th, then," says Leo, not having heard a word she said. "Also, you've been summoned to the castle."

 "Leo--" she jumps as the gyno touches something she really shouldn't have.

 "No arguments, she's expecting you today at two. Adios!" He clicks off.

 "Okay, Ms. Chase," says the doctor, a little too chipper for Annabeth's taste. "You should be all set."

 Annabeth leaves the doctor's office with her brand new IUD, a handful of medical literature which immediately gets tossed in the trash, and a sinking feeling in her gut as she gets on a train to Brooklyn, headed to Piper's place for another annoying and unnecessary fashion show. It's not that she doesn't enjoy being Piper's model--it's a position she's held since their time at Miss Minerva's, and it's never really a hardship to be told how gorgeous she is--but Piper has a way of just... getting information out of her that she doesn’t always want to share.

 Stopping off early, Annabeth gives herself a moment to walk down the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, to settle her nerves and indulge herself a bit. That skyline gets her every time.

 Turning down Pierrepont Street, she is once again struck by just how quiet the city can be. Manhattan is loud, rude, in-your-face, almost an entirely different world from the stately, deafeningly silent Brooklyn. For Annabeth, who is incapable of falling asleep without city horns blaring, it wigs her out a little.

 She barely has time to ring the doorbell on Piper's dad's place before the girl herself wrenches it open, grabbing Annabeth's hand and yanking her inside. "You're late!" she trills, suffering what Annabeth can only assume is the onset of a caffeine overdose.

 "I thought I had until two."

 "That was before I had the best idea."

 The brownstone is a mess, as per usual, reams of fabric tossed over every available surface, enough dressforms strewn about to make it look like Piper is hosting a party exclusively populated by headless zombies, adorned with a warehouse's worth of half-finished dresses and jackets. Based on the loud fabrics and structured angles, it looks like Piper is in the middle of a Klimt-ian phase of inspiration. Annabeth eyes a bright gold gown with a huge, extended collar, embroidered with silver eyes, the raw edges trailing the floor. "Please tell me this isn't your idea."

 "First of all," Piper releases her arm as they enter her kitchen-turned-photo studio, gingerly stepping over a box of assorted beads, "even though it would look amazing on you, that dress is for an actual paying client. Second of all--" she snatches up a dressform from its position behind the camera, setting it down in front of her with a flourish. "This is my idea."

 Annabeth was right--Piper is definitely on a Klimt-ian kick.

 Pulled straight from her art history classes, the dress looks like a two dimensional painting come to life, a stunning skirt like a column of liquid silver descending onto the black mat, pleats like fluted columns precisely draped over the dressform's hips… and not much else. Annabeth points. “Is that it?”

 Piper makes a face. "I have a bodice, promise. Now go take that shit off."

 Annabeth looks down at her repurposed The Police shirt, fished out of a thrift store bin some months ago, shirt collar cut and sides resewn to bring the waistline in. "I like this shirt."

 "Oh, I like the shirt plenty," she agrees. "But you could stand to wear a nicer pair of jeans."

 She does have a point there--her jeans are clinging to life at this point, the knees and hems all but obliterated, strings of fabric valiantly attempting to hold their original shape. "Fine. Be right back."

 When she emerges from the bathroom a minute later in just her bra and panties, Piper has laid out another bolt of fabric in that same color, silver with a blue shift beneath the studio lights. Piper, bent over with a strip of measuring tape, looks up at her, then squints. "So who is he?"

 Annabeth starts. "Excuse me?"

 "The guy you've been seeing."

 How... the fuck does Piper always know these things? "I don't know what you're talking about."

 She flicks her eyes down to Annabeth's thigh, Annabeth following her gaze to the remnants of the bruise that Percy had left there with his mouth two days ago. Dammit.

 Piper tsks, a smile distorting the sound. "Naughty, naughty, Annabeth."

 "How do you know it wasn't from a girl?" she asks, petulant.

 "Because if it had been a girl, you wouldn't be nearly so defensive."

 Shit. "We've been friends way too long," Annabeth grumbles.

 "That we have," says Piper. "And out of respect for our friendship, I will refrain from grilling you about him until you are more comfortable sharing."

 "So, for a few hours?"

 She shrugs. "More or less."

 "I suppose you want me to thank you for holding back."

 "Don't thank me yet," she grins, wide and toothy. "I've been cooped up here working on my collection for three days, and I am dying to talk to someone."

 Annabeth sighs, but obediently raises her arms, making room as Piper crouches down to pin the skirt on her. "Okay, you got me. I'm seeing this guy."

 "Seeing or seeing-seeing?"

 "Just seeing," she clarifies. "It's pretty casual."

 "Can't be that casual if you're telling me about it," Piper points out.

 Fuck. This is why she never tells Piper about her hookups. "You're the one who asked."

 "Another business bro, I assume?"

 "He's--" Piper swats at her as she automatically sucks her stomach in, their long held code for "stay put." "He's a dancer."

 She hums, arranging pleats over Annabeth's knees. "Like on Broadway?"

 "Ballet."

 Piper glances up at her, eyes sparkling. “Un danseur! Ooh la la,” she trills. “What’s his name?”

 “I can just leave,” Annabeth says, distinctly not thinking about how Percy will occasionally slip into French whenever he stubs his toe.

 “Okay, okay, no more boy talk.” Piper moves in front of her, adjusting the fabric about her waist. “Tell me about the thing you just won with Leo.”

 “I had honestly forgotten about it,” she says, lying a little, pulling her arms forward. “You remember his master’s thesis?”

 “The shmart kishen thing, right?” Piper asks around the tape measure in her mouth.

 Leo, the prodigal boy that he is, had spent his last year of school dedicated to a singular problem faced by people around the world: the sudden, out of control kitchen fire. Using very complicated electronics and engineering that Annabeth does not understand, he devised a handful of mechanisms to sense, contain, and ultimately douse random fires as soon as they popped up. Annabeth came on as his design partner after he had graduated and had gotten some funding to conceptualize an entire safe house.

 “Well, it just won an Eta Industries award.”

 Her head snaps up, hands freezing in their tracks. “Holy shit.”

 “Yeah.”

 “Congrats.”

 “Thanks,” she shrugs as Piper gets up to grab some more fabric. “I mean, it was mostly Leo’s doing. I just made sure he didn’t leave any stray pipes around.”

 Holding out her arms again, Piper slides them through the sleeves of a heavy, corset-like piece, structured and straight and very forgiving on Annabeth’s lack of curves. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” she says. “I’m sure your skills as a guinea pig were very valuable.”

 “Are you ever going to let that go?” Annabeth asks, she who has literally burnt pasta while it was submerged in water.

 “You’re just lucky my dad was out of town that weekend. Have you decided what you’re going to wear to the awards ceremony?”

 She shoots her friend a strange look. “I thought I was wearing this?” she gestures to the unfinished silver gown currently making her feel like an absolute goddess.

 Piper makes a face. “What do I look like, the fucking Flash? This isn’t going to be ready for another thirty hours, at least. I’ve got decals to add, Swarovskis to bead, not to mention all the hand-stitching on the neckline because for whatever reason my machine has decided to hate me this week.”

 “Okay, well,” says Annabeth, appropriately cowed, “then I guess I’ll wear the black one you gave me.”

 “2019 fall/winter?”

 Annabeth nods.

 “Styling?”

 “Luke gave me this really nice scarf for my birthday.”

 Throwing her head back, she groans.

 “What? What’s wrong?”

 “You’re so boring,” she moans, pulling Annabeth’s hair out of the way. “Let me guess, you’re going to pair it with the black shrug and opaque nude tights.”

 “Well… yeah, I was.”

 “Exactly! Boring.” Coming back around, she pushes Annabeth lightly into the light, before taking her place behind the camera. “You could do so much with that dress and you choose to make it boring. Why not some fishnets? Or a big statement necklace?”

 Annabeth waits after a few shutter clicks to answer. “Because I doubt that the people at Eta Industries are going to be big fans of my tattoos.”

 “That is a bald-faced lie and you know it,” Piper says. “Your tattoos and piercings are gorgeous and you would look absolutely rocking with them. Knock all the old farts right off their feet. Turn.”

 Obediently, Annabeth rotates, letting Piper snap off as many pictures as she likes. “This isn’t a Vogue event, Pipes,” she says, rolling her eyes where her friend can’t see them. “Punk isn’t exactly accepted practice yet.”

 “Punk was the Met Gala theme almost a decade ago, babe. It has filtered down from Vogue. It's practically cerulean now. Side.”

 Annabeth turns again, keeping her eyes straight. Side-eye would ruin the shot, no matter how much she wants to give it.

 “I will never understand why you both refuse to wear halfway decent jeans and then refuse to go guns out in my dresses that demand it. I can almost guarantee you that Leo will show up in those stupid suspenders with grease on his face. And you’ll have to get him to leave his tool belt in the car.”

 “Then it’s probably for the best that I have a modicum of professionalism, huh?”

 Piper leans out from behind the camera, glaring. “At the very least,” she hedges, “will you let me set you up with some shoes?”

 “I don’t know…”

 “You are not allowed to wear those horrid Manolo pumps you wear everywhere. And your nude Louboutins won’t look right with the black.”

 “What did you have in mind?”

 Piper’s grin is evil, and the way she scampers out of the room means she’s got something she’d been trying to force on Annabeth for a long time.

 Five minutes later, Annabeth is presented with a set of black strappy sandals, its edges detailed in a gold zipper, with safety pin pull to match. She frowns. “Are you sure? They look kind of… hardcore for something like this.”

 “They’re Versace,” Piper says. “I was not lying about punk’s democratization.”

 Well. They are pretty cool.

 “It’s either this or the McQueen boots. They have studs.”

 Annabeth sighs, holding out her hand. Piper squeals, bouncing a little, wrapping her in a brief, but exuberant hug, kissing her cheek with a loud, wet, smack. “You’re the best!”

 “I haven’t even done anything.”

 “I am saving up favors to cash in. Now,” she releases Annabeth, retreating behind the camera. “If you’ve got some time, can I borrow your head? I’m working on a helmet and all my mannequins are busy.”

 ***

 “Hey,” Percy begins. It is so late at night, the dawn is on the edge of breaking, and they are both exhausted from some particularly good sex. Which is saying something, because all their sex is particularly good. “You doing anything on the 18th?”

 “Yeah,” She says, distractedly, snuggling down into his bed. The fact that she’s also snuggling into him is just a coincidence.

 “Oh.”

 “Why?”

 “Nothing. Was going to invite you to a thing if you weren’t.” She nods her head against his shoulder and falls asleep in his arms, thinking absolutely nothing about it.

 She continues to think nothing of it on the train to Philadelphia on the 18th, half-asleep and listening to Paramore to pass the time, blasting Misery Business on repeat as she changes in her hotel room.

 The Eta Industries event is pretty much exactly what she expected: a lot of old rich white people milling about, sipping champagne and verbally circle jerking each other, the insipid strains of classical music spilling out of the ballroom as Annabeth steps up to claim her name tag. “Name?” asks the young, college-aged girl, skimming her printed guest list over the rim of her glasses.

 “Annabeth Chase.”

 She runs a long fingernail over the assorted collection of name tags, before settling on the correct one, handing it to Annabeth, her star tattoo on the inside of her wrist free and open to anyone who would care to look. “Here you are, Ms. Chase,” she says, smiling. “Have a wonderful night!”

 Automatically, Annabeth goes to pin it on Luke’s scarf, before she remembers that something is already occupying that place--Percy’s Acropolis pin. She had taken to keeping it in her pocket these days, something of a good luck charm, and thought that it might… she doesn’t know, maybe send a subconscious signal to Percy that she’s thinking of him. Even though there is, quite literally, no way he could know, she hopes that maybe he can sense it, and that maybe he’s thinking about her, too.

 Ugh. She snatches up a flute of champagne from a wandering waiter, eager to get that thought out of her head, making a beeline straight for the refreshments table. It’s there that Leo finds her, not five minutes later, munching on some chocolate covered strawberries.

 “And here I thought you might ditch me entirely,” he says, even as he bumps her shoulder. True to form, he is absolutely, 100% dressed in those stupid suspenders, a smudge of grease behind his ear.

 “You’ve got a…” Annabeth trails off, motioning behind her own ear.

 “Huh? Oh!” He snatches up a napkin, rubbing discreetly. “Thanks.”

 She squints. Something about him is distinctly different. “Are you taller?”

 Kicking out a foot, he wiggles it, triumphant. “Platform shoes.”

 “Seriously?”

 “Hey, if they're good enough for Robert Downey Jr., then they’re good enough for me. After all, I am Ir--”

 She groans, good-natured, taking another gulp of champagne. “If you quote Marvel in your speech, I’m leaving.”

 “Fine by me, Your Highness, they’ll give me the award either way.”

 “Excuse me, Mr. Valdez?” The same college girl from before sidles up to them, clipboard clutched in her hand. “They’re about to start.”

 He claps his hands, rubbing them together. “Excellent. You coming?”

 “I…” She casts her gaze to the makeshift stage they’ve constructed, eyeing the bright “Eta Industries” placard, the sharp angles shiny and alluring, the siren-song of recognition.

 This is a big deal. There are photographers in the audience. In the write-ups and reviews, she would be listed as a co-winner of the award, a co-designer of the world’s safest house, a thought so happy she practically starts flying.

 “I think I should stay out of the limelight for this one, Leo,” she says, politely. “This is your moment. I don’t want to ruin it.”

 He frowns. “You sure?”

 Were it not for the fact that people were watching, Annabeth would have leapt up onto that stage without a second thought, snatching up the trophy like she had just won the Oscar, holding it up like the goddamn Olympic torch. “What, you want a white woman stealing your glory?” she says instead, arching a brow.

 “You get a pass this one time,” he quips, holding out his hand. “Don’t make me regret it.”

 Whatever social grace she has left crumbles. She’s denied it enough--she wants to be up there. “Oh, fine. Since you insist,” she says, following clipboard-girl to the stage.

 There’s a quick burst of feedback, then an elderly gentleman at the podium begins speaking into the mic. “Excuse me--sorry about that. Yes, yes, thank you all for coming tonight to the annual Eta Industries awards presentation ceremony. It is always such a pleasure to come together with our hard-working and generous board members and shareholders to honor the best and brightest upcoming talent in engineering.”

 Internally, she rolls her eyes. Rich people.

 “It is my pleasure, however, to introduce the young man who is the recipient of this year’s Millennium Prize for innovation and safety. One of MIT’s youngest and most decorated graduates, he was a recipient of the Mead Prize for Students, the Friedman Young Engineer Award, and the Collingwood Prize, among several others. His master’s thesis, ‘Towards the Design and Implementation of Autonomous Safety Measures in Commercial Kitchens,’ formed the basis of the project which we recognize tonight, the so-called ‘SmartSafe House,’ reflects the pioneering spirit and outstanding creative vision of not only Eta Industries, but also the field of engineering as a whole. Please join me in congratulating this year’s Millennium Prize recipient, Leo Valdez.”

 From the sidelines, she claps enthusiastically with the rest of the crowd as her friend takes the stage, shakes hands with the Vice President of Eta Industries, and accepts the award, a blue, blocky triangle which almost seems to glow in the light of the ballroom. “Thank you, Mr. Helms. This is--this is a really big honor.”

 She can see him shaking a bit, taking a quick drink from his water glass. Public speaking was never really his strong suit.

 “As--as a lot of you probably know, this project is very near and dear to my heart. Growing up in Houston with my mother, a car mechanic, I was eight years old when her beloved shop went up in flames, like that.” He snaps his fingers, his other hand pressed to the podium where no one can see, joints white with pressure. Annabeth is proud of him--he hasn’t been able to speak this candidly about it in years. She knows firsthand how much his mother’s near-death haunts him still. “Thankfully, we were able to rebuild, and my mother went on to bigger and better things--including a shop with cleaner vents. But I can definitely pinpoint that moment as the day I knew I wanted to make the world a safer place, for my mom, if not for everyone else.”

 She remembers, so clearly, that snowy night in the dorms at Miss Minerva’s. The power had gone out, and Leo had made them an illicit campfire out of their trash bin and Annabeth’s failed English exam. Cold and miserable and with dying phones, they passed the time instead telling scary stories and funny memories, until the conversation had gotten suddenly, intensely real.

 “But I would be remiss,” he goes on, cheerful, “if I didn’t acknowledge my friend and collaborator, without whose work I wouldn’t be here today: Annabeth Chase,” he waves to his side, indicating her. The whole crowd, as one, turns their gazes on her. She straightens up, imperceptibly, hoping she doesn’t look too haughty or anything. “I’ve never been very good with people. My mama says I’m just like my dad that way. Give me a car, or a computer, or pages of multiplication tables, and I’m golden. But people?” He blows out a breath, and the crowd chuckles, naturally. “Now, if it had been left up to me, the SmartSafe House would have been a top of the line, cutting-edge metal box, efficient to a fault, but completely unlivable. Thank God I had Annabeth on my team to remind me what the project was really about: a home that families could feel safe in, so that what happened to me and my mom might never happen to anyone else.” He hoists his award above his head, leaning into the mic. “Ma, este es para ti. Thank you all.”

 Stepping down from the stage, they reenter the crowd, ready to receive adoration. In another life, she might have been embarrassed by such praise. Here and now, however, she takes each handshake and word of congratulations like a starving man in a desert who just came across an oasis, hungry and greedy.

 Hey, it’s her night, too.

 After what feels like a whole-ass sixty minutes of shaking old people's hands and polite nodding, though, she is in desperate need of a break. Escaping the throng of mingling bodies, she darts into a dark corner of the ballroom, leaning against the back of a rounded stone column, just barely out of sight of the party.

 Rubbing her hands over her face, she sighs, just short of a scream. Blowing out all her air, she lets the faint music and fake laughs melt into each other, becoming white noise, a blank canvas, empty of concrete thoughts and feelings.

 Then, her ear picks up a strand of conversation.

 “...announcing tomorrow that the CEO of Pallas Inc. is choosing a successor,” a woman says, the sneer in her voice almost visible. “About time.”

 “I thought she already picked a successor,” says the woman’s conversation partner, a man with the kind of cookie-cutter cadence that she heard every time she took a business major to bed. “Pallas is a family business, isn’t it?”

 “You haven’t heard?” Annabeth can almost picture it, the furtive glance around the room, the woman placing her hand on her partner’s arm, leaning in to share a juicy secret. “Supposedly she was grooming her daughter for the role, before she went in for rehab.”

 “Rehab? Really?”

 “What else could it be?” says the woman. “She’s disappeared off the face of the earth, and her mother refuses to talk about her. Let’s be honest, if she were dead, she would have raised a bigger stink about it.”

 Annabeth closes her eyes, sucking air in through her teeth. That… wasn’t totally untrue.

 But the woman doesn’t stop. “It’s always the same story,” she scoffs. “You throw countless hours of schooling and millions of dollars into girls like her, and what do they do? Turn around and blow it all on drugs and partying. Honestly, she should be grateful her mother is even bothering with her rehab at all. Hasn’t she wasted enough of the family’s money already?”

 Blood roars in her ears, drowning out the fancy party. Sharp points dig into her palm, pinpricks of pain, before she realizes that they’re her own fingernails.

 The lady has got it all wrong. Her mom couldn’t even be bothered with that.

 Luke’s scarf, the shrug, it’s choking her, suffocating and constricting. Percy’s pin feels heavy on her chest.

 Blinders on, she would have sprinted for the exit were it not for the Piper’s stupid Versace heels, reduced instead to a teetering, tottering wreck, like a baby colt running from a predator. The night is hot and humid, heavy with the threat of rain, and Annabeth can barely breathe, dark spots in her eyes, until she ducks into a nearby Target, the frigid blast of air a welcome distraction.

 Almost in a daze, she watches herself pick up a few things--clippers, an electric razor, beef jerky, a blue Gatorade she considers for a moment before putting it back, choosing a lemonade instead--practically throwing them at the poor cashier who begins checking her out, mechanically. He doesn’t spare her a single glance for her odd assortment of items. He doesn’t even look at her at all.

 The walk to her hotel room disappears in the blink of an eye. Blink--she breezes past the check-in counter, slipping into the empty elevator. Blink--she kicks off her heels in her room, nearly hitting the wall mirror, leaving a scuff mark on the white plaster. Blink--she’s down to her underwear and tights in the bathroom, shaving the right side of her curls clean off. She’d gotten them professionally done for the night, perfect spirals held together by expensive products. And now she wants them gone.

 She pauses and breathes too hard, looking at herself in the mirror. Her mother didn’t like that she was blonde. Maybe because of dumb blonde stereotypes, maybe just because it reminded Athena too much of her failed romance with Annabeth’s dad. And that thought stays her hand from getting rid of the rest of them.

 That, and maybe the idea of Percy, of some broke dancer, tangling his fingers in it as they lie together.

 Fuck her mother, and the fucking stories she tells.

 She likes it. She likes her blonde hair and her fresh undercut.

 She can get Thalia to touch this up later, maybe. Now, though, she needs this.

 It doesn’t look perfect. The left side of hair is too long, her gold laurel earrings too fancy for a homegrown haircut like this, her makeup too pristine. Shoving her hand under the running water, she rubs at her eyes, mascara and eyeliner smearing until they’ve reached something much more respectable for the failure that she really is.

 She misses her industrial. And her eyebrow rings. And the tongue piercing. But this will have to do for now.

 Breathing heavily, eyes hot, she doesn’t register her phone blinking, signaling an unread text message.

 It’s from Thalia. surprised you weren’t at kelp heads bday party, it reads. was pretty boring. Kno he missed you  

[yazthebarbie]

Alewife

draco malfoy x reader 

(based off of the song alewife by clairo) 

it was your duty to take care of your childhood best friend. you knew all he went through and knew you were his safe space. when your mother gets ill things begin to go downhill for you, but you keep up appearances as to not worry draco. eventually, you break. 

(reader is slytherin, can be based in whichever year you’d like, very angsty but w kinda fluffy ending!) (this is also the first imagine i’ve written in years, and the first i’ve written on this account. so i apologize if my writings’ a bit rusty or there’s some errors.) words: 1.4k 

tw: lots of tears, cussing, anxiety attack, mentions of self harm (hitting, scratching) 

-

With tired eyes you watched your companions goof around and gossip about the latest drama. It wasn’t just the Slytherin table with positive energy that day, the entire Great Hall was bustling with energy. Nothing in particular was going on, but it just seemed like life was going great fro everyone. Maybe it was because winter break was coming up, or for once their school wasn’t under attack from the powers of some evil. But either way, everyone was happy. 

Aside from you.

Every so often you would give a half-hearted laugh at the occasional joke, or nodded when someone asked you a question. But lately it was getting harder for you to keep up the act. Inside, you were tired beyond imagine. Ever since your mother had fallen an ill to a mysterious unknown illness a month ago- life had taken a dark, dramatic turn for you. She wasn’t getting better at all. Each time you received a letter from her, it seemed her handwriting got shakier and her normally precise letters were loopy and falling off the lines. It was clear something was desperately wrong but there was nothing the healers could do about it. They didn’t have to tell you, you knew that your mother didn’t have much time left to live. Every little part of you hoped that somehow she’d be able to pull through the rest of the year so you’d be able to enjoy the winter and summer holiday with her before anything drastic happened. 

The sound of deep laughter felt like music to your ears. Draco was messing around with Blaise and Theodore, all of them in a stitch of laughter over something you weren’t sure of and couldn’t remember. 

Lately, Draco seemed to be beaming. With you by his side, winning the latest Quidditch game, and Potter not being smothered with attention for once, he was very content with the way things were going. You admired the way his platinum blonde hair messily rested at his ears, shaping his face nicely. His jawline was sharp and accentuated from the angle you were facing him at. The rosy tint to his cheeks complimented the paleness of his skin. Every few minutes he would squeeze your hand, a good sign. Seeing him happy, made you happy. Even if it was for a second. It was extremely rare seeing him smile so much in public, you didn’t want to ruin that for him and burden him with your issues. 

Your beloved snow white owl, Hydrangea, dropped a letter in front of you. Straightening your back with a smile, you picked up the thin envelope with excitement. You hadn’t expected mother to respond this quickly. 

As you began to read, your originally joyful expression became crestfallen. Your face twisted and it looked like you were in pain. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Daphne asked, noticing your face first as she was sitting across from you. Her question caused the rest of your nearby table mates to divert their attention and look at you, including Draco who sat at your right side. 

You swallowed, eyes flickering to Draco nervously before cracking a small smile, “Yeah I’m fine, my stomach is killing me with these cramps, though.” 

The response seemed to satisfy everyone’s nosiness and they went back to their mindless chatter. Draco, however, looked at you strangely. That boy knew you like the back of his hand and he wouldn’t fall as easily for an excuse like that. Part of you hoped he didn’t remember you had already had your period last week. 

“Speaking of, I have to go to the bathroom,” You faltered, shakily getting out of your seat. Before anyone could ask anymore questions, you were already out the Great Hall. The speed walk pace shifted to a full on sprint as your feet carried you through the Slytherin common room and into your dorm. 

Everything was happening all at once. Thoughts, worries, fears- all violently shaking and interrupting each other. Reality didn’t seem real at this point, it was like life had stopped but was flying by you at the same time. Tears blurred your vision as you slammed the bedroom door behind you, falling to your knees. The news finally seemed to come crashing down.

“We send you our condolences and are deeply sorry for your loss,”

Those words on the paper weren’t real, there was no way. It wasn’t supposed to happen this quickly. 

“Your mother, M/N L/N, passed away early this morning at 3:37 AM.” 

You started choking violently at your lack of breath. Her last moments and you didn’t even get to spend them with her. 

“She asked us to tell you something that wasn’t stated in the will.” 

Her last words.

“I love you so, so much N/N. Please do not cry, be happy. I hope I was a good mother to you. You were the best daughter I could ever ask for and more. I am okay with going now, because just knowing I had you in my life while I was here is enough for me.” 

You’d never felt your heart physically break in half before up until today. You felt like you had failed her by not being there. You wanted to go home early to spend time with her but she had reassured you she would be fine until you came home for winter break. 

Fuck, fuck. This was all your fault wasn’t it? The more you smacked yourself, the more the pain reminded you this was real. 

“Y/N? Where- holy shit,” 

You looked back and your eyes made contact with a pair of blue-grey ones. Draco stood over you, frightened and concerned at what he was seeing. Pulling out his wand, he mumbled a spell to lock the door from unwanted intruders before kneeling down next to your shaky body. 

Despite the other emotions you were going through, you felt embarrassed. You’d never broken down like this before, especially not in front of the boy you’d tried so hard to be strong for all these years.

His arms gently wrapped themselves around you, lifting you up from off the floor and onto your bed. “Don’t move, okay?” He rushed into your bathroom, coming back with a soaked hand towel. You were confused until he lifted one of your arms, softly rubbing the towel against your forearm. That was when you noticed the blood trickling out of your skin. You hadn’t realized you were in such a deep state of panic that you had begun scratching yourself. 

When he went over a particularly deep scratch, you took in a sharp breath. Draco looked up at you quickly, pulling the towel away from your skin. “I’m sorry, am I hurting you?” He whispered, almost as if he spoke any louder you would break into a million little pieces. 

You barely shook your head, too busy staring into the distance as salty tears rolled down your face. For a second you glanced at his face and saw the heartbreak in his eyes. 

After tending to your wounds, Draco almost hesitantly wrapped his arms around you. Not as if he didn’t want to- but he wasn’t entirely sure how. He was acting partially off instinct, and partially off of how you would comfort him in the past. He cleared his throat and gathered up the courage to ask the question you knew was looming in the air. 

“What happened?” 

At this you began to cry again, pointing towards the letter soaked with tears on the floor. Using his wand to bring it over, he read it. Not once, not twice, but three times. It took him a second to process the shock of it all himself. You knew your mom was like a second mother to him. In fact, she was the one who brought you and Draco together in the first place.

Draco’s grip around you tightened as he set down the envelope. “I’m so, so sorry, love.” 

You wailed into his chest, squeezing him like he would disappear if you didn’t. His hands rubbed comforting circles in your back. The smell of his expensive cologne and peppermint breathe put you more at ease, you choked sobs slowly turning into into small sniffles. He whispered sweet nothings to you, telling you that he would stay by your side and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m here, darling. I’m right here.” 

He was all you had left now. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but it felt like hours of you just laying on his chest. All the crying had worn you out, and your eyelids began to flutter. 

“Draco?” You mumbled in a disoriented state, into his now damp shirt.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” 

As you drifted into slumber, feeling safe in his arms, he replied. 

“I love you, too.” 

[agustdef]

First Encounter

Pairing: Jin x Black!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning: None.

Rating: PG

The last shoot while they were in LA was supposed to start promptly, but when the boys arrived they witnessed the photographer rush away and then his assistant return saying that he had been taken to the hospital and they were going to get a replacement.

That left the group worried and annoyed for over an hour as they awaited their new photographer. They were concerned for the previous one, but also hated the idea of waiting for who knows how long for another. It was a professional shoot after all and those usually had back up photographers ready, but the one time it was useful it wasn’t the case.

While they waited they got ready in their clothes and the make-up done. Then they were free to sit around for a while. After twenty minutes of doing it Jin got antsy and went to walk around.

He walked around the area they were to shoot in. It was an old warehouse and they were to get some shots amongst the decaying building. The main shots were supposed to be around a space where the floor had given way in one area. He walked up to it and stared down to see that they could fall three stories down if they weren’t careful and the nerves kicked in hard.

Photoshoots got him nervous enough without the thought of plunging to his death trying to get nice pictures.

“Uh, please step away from there,” a soft voice called out.

It startled him a little, but not enough to have him accidentally tripping and fulfilling the thing he feared. He stepped multiple paces away before turning to see the owner of the voice. When he did Jin was met with a Black woman who was carrying several bags and looked disheveled, but cute. Really cute.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The woman's eyes widened as she seemed to panic, but then a second or two ticked by and she smiled at him. It was gentle and genuine, one that lulled Jin into a sense of comfort.

“Oh, no need to apologize. It’s just unsafe, I wouldn’t want you to fall. I have no clue why they set up there. We’re definitely not doing the shoot near that,” she said in Korean.

Her speaking his language through him off, but he didn’t have time to focus on that. Jin found himself unsure of what she meant about not doing the shoot there, but before he could question it or even come to his own conclusions someone approached her and began to speak.

“You got here quick,” they said.

The woman rolled her eyes. “You told me to get here quickly. You’re lucky I hadn’t left my last shoot earlier because I would've been home and that’s even further away. I just barely missed rush hour.”

That answered the question about who she was. Their new photographer had arrived for the shoot and though most of him was focused on how cute and kind she was, he also felt a sense of relief of her finally getting there so they could get it done.

“Also, we’re not shooting near that hole. I’m not risking them. I don’t care what measure you had in place for safety, but I refuse to tempt fate. The ground floor gives me a great angle to work in the hole if need be and out back has some great spots. And no this isn’t up for debate, so you can tell Alvin that his whining about it will not change my mind.”

Jin found himself laughing at that. She spoke a little fast, but he managed to keep up and could tell that Alvin person was a pain in the ass.

“Jin there you are,” Sejin said as he walked up.

His manager looked tired and a tad distressed, though he relaxed a bit when he made eye contact with Jin. Not that that lingered for long, because the moment he was in distance he grabbed Jin’s hand and carted him off to where the other boys were. Everyone was grabbing their stuff to head down to the ground floor and Jin was rushed along to do the same.

It happened relatively quickly and before they knew it they were set up in a room down there, all their stuff deposited in its respective spots.

“Why couldn’t we just stay up there? What’s the point of even coming down here,” Jimin grumbled.

“Safety,” Jin remarked without thinking.

“What?” Namjoon asked.

A few seconds passed before Jin realized what he’d said, which meant that all eyes of his group were on him. He hadn’t even intended to say anything and just let Jimin be grumpy, but something in didn’t allow that.

Jin cleared his throat. “I ran into the new photographer while walking around. She said she didn’t want to do the shoot up there near the hole because she didn’t want to risk our safety. Something about being able to do shots down here and outside fine.”

That sated them all, including Jimin. There were even murmurs about how she was better than most who just pushed them towards whatever, no matter how uncomfortable or unsafe it could be.

After that everyone settled in, getting their make-up retouched, clothes looked over, and just relaxing. About ten minutes passed before they were called out of their makeshift dressing room.

When they emerged they found the magazine’s staff all surrounding the photographer with a mix of happy and blank expression, not including one man who kept glaring at her every five seconds and who Jin assumed was Alvin.

Once the boys were front and center she stepped forward and smiled at them.

“Hello, I’m YN. I’ll be the head photographer for this shoot. I apologize for all the waiting you all had to do. I would’ve been here sooner if I could’ve been. But I promise to get these photos taken and you off to do whatever you had next in a timely manner. Again, I apologize for the delay,” she said in Korean.

The boys held the same shocked expressions Jin did when he’d heard her speak it the first time, but it didn’t last for long. Everyone could see how much more relaxed they got with her after that and it showed more as they individually introduced themselves and shook her hand.

“I’m Jin,” he said when it was his turn.

YN smiled. “Nice to meet you officially, Jin.”

Without hesitation Jin returned the smile and released her hand sooner than he wanted to.

Upon their parting everyone moved into action. YN had them in place and began shooting. She let them dictate movements and occasionally shouted out something in Korean if she wanted something specific. The group shots were done quickly and she switched to some solo and unit ones, which also flew by. Before they knew it they’d moved outside to get in a few more pictures. Their YN got a little more specific on what she needed but was still rather chill. Even when Jin looked at her instead of off to the side as she’d asked five times in a row.

By the time they were done it was midafternoon and around the time the shoot would’ve originally ended. Everyone was clearly happy to be done and wanting to leave, but then someone wanted shots with different arrangements, so they had to be obliged.

Not without a break though.

YN called for a thirty-minute break so everyone could breathe and eat something since they’d gone non-stop for the most part.

Everyone dispersed, but moments later all ended up around craft services trying to get something to nibble on; Jin included. Though after he grabbed some random sandwich and a bottle of water he noticed how YN never approached the table. He turned his head to find her, only to see her seated near the back doors of the building with her head in her hands and alone.

Something in his said to go talk to her, which was strange because he was never the one to go start up conversation during shoots. At least not ones that weren’t being run by BigHit and surrounded by staff he was familiar with. And he definitely didn’t ever just feel it based off the person being cute. He’d encountered many cute people in his line of work. But something pulled him towards YN, so he grabbed one of the premade bagel plates and a bottle of water before walking over to her.

Since YN had been in her own world she didn’t see him coming at all, so when he tapped her shoulder she was so startled that she almost made him drop their plates.

“Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay,” he said as he held out the plate and bottle. Seconds passed before she put two and two together and took it, but she did so with a smile and a soft thank you.

With that said and done Jin plopped into the chair next to her and took a bite out of his sandwich. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her nibble on the bagel, completely ignoring the cream cheese on the side. He found it adorable but refrained from saying anything or being too obvious. Or at least he hoped he wasn’t obvious.

For several minutes they went on like that before Jin broke the silence.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” YN said, frowning.

“For making sure that we weren’t doing anything dangerous for a picture and still managing to make them look cool.”

“Well, it is my job to make sure I take all the cool pictures, but it’s you guys who make them cool.”

That made Jin laugh, which in turn made YN laugh. The way they’d responded showed they both knew they played major parts in the magic but refused to fully acknowledge how much.

“Do you enjoy your job?” Jin asked as they calmed down.

As the words left his mouth he scolded himself for the horrible choice in question, but YN didn’t have an adverse reaction to it.

She nodded. “Yes. I’ve wanted it since I was little and was lucky enough to be good enough at it that I caught the eye of people in the industry who wanted to further me in ability. I’ve even managed to get a job at my dream magazine.”

Jin didn’t know what to say, so he merely nodded along and appeared interested; which he was.

“How about you? You enjoy your job?” she asked.

There was a teasing lithe to her words that made Jin crack another smile.

“I do. Want to do it as long as I can,” he said.

YN gave him the same reaction, though there was a clearer smile on her face.

“Well, I’m sure that’ll work in your favor. You’re doing so well right now.”

“That is true.”

From there Jin thought the conversation would fizzle, but it didn’t. In fact, he grew more comfortable and became more open as they continued to talk. The subjects were all over the place, but also answered some questions he’d had when he first saw her. Namely how she appeared so fluent in Korean. They had such a good talk and were so in their own world that it took YN’s assistant reminding her of the time to break them apart.

Sadly, that meant they got right back to work and they were in front of the camera and then done so fast that it made Jin’s head spin. Before he knew it he was changed into his clothes and ready to head out with the boys, but all he could focus on was finding her. Which didn’t happen or at least didn’t until he’d been practically shoved into the car by Jungkook who’d wanted to get back to the place where they were staying so he could play video games with Yugyeom.

Jin’s last glimpse of YN was as she got into her car and drove off, though their car soon followed.

“That was faster than I thought it would be,” Yoongi said.

“Yeah. The pictures she did were amazing and she didn’t drag it on forever. I want her for all of our shoots if she’s that good and always that fast,” Namjoon mumbled.

There was silence for a moment and then from the front seat Sejin spoke up.

“Well, you’re in luck. If I remember correctly she’s the name of the person you’ll be dealing with when we get back to Korea. They said they were bringing on their talented, new hire for your shoot.”

That made Jin’s head snap up so he could look at Sejin in the rearview mirror and that’s when he noticed the man looking directly at him as he said it, a smirk playing on his lips.

Never had such a burst of joy filled Jin like it did in that moment and while everyone responded positively he merely sat back and imagined how he’d approach YN the next time he saw her. That thirty-minute break had him wanting to know more about the cute girl.

[hatterstan-shameblog]

The Best Quiche in Tokyo

Rating: ‼️18+ Minors Do Not Interact ‼️

Warnings: explicit sexuality (it literally takes place at an orgy so like.......Y’know)

Characters: Hatter (Takeru), Aguni, and Female Reader (You)

Summary: When one of your customers invites you to a potluck-slash-orgy, you assume the “orgy” part is a joke—because nobody really hosts a potluck and an orgy at the same time, right?

Notes: One time, @nessinborderland (happy belated birthday btw) gave me the brilliant idea of Hatter hosting an orgy and serving really good food and I just......ran with it. This ended up being part comedy, part character study—and mostly features Aguni, if you can believe it! I don’t know, I just let the story take me where it wanted to go! (Also, this is definitely the longest thing I’ve written on here, so get ready to dig in!)

It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon in March, and you’re standing in front of a hat shop. Well, technically, you’re slightly to the left of a hat shop, peering down a skinny alleyway in search of a door or a set of stairs—something to indicate that there is, in fact, an apartment up there and this is not just an elaborate prank.

There is a very good chance this is a prank—after all, the eccentric man who walked into your stationary store two weeks ago seemed...off. Not in a bad way, just. One-of-a-kind. Unique. Entirely himself, in a way that people usually aren’t.

Was he flirting or was he just overly friendly when he leaned in just a bit too close to see the various fonts available for his choosing? It’s difficult to say. He did seem genuinely interested to know the difference between serif and sans serif, which doesn’t much thrill your customers on the regular. Does asking for an extra business card ‘for his personal records’ count as a pick-up line? It’s hard to say. Not that it matters much, of course—you are a professional, he is a customer, and there’s nothing more to it.

And you really are a professional, because when he told you that he wanted—in metallic gold, 30-point, center aligned—to say, quote, “The Third Annual Springtime Potluck and Orgy: Presented by Danma Takeru,” you didn’t so much as bat an eye. Partially because he was very insistent that you spell his name correctly, and partially because. Well. How does a person respond to that?

In truth, he ended up being one of your better customers—he showed a genuine interest in the process while still deferring to your expertise—and when one of the printed invitations arrived in your mailbox, you figured you might as well go see what the fuss is about. It could be an opportunity to meet some new friends, maybe drum up a little business if you’re lucky.

And besides—a potluck-slash-orgy? Who would even do that?

The merry little jingle of bell catches your attention, and you turn your head to see a solemn-looking man peeking his head around the hat shop’s glass door. He looks at you. He looks at the plastic-wrapped pie in your hands. He looks back at you.

He frowns.

“Hi,” you say, putting on your most charming smile in the hopes that he’ll stop looking at you like you just slapped him across the face, “I’m, uh, I’m here for the party!”

You shuffle over to him, careful not to scuff the white of your sensible-yet-pretty patent leather heels on the sidewalk. Maybe you’re dressed too formally—he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans while you’re sporting a calf-length chiffon dress dyed in a lovely array of watercolor blues and violets.

Oh dear, what a faux-pas! There was no dress code listed on the invite, but maybe you should’ve dressed in a more casual fashion. You don’t live far, you could probably run home quickly and change...

“Do you...have an invitation,” the man asks, crossing his arms across his chest and furrowing his brow. Is he annoyed? No, no. He seems. Confused? Wary? How very strange.

“Oh, of course,” you answer, reaching a fumbling hand into your purse to search for the little pink envelope, “I almost forgot it walking out the door, but I remembered at the last second! I can be a bit scatterbrained sometimes!”

The man doesn’t say anything, but leans forward to inspect the invitation once you manage to produce it from the cluttered mess that is your handbag.

“I know the time said it started at three, but the pie took a little longer than expected. It takes time for the chocolate to set, and—“ you gasp, covering your mouth with your invite-laden hand, “I haven’t kept you waiting, have I? I’m so sorry, Mister...?”

“Call me Aguni,” he says, and his eyes narrow slightly when you give him your most chipper ‘thank you’ and apologize for not being able to shake his hand at the moment. What a strange man.

“You,” he asks slowly, “you read the invitation, right?”

“Of course I did! I’m the one who made them,” you explain, puffing your chest up with pride, “and our host was kind enough to send one to me! He must have really liked my work!”

“...Yeah,” the man called Aguni says, “I’m sure that’s it.”

But, to your pleasure, he steps aside and holds the door open for you to enter. Such a strange man, but at least he’s gentlemanly enough to hold the door for you as you step inside.

“Oh, wow,” you say, “this place is amazing!”

And maybe it sounds silly, but you’re being entirely honest. There are hats in shelves, hats hanging on the wall, hats on faceless plastic heads on the counter and placed atop a long wooden table to the left—all of them in different shapes and colors, embellished and feathered and ribboned to the nines. There’s a certain magic to a little place like this, a kind of whimsical charm you want to bottle and keep on the kitchen windowsill.

“Walls could use some paint. Floor needs polished, too,” Aguni says, “but...yeah, I guess it’s nice enough.”

You follow him as he leads you towards the back, your eyes drinking in all the details of this fascinating little shop.

“No, no, the walls and the floor are perfect,” you assert with a wide-mouthed smile, “it gives it character. Makes it feel...like home, I think.”

“Takeru says the same thing,” Aguni answers with a chuckle, “although I also think he just doesn’t want to put in the work. He’s...not very handy.”

There is a second door at the very back of the shop, and once again, Aguni holds it open for you. Perhaps his original air of discontent was a simple case of shyness—maybe he just takes a bit to warm up to people. Well, just wait until he tries your homemade triple-chocolate silk pie; you’ll be best friends in no time!

He leads you into a tiny courtyard, which is just barely big enough to hold a steep set of metal stairs and a handful of plant pots, which remain empty due to the early spring cold. But, oh, it must be so lovely back here when the plants are in full bloom! You say as much to your companion, who actually manages to smile a bit in your direction as he leads you up the stairs.

“Those are mine, actually,” he tells you, his boot-covered feet thunking up the stairs at a leisurely pace, “He lets me garden back here.”

You picture it—this tall, stoic man, kneeling on the ground, his gloved hands tending little green sprouts as the morning sun shines gold and warm on the cold stone ground. The thought of it warms you. Does he know anything about succulents? You’ve always thought they would look so cute in the shop...

“Look,” Aguni says when the two of you reach a very drab-looking door, “I’m not trying to be a jerk, but...you sure you’re ready for this?”

What an odd thing to say! Maybe you’re acting more nervous than you originally thought? It is rather daunting, walking into a party of strangers; but, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

“You’re sweet for worrying about me,” you respond, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “but if everyone is half as lovely as you, I’m sure I’ll do just fine. I will probably stick with you for a while—if that’s okay, of course!”

“Alright, then.” Aguni says—and is that a hint of a blush you see creeping up his neck? All this time, you thought he was just being strange, but he’s just a little shy! You give his arm a knowing pat before withdrawing your touch, and he quickly turns around to unlock the door.

Are all of Takeru’s friends this adorable? You hope so. You follow your bashful escort inside—the genkan is already full of shoes, but you manage to squeeze yours in between a pair of snakeskin wedge heels and the wall. Aguni also removes his boots, and you’re happy he isn’t going to stay down in the hat shop the whole time. He can introduce you to everyone, and maybe—

You hear something. Was that...? No, no, you must be imagining things. You definitely did not just hear a woman moan on the other side of the wall. You stop and angle your head towards the door slightly to get a better listen. It’s all rather muffled (it must be well-insulated!) but there’s definitely some kind of music playing. Maybe it’s part of a song?

It happens again. This time, it’s deeper, and more of a prolonged “ah” sound. And then laughter. Aguni is looking at you in that concerned way of his again.

Instead of waiting for him to open the door for you a third time, you decide to take initiative and open it yourself—a show of confidence, to put his mind at ease. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to try and stop you, but he instead just crosses his arms and watches as you open the door to the rest of the house.

The first thing you see is candles. Little flickering spots of yellow-orange flame, winking inside clear glass votives. A trio of them on the kitchen table to the left, surrounded by a mismatched variety of trays and plates and bowls, each holding a different delicacy.

There’s a candle on the kitchen counter, next to the refrigerator. One on a bookshelf, which is filled to bowing with vinyl LP’s. Two on either side of the television, and a cluster of them on a coffee table next to a fishbowl of shiny gold squares and—

Oh.

Oh, dear.

There are limbs. Moving, writing, reaching. Hands grabbing. Mouths kissing. Mouths...doing things other than kissing. Oh, God, there’s boobs. And somebody’s butt. Aw, geez, there goes another one. How many naked people are there in here, anyways?

“Oh, hey!”

A familiar voice calls out from the fleshy throng, and your stomach drops. Like Venus emerging from the surf, you see Danma Takeru rise up from the crowd, hair mussed and smiling mouth smudged with at least two different colors of lipstick. While he does appear to be wearing some kind of brightly-patterned robe, the more he stands, the less confident you are that it’s actually covering anything.

You spin on your heel, unwilling as of the moment to become visually acquainted with your host’s penis, and you’re met once more with Aguni’s concerned stare. This time, though, you understand why he’s looking at you like that, and it makes the burn of embarrassment creeping up your neck that much hotter.

“Do you want to leave?”

This is. Oh, boy. This is a lot. Aguni must be able to sense your discomfort, although you imagine it’s rather palpable at the moment.

“I,” you say, “I don’t...know.”

And you say you don’t know because you truly don’t know what to do. Was it really so naïve of you to think that the ‘orgy’ part of the invitation was some kind of weird inside joke? Is there some kind of social protocol for these things?

You feel two hands descend upon each of your shoulders, and you try to convince yourself that they are slightly damp with sweat as opposed to any other kind of aqueous material.

“You made it,” Takeru exclaims with genuine excitement as he gives your person a gentle shake, “I’m so glad you decided to come!”

“He’s covered, don’t worry,” Aguni says to you before directing his attention over your shoulder, “I take it you didn’t tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

The hand on your right shoulder stays while the left slips away, leaving room for Takeru to stand at your side and squeeze you against him in a weird little half-hug. In another situation, you might enjoy the way the silk of his robe whispers against the skin of your arms, perhaps smile at the warm comfort of a lazy arm thrown about your shoulders like a heavy scarf, but. Well. Right now, it’s just a little...awkward.

Aguni rolls his eyes.

“About that,” he says, gesturing impatiently at the debauchery behind your back, “I mean, just look at her face.”

“Mori-chan, how could you be so rude to our lovely guest? Darling,” Takeru says, turning your face towards him with two fingers under your chin, “don’t listen to him, you’re...ah, I see what you mean.”

Is your expression really that bad? It must be, because Takeru very slowly and very carefully withdrawing his arm from around your shoulder and taking a generous step to the side. His mouth is twisted into a rather comical gaping frown, his eyes nervously darting side-to-side.

“In my defense,” he says, putting his hands up like some kind of fucked-out traffic cop at a four-way intersection, “the, uh, the orgy part was very prominent. Big letters, right at the top.”

“I,” you reply, “I thought it was...a joke?”

“This is why we don’t just hand out invitations,” Aguni grits through his teeth, “for fuck’s sake, Takeru, we’ve talked about this!”

“I know, I know. I am humble enough to admit when I’ve fucked up, and this time, I have fucked up in a truly spectacular fashion,” Takeru’s gaze shifts from horrified to quizzical as he scrutinized you for a moment, “Unless...you’d like to stay?”

You look at the pie. The slowly-warming chocolate is beginning to sweat beneath the thin film of plastic wrap you so lovingly secured with lilac ribbon.

“Or you could slap him on the way out,” Aguni offers, “he’s very slap-able.”

“It’s true! And when you slap me,” he whips his head to the side suddenly, “my hair does that and it looks really cool!”

Yeah, okay—it did look pretty cool. But, does he deserve to be slapped? Probably for something else, but not for this. It’s a simple misunderstanding, and honest mistake on both your parts.

“I want...” you start, and the way they’re looking at you, wide-eyed and breath-bated, reminds you of the final rose ceremony on The Bachelorette.

It’s kind of hilarious, actually.

“I, uh,” you continue, “I want to...to put this in the refrigerator, if that’s okay? It’s, uh, starting to melt...”

To say that Takeru’s face lights up is an understatement. With a mega-watt smile and a sparkle in his eye, he swoops his arm back around your shoulder and begins leading you towards the kitchen.

Although you have (almost) gotten used to the sea of strangers fucking and moaning in the background, you still choose to politely avert your gaze as you pass them by. You instead focus on Takeru, who has taken this opportunity to explain the inner-workings of...whatever this is.

“...And I personally see to it that these events remain exclusive,” he says, “Although I do occasionally invite outsiders, such as yourself. You were just so sweet and helpful, I couldn’t resist trying my luck and sending you an invite.”

“Thank you,” you say, “although, I, uh...”

He opens the refrigerator door and motions for you to place the pie inside. Luckily, it’s mostly empty, save for a collection of bottled water and a tin of what looks to be cat food. You’re grateful to not have to carry it around anymore, and thank him for his assistance.

It’s finally time for you to acknowledge the proverbial ‘elephant in the room’—except, you’re not exactly sure how to begin.

“I,” you start, stopping to bite your lip, “I, uh. Is it okay if I...don’t, y’know, do the whole...uh...sex thing?”

“Oh, do you prefer to watch?”

“No! I mean, no, uh,” you laugh nervously, “I’m just...”

Takeru chuckles.

“I’m only teasing. You’re more than welcome to skip the sex and go straight to the food. As long as you’re on the kitchen side, nobody will touch you. It’s one of our rules.”

He motions for Aguni to come over with a wave of his arm, smiling when the tall man comes to lean against the kitchen counter.

“Mori-chan also prefers to abstain from the more salacious aspects of our little gathering, so the two of you can keep each other company.”

“I’m usually in charge of the food,” Aguni adds, “and I try to make sure the candles stay lit.”

“I, uh, I noticed those on the way in. They’re nice.”

Takeru leans towards you as if he’s about to share a secret.

“I don’t mean to be indelicate,” he says in a low tone, “but there is a certain stench that comes with these events. Sweat, musk, various secretions...it all really adds up in the end.”

“It’s awful,” Aguni concludes, “but candles help dissipate the worst of it.”

“Oh, and the ambiance,” Takeru exclaims, “there’s just nothing like candlelight to really get people in the mood for—“

A sharp ding! makes you jump. From what you can gather, it came from the small oven to Aguni’s left.

“Hold it right there,” Takeru growls towards Aguni, who had been in the middle of donning a pair of floral-printed oven mitts, “she needs thirty more seconds.”

Aguni looks at you and rolls his eyes. You stifle a giggle behind your hand, hoping your host doesn’t notice.

“I saw that,” Takeru snips towards Aguni, “honestly, Mori-chan, you get one new friend...”

And even though he’s mid-scold, there remains a joviality to Takeru’s tone—a testament, you believe, to what can only be a long-standing friendship between him and Aguni. It’s hard not to feel jealous of their easy back-and-forth, their banter like a well-matched game of tennis.

“Now you can take her out,” Takeru says, “but, so help me God, if you don’t let her rest for seven minutes–“

“–They’ll never find my body, I know, I know,” Aguni finishes, gingerly placing a metal pan on the stove, “Look, we’ve got it handled. You can go back to your side of the party and I’ll call you when it’s plated.”

“Fine,” Takeru answers with a false pout, “but only because I know she’ll keep you honest.”

And just like that, it’s just you and Aguni once more—but, this time, he seems much more at ease to have you around. Happy, almost. It must be kind of boring, sitting alone in a kitchen while everyone else is...well, busy.

“So,” you say, moving to Aguni’s side to peer into the baking pan, “looks kind of like...a quiche?”

“Not just any quiche,” Aguni answers, opening the drawer to his right and digging a hand inside, “the best quiche in Tokyo.”

He pulls out a shiny silver chef’s knife and places it on the counter. Next comes a pair of dainty forks, delicate little things one might use for tea cakes at a French-inspired bistro. Knowing what you know about Takeru—which, granted, isn’t very much at all—it doesn’t surprise you in the least.

“You’re in front of the plates,” he says, tapping the cabinet directly in front of your face, “grab us some?”

“But we’re supposed to wait seven minutes,” you protest, all while following his instructions, “it’s only been...like, three.”

Aguni’s eyes take on a glint of mischief.

“Only a problem if we get caught.”

Honestly, it looks divine. Pillowy-soft and the perfect pale-yellow hue, delicate tendrils of steam billowing out as he drags the knife through. You hadn’t ever seen a non-rectangular quiche before, but you suppose it makes sense; there are a fair few people in attendance, and the standard circular composition wouldn’t quite feed everyone.

He serves you first. A corner piece (which he insists are the best), speckled with herbs and studded with little pieces of what you assume to be some kind of ham. Little strings of cheese stick to the blade of the knife, and Aguni scrapes them off with the side of a fork, which he then hands to you.

“Takeru doesn’t cook much,” Aguni explains, playing his own small square, “but when he does...”

The sound that comes from your mouth as you take your first bite of quiche could rival any of those happening in the orgy across the room. Oh, that is so good! Buttery crust, the salt of cheese and ham, the subtle bite of onion—and there’s something else there, something you can’t quite place, but you know it tastes absolutely heavenly. Immediately, you take another bite.

“Grew the herbs de Provence myself,” Aguni mentions, “He refuses to use store-bought.”

“Makes all the difference,” you respond, “I could eat the whole pan by myself.”

“I did that for my last birthday, actually,” Aguni chuckles around a forkful of quiche, “Takeru insisted on putting all thirty-eight candles in before carrying it to the table—you know, like a dumbass. Part of his hair caught fire, and I had to give him a haircut at two in the morning because he was so distraught.”

The two of you laugh—Aguni at the memory, and you at the idea of a tearful Takeru sulking as Aguni snipping the fried locks with a pair of kitchen shears.

“He forgave me, even though I took a whole two inches off,” Aguni sets his empty plate in the sink and looks out of the small window above it, “He’s not a bad guy, you know. Doesn’t always make the best choices, sure, but he’s got a good heart in him.”

There is a sadness here, something in Aguni that speaks to a troubled past you haven’t quite unearthed yet—and you know better than to press him, especially here, especially now.

“Well, I can’t say I’m an expert,” you say, handing him your plate, “but you two seem like decent people. Orgies aside, of course.”

“Of course,” Aguni nods, “though I don’t suppose you’ll come to the next one, will you?”

For the first time since your arrival, you allow yourself to watch the festivities happening across the room. It isn’t that bad, you suppose—it’s just a group of people having a fun time together, laughing and gasping and enjoying each others’ bodies in a safe and comfortable place. It’s not something you necessarily want to do yourself, but...well, the ‘weird’ factor of the whole thing has gone down exponentially over the past hour or so.

“And miss out on the best quiche in Tokyo,” you say, nudging against Aguni’s arm with your shoulder, “not a chance!”

[ajbwasntwriting]

Daughter!Reader X Negan, Reader x Daryl: Chapter 7. Home Sweet Home

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The quest for relevant gifs continue as we begin this chapter with a cheeky little flashback. Hope you all had a happy end of 2020 and may all your 2021 goals come to fruition.

I’ll only post more chapters if previous chapters get a good reaction so if you enjoy this please heart it, reblog it, and/or reply to it. Interaction inspires.

if you wish to be added to the tag list please dm me. All chapters can be found under the tag AJ’s Negan’s Daughter AU

The school bell rang. All the kids packed up their things and got into a line to walk out the school to their parents. You were told to always take the back of the line, that way when all the other kids walked out the door to meet their parents, you could break off and run down to the teacher’s cafeteria. You’d stand outside the door and fifteen minutes later your father would arrive, usually with another two teachers in tow. Everyday you’d see him round the corner then drop your bag and sprint your little legs down to him. He’d pick you up in his arms and place a big kiss on your cheek.

“How was your day princess? Did you give Janet a hard time?” he’d ask, to which you’d always shake your head no. He’d smile at you before placing you back on the ground, then you’d run back to your bag and your father would bring you back to his classroom where he taught other kids. He’d correct work for a bit while you did your homework, usually at a desk far too big for you but it was still easier then the kitchen table.

After you had finished your homework your father would let you pull out pencils and paper and draw until either he had finished his corrections or it was time to go. It was 1985 and you were strapped into the backseat of your father’s car with ‘Out Of Touch’ on the radio. You were six years old and living the high life in the back of your daddy’s car on the way to your suburban house where your mom was cooking pasta for dinner after a long-shift at 7/11.

You woke up when the light hit your eyes, stirring you from the peaceful childhood dream of speeding down the country rode while The Bangles sang out. You were lying on a hard bed in what looked like a med-bay made out of an office. Realisationed hit you like a truck that this was the Sanctuary and you shot up, immediately regretting it when everything started to hurt.

“Woah Woah, easy.” A man chided as he jumped to your side, grabbing you by the shoulders to stop you from getting out of the bed. You yelled at him to get off you as you swung at him, sending him backwards. In a moment another two were on you, a man and a woman.

“Tie her before she pulls out her IV!” the woman yelled. The first man stood up and began strapping you in using broad leather straps while the other two put their weight on you.

You struggled as best you could, still exhausted and something heavy on your leg. “Let. me. Out!” you yelled as you pushed against the bonds.

“Get Daryl” one of the women commanded, the second man running out. “Try not to pull that IV out. We can’t patch you up if you do.” she commented, walking around to tend to the man you punched. At this angle you could see the four barred tattoos on her neck. You recognised her, but it seemed she didn’t recognise you. Or at least wasn’t saying anything.

“What are you gonna do to me?” you asked, trying to hide your fear. The man glared at you from where he sat on another hospital bed, his eye turning bruised.

“Nothing.” The woman commented. “Bosses orders” the man scoffed at that, earning a slap to his chest by the woman.

“What? You actually think Daryl is the boss. Negan had him putting dead ones on the fence! He should still be doing that!” the woman punched him in the chest

“Knock it off,” she chided “Unless you wanna get punished”

“He doesn’t do that shit” the man grumbled.

“Do you wanna be the reason he starts doing it?” You couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe it was your nerves at the situation but their banter was completely unexpected. She turned around and looked at your tied down giggling figure. “What’s so funny!?”

“You sound like his mom” you turned your head to look at them as you spoke, a smile on your face.

“She bitches like the old hag too” the man chirped, earning a more playful slap from the woman. This was good, the tension was being lifted if only slightly.

“Sorry for punching you. New surroundings, ya know.” you piped up, hoping to take advantage of the tension drop.

“Yea well, you're not getting out of those belts” the man retorted, nodding towards the binds

“That’s fair” you sigh. Looks like you’ll need a new plan. Maybe some info, but you’d have to give a little to get a little “So are you gonna kill me? Like your friends tried to”

“What you mean?” The man asked

“Couple of people broke into my safe house, said they were saviours and they were gonna kill me to save their friends.” you stared at the ceiling, trying to feign complete helplessness. “Are you with them?”

“No, but-” the woman shushed him again, but that did nothing to deter the man. “We used to be, then a war happened and our boss got locked up and they put an outsider in to look over us”

‘Locked up?’ you thought ‘so he’s not dead.’ you bit your tongue to contain your happiness. “I can’t say I’m sorry” you said after a beat, “So...I’m gonna live?” you looked at them with intentionally wide eyes. The woman looked pissed, but she nodded. You breathed a sigh of relief and closed your eyes. A beat or two later the man returned with Daryl and a grey-hair woman in tow.

“Get those off her!” Daryl ordered.

“It’s okay” you interjected. “I punched your friend there. Kinda earned this”

“Nah” the first man perked up “If I had been jumped then woke up in a strange place I’d have acted out too,” he moved over and started opening the belts, Daryl working on the others. You slowly pulled yourself up, Daryl jumping to your side to help you into a sitting position.

“You alright?” Daryl asked. You looked over now realising your palms were bandaged and your leg was in a splint. You reached up to your aching head and felt a bandage with your fingers.

“I’ve been better” you spoke low, still in a great deal of pain.

“What happened?” the grey haired woman asked. You spun a story of a bunch of people claiming to be saviours who entered your apartment with the plan of ambushing and killing Daryl, how you burned down the apartment and jumped out the window for your escape. The grey haired woman listened to you with growing worry on her face. “Did you kill them all?” she pushed

“I don’t know.” you admitted

“What do you mean you dont know!” she snapped

“Carol-” Daryl started

“No, if there’s people out there claiming to be saviours and hurting people then we’re gonna look bad in front of the other settlements.” Carol snapped back.

“She’s right,” the messenger added. “We’ll have to do something.”

“These were our brothers” the punched man spoke out “We can’t just kill them.”

“They didn’t give us a choice” Daryl snapped. “Y/N barely got out alive and she’s been living out there for months. What if they get someone who can’t hold their own!” he went to storm out but you reached out of the bed and grabbed his arm, yelling out in pain at the strain.

“Don’t” you warned, after Daryl and the woman helped you back into the bed. “If they’re still there then they’re barricaded and have significant advantage.”

“Well what do you purpose we do?” Carol asked. Your breath was getting heavy.

“Anybody got a map of DC? And maybe a pencil”

The original messenger boy got you a map and a pen. You marked out where your apartment had been, as well as some buildings that had fallen apart with age. “They said they were watching me, which means they could be in any of these” you marked around the stable buildings that could make for a hide, which was surprisingly few. “This is my hideout in city centre” you said marking the building

“You never mentioned another safe house.” Daryl spoke up, you smirked

“A girl needs her secrets.” you handed the pen to Daryl “What route did you take to my place?” he lined in his route.

“What if they’re farther?” Carol asked.

“They’re not.” you spoke firmly “They were watching me for long enough they knew when Daryl wouldn’t be around which means they made their place comfortable, and I bet a couple of them got injured in the fire, meaning they’re gonna have to lay low and patch themselves up,” You explained. Your body finally gave way and you fell back on the pillows. The woman jumped to your help, telling the others to go. She made you comfortable in the bed, you drifting off to sleep again not long after.

“How’d you know they’re there?” she asked later that evening when you were awake, eating some acorn mush, “How are you sure?”

You could sense she was worried. “I was in the military before all this” you answered. “Our job was to sneak into enemy territory to help our fellow soldiers or civilians. We used to make maps like that, using where our friends got attacked as a central point to where the enemy could be hiding” she nodded as you explained, though still visibly nervous. “They’ll be fine” you tried to reassure her. “If they’re not nearby, they’ll have to get through hordes of walkers before they’ll be somewhere safe. You’re friends will get them”

She seemed to be reassured, If only a little. “You know I’m meant to be looking after you,” she breathed out, a tear sneaking over her cheek. She wiped it away before it could fall. “I’m Laura, by the way”

“I’m Y/N”

The following morning they all returned, with the exception of Daryl. “You were right” Laura informed you. The ‘saviours’ were held up barely a block away and now they were dead.

“Where’s Daryl?” You asked when Carol visited you.

“He took off for Alexandria” Carol replied. “I’m in charge now.”

“Oh” you spoke, clearly disappointed. Carol ordered Laura to leave, putting you on high alert. She pulled up a chair and looked you in the eyes with a dead stare.

“What is your relationship with Daryl?” she asked bluntly. You cocked an eyebrow at her.

“I’m gonna need you to elaborate so I can give you an answer you’d be happy with, Carol.” you replied helpless from the bed. She knew you couldn’t run, yet she was putting on this show of bravado? She seemed to accept your request though.

“Up until three days ago we didn’t know Daryl had a secret lady hiding in the city. We want to make sure Daryl isn’t keeping secrets that can hurt us.” she spoke a little more relaxed now, but still direct. She reminded you of your mother in a way, whenever she noticed a cookie was missing, or later in life, her vodka had been replaced with water.

“So Rick, Carl, or Tara hadn’t mentioned me either?” those names spurred on some recognition. “Guess not” you sighed, thinking on how to break to this woman you had tried to kill two of her friends. You came to the conclusion that you shouldn’t. “I traded with Carl and Rick for some medical supplies. Few months later Tara, Rick, and Daryl stumbled into my area needing help so I did. Daryl’s been trading with me since.”

“What kind of trade?” she pushed.

“Food,” you answered. “He’s been feeding me, in return I’ve been getting him stuff. Blankets, bandages, jeans, kid’s shit like bottles, and toys-”

“And raincoats with little butterflies on it?” Carol interrupted you. You nodded and whispered a ‘yeah’ under your breath. “I have a niece called Judith. She’s trying to name all the butterflies.” she spoke lovingly of the child and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of a small girl pointing at water-proof butterflies giving them cute names. She probably gave them different names every time she listed them.

The smile faded as you remembered the world isn’t that simple anymore. “So what now?” you asked.

“You’ll stay here” Carol ordered. “You’ll do your part, whatever way you can.”

You nodded in agreement “I know this might be a big ask considering we just met but,” you began, taking a big breath to try and stave off the tiredness, “Could I help here? In the hospital. I was a combat medic before this so it’s probably the best way I can help.”

And it could be a great way to weed out who knows who you are and threaten them into keeping their mouth shut, or even shutting it for them.

Your request was granted, under the watchful eye of Laura, and so began your new life at The Sanctuary.

~Tag List~

@bodeckersbitch​ @lauren-novak​

[of-tatooine]

mercy. | chapter 16 - whiskey

the whiskey sunrise brought pleasant surprises with it.

Amber.

Ever so prevalent in nature, in soil, in earth. In every single crevice of the trees that surrounded God's green earth, the shades of fur on the animals you hunted for food and for survival, the dried out and dead leaves. The dirt that slipped through the cracks and through your fingers, the clay and rust you had grown up on.

The color of his worn-out irises, speckled with the most beautiful green forest - the reassuring hazel, the burnt amber, the deep brown that gleamed just a bit lighter with each passing day into the spring. With each step taken with purpose, getting closer to the goal that clouded over his racing mind.

The shade of the bitter yet oh-so-sweet liquor gently swaying inside the glass bottle, of the gentle heat in your throat. The reflections against the transparent confinement, sometimes a neat crystal and most of the times a scratched bar glass. The ease in the limbs with each consecutive sip of fire emanating throughout the skin, the leftover taste of honey in the mouth, the tremor in your fingers after a bit too much.

The unknown taste of something other than the hard liquor. The long stares and the textures under your fingertips long unexplored. The desolate but warm sense of belonging, of feeling protected. The gruffness, rumbles and grunts piercing through the air. All of which combined themselves in a strange formula and seemed to come to life right in front of you, in almost a lazy yet enticing haze of foregin origin as a solid frame walked across the room.

"You sure you don't wanna save that for later?"

A breathy chuckle emanated from the man upon the light remark and you could just tell he was strongly considering the suggestion for a second. His voice soft, unlike the rougher than gravel tone he usually sported - one of the many gestures and reactions that only recently began to resurface from their hiding spot deep within.

Was it upon his will? He was not the type of person to just let go of his guard or let people see another side of the medallion, no matter what the circumstance was. And yet there he was, breathing and living in the same room a couple feet away from you with nothing but friendliness for a change in the most part of the journey so far, some sort of fondness creasing his features - you reckoned there was no way it could have been.

All that pondering and it did not matter one single bit as he took slow but steady steps towards the chair you were sprawled over near the table. Time seemed to slow down in a lazy pace, not racing for the clock handle to advance just a couple of ticks more. The tattered blinds rustled in the faint spring breeze, the occasional gusts of wind through the cracked windows were cold but had a certain promising warmth to them. Leftover afternoon sunlight filled in the spare room of the rundown house in a calm shade of yellow, tinting everything the rays touched with a sparkly hue.

Including him.

The hollows in his structured jawline accentuated by his peppered beard, the gentle wrinkles of age and hardship lingering on his tan skin with the hints of the smile, stretching his lips. A couple buttons undone on his navy flannel, the slight nonchalant show of his chest. The rips and frays, the dried out blood - his and others - on his shirt ever so evident under the unforgiving light. Hands so scarred yet strong, bulging veins trailing up to mark a path of scratches, old and new scars and scabs.

The look in his eyes as the light hit them, lowering himself down to a gentle kneel right in front of you.

“Believe me, I would,” he spoke, the animosity he used to have against strangers once upon a time long gone.

He was not talking to just a mere stranger anymore. 

“ - but you might need it more than I do.”

To that, your lips let out a chuckle, defying your quickening heartbeat that at this rate, would burst out of your ribcage due to the sheer proximity of the man. Each movement, small hints of his body language - the relaxed jaw in contrast to his usual clench, the colorful irises with specks of hopeful light, the long fingers which had done too much harm instead working gently to do good. 

"I'm guessin' the stitches are your handiwork," he softly said, a tone of gratitude in his smooth drawl to accompany the brief twinkles of light in his eyes, looking into yours levelly with some sort of hesitation hidden beneath. Upon your nod, an appreciative smile would curl up the corner of his mouth.

"They hold tight."

By that time, you had seen more than enough to know that this was his subtly unique way of voicing his thanks, through many ways than one. A calloused hand worked to spill just the right amount of alcohol to soak the rag, motions so gentle and soothing that you would not dream were coming from a man who could bash someone's skull with enough force to crack in half at any given moment. 

There was a price you had to pay to see the gentle side of him, the good heart he carried slipping through the cracks of his broken soul and equally damaged ribs. A price that almost took your life and cracked your bones, brought you to the edge of death looming with arms wide open, battered and bruised your skin with scars so deep they touched your soul. All for one purpose, for the one who mattered the most, that brought you two together in such a bond that only people who have been through hell and back could form.

All to keep that little girl resting in the other room out of harm’s way. 

“Was a nurse back then,” you would explain with a shrug, an easy smile on your reminiscent face as you observed each movement he made, taking note of his soft nod upon your confession, as if that had confirmed the ideas running rampant in his head. 

“Not sure what I am now.”

His head would softly rise, looking into your eyes as the rag hovered just a tad lower from the wound, the small droplets of bitter liquid slipping down the cut fabric onto the floor, clearing a lazy trail of dried blood over bare skin along. 

“Must have been a damn good one at that,” he hinted with that damn drawl, his head tilting a bit to the side as if awaiting a reaction, reading through your expression of gratitude as your smile only grew more nostalgic.

It had taken you a while to clean the other wounds and properly seal off the gape in your thigh that dead bastard had opened up just when it had been healing - a rag in between your teeth keeping your screams to yourself as a hot suture needle pierced through your skin yet again. Him walking into the room with an unusually calm gait in his step after putting Ellie to sleep, heading straight towards helping you was a surprise that was most certainly welcome.

Yet before your thoughts could comprehend what he was doing, your body unfortunately did - stinging rays of pain jolted all over your skin, a loud hiss escaping your lips as the alcohol made gentle contact near the newly forming scar tissue. It was for the best, hell, you would have done this to yourself to prevent yet another damn infection if he had not been around.

While his fingers that pressed the gauze ever so gently to clean the wound, the other set slowly yet gingerly found their way to your other thigh covered with fabric in a ghost of a touch - one that seemed to calm you down, the vice-like grip of your hands around the edges of the wooden chair relaxing, chest rising up and down with the deep breaths of anticipation of pain. 

“Sorry,” he would murmur knowing that his actions involuntarily gave you discomfort, under his own hands that hurt too much. 

A soft shake of your head was your response, the hint of a smile along your lips, pushing past all of that twitching pain as you encouraged him to go on - not that he would need it. The moment he wrapped his arm around you so tight to get you out of that burning hell mere hours ago should have told you he did not need the telling to help you survive.

As long as you were with him, he had promised himself that he would do anything to make sure you did. 

That included honoring the other pact he had made with himself. 

“Listen, I ain’t been the friendliest man to be around,” his gaze now shifted to concentrate on the wound as if he was trying to gather himself together, brows furrowed with some sort of newfound determination. His shoulders under the flannel moving along with his arms that worked to clear the wound, jaw clenching at your every other little hiss or groan. The words flowed out of his parted lips under that salt and pepper beard, in a husk that only sentences left unspoken for too long could muster. 

And all you could do, as the pain subsided a little more with each gentle touch, all you found yourself wanting to do was to hear more of what he had to say - the most genuine you had gotten out of the man and he was not the type to talk.

“I regretted it at first, when I took you out of that building.” 

A small frown crawled on your lips as he put the bloody gauze away, picking up a wet rag and a big bandage whose adhesives surprisingly had not worn out too much after all these years.

“And then, just when things start goin’ right… your history caught up.”

And then, upon the insinuation of your old faction, your heart began thudding even more in your chest in anticipation of what was to come. Would he hurt you? Was this all a ploy to get you talking, or even worse? His voice had been way too gentle for someone who was plotting on ripping your skin apart, his touch way too comforting. 

The mere thought of it made you uneasy as your body tensed under his fingertips, jaw clenching as you clutched onto the chair. Noticing the subtle change of motion as he cleaned the residual blood, he would tilt his head up with such an angle that accentuated the high cheekbones and the light in his eyes that told you to not be afraid.

He was right there.

“But seeing the way you looked after her, after me when you had no obligation to… patching us up and protecting us.”

An almost foreign, long forgotten sensation then decided to visit you - emotions, coating your eyes in a glassy layer and your mouth curl up in the saddest of reflections. His eyes, an amalgam of dark forests of greenery and gold specks of determination. Focused in yours and yours only, staring into your soul as if he saw right through you.

“If the Good Lord gave me another chance -  I would do it all over again.”

And it made your heart stop, skip a beat, then frantically pulse beneath the rib cage.

After all this time making it out of the gutter alone, escaping the one community that gave you life. Shooting first and never asking questions. Torturing and being tortured. All alone, without a single soul that cared about you just an ounce. 

It was a mystery whatever that meant during the goddamn apocalypse but there was one truth evident in front of your eyes.

He cared. Maybe more than he should have been. More than he needed to, for his sake. 

All the way back in that crumbling building with the infected - even when he did not know it. He cared every time you would stumble, hold onto the trees or railings for support. When your hands held Ellie’s to help her down the hills, the same ones caressing his forehead in long-gone whispered words and wishes, the ones stitching his wounds. When he had found you, scarred beyond recognition but alive nonetheless, clutching onto the little girl that gave him life. 

Measuring your reaction, he swallowed as what he saw gave him the strength to continue.

“I was thinkin’…  once this is all over, for good this time,” Joel started with his drawl, his deep voice a hopeful one, each word slipping out slowly like fingertips gliding on velvet as his hands slowly finished wrapping the clean-enough bandage around your thigh securely.

“…if you would want to come back to Tommy’s with us.”

In the haze of the leftover heat of the sunset coating the room with orange reflections coupled with the small course of adrenaline running through your veins, you found yourself leaning in just a little towards the man kneeling beside your seat, looking at him incredulously - subconsciously, maybe, to make sure you heard him correctly. 

A measure set forth by your survival instinct when you heard things that were just too good to be true in this forsaken shell of a world. Something inside told you that you did not need any such measures when you were with him. 

Not anymore. Not after all that you have been through.

Words were not needed as your grateful, unbelieving yet bittersweet expression said it all. A sigh of long-awaited relief slipped past your lips. A soft nod followed your smile, watery eyes relieving you from the security of all of those walls you had built. The light in your eyes glowed a bit brighter with the gentle smile he had under that beard, the forests in his eyes blooming with the greenest of greens and the everlasting gold.

They reminded you of home. Of somewhere far away yet right there in front of you. Of somewhere warm and safe, with memories to be made. 

His hand would reach up tentatively, the backs of his fingers brushing against your cheek as you find yourself leaning into the gesture, the softest of touches. A strand of stray hair is tucked behind your ear as his calloused palm placed itself on your cheek in a warm embrace. A feather light touch as if he was afraid of breaking you.

Eyes locked, you could not see the usually violent storms raging within his gaze. Instead, the sun was shining - a source of light so bright that the worries, the pain were silenced. It reflected off of yours, this contagious energy that heated up the air and made your head lean just a bit closer to his, leveled due to the height difference - his breathing mixing in with yours as his chest heaved to match your heart trying to escape from the confinements of his flannel covering you.

Then came a stare down your lips which felt like hours, contemplating, admiring, thinking. As if he had been pondering this moment for a long while, of crossing that one bridge. Tilting his head further in. It made your lashes flutter in the sheer heat of it all, brain completely shut off as all you could think of at the moment was right in front of you, mere inches away.

“Joel - ”

The intoxicating mix of whiskey, leather and pine left momentarily along with the warmth on your cheek upon the knock at the door, rattling your reality with a soft gasp. 

His head whipped to the wooden door - the rest of his body frozen as his hand instinctively reached back for his revolver and yours, in turn, reached to hold onto him. The newly awakened survival instinct subsided just as it came upon seeing a yawning redhead with bright, green eyes that lit up the entire room, staring at just how close you and him were situated and smiling to herself.

“Uh, hey, guys - I’m kinda starving.”

The moment your eyes met his again, this time, it was with a chuckle and a shake of the head, his genuine laugh that warmed your heart in the most unexpected way making his shoulders dip slightly. 

They were your home. 

[secretlysheikah]

Numbed

Ah the next chapter is finally completed! I hope you all enjoy, no major TWs for this chapter. I also wanted to say thank you to everyone who takes the time to read my little fic. This is a labor of love and it makes me happy that people are enjoying it. Love you all and I can’t wait to see you all in the next chapter. 

Read the new chapter on A03 here Just as a reminder I hold no claim over the Linked Universe, that honor belongs to @jojo56830, check out the original comic, it is really good. 

Start here: Legend was such a liar, Twilight thought to himself as he walked about an unfamiliar forest. He should have guessed that that stupid tea of Legend’s wouldn’t actually work. He could already tell by the odd looking trees and the way they blew in the non-existent breeze that this couldn't be real. He walked up to one of the large trees and eyed the trunk thoughtfully. There were odd markings in the wood, strange, thick, stubby horizontal lines that cut deeply into the bark. He leaned in closer and squinted at them, they looked a bit like claw marks but they were too far apart and clean for any normal beast. He hummed thoughtfully not really knowing what the strange markings could mean though he kept their existence in the back of his mind. It wouldn’t do any good to be caught unawares by a beast, even if it was a dream.    

The woods looked ancient and wise, with the tall tree tops being obscured by impossibly low hanging clouds. He cast a glance down towards the ground and found that even the land below was covered in a thick layer of misty clouds. Faint music played somewhere far away, peaceful and a bit mournful but beautiful all the same. He didn’t know why he was here, or even where this place was supposed to be but he didn’t get the feeling that he was in any danger. For now anyway. So he kept moving forward, occasionally stopping to carve out a piece of bark below the other odd markings from a tree to mark his path as he walked just in case. 

The landscape shifted in subtle ways, rocks forming high walls around him before disappearing in a blink to be replaced by an open field lined by trees. Rivers sprouted up from the ground and carved out new waterways only to have everything shift back to the oddly ancient forest once again. Everything around him shifted and changed  so frequently that If he really paid attention to it he might have felt unnerved, but as it was he didn’t really care. He just kept walking, choosing to  enjoy the faint music and the light scent of wood smoke that warmed the air. It had been a while since he just enjoyed a nice hike, it was relaxing in a way, even though nothing around him was real he still found a smile stretching across his face.

There was a giggle from somewhere deep in the woods and he paused in his hike to look out into the gloom. He couldn’t see anything in the depths of the trees and fog but he knew for sure that he had heard something. Cautiously he stepped off the trail, marking the trees with heavy notches as he passed. Hidden twigs cracked under his feet, the fog swirled around his legs obscuring the ground below even as he walked. 

“Hello?” He called out tentatively not really knowing who he was calling out to. It had sounded a bit like a girl but there was no way for him to actually be sure. He strained his ears focusing hard on the ambient noise around him, waiting for a response. He stopped walking for a minute and waited. The silence stretched on and just as he thought that whatever had made the noise had run off he heard it again, a delicate tinkling laugh not too far off in the distance. 

“Hey! Who's there?” He called out again before he began to trot forward again, further into the gloom. Only faint sounds of tinkling laughter answered him and he could feel his heart begin to flutter with apprehension. The trees that once started out open and inviting now started to grow closer together making him slow his pace. He eyed the dark trees around him with distrust as he went and he couldn’t stop himself for noticing how they seemed to be crowding in closer, almost as if they were leaning in and whispering secrets to each other. The thought made his breath come out in short gasps as a chill ran down his spine. 

“I’m here! Just a bit closer!” A small voice said not too far ahead of him, making him jump at the unexpected call. Suddenly shaking with an emotion he couldn’t quite place he started forward once again into the gloom. His heart beat a tattoo against his ribs as he moved forward, making his fingers twitch against the bark of trees as he squeezed past them. Sucking in a deep breath he set his jaw, clamping down the fear that made his legs slow. He only had to squeeze past a couple more trees before he practically fell out into an open field, with a large pond at its center. He felt a pull at his back as air seemed to be displaced and he spun around, eyes wide and found that there were no trees at his back but a wide open field. 

He felt eyes on his back, and he slowly turned back around and saw a very small figure standing in the center of the water. He moved a few steps closer to get a better look, and to his surprise it looked like a small girl in a white dress standing on top of the water as though it were solid ground, rather than in the water. Small ripples moved out from where her dress gently kissed the mirror surface of the pond and she looked completely at ease. Her head tilted slightly to the side, her blonde hair drifted in the breeze as she looked his way. She looked very young, maybe around twelve, with wide blue eyes and red hair band in her hair. She looked slightly familiar but he didn’t know why that would be. He coughed a little before he found his voice to call out once again.  

“Excuse me?” Twilight called out delicately, she brought a hand to her mouth and giggled and he felt a flush spreading across his face. He coughed again and moved closer to the water’s edge. 

“Ma’am? Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need help?” He said and was graced with a little shake of her head. He felt water on the tips of his shoes, heard nothing but the faint music and lingering sound of a girl’s laughter. He swallowed, feeling a nagging sense of apprehension creeping up in his chest again. She must have noticed because she beckoned him forward with a wave of her hand. He felt his eyebrows raise as he looked at her, then to the water that lapped around her bare feet and then finally at his own shoes. Surely she couldn’t be serious. 

“I need to show you something,” She said with a small laugh, still continuing to beckon him forward. 

“I’ll sink into the water, surely you can show me from here on dry land. Just walk over,” He called back to her only to be met with a quick shake of her head. 

“Not this time, come here!” She yelled back and Twilight felt confusion hit him. Again? What did she mean again? He pressed his lips into a tight frown. Cautiously he stretched his foot out over the surface of the water, pausing for a moment before stepping on the flat surface. He expected his foot to pass right through the mirror-like surface but it held firm, holding his weight easily as if  it were ice.  He took a few moments to admire the ripples that spread out from his feet before he began walking forward albeit very slowly. He heard her laugh and he joined her shakily, not entirely trusting the surface of the water to continue to hold his weight and prepared for the moment the spell was broken and he would be plunged into the water below. When he was about five feet away from her he stopped and waited for her to address him. 

“You came back, I’m glad,” the small girl said and once again he felt another wave of confusion. He didn’t know how to respond to her comment so he just inclined his head. 

“You said there was something you wished to show me?” He asked bluntly and the smile that had been on her face shrunk just the smallest bit. She bit at her lip and nodded before inclining her own head to match his stern posture. He could feel a subtle wave of nervousness pulse off of her despite her act of playing it tough but he made no comment on it. 

“I do, and I hope for your sake you remember this time,” she said and he felt an unnerving coil of dread beginning to unspool in his stomach. What did she mean by remember? He didn’t recall anything like this happening before. 

“Who are you?” He asked, his voice becoming a bit strained as he tried to force the words out. The girl tilted her head to the side, considering before she slowly shook her head. 

“Who I am is not important, what is important is finding out where they are,” She said as she lifted a finger and pointed it towards the space between them. Twilight tightened his jaw, he didn’t like this, but nonetheless he moved his eyes to look into the depths of the water at his feet. Slowly an image began to bubble up on the surface of the water. A deformed castle with turrets poking out at odd angles and walls that seemed jagged and too tall sat in what looked like a center of a gigantic lake. The waters around the castle looked like the surface of a black mirror, and just to the front of the warped gate there was a seemingly dead tree. It’s mangled limbs stretched high and ended in sharp tips that reached for a sky dotted with purplish black clouds.

“I don’t understand, what is this?” He asked in a bemused voice, crouching down to get a better look at the opposing structure. He hesitated calling it a castle, it was just too odd for such an ordinary word. As he continued to look, the more he examined it the more it seemed like there were multiple versions of Hyrule castle smashed together rather than anything that mortal hands could have constructed. 

“This is the center of the in between, the home of Dark Link. It is also where your brothers are, well one of them at least,” The girl said leaning forward so her hair was just brushing the surface of the water. 

“What? How? Wait, who is in there? Are they okay?” Twilight asked quickly, head shooting up to look at the little girl. He met her familiar blue eyes and he felt a pang of recognition but shoved it aside. He had a lot of questions and he didn’t know how much time he had to actually get the answers. 

“The one you call Sky is there, but as for Wild I don’t know,” She said sadly and he felt himself jerk at how quickly she answered his unasked question. He swallowed hard and looked back down at the enormous structure. He felt his breath hitch as the picture seemed to change from the imposing ‘castle’ to a black nothing. 

“You heroes must act quickly for dark forces are at work, even now your friend is…” She stopped and Twilight looked at her expectantly. She was giving him a look that he didn’t much care for. 

“What is happening, what’s wrong,” He asked tersely and the girl straightened and hugged herself. He could see tears in her eyes and she was shaking her head very slightly. 

“Please, I don’t want to see it again,” She whispered and he felt his heart sink. What had she seen to make her so upset. 

“Please this is important, I need to know he’s okay,” He implored, he had to know. He couldn’t bear the curiosity and blind worry anymore. The girl must have seen it in his eyes because she gave a little hiccup before she wiped at her eyes with the heel  of her hand. When she got a hold of herself she made a gesture to the water and turned her back on him. 

Twilight’s eyes shot down to the water below and gasped in horror. Sky was sitting against a wall in a dark room, curled in on himself. His wrists looked raw and swollen. Looking closer he saw the skin looked blackened and cracked in places while other parts wept red. He was rocking back and forth, his hands pressed to his ears. Twilight tried to peer around his arms to see his face better and somehow whatever magic that was being used obliged and tilted the angle. Sky’s eyes looked wide and terrified while also seeming dim and lifeless. The skin around his eyes were red and puffy. He could see Sky’s lips moving, but he couldn’t hear anything. 

“Sky, by the Goddess,” Twilight whispered, he could feel tears tracking down his face. Sky looked absolutely wretched, his fingers dug into his hair, and now that he seemed to be closer he could see the extensive bruising that covered his hands and the dried blood that darkened his sleeves. He felt as though his heart was being cleaved in two, his fingers pressed against the water’s surface, wanting nothing more than to grab hold of Sky and pull him close. 

“Please” he begged, “you must know where, where is he, where is this castle?” Twilight said as he got to his feet and ran over to the girl. She only shook her head and refused to turn around. Twilight felt a sudden frustration take hold of him and he grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around before dropping to his knees so they were face to face. Her eyes shone with tears and he could feel misery coming off her in waves. It was practically contagious and he had to grit his teeth and force the words out. 

“I don’t know who you are, but please you need to help me,” He said as he felt tears bubble over his lashes, wetting his face and making his vision blurred. He opened his mouth to continue his plea but a bout of dizzy confusion suddenly sprouted up in the center of his mind and he felt himself sway. The sensation crawled across his mind and he blinked rapidly, dropping his hands away from the girl’s shoulders and looked at his shaking hands. What was he doing? He racked his brain but he came up with nothing. He wiped at his face and found it wet but for the life of him he couldn’t remember why that would be. Was he just crying? But why was he crying? He got clumsily to his feet and gripped the sides of head as a spike of pain flared behind his eyes.   

“No! Not yet!” The girl cried, and to Twilight’s ringing ears her voice sounded echoey and hollow. He felt his eyes growing wide and he shook his head suddenly terrified. What on Earth was happening? Where was he? A girl, (where had she come from?) let out a whine and made a sweeping gesture with her hand and Twilight found his eyes following the movement. They landed on the smooth surface of the water before he even knew he was doing it. He felt her grab on to his arms with a firm grip before she pulled his hands away from his head. 

“You have to listen to me, remember please!” She cried and Twilight could only nod dumbly. It was like his mind was drifting, forgetting even as he listened to her speak. He blinked at her, trying to round up his wandering thoughts but found that they were becoming well and truly scattered. He watched her face as she narrowed her eyes and her lips pressed into a thin line. He hadn’t realized he was staring off into the far distance until she gave him a little shake to bring his attention back to her. 

“He won’t last long on his own,” She said, directing his attention back to the water below with a gentle wave, and he felt a morbid curiosity pulled at his heart as he followed the motion of her hand. There in the water was Wild, face bruised with his left arm hanging loosely at his side, like it was dislocated. Twilight leaned forwards slightly and could see blood staining the pale tan tunic Wild wore. Twilight felt his breathing stop as he looked, moving closer despite himself. 

Her voice was still an odd echo and suddenly he watched as Wild snarled and drew a sword from a twinkling swirl of blue lights. Twilight let out a gasp, his blood ran cold and he cried out as Wild raced forward only to have something wrap around his ankle, causing him to crash to the ground. He couldn’t tell what had caused Wild to fall but he did notice as a heavy black boot stomped down on Wild’s wrist forcing him to drop his sword. 

“No,” Twilight said, his voice sounded thready and broken to his own ears. He fell to his knees and pressed his hands to the surface of the water, as if he could somehow push through the surface and grab hold of Wild and drag him back through. The vision shimmered and disappeared and Twilight let out a frustrated yell and pounded his fist against the water. 

“No! No no! Bring him back!” He shouted even as he felt the memory begin to fade away in his mind. He shook his head and pressed  his hands into his eyes, trying to hold on to the vision even as it faded to be replaced with a numbing tranquility. He looked back at the girl, focusing on how she was holding on to his arms with a tight grip. He breathed heavily through his nose and grabbed on to her arms. 

“What do I do? Quickly now,” Twilight commanded as he felt a numbing calm clamp down around his mind. The girl’s face hardened as she nodded and stood, pulling him to his feet. 

“Open your eyes, tell your mentor what you can remember,” She said, gesturing for him to lean down so she could whisper the information into his ear. He obliged and leaned down so she could whisper to him. The world around him began to shimmer and fade as he slowly worked his way towards waking. By the time she pulled away from him she looked little more than a blotch of bright yellows and reds against a painfully white background. 

“Remember and open your eyes, there is no time to waste.” She said, her voice becoming airy and faint. Twilight nodded, feeling himself coming back to wakefulness. He felt his body grow heavy and stiff, a groan worked it’s way from his dry and sore throat as he came back to wakefulness. Even his bones seemed to ache with cold and fever and his mind felt dulled and hazy. It took way too much effort to open his eyes and he struggled to even crack them open a sliver. He didn’t know if that was due to the fever or the tea that he had drank earlier but either way it was a challenge that he wished he didn’t have to deal with just then.  

When he finally managed to open his eyes, he found the world blurry and out of focus. He squeezed them shut before he opened them again to the soft voice of Time calling out to him. He tried sucking in a deep breath and could feel the way his chest stuttered and bubbled and he let out a burst of wheezing half choked coughs. When the fit passed and he was able to catch his breath he shook his head trying to keep the fog away from the words the girl had told him. He could feel Time’s eye on him, waiting for him to speak and after a moment he was able to find the elusive words that the girl had whispered to him.

“Can’t forget, don’t forget,” He mumbled, as he tried to get his eyes to stay open, he couldn’t let himself fall back into dreams, not yet. He heard Time say something but it sounded muffled and far away. He focused harder on Time’s voice, desperate to cling onto something. Fog swirled around just behind his eyes and he felt himself start to slip. 

“At the center of the in the in between, where it all began, where he, no, it first appeared,” Twilight said quickly, trying to blink away the fog. He could almost feel himself starting to forget already and the thought startled him. It was like his thoughts were a tangled ball of string being quickly unraveled and eaten away. He hadn’t even known he had closed his eyes, hadn’t even felt himself drift until a warm hand gently patted his cheek. Once again it took far too much effort to open his eyes again, and even more of a chore to get his mind to focus on the concerned eye of Time where he sat next to him.

“What is the center? What are you talking about?” Time asked gently, and Twilight felt a rush of adrenaline course through him. He had to tell him, he had to make sure someone would remember. A shock of pain ricocheted through his skull just behind his eyes, making the world spin in a sickening spiral and he had to close his eyes to stop himself from getting sick. A firm hand landed on his shoulder grounding him just enough for him to pry his eyes open. It felt like his eyelids were glued together, constantly trying to remain closed despite his best efforts. The pull of sleep was growing stronger and it was all he could do to cling on to consciousness.  

“He is there, at the center, with a tree, there, there was water, and.. a…” He began but felt his mind becoming clouded and muddled, the thoughts spooling away even as he tried to hold on to them. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and mud and it made speaking difficult. He tried to pull the thoughts back from the nothing, to keep them close so he could explain but it was like trying to hold water in a sieve.

 A motion in the fog just behind Time caught his eye and in the mist stood a small girl. Her eyes were pleading, mouthing something he couldn’t make out but deep down he knew she was begging him to hold on just a bit longer. He couldn’t slip away not yet, this girl, no, Sky and, and Wild, they needed him to remember what she had told him. What was it she had said? Time’s hand shook his shoulder firmly, bringing his attention back to his worried blue eyed gaze. 

“Who is there? Twilight, who is there?” Twilight heard Time ask and even to his fever-addled brain he could hear a note of curiosity and desperation in his mentor’s voice, though he could be just imagining it. Twilight swallowed hard, reached back through the haze and grasped at straws but found his memory was lacking.

“Wild? No, uh, S-Sky? D-ark, he, I think has him there, but Time I don’t, I don’t know how to ge’to them. Don’ know ‘ow to ge’them back,” He was losing it now. The tenuous grip he had on consciousness was well and truly gone. He felt himself drifting even as he looked at Time. He couldn’t tell what was real and what was the newly forming dreamscape. 

He felt Time pull him close, could feel the hum of his chest as he said something that just wouldn’t connect in his mind. He was so tired, so sore and weak and sad. But why? Why did he feel sad? He felt sad for some reason but he didn’t know why and somehow that made his heart race with fear. There was a pressure on his back as someone rubbed his back. He could smell the scent of wood smoke and wild flowers and he closed his eyes and just breathed. The world spun around him like a whirlpool and he tensed at the sickening motion before the floor seemed to open up beneath him and he was falling away into nothing. 

....

Legend was such a liar, Twilight thought to himself as he walked about the unfamiliar forest around him. He should have guessed that that stupid tea of Legend’s wouldn’t work.  

*****

A sweet melody drifted through the warm air of Twilight’s house, mixing gently with the faint pops of the fire that burned in the hearth. Time let himself lean back against the mound of soft blankets at his back as he played. He could feel Twilight’s gentle breathing underneath the pile, could hear the nearly silent groans as he shifted in his sleep. He stopped playing, resting the old ocarina in his lap so he could lean over and rest a hand on Twilight’s forehead. It was too warm, and the skin felt slightly clammy to the touch. 

Time could feel his eyebrows knitting together with worry, the pup had pushed himself way too far this time. Even in sleep Twilight’s eyes looked slightly sunken and tired. His breaths while smooth for now, but held the promise of bone rattling coughing when he awoke. 

He watched as Twilight’s calm expression twisted for a moment before he let out a soft gasp and curled ever so slightly inward. Time held his breath, waiting for him to wake but let it out slowly when the moment seemed to pass and Twilight relaxed, face going slack once again. He felt a shiver emanate from the mound of blankets and Time leaned closer and tucked the blankets up higher around Twilight’s shoulders. Twilight groaned a little louder this time, his breath quickened and he started to squirm, writhing around as his face twisted. 

“Hey, calm down pup, it’s alright,” Time soothed as he adjusted the blankets once more to allow Twilight a little more freedom of movement. He was still breathing heavily and Time could feel lightning zinging through his limbs in worry. He made more shushing sounds as he moved in closer and placed a heavy hand on the pup’s forehead, focusing on radiating a calm presence as he did so. 

He could see the start of tears at the corners of Twilight’s eyes, could feel as his breathing was ramping up to the start of crying. Worry and sorrow clamped down hard around Time’s heart as he watched, feeling helpless to do anything. Tears leaked out from Twilight’s eyes and he leaned forward and wiped them away. He didn’t know what could be making him so upset in his sleep but whatever it was he wished he could do something other than just sitting there feeling useless. 

Then as suddenly as the tears started, they simply stopped. Twilight’s face fell slack once again, his body relaxed and his breathing slowed. It was startling to say the least, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Time’s hands shook slightly and he leaned back and carefully put his ocarina away, not trusting himself to hold it, let alone play. 

“You really did a number on yourself this time,” Time sighed, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers. He looked off towards the fire, letting his mind empty as he listened to it’s soft popping. Feeling agitated he rubbed at his face and leaned back with a sigh, feeling himself growing more antsy with the worry as the time ticked on. 

“I should have known you were pushing yourself too far,” He muttered, rubbing at his eyes as he felt heat building up behind them. He sighed and looked back at Twilight who was still sleeping peacefully for the moment. 

“Damn it pup,” Time snapped suddenly as he stood, no longer able to sit still and do nothing. His heels clicked angrily against the floorboards as he stomped around the lower level of the treehouse. Occasionally throwing a glance back at the sleeping form of Twilight, checking to make sure he was still sleeping soundly.  

“I told you, I told you that you needed to take care of yourself, but did you listen? No, of course not, none of you kids do,” He let out a frustrated groan and stamped back over to the couch, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. His emotions felt like a whirlwind of worry and frustration. He wanted to shake Twilight awake to yell at him, while another part of him also wanted to wrap him up in the tightest hug he could manage and soothe the worry in his own chest. 

He settled on running his hands through Twilight’s damp hair, working his fingers through the snarls that had formed in the dark blonde locks. Twilight’s face was still flat and emotionless even as his fingers twitched and grasped at the blankets. Time let out the breath he had been holding, knowing that even if he raged and screamed it would do nothing to fix the current situation. Twilight’s eyes moved rapidly under his closed lids and his breath quickened again before his eyes blinked open. It was clearly a monumental effort on his part and Time felt his hand slow to a stop in Twilight’s messy hair. 

“Pup?” He asked softly, moving to Twilight’s side in a moment and knelt down so he was eye level with the ailing hero. Twilight sucked in a breath and promptly began hacking and wheezing and Time felt himself wince in sympathy. He waited for Twilight to get himself back under control. Twilight shook his head from side to side as if trying to clear it all the while muttering something in an airy whisper. Brows furrowed, Time leaned in closer to try to get a better idea of what was being said. 

“I can’t forget, don’t forget,” He whispered and Time leaned in even closer. 

“Don’t forget what pup? What's happening?” He asked and watched as Twilight blinked slowly and groaned, clearly trying to gather his thoughts into something more coherent. 

“At the center, in the in between, where it all began, where he, no, it, first appeared,” Twilight said fervently, his misty blue eyes landing on him with a quiet plea. Time didn’t understand, and he gently placed a hand on Twilight’s cheek when he saw that his eyes had started to drift close again, and he tried to keep him focused. 

“What is the center? What are you talking about?” He asked, confusion filling his voice. Twilight winced and squinted his eyes shut, he almost looked like he was in pain. Time shuffled closer and  grabbed Twilight’s shoulder firmly to get the other’s attention back on him. Twilight huffed and opened his eyes again but it was slower, like his eyelids were too heavy. 

“He’s there, at the center, with a tree… There, there was water, and.. a…“ Twilight said but trailed off as his eyes settled on something behind Time’s shoulder. He looked around but saw nothing but the empty room behind him. Unnerved, he turned back around and gently patted Twilight’s cheek again, drawing his fogged eyes back to him. There was a dim light behind his eyes but he could see the light fading fast. 

“Who is there? Twilight, who is there?” He asked and he could hear his own desperation in his voice. He couldn’t understand why, but he knew this was more than just a normal fever dream. 

“Wild? No, uh, S-Sky? D-ark, he, I think has him there, but Time I don’t, I don’t know how to ge’to them. Don’ know ‘ow to ge’them back,” He slurred and Time could hear the heartbreak in his decedent’s voice. Time a pang of despair shot through his own heart and he pulled Twilight into a tight embrace. He could feel the way Twilight was shaking but he doubted it had much to do with being cold, or the fever that pulsed heat through his shirt. Twilight tense slightly for a moment before he relaxed and Time closed his eyes as he held him.  

“We will find them, you said the center is where it began, so we'll just have to figure that out. We can do that,” Time murmured, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat and squeezed just a touch tighter but felt nothing in response. He shifted slightly and he felt the way Twilight’s head lolled and how his body felt heavy and boneless in his arms. He placed a hand on the back of Twilight’s head before he slowly and carefully laid him back down on the cushions, making sure not to jostle him too much as he did so. 

Twilight was out cold once again, obviously losing his fight against the pull of sleep. His mouth hung open slightly, his eyelids flickered as he dreamed. Twilight heaved a sigh and tugged a little at the blankets. Time tucked the blankets around Twilight’s shoulders before he placed a hand on the pup’s chest; reassuring himself that he was okay with every heartbeat he could feel underneath his palm. 

He stood like that for a minute or two, feeling how Twilight’s breathing seemed to be just a bit too strained. Worry chipped away at his thoughts as he mulled over the possibility that maybe the near drowning was worse than they had originally thought. An unfound worry grew in his mind, that Twilight would just stop breathing and no one would notice. He shook the thought away, unwilling to let his mind travel down that line of thought. Worry like that had no place in a sick room.  

Twilight was starting to shiver again and Time hastened to pull up the blankets just a bit more, determined to make his protégé as comfortable as possible. When he was sure that Twilight was sleeping peacefully once again, he sat back on his haunches and looked around the room. His mind thinking back to when Twilight had been distracted not minutes before. A chill ran down his spine and he straightened suddenly feeling like he wasn’t alone in the small house.

His hand came to rest on his sword as he slowly moved away from the couch and the sleeping warrior buried the under blankets. He heard his footsteps creak as he stepped on older floor boards and he couldn’t help but imagine that the floorboards were screaming at him. His eyes continued to scan the room around him. The hairs on the nape of his neck began to rise and his hand tightened on the handle of his blade. Just as he felt his heart begin to well and truly and race; the door behind him slammed open causing him to let out a startled cry before he whipped around, sword drawn and ready to defend and pointed it at the front door. Wind stood there with a bag slung over his shoulder and he stopped mid-conversation with Four when his eyes landed on him. 

“Uh, is everything okay here?” The young boy asked as he stepped inside the house, trailed close behind by a worried looking Four. Time felt his heart beating out of his chest and he forced himself to lower his sword. 

“You scared the Hell out of me, don’t come barging in here like that, Twilight is trying to rest,” He scolded in a harsh whisper, resisting the urge to grab at his chest in an attempt to soothe his racing heart. He leveled a glare at Wind who nodded his understanding and squinted at Four when he noticed a small smirk flit across his face. 

“Something funny, Smithy?” He growled and he noticed how Four wouldn’t meet his gaze, turning his face away with a light cough. Though Time could see how his shoulders shook slightly with silent laughter. Feeling the adrenaline slowly leaving his veins Time bent down to one of the chairs, took up a pillow and chucked it at Four. It hit the smaller man on the side of the head, nearly knocking him off his feet and made him stumble mid-step. 

Four looked around at him shooting him a glare from where he had stumbled, but Time could see the mirth that danced behind his odd eyes. Four snorted and picked up the pillow, sending it flying back Time’s way and he side stepped easily and watched it sail by harmlessly to land on the floor. 

“Sorry for the scare old man, Wind was just telling me about the soup he wanted to make for Twilight,” he said as he jerked a finger towards Wind who had made his way over to the small kitchen table and was rummaging around in the contents of the bag.      

“My grandmother would always make it for us when me or Aryl were sick, it worked like a charm. I was even able to find most of the ingredients in town,” He said as he pulled out a fresh fish wrapped in paper. He replaced the fish back into the bag and cast his eyes towards Twilight. 

“How is he doing?” He asked softly, his brows knitting together in concern. Four had made his way over to the couch, placing his hand on Twilight’s forehead and humming as he judged the fever for himself. 

“He has been sleeping, though he woke up not too long ago actually,” Time said, making his way back towards the couch. He couldn’t stop his eyes from scanning the room around them. Even though there were more people in the room he couldn’t help but feel like they weren't completely alone. 

“Is that so?” Four asked as he fidgeted with the blankets, smoothing them and pulling at nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric. Time could tell he was worried, and he rested a hand gently on Four’s shoulder. 

“It is so, and he said some interesting things, I wonder if you would be able to help me figure them out. You are rather good at figuring out puzzles,” Time said and he smiled as the smithy looked up at him with a curiosity that burned like coals behind his eyes. Time could recognize the desperate need to do something, anything to help and he gave the small hero a determined smile. 

“Hm, how can you be sure it wasn’t just fever induced mutterings? What did he even say?” Four asked skeptically and Time was about to answer when the door suddenly flew open again this time revealing a wide eyed Legend as he panted and clutched at the doorway. 

“We saw him, we saw Wild in the spring,” Legend gasped, and Time felt frozen in place. He couldn’t mean, there was no way. He glanced around the room, at the wide eyes of Wind and Four, then to the sleeping form of Twilight who surprisingly, still hadn’t stirred in all the commotion.  

“Take us to him, Four, stay here with Twi, make sure he’s okay,” Time commanded and the smallest hero nodded quickly, and Time noticed how he grabbed the hilt of his sword. Wind was by his side in a moment and together the three of them jumped down to the ground and ran off towards the spring. 

****

Hyrule felt distinctly off kilter and not really sure what to do. The sound of falling water was his only companion, the white noise filling his head with a lightheaded emptiness. He was still reeling, they had seen Wild, and he looked okay. That realization in and of itself was enough to make him want to faint. 

It had been about a day since Wild was tossed through that portal; but even in that short amount of time Hyrule hadn’t realized just how much stress and worry he had been carrying around on his back until it had been suddenly pulled away. The sudden relief was enough to make his head swim. He took a few steps forward, not really knowing what he was doing. He couldn’t even say he was actually processing anything, he was there physically but mentally he felt a million miles away. 

He tried to focus on the water that sloshed around in his boots, the feel of the rocks under foot and slowly worked at calming the white noise that filled his mind. Wild was okay, at least for now, and Legend would be back in a few minutes he just had to keep calm. He found himself shaking with the rush of different emotions, he wanted to laugh in giddy relief and cry all at the same time. He took a shuddering breath, dipping a hand into the water and splashing his face with the cool liquid. 

“Get a hold of yourself ‘Rule,” He muttered as he raked his hands through his mussed hair. He could feel hysterical laughter boiling away in his chest and he beat it down with a vengeance. 

“Yes please, you look like a fool pacing around like that. You’re supposed to be a hero for the love of Hylia, maybe it’s time you start acting like one,” a bored voice drawled out from behind him. Hyrule froze where he paced, anger mixing with horror as he slowly turned to face the waterfall. There in the water of the falls stood Dark, he had a wide smile on his face as he eyed him up and down. 

“Surprised aren’t you? My apologies, I just thought you’d like some company while you wait,” He said kindly, clasping his hands behind his back as he waited for a response. 

“Where is he? Where is Wild?” Hyrule demanded taking an angry step forward, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. Dark rolled his eyes and offered him a lazy smile. He looked like a cat that caught a mouse and was now fixing to have some fun. Hyrule bared his teeth in defiance, hand tightening on his sword. 

“Honestly, whenever I talk to you people you are always so on edge. Always demanding something,” Dark started as he began to pace back and forth in the waterfall’s reflection, hands waving about as he affected a mocking tone. 

“What have you done? Where are our friends? I’m going to kill you!” He said in an nasally voice and tossed a sneer in his direction. Dark’s eyes dropped to look at Hyrule’s hand that was clasped tightly over the hilt of his sword, 

“Oh please, you act as though you can hurt me, be a dear and drop the sword. If you do maybe I’ll take mercy on your friends. After all, I have one standing right in front of me as we speak.” Dark said, just as Wild appeared back in the waterfall, as if to illustrate his point. Hyrule could barely contain the rage building in his heart but allowed his hand to drop away from the sword. He couldn’t risk angering Dark and getting Wild hurt in the process.  

“Just give us our friend’s back and I’m sure we can work something out,” Hyrule hissed, as his hand tightened into fists at his sides. He had to keep a level head, it would only make things worse if he lashed out now. Dark leaned back and let out a loud bellowing laugh. 

“Oh I don’t think so, they both have something I want. Not to mention the sky child has become one of my favorite playthings. I dare say we're practically brothers!” Dark said and Hyrule couldn’t help but notice how he said the word ‘brothers’ like the word itself was a slimy curse. 

“Bastard,” 

The word slipped between his teeth before he could stop himself. Dark raised an amused eyebrow and smirked at him and somehow that simple gesture made Hyrule’s blood run cold. 

“I didn’t know you could swear, I thought you were better than that. Pity really, I guess that Vet’s proclivity for fowl language is rubbing off on you.” Dark said before a light seemed to jump into his eyes. He snapped his fingers and looked at him with a wide toothy grin. 

“Speaking of the Vet, I hope he realizes how foolish it was to leave you here alone. Hasn’t he ever heard of the buddy system?” He said with a sigh, like he had really expected better from Legend. There was another snap of his fingers and suddenly Hyrule felt cold, wet tendrils wrapping around his wrists. He gasped and tried to jerk his arms away but they were thoroughly trapped. To his horror his feet were quickly enveloped in the watery grip as well and every inch of him squirmed in alarm. He struggled and Dark chuckled at his ineffective attempts to free himself. 

Hyrule snarled and opened his mouth to spit out an insult but another cold tendril shot out and wrapped itself around his neck stopping the words dead in his throat. He let out a choked cry as the grip tightened and the tendril slowly wrapped around his mouth. He clamped his mouth shut quickly and worked harder to try to free himself. 

Hyrule could hear Dark laughing harder and he shifted his focus back over to the waterfall and watched as the flat surface bulged outwards in the shape of a man. Dark seemed to be using the water itself to give himself a body and he casually walked out from the falls and towards him. Fear and frustration poured through Hyrule’s veins as he continued to struggle. The water that surrounded his mouth felt like it was trying to pry his lips open and he forced them closed as hard as he could. 

“You know, I have come to realize that there is something that I want from you as well.” Dark said as he moved closer, circling around him as if looking him over. When he worked his way around him, Dark slowed to a stop and inclined his head and looked down his nose at him. Hyrule glared at him and jerked himself forward as if he could break free from the grip and throttle Dark himself. The water tightened around his throat and he felt his breath growing shallow as his airways were squeezed. 

“I have always been impressed with how well you can heal,” Dark started and Hyrule squinted his eyes at him, even as a thrill of fear rushed through him. Was he to be taken too? If that were the case he wasn’t to be taken without a fight. Hyrule jerked forwards again and Dark smirked. 

“I can see the look in your eyes, and no, I’m not going to snatch you away, I’m not really up for more company at the moment. Though I am in need of a healer,” He said as he moved in closer and Hyrule felt his very soul recoil at the proximity. He didn’t know what Dark was getting at but he was sure he didn’t like it. Dark just hummed and scrutinized him with cold, calculating, red eyes. He made a sharp gesture and Hyrule felt himself being leaned back slightly, his arms pulled back so he couldn’t bend forward, forcing his chest to be more exposed. 

Oh he really did not like that. The primal side of his brain screamed danger and his more rational side was inclined to agree. He tried even harder to break the water’s grip but he was being held at such an angle that it made it impossible to get any leverage, he couldn’t move an inch. He was trapped, stuck and completely helpless and the thought of it filled him with rage and fear in equal measure. His chest was heaving and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the hand that was raised, the fingers growing long black fingernails as Dark smiled softly at him. 

“You know, I was always amazed at how well you could heal.” Dark said distractedly as he lowered his pointer finger to just above Hyrule’s heart. He felt something in his chest stir and twist, like the magic that was held there was getting anxious just by the proximity of Dark’s finger. 

“Given the fact that your very blood holds the key to release that fool Ganon, who would have guessed that you would even be able to heal anyone at all,” He said as he very slowly pressed the sharpened tip of his fingernail through his shirt and into the soft skin above Hyrule’s heart. Pain raced down all the nerve endings in his body and he sucked in a pained breath through his nose. 

“I should have guessed that you would have somehow turned that curse into something helpful, maybe I should give you hero types more credit,” He mused and Hyrule felt something latch on to the magic that was stored in his very soul. His eyes went wide and Dark gave him a lazy grin and slowly withdrew his hand. Hyrule could feel as his magic was leached and pulled away. He watched in awed horror as a delicate strand of silver and gold wrapped around the long pointed black fingernail and somehow he knew this wasn’t just Dark absorbing some of his magic, it was like he was taking it away. As Dark moved his hand back further he could feel his own hands growing numb. 

“How interesting, I didn’t think your magic could be this pure,” He said as he worked the fine filament between his thumb and forefinger. Hyrule couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think beyond the horror. He felt something warm beginning to drip from his nose, the world blurred and darkened at the corners and he was struck with the idea that maybe he was dying. Dark looked back at him and gently patted his face.   

“Aw, don’t pass out on me now, it’s just a bit of essence, I’m sure you have plenty to spare,” He said kindly. Hyrule could barely feel anything, he wasn’t even sure if he was standing or laying down. His chest spasmed and a wet cough forced itself out from between his lips. Judging on the metallic tang that coated his tongue he imagined the red that must be coloring the water around his mouth. 

“Or maybe not,” He said as an afterthought though Hyrule didn’t think he really cared. He could feel his eyes trying to roll back in his head, was he breathing? He didn’t know. Dark just leaned back, pulling the strand of silver and gold until it was taught and Hyrule felt his soul scream in agony. Tears dripped from the corner of his eyes, and Dark’s grin grew savage. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t take all of it, I still want you alive. And for what it’s worth I’m pretty sure you won’t notice much of a difference,” Dark said as he grabbed at a section of the thread and began to worry away at it. He could feel his magic growing thinner and thinner before it finally snapped away. Hyrule arched back his eyes slamming closed as he felt the connection hiss and writhe at the break. 

He heard a cry from somewhere and he just managed to open his eyes just enough to see the shape of boomerang slice through the figure standing in front of him before he was falling, crashing into the cold water underneath him. He couldn’t do anything as the water parted around his numbed body and instantly flowed back over top of him. Didn’t even register the cold shock of water rushing into his lungs. The only thought that made it past his numbed and aching mind was the feeling that something dreadfully important was missing. His mind glazed over and he watched the ripples in the water above him as he let himself drown.

[neakco]

Wait For It

AO3 Fanfiction.net

Inspired heavily by the song "Wait For It" by Leslie Odam Jr from Hamilton an American Musical.

Red Robin calls a meeting for the Justice League. Everyone is there except Red Robin. Instead one of the monitors flickers to life.

Brief mention of some past character deaths. Very mild violence.

The Justice League had gathered when Superman looked to Batman, “Red Robin called this meeting, since he isn’t here what's this about Batman?”

Before he could answer a screen flickered to life. The angle was strange and it took a few moments for them to realized that the camera was attached to a person.

The person wearing the camera appeared to be setting up a larger camera. A women's voice could be heard from off screen speaking in accented English.

“Are you sure this is a good plan Birdy?”

“I am just worried. What if Batman shows up to take you away?”

“Positive LB.” The voice of Red Robin answered.

There were a couple confused or shocked faces around but no one looked away.

“I have been gone over a month and no one has called or tried looking for me, I promise no one from the Justice League are going to interfere.”

Batman frowned, he was sure he had seen Just the other day. Had it really been a month.

Tim turned and they could see a women in red and spotted black spandex with a wide smile. “If he was too busy keeping Gotham in line to notice than he can keep Gotham, you're all mine Birdy.”

She came forward and the screen filled with red for a moment as she was too close to Tim for it to pick up images properly.

When she was fully in frame again had a look that she was heading to her death.

“This is the last fight LB, everything is set, we just need to wait for it.”

The women, LB, smiled nervously and spoke softly, “Si quelque chose m'arrive, sache que je t'aime.”

“Pareil ici LB. But nothing is going to happen, we planned this months ago. Now get in position, I will let you know when we are world wide.”

Batman was frowning harder at the screen. Tim had been in contact with this LB for months apparently. Did Alfred know?

He replaced the camera on his suit and started pressing keys rapidly, there wasn’t much for the league to see but when anyone tried to speak Wonder Women glared them down.

Red Robin appeared to sit down in a TV station’s control booth, but from what they could see an entire wall was missing. The camera moved suddenly and Red Robin's face came into view, his mask appeared slightly different than normal but it was clearly him.

“If any of the league interferes and ruins this plan then I will use any and all blackmail I have to ruin all of you. You are watching as witnesses only, don’t you dare forget it.”

Another monitor flickered to life. This one showed Paris, or what was left of Paris. Buildings were crumbling, the Eiffel Tower was on its side, dust filled the air and not a speck of movement could be seen. Then the camera changed to show the women in Red standing tall on a pile of rubble near the tower.

Batman was thankful, it meant he had time to think of the answers to questions he was sure they had.

“Okay LB, we are live in 3…2…1”

Someone let out a gasp, the women who had appeared okay before was now badly injured. One arm hung limp at her side, there was a long gash freely flowing from her shoulder, she was limping and a bruise was forming on one of her cheeks.

Yet she stood tall and proud as she addressed the camera in her accented English.

There was a gasp, though Batman couldn’t place it, he was too focused on the screen. How did no one notice this was happening? He had more questions then answers at this point.

“My name is Ladybug, I am one of Paris' heroes. Many that know of me will be able to tell you that I have been protecting Paris for ten years now with my partner Chat Noir. What many of you don’t know is that we were 13 when we were chosen. You don’t know that my father was a baker, my mother an amazing women that commanded respect with her very presence. They are both gone now, all I have is left is their legacy.” She gestures at the rubble with her good arm, “Thankfully they died in a fire so they never had to see me fail all of you so badly. There is some good news, the original villain, Hawkmoth, also died before this. The fire was devastating, it didn’t discriminate between the sinners and the innocent.”

Her look grew murderous, “But I live, like bread I rise. I refuse to break, even when all of my loved ones have died.”

The women, Ladybug, shifted painfully before smirking, “Despite all you have done and thrown at me I am still here. Try as you might you can not be me, I am I am inimitable, Paris's original hero.” She threw her good arm into the air, “Here I am Lila! My arm is broken, I can barely walk, so now is your chance coward! You have taken everything from me but my life and my pride. So here I stand, just as you asked.” She chuckled darkly, “I'm not even late. I am standing still, lying in wait. You take too long and blood loss will get to me long before you do Rossi.”

The camera changed to the wider view they saw at the beginning. Though now you could see the red that was Ladybug. You could also see a bright spot of purple making its way towards her through the rubble.

The camera switched to a third that was still zoomed out but now you could see that the person in purple moved like they knew they had won.

The villain began yelling in French. Thankfully Red Robin was typing out subtitles for the world with very little delay.

The members of the league were all tense, they didn’t like what they were seeing. Only a few were more relaxed, Red Robin had said there was a plan, surely he wouldn’t be idly sitting by if it was falling apart.

Ladybug laughed insanely drawing all attention back to the screen as she addressed the figure in purple.

“Is this what you wanted Lila? Countless dead, everything destroyed? All this, just to kill me because I asked you not to lie about me in front of a boy. So relentless.” The last part was barely audible.

“I worked hard to get this win. Paris is everything I deserve, it is my reward. All I need to do is take your earrings and then I can fix everything.”

“They won’t love you. Hawkmoth was bad, yes, but you raised the stakes. You chose to thrive off all this death and chaos.” Ladybug stood straighter with a wince and glared, “You, Lila Rossi, will never be a hero.”

The purple villain, Lila, finally stood before the weaponless and defeated Ladybug. The camera changed again so that everyone could now see what was happening with clarity.

“Now hand over your earrings and I may let you live.”

Red Robin was moving fast now, they could hear the grapple. Was this part of the plan or was everything falling apart enough that he was panicking and moving to save the women that loves him?

Ladybug laughed, “Is what you have left me with really living?”

“Fine, give me the earrings and I will kill you painlessly.”

When Ladybug didn’t move Lila backhanded her and sent her sprawling on the ground.

Batman was frowning at the monitor Something was odd.

“The earrings now!” Lila pulled a sword from what they thought was a cane, “Don’t make me take your ears too.”

“Cataclysm.” The pike of rubble they were standing on collapsed into dust at the exact moment a yoyo came and wrapped around Ladybug to prevent her from hitting the ground far below.

“Go ahead and try bitch.” Ladybug spat.

Batman’s eyes widened when he saw it, Ladybug wasn’t wearing any earrings.

Lila hit the ground hard and was pinned by some of the rocks that hadn’t dissolved. Two figures landed gracefully in front of her.

Ladybug no longer looked broken and bruised. Her black outfit was pristine and shone like scales in the sun as the light illuminated her. She had small cat ears and a more reptilian tail. Red Robin's outfit was similar to normal except it was subtlety spotted and he seemed to have gained a fox tail.

Through the main camera it looked like Lila was cowed but through Tim's camera they could see the raw hatred on the women's face.

“Congrats Lila.” Ladybug smiled, “They world now knows your name, just as you wanted.”

Red Robin approached and plucked a broach from her. A bright purple light engulfed her as she transformed into a regular women. “Enjoy your infamy in prison.”

“You think I am going to prison then you are delusional. I will be free in an hour.” The women spit as she slowly reached for something.

Ladybug kicked the downed women’s arm hard enough to break it. Tears in her eyes as she glared. “That was for unknowingly killing Chat Noir in one of your senseless fires. I should let the kwami curse you.”

Red Robin placed a hand on her shoulder and offered her the yoyo.

She shook her head and walked behind Lila as she started to take something out of a baton.

While they were focused on watching Ladybug they didn’t see what Red Robin had done but suddenly a white butterfly was taking off out if the yoyo. He threw it in the air, “Miraculous Ladybug.”

There was a light and magic swirled out from him. The Justice League watched in awe as buildings repaired themselves and people appeared uninjured in the streets.

Lila glared in shock as Ladybug zipped her arms together.

Red Robin laughed, “Did you really not notice us defeat your akuma?” he opened up the yoyo to briefly reveal a computer screen where he appeared to send something. “Police now have all the video evidence they need to keep you locked up for a long time Rossi.”

Ladybug used her baton while Red Robin used the yoyo as a grapple to land in front of the camera.

Batman tried to study the weapon. It had some sort of dimensional storage, a computer, and worked as a grapple. He refused to be jealous of his son.

Red Robin put his arm over Ladybug's shoulders as they smiled for the camera.

They spoke together, “We are proud to announce to the world that Paris is finally free of emotional terrorism. We thank you for bearing witness to this historical event.”

The livestream ended but Red Robin's camera was still going for the Justice League. He removed it and turned it so they were both in the shot.

Ladybug smiled, “Hello Justice League, I assume you are familiar with my partner.”

He laughed as he looked to her, “You assume they are intelligent, the costume change may throw them off too much.”

“On topic Renard Tacheté.”

“Right, sorry Arassas.” He turned back to the camera, the soft look evaporating to a harsher one. “Don’t know if you dense lot noticed, but Paris is under our protection. So no one from the league is allowed to operate here without our permission.”

Ladybug smiled not unkindly, “If you do find yourselves needing any help though all you have to do is ask.”

The video feed ended eruptly and left the Justice League staring at empty screens. After a moment of silence everyone started to yell questions or try to find answers on there own. Batman felt a headache coming on as he tried to answer questions he didn’t know the answer to.

During the chaos Diana smiled to herself and waved to Batman as she walked out. She didn’t need answers. After all, she was the one that had given Ladybug Tim's number.

Supossed translations according to google:

Pareil ici LB - Same here LB

Si quelque chose m'arrive, sache que je t'aime. -

If something happens to me know that I love you

Renard Tacheté - Spotted Fox

Arassas - mythical reptilian cat

[misskikuwrites]

First Date

Yoosung/MC (mystic messenger)

Originally written for the Shooting Star Yoosung Kim zine 

3,353 words

Fluff, established relationship, first date

-

Each passing second felt like an hour. Yoosung glanced at his phone to only find that two minutes had gone by since he’d last checked. The tight, nervous knot in his belly constricted again, releasing a swarm of buzzing, anxious butterflies into his chest. He took a deep breath, held it, and slowly exhaled.

He had time. He’d reached the meeting place for their date an hour early. Nervously fiddling with his phone, Yoosung checked his messages again.

Nothing from her. No news is good news, right? Yoosung tried to steady his rapidly beating heart as he went through the texts Seven and Zen had sent him last night. Zen’s advice was pretty standard. Wear deodorant but not too much, get there early, make sure his clothes were clean and ironed. Yoosung ignored the last part about ditching his hoodie. Besides, she said she liked it, and that’s all that mattered.  

Despite having showered the moment he got up, Yoosung angled his head to stealthily check whether or not he smelled weird. Or if he smelled at all. He got a crisp whiff of the deodorant he’d applied and nothing else. Did that mean he’d put too much on? Yoosung’s heart pounded in his ears. There was nothing he could do about it now but it worked his stomach into knots.

Yoosung narrowed his eyes warily at the new texts from Seven. Most of them made sense and echoed the advice from Zen but there were a few that made Yoosung pause and reread them. He’d decided against wearing a lucky talisman on the inside of his pants, mainly because the more he thought about it the more he realised how embarrassed he’d be if she saw it. Not that he was worried about anything like that happening. It was only their first date; it would be way too soon for something like that.

Right?

Yoosung swallowed thickly and tried to remember which underpants he’d worn this morning and desperately hoped and prayed that he hadn’t chosen the one with puppies on it. It had been a gift from his Aunt last Christmas and was definitely clean and barely worn but if she happened to see it-

Yoosung stopped that thought in its tracks as heat began to crawl up his cheeks, and returned to reading the rest of the messages. There was one curious message from Seven that just said “remember, don’t blow it.”

Blow it? Blow what? Yoosung’s mind ticked over for a moment, and then two, before something clicked.

Did that mean what he thought it meant…?

Yoosung blew out a sharp puff of air and pocketed his phone, ignoring the burning flush that threatened to wash down his neck. Enough of that. He turned to the store window behind him and smoothed down his hoodie. A dark crimson had settled across his face. He cupped his cheeks with his hands, feeling the warmth radiate onto his fingers. He really, really hoped the blush would fade before she arrived. He didn’t want to have to explain this.

Pushing that thought out of his mind, Yoosung restlessly fixed his hair in the window, combing his fringe with a brisk sweep of his fingers. He peered at his reflection and adjusted his hair for a second time. He stole his jittery fingers to his sides and stepped back, giving himself a once over. He’d worn the hoodie that she said she liked and a pair of well-fitting jeans that were still flexible enough so that he didn’t feel constrained. His shoes were well worn but clean and comfortable. He’d dressed casually but… was it too casual? He’d taken Zen’s advice to heart about trying not to overdo it and to just be himself. After all, that’s who she’d fallen for in the first place.

Yoosung’s heart fluttered at that thought. He reached into his pocket to draw out his phone and check the time when a figure moved into his peripheral vision. He turned on instinct and his heart leapt in his chest, soaring as if it had grown wings and taken flight when his eyes landed on her.

Her smile stole his breath away and he could think of nothing else but her.

“Sorry, am I late?” she asked with a breathless laugh. It was music to his ears. Sweet and light and enchanting. “I didn’t get the time wrong, did I?” She checked her phone, sending Yoosung an apologetic smile that lodged his heart in his throat. He was speechless. Lost for words, blood rushing to his cheeks, to his ears, down his neck.

This was actually happening.

“N-No!” Yoosung choked out, clearing his throat when his voice broke slightly. “You’re… you’re not late. I just got here early.”

An hour early. Not like he was going to tell her that.

“Oh, that’s good!” she sighed in relief. “I was so worried I was going to be late. I even got up super early just in case but then I lost track of time…”

She laughed again and Yoosung was bewitched. His heart galloped in his chest at the nervous smile on her face, the bashful glimmer in her eyes and the way she curled a lock of her hair behind her ear. It was such a simple gesture but it left his mouth dry. His blood felt like it was on fire, buzzing with a foreign magic akin to lightning.

If there was ever a time for Yoosung to believe in magic, it was now.

He had to swallow before he could speak again. “Sh-Shall we go? I found a really nice cafe with an amazing view. It’s not too far from here.”

Her eyes lit up. “You’ve sold me already. Lead the way!”

Walking side by side, Yoosung felt his heart lift. All his nerves from before had slid off his shoulders as easily as discarding a coat and his steps felt light. The anxious planning, the weeks, days and hours before their date finally slid into place and Yoosung led the way through the streets to the busy seafront lined with gorgeous cafes and restaurants. The weather was perfect. The sun dipped behind clouds, tempering its heat, and the sea was flat and calm, a gorgeous, radiant blue.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, lost in awe as she stared out to sea.

“You’re beautiful,” Yoosung almost said, the words lodged in his throat as a scorching blush roared across his cheeks. He swallowed, mouth dry, barely managing to agree with her let alone compliment her looks. At this rate he would combust before their date was up.

-

After a short walk down the seafront, admiring the view, they reached the bustling cafe and Yoosung was suddenly very glad he took Zen’s advice and reserved a table early. The cafe, seated up on a hill, faced the sea and had a stunning view of the crystal clear waters from up high.

“You were right, this place is amazing!” she commented, gazing around the busy cafe. “And just look at the view!” She bounced up and down on her toes in a bubbly excitement, her attention never lingering in one spot for long. “Oh, look at those cakes!”

Like a child in a candy store, she dashed over to the display case with wide eyes and a delighted gasp. Yoosung laughed. The date suddenly became effortless. Almost… normal. Blissful, even. Yoosung ordered coffee and cake for them both, finding that the words came easy, finding the courage to pay for it all like Zen had advised him to, even as she protested.

“Fine,” she said at last. “But next time, I’m paying.”

Yoosung’s heart could’ve stopped right then and there.

Next time.

“All right,” Yoosung conceded despite the blazing rush her words had sent shooting through his veins. He wondered if she could hear the roar of his blood in his ears, the thundering of his heart pounding in his chest. It was dizzying and exhilarating all the same.

Yoosung took their number and led the way to their reserved table by the large, rounded windows overlooking the sea below. It was perfect. Despite the crowded tables surrounding them, despite the noise and thrum of the customers, it might as well have been just the two of them.

Almost.

“Wow, there’s so many couples here,” she noticed, glancing around at the tables nearby. “This must be a popular date location.”

It was true. The majority of people around them were in pairs. Couples. Holding hands, making eyes across the rounded tables.

“Sorry,” Yoosung apologised quickly, feeling his cheeks redden. “I had no idea.”

“Why are you apologising?” she brushed it off lightly. “We’re on a date too, remember? We fit right in.”

Oh.

Yoosung’s cheeks burned brighter at her admission, at the acknowledgement that they were on a date. That they were a couple. Having it put into words made it suddenly so real. So obvious. It made his heart flutter and buzz in the strange way it always did around her.

It wasn’t long before their cakes and coffee arrived, only a few minutes that they spent lost in an easy conversation, and the way she gasped and cooed in delight when the waitress brought them over brought a smile to Yoosung’s face. A laugh bubbled in his chest. He loved - no, adored - how such a simple thing as a cake brought so much joy to her. How she expressed herself so freely, so openly. So honestly in front of him.

And, in turn, Yoosung felt he could be himself around her. He could be natural. No trying to impress, no acting or doing something only because someone thought he should. Just like how she’d asked him about his interests and supported him choosing his own path. He felt like he was discovering himself for the first time when he was with her. He was paying attention to how he felt, what he wanted. What he needed. What he enjoyed.

He enjoyed being with her.

“Ooh, they look so good!” She gushed, already aiming the delicate silver spoon at her cheesecake as if she were determining the best angle to start devouring it from. “I definitely made the right choice. Cookies ‘n’ cream is always the way to go.” She stabbed the cheesecake with her spoon after deliberating as if cheesecake-eating was an art and finally tasted it, sighing with the spoon still in her mouth. “So good!”

Yoosung’s heart fluttered and he focused his attention on trying his double chocolate mousse cake instead of the burning flush colouring his cheeks. She was so cute. Too cute. And if he didn’t have a melt-in-your-mouth piece of cake on his tongue he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from saying so out loud. His heart was as full as his mouth. He needed to watch himself or else he was going to say something embarrassing. Or accidentally make a declaration of love in the middle of the cafe.

That was definitely not something to try on a first date.

He looked up bashfully from his cake as she sipped her cappuccino and sighed happily. She smiled at him and gestured with her spoon towards her cheesecake.

“Want some? It’s really good!”  

So she’d said. The corners of his mouth pulled up in amused delight at her obvious enjoyment. “Sure. You seem to be enjoying it.” Yoosung breathed a laugh and glanced at his spoon, dirtied with own cake. He went to grab his napkin and wipe the crumbs off when a spoon appeared before him. Held out towards him with a spoonful of cheesecake on it.

Her spoon.

Yoosung’s heart leapt into his mouth as their eyes met. She smiled innocently, offering him a spoonful of cheesecake. The same spoon she’d had between her lips seconds earlier. He lost all the air in his lungs. His heart stopped. With every ounce of his strength and willpower, with a flame burning furiously across his cheeks Yoosung leant forward and closed that final distance and caught the spoon between his lips. It slipped out cleanly, a gentle brush of metal as she pulled back her spoon and Yoosung swallowed thickly.

She smiled brightly, stabbing her spoon into her cheesecake again and relished another mouthful. “Do you like it?”

Yoosung almost choked on his spit as he realised he hadn’t tasted it at all - he’d practically swallowed it in one whole bite - and nodded stiffly. “Y-Yeah. It was good.”

All he could focus on was that spoon. The same spoon that she drew up to her lips again. Those soft, plump pink lips of hers that pulled open into a perfect ‘O’ and accepted the spoon, pursing closed around it just like his had.  His blood electrified, shooting a jolt like lightning through his blood as she sighed dreamily.

She hadn’t even noticed that they’d shared an indirect kiss and he could hardly breathe. He quickly snatched up his coffee and took a few burning gulps. He needed to calm his nerves, his heart, before he smouldered into nothing but ash. He didn’t know how she could do something like that so innocently when he wouldn’t have even dared to think about it.

“Can I try yours?” she asked, tilting her head cutely with that innocent smile playing on her lips again.

Yoosung’s heart skipped. A mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes as if she knew exactly what she was doing to him. The look in her eyes would’ve been enough to combust him on the spot if it wasn’t for the dusting of pink on her cheeks. The nervous pull on her smile.

It made his heart grow. She was nervous too.

Yoosung managed to smile, his breaths almost giddy. “Sure.” He scooped a small spoonful of his cake and held it out to her - just like she’d done. It set his blood on fire to do something so… so intimate. His movements felt stiff and he froze when she leant forward, when she caught his eyes and held his gaze as she took his spoon gently into her mouth. His heart stammered and he stole his eyes away only to catch on another pair of eyes looking directly at him. Two pairs of eyes. Eyes that he recognised instantly.

Yoosung’s heart screeched to a halt in his chest. Every ounce of blood in his body drained from his face as Zen attempted to hide, ducking his head behind a menu, and Seven - it was obviously him despite him dressing up as a woman - continued to point his phone directly at Yoosung. Without even caring that he’d been seen, Seven gave a gratuitous thumbs up and a wink.

“Something wrong?”

Yoosung’s attention stole to her and he snatched his spoon back with a nervous laugh. “N-No, nothing’s wrong.” The heat that had drained from his cheeks now rushed back with force as he realised that both Zen and Seven had been watching them.

Even worse, Seven might have been filming them.

Yoosung took another mouthful of cake, trying desperately to ignore Zen and Seven where they sat almost directly behind her. Purposely positioned so that she couldn’t see them. How long had been there? How long had they been watching them? From the start? If so, that meant… it meant they’d seen everything.

As a churning mortification settled in Yoosung’s gut, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out quickly and checked the notification only for his heart to skip. It was a picture message. A photo. Of Yoosung and her moments earlier when she’d offered him a spoonful of her cake - the picture taken at the moment he’d had the spoon between his lips.

Yoosung shoved his phone deep into his pocket after silencing it. The heat burning on his cheeks took on a mortified annoyance.

“Everything okay?” she asked, watching him with a kind concern in her eyes. “If it’s something important...”

“It’s not,” Yoosung reassured her quickly, brushing off her concerns and giving her a smile. He wasn’t going to let Seven’s antics ruin his first date.

She smiled in return, relieved. “How did you find this place? It’s got such a gorgeous view, the cakes are amazing and the atmosphere is great! It’s not too noisy either. I’m surprised you were even able to get a booking!”

Yoosung laughed sheepishly. “I made sure to book early. Zen recommended this place to me.”

Which, Yoosung realised, is how they knew he was going to take her here. Of course.

“Well, you made the right choice! I could stay here and look at this view forever,” she sighed, leaning her chin in her hand and gazing whimsically out the large glass windows.

Yoosung’s heart squeezed in his chest. Instead of admiring the view, all he could admire was her. The background faded around them, even Zen and Seven behind her faded into nothing but background noise.

She glanced back at him to find him still gazing at her. “What is it? Is- is there something on my face?” She touched the corner of her lips, trying to swipe away imaginary crumbs.

“I-I was just… admiring the view…” Yoosung muttered beneath his breath, the words catching before he could voice them properly. Despite that, her cheeks coloured pink and she ducked her head as if she’d heard him anyway. Yoosung stole his eyes away, abashed that he’d actually said that.

After a few moments of silence, of short glances and eyes catching, they both finished the remains of their cakes.

“Do… do you want to go somewhere? For a walk, I mean,” Yoosung asked, finding his nerves began to settle as his cheesy compliment was left behind.

“That sounds great,” she agreed with a bright smile.

They stood up to leave, heading towards the door, when Yoosung noticed Zen and Seven standing up as well. Something tightened in Yoosung’s chest. Without thinking, he grabbed her hand and met her confused gaze with determination.

“We’re running.”

She blinked at him.. “What?”

“This way!”

With a gentle tug on her hand, she followed him and they ran from the store. They ran from Zen and Seven, merging with the crowds and disappearing into the streets. They ran down the coast, breathless and laughing even though she didn’t know why.

They stopped on the sand, both heaving and panting for air, and Yoosung cased the beachfront behind them. Zen and Seven were nowhere in sight.

“What… what was that all about?” she asked, still catching her breath. A light sheen of sweat glistened off her brow. “Not that I don’t mind the exercise after all that cake.”

Yoosung sighed. “It was Zen and Seven. They were following us. I think… I think they’d been watching us the whole time.”

He waited, stiff and nervous, for her reaction. For her mortification, her cry of embarrassment or annoyance.

Instead, she laughed.

It was breathless and light and caught him off guard. He stared at her, mouth agape, as she burst into laughter. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to react to this, to her.

“So that’s why you looked so uncomfortable! Was that when you noticed them? Oh my god. Were they sitting behind me?”

“You’re… not mad?”

She drew a final breath of laughter and shook her head. “No. Why would I be? That’s hilarious. I didn’t notice at all!”

Tension washed off Yoosung’s shoulders as if a gentle wave had cascaded down his back. “Oh. I thought it would… ruin our date or something. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Something like that wouldn’t ruin a date,” she said, reassuring him with a smile. “Besides, even if it did, we’d just have to go on another date. Somewhere where we can be by ourselves.”

Yoosung’s heart grew light. “Really?”

She nodded. “Of course. We have all the time in the world to have dates. And I said I’d pay next time, didn’t I?” She gave him a playful wink and squeezed his hand.

His hand.

They were still holding hands.

Yoosung couldn’t have been happier if he tried.

[creepy-spooghetti]

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 8 - Welcome to Our Freakshow

_____

Stirring awake, she tries opening her eyes, finding that it's exceptionally difficult due to her drowsy state. She waits a moment, collecting her bearings and slowly coming to the realization that, instead of leaning against a wall like she remembers doing, that she's laying on her back, on a seemingly cushioned surface. Like a bed. That's strange... did she sleepwalk? Or get up and get back in her bed? But she doesn't recall such a thing. Maybe she was just too tired to pay attention.

That dream though... This time, the dream was a bit... different than usual. There wasn't any static, there weren't any dead bodies, she wasn't in a completely different setting. All she remembers is feeling a rush of adrenaline, a moment of panic, then blackness. It was definitely odd, not that she's complaining any. If she had dreams like that all the time instead of whatever she's been experiencing recently, she'd be a lot more at ease. She can faintly remember seeing someone, or something, in front of her, trying to keep her quiet. It looked a little familiar, but she can't seem to figure out why. 

This dream was a lot more up-close and personal, though. And it felt so... so real. Realer than her others have been, which is pretty baffling. What did the figure look like? Mostly black, with some dark blue? And a type of inky liquid? The whole incident is blurry to her, though she assumes it's because her mind wanted to make it all unnerving. 

That voice, though. She knows she's heard that voice, before. Where? That's a total mystery to her, but maybe with some thought about the matter, she'll be able to place it. Or maybe it's all just in her head and she's never heard that voice in her life. She brings her hands up to rub her face, attempting to wake herself up a bit more so she can actually open her eyes and finally gathers the energy to sit up, if only slightly. As her eyes adjust to the moderate amount of sunlight spilling through the crack of the currently shut curtains right beside her, the first thing she discovers is that the scenery is... well, completely different from the bedroom she was in previously.

It's much smaller, being only big enough to hold an average-sized mahogany dresser to her left, a bedside desk to her immediate right crafted of the same wood, and sitting atop that desk is a lamp with a candlestick shade, a glass of room temperature water, and an unopened small pack of crackers; the kind one would receive from a restaurant. A window with simple brown and red drapes sits directly beside the desk, and across from her, on the other side of the room, is a shut door. She's unsure if it leads outside or to a closet of some kind.

The wallpaper in the room is white with occasional, tiny flowers colored a delicate shade of blue printed onto it, and the floor is made of hickory hardwood, part of it is covered by a thin, maroon rug of oval shape. The musty smell that the room itself puts off gives her the idea that it hasn't quite been used in a while, though the small cobweb dangling in the corner of the ceiling proves that theory. Either that, or it just hasn't had a proper cleaning. 

Her heart skips a beat and she doesn't even try to slow her breathing for the time being. This isn't her bedroom, nor is it any other room in her Nana and Pops' house, at least not one that she can remember. As far as she can tell, she's in a whole other household completely. But why? Who brought her here? Her gaze travels down to her body, almost instantly seeing a bandaid stuck to the inward area of her elbow. What the heck...?

Instantly, she peels it away in one quick motion, tossing it aside and not giving the very brief discomfort it causes any thought, instead focusing solely on the barely-noticeable pinprick still very present in her skin. She knows what that is. That's where somebody stuck a needle into her arm. But who? And why? What did they inject her with?

This thought sends her mind into a frenzy as she fully comprehends the startling, unexplained situation, and she throws the blanket that had been apparently placed over her prior to her awakening away, and jumps to her feet, almost instantly being hit with a wave of dizziness once she does so. Shaking her head to rid herself of the disorienting feeling, she uses one hand to prop her body against the wall to ensure she doesn't fall down, and with the other, she pulls back the drapes hung in front of the window, sticking her head through the widened crack and squinting her eyes at the minor change in illumination.

She can barely see through the thick greenery grown in front of the glass and obscuring most of the outside world, though she manages to see the trees that surround, she assumes, the whole house. Her grandparents live in a heavily wooded area, yes. But she knows for a fact that the lawn around the length of their house is almost completely free of trees. She isn't in her grandparents' house anymore. So where is she? And how did she get here?

Without a stroke of hesitation, she curls her fingers beneath the bottom rim of the window, and with one swift tug, attempts to open it, trying again when it doesn't work. She doesn't know why she's here, and she refuses to stay long enough to get that information. If it weren't for this being totally unfamiliar territory to her, sure, she may have stuck around until someone explains it to her. But not only does she get a bad feeling from this room, this place, but she also has plenty of reasons to want to escape. 

It's very apparent to her that she was drugged and brought here against her will. How? Beats her, although she isn't going to stop long enough to question it for too long. With wide, frantic eyes, she searches for a lever to unlock the window, seeing two of them on opposite sides of the frame and instantly pulling them toward her. Hopefully, this will actually work this time. She spends the next two minutes yanking upward on the window, hoping to the highest heavens that it will eventually fly open so she can get out. Her grandparents must be worried sick if they've been calling for her, and looking for her, and she isn't even in the house. She doesn't know where she is.

How long has she been gone? There isn't a clock in the room so she can't actively check, but she assumes it has to be around nine o'clock in the morning, given the angle of sunshine flooding in through the trees. It's only a guess, though. "Come on, just open, you stupid thing..." she mutters, really not wanting to use the door as her escape route. But if it has to be done...

Finally giving up on the window with an aggravated slap against the glass, she twists around, searching desperately for a weapon of sorts. If she has to wander out of this room in an unknown, likely dangerous house, then she sure as heck doesn't want to go out unprepared. Quietly, yet hurriedly, she opens the drawers to the dresser, then the one attached to the small desk, but to her misfortune, finds nothing. Everything is empty. 

She looks beneath the bed, under the rug, behind a door that she discovers leads to the closet, though still sees nothing whatsoever that could be of use to her. It's almost comical how utterly defenseless she is right now, and she would laugh if she wasn't so terrified. Chewing on her bottom lip nervously, she feels worried tears prick at her eyes as she hesitantly walks toward the still-closed door, the one she is now confident leads to the rest of the house, and reaches out, wrapping her fingers around the knob.

With a deep breath and a mental pep-talk, she tries to twist it, her heart dropping when it, too, doesn't move. She tries again, after all, maybe it's just stuck? Nope. Whoever brought her here has locked her in and now she has no way of possible escape. What should she do now? The window obviously isn't going to budge, but should she keep trying? Or just wait until somebody eventually comes inside and attack them? It doesn't look like she has another option. 

Her gaze shifts back over to the desk, then to the water still sitting untouched on its surface. Of course it's untouched. What is she going to do? Drink it? Only an idiot would do such a thing. But... that does look like a rather heavy glass. Heavy enough to lob at someone's head and hope they get knocked cold? Guess there's only one way to find out. 

She snatches it up, not caring about the drops of water that fall to the floor from the action, and stands only a couple of feet in front of the door, drawing her arm back and getting ready to throw her only defense mechanism at the first thing she sees come into the room. Maybe she'll catch them off-guard, at least long enough that it will enable her to get out, for the most part, unharmed. Fortunately, she doesn't have to wait for very long, for soon she hears footsteps outside before the knob turns and the door slowly swings open.

Not taking time to pay attention to many details of the person entering the room, she launches the glass at them though only manages to strike them in the shoulder, the water from inside splashing out and either soaking that area of their clothes or hitting the floor, the glass following closely behind and breaking into several different pieces. The person releases a grunt of surprise, flinching back slightly and looking down at the makeshift weapon hurled at him, then shifting his gaze back up to the h\c-haired girl standing warily ahead.

She would have used that as a distraction and booked it past him and out of the room, and that's what she originally intended, had it not been for the unusually tall figure still standing in front of the door, blocking her path and making it impossible without a struggle. Dang, I should've waited until he was farther inside to actually throw it...

Once he tilts his head back up in her direction, she sucks in a sudden breath and hurriedly backs away in a mixture of fear and shock, trying to comprehend the sight before her but having quite a bit of trouble. That's what he looked like. That's what the figure in her dream looked like. Seeing him now, in real life rather than just her mind, she can remember that. This is why she felt so afraid. He's terrifying...

But it was just a dream. It should have just been a dream. Is he the one who brought her here, wherever 'here' is? She backs away so fast that she runs into the foot of the bed, nearly tripping though able to catch herself before she actually falls, and continues until her back hits the wall. He stands in the same place, staring at her through the black, empty pits replacing his eyes and realizing how alarmed she clearly is. Not that he can blame her for that.

He raises his hands in a non-threatening manner, keeping his posture mellow and speaking, voice deep. "Y\n... I know what you're thinking."

It knows my name? It knows my freaking name?? Her breathing quickens and her eyes frantically avert around the room, trying to find something, anything, to use as a potential weapon, but her luck runs dry. She stays silent, waiting to see what move he'll make, if he'll even make a move. 

"...But you're okay. No one's gonna hurt you." He takes a small step forward, keeping his hands up to show her he isn't holding anything. She only backs farther up into the wall, narrowing her eyes up at him and remaining silent. "You were brought here so we could protect you."

'We'? There's more of them? She parts her lips, nervousness coursing through her veins as she contains the tears trying to spill over and onto her cheeks. "Wh...who are you?" She tries to make it sound like a fearless demand, but it comes out as a meek whisper. No, stop it! He can smell fear!

He hesitates a moment. "You... don't recognize me, but I'm Jack." Her eyebrows furrow incredulously as she stares at him, gaze unwavering. "What I told you about moving here with my mom, that was a lie. I do live here, but... I'm with a group of people. Not my mom."

"I don't believe you," she manages to spit out, tone venomous and looking past him, through the door, into what seems to be a hallway. This... this seemingly eyeless freak is Jack? No, Jack was normal. This person isn't. But she has to admit, his voice does ring some bells in her mind. 

"You don't have to. Point is, you're here for protection. Nobody here is going to hurt you in any way, you don't need to be scared." 

Right, and I should trust the guy who drugged, kidnapped, and brought me here to his 'group' against my will for what reason? "Let me go," she says, voice hardening and muscles tense. He shakes his head, taking another step forward.

"That's something I can't do."

"I don't want to be here. Let. Me. Go." Her hands clench into anxious fists, heart pounding what feels like a thousand miles an hour as he takes yet another cautious step forward. Maybe I can incapacitate him then run like a madwoman through the door. 

"You need to stay here. Somebody dangerous is after you, and this is the only place you'll be safe."

"Says the one who shoved a needle into my arm and pumped me full of whatever-the-heck it was you used to knock me out with," she retorts, fiery attitude returning in full form due to the alarming and unexpected circumstances. She hears him let out a sigh, muffled by his navy blue mask. 

"I only did that because I knew you wouldn't come with me willingly."

"Oh gee, I wonder why." She scoffs, eyeing the door now a couple of feet behind him and contemplating her chances. Just come a little closer, buddy. I dare you. 

"Look... I know you're scared and don't know what's going on. I can explain it to you, you just... need to pay attention." He steps even closer. "We don't want to hurt you."

"Yeah...?" Her timid, soft tone is very intentional, and he tilts his head slightly at the sudden shift in expression and eases even nearer. 

"Yes, Y\n. I promise." She uses the wall to brace herself as she lines her foot up with her target, mentally preparing herself for what she's about to do. 

"Wish I could say the same." Before he has time to react, she brings her knee up and forcefully rams her foot between his legs, causing him to double over in pain and give her enough time to dart past him and through the door, grabbing the knob as she does so and slamming it shut behind her to spare herself as much opportunity as she can. Briefly, she checks for a lock, only seeing a keyhole and figuring out he must have the key, so she glances to the right, thankfully spotting what she guesses is a door to the outside world. 

She rushes down the hallway, past another door across from the room she was just trapped inside, and directly into a small living room with nothing but a maroon sofa slid in front of a covered window, an armchair at a 90-degree angle, and a coffee table in front of both with a few meaningless items scattered on top of it that she could care less about. Heading straight for the door, she turns the brass lock up and yanks the door open, blinded by her motivation to escape and be as fast as humanly possible. 

Yep, just as she suspected. She's surrounded by forest, overgrown grass, and overall a poorly maintained lawn. She can only hope that she doesn't trip over any of the obstacles between her and freedom. What's most hazardous is the fallen branches and rocks hidden by foliage, so hidden in fact, that she wouldn't know that they were there until she was eating dirt. The sun's light is mildly obscured by the large number of trees looming over her, but she can see her surroundings clear enough that it shouldn't cause a problem, at least not one too big. 

She leaps off of the small, wooden porch and into the lengthy grass, using it as momentum to gain more speed and hurrying in-between the many trees. She has no idea where she is, but the trees seem to be, overall, the same kind that grows around her grandparents' house, so she has hope that she's at least in the same general area. Could she have been hauled off to a whole other state? Surely she wasn't asleep for that long, right? ...Right?

She sticks her hands out and swipes the brush and low-hanging branches out of her way so she doesn't get stabbed in the eye and have her vision rendered. That would be a very bad thing, so of course, she wants to avoid it. Occasionally, she feels the sharp impact of various plants scratch up her arms, twigs getting caught in her hair, and briars sticking through the thin material of her socks since she didn't have any shoes on while sleeping, though ignores it, for the most part, focusing on finding a trail, a road, something other than pure forest. Something to lead her back to civilization so she can get hold of the police, and in hindsight, contact her grandparents. They must be so worried about her. How long has she been gone?

The temperature isn't extremely hot yet, but she suspects it will be steadily rising the later into the day it gets. Adrenaline pumps through her body, her mind not fully able to comprehend what just happened. Did she really just escape her kidnapper? How often does that happen? Maybe she does have a chance of survival, after all. Well... she does as long as she doesn't get caught, again. If he wasn't intending to hurt her before, he for sure will after being kicked in the nuts. She's no dude, but she can imagine that getting hit in such a... sensitive area, can't feel very good.

Not that she cares about that right now, anyway. He had it coming. Past the erratic beating of her heart, she can hear the crunching of greenery beneath her feet as her speed gradually increases. The farther away she gets from that house, the more of a chance she has to escape. But then he'd track her down, again. He knows where she's staying. He took her from her own temporary home. But then does that mean... what did he do to her grandparents?

She's shaken from her thoughts when she hears the faint bark of a dog, the sound drawing closer and closer no matter how fast she runs. Oh no... They have a freaking dog, too? Now I'm dead for sure! Quickening her pace does nothing whatsoever, and not even a minute later the barking is so close by she swears the dog itself has to only be a few feet away. Oh no, oh no, oh no, please don't—

A sudden blunt force takes hold of her ankle and tugs her back, causing her to lose her balance and fall forward with a pained grunt as the force becomes firmer. She isn't stupid, she knows that the dog just bit her, and she likely isn't going to coax it into letting her go. After all, if that guy and his friends regularly kidnap random people then they probably have a lot of runaways. This is nothing new to the dog. 

She can hear the dog's low, threatening growls from behind her as its teeth sink through her pants and into the flesh on her leg, hard enough to leave indents but she doubts it will draw blood. She could be wrong, though. Her breathing is quick as she attempts to collect her bearings, wanting desperately to get away before whoever owns the dog comes to collect her and send her to the inevitable... whatever they do to the people they forcefully take here. 

She swallows a cry of fear, keeping her eyes planted down to the dirt that broke her fall and meekly trying to pull her leg out of the dog's mouth. It becomes apparent to her that it isn't going to let go when it shakes its head and drags her a couple of inches backward, heightening the volume of its snarl. It sends another bolt of pain up through her ankle, and she winces, wracking her brain for solutions to this particular situation. If only she had watched more National Geographic then maybe she'd know what do to when a potentially rabid dog attacks...

Maybe... it plays fetch. Yeah, she mentally scoffs, 'fetch the human'. Unfortunately, she doesn't see any stray sticks around that could be thrown, not that she could reach very far even if there were. Hesitantly, she twists her head around to look at her captor, eyes widening when she meets the narrowed ones of an unusually large Husky, its gaze boring into hers and sending another twinge of pain through her leg when it bites down harder. 

Her eyes travel down to the inflicted ankle, seeing not pointed, regular canines, but instead flat, human-like teeth, greatly catching her off-guard and making her gulp. What has she been thrown into? First some guy without eyes leaking some black, runny goop from his sockets, now a dog with human teeth? What's next, cyborg zombies from space? How does this even exist? It should be impossible.

But here she is, and here it is, latching onto her leg without mercy and being very real. "H-hi, doggy..." she starts, voice shaky and soft as to not alarm it and send it into full-on attack mode instead of just catch-and-keep mode. It releases another unfriendly growl, its eyes holding aggression. It's obvious this animal—if you could even call it that—isn't trustful of her in the least. Something she considers very hapless. "Let me go, please..."

She's so distracted by the freakish-looking dog that she doesn't hear somebody else steadily approaching, not until they're standing directly above her, their shadow blocking the sunlight and casting shade over her body. She doesn't even want to look up for fear of seeing something even stranger than a dog with actual human teeth but also doesn't want to seem weak in front of a possible deranged psychopath. What's the worse it could be though?

Don't jinx it, Y\n. Giving into both temptation and her strong urge to remain as bold as possible, she cranes her neck and her eyes trail up, taking notice of his converse shoes, ripped jeans, white hoodie with... questionable red stains, and shoulder-length black hair. Interesting style. His eyes are a bright, icy shade of blue, and the bottom portion of his face is covered with a black bandana being used as a makeshift mask. Why would he need a mask? Ya know what, I don't wanna know.

"Well, hello, girlie," he says, voice low and gruff as he stands in a casual-looking demeanor and gazes down at her. "Ya know, it's rude to leave without saying goodbye." She sends him a glare, her tone mundane and holding a sense of obviousness.

"We never even met." He raises an eyebrow in response, bending his knees and squatting down closer to her level.

"And whose fault is that?" She doesn't answer, instead continues mildly struggling against the dog's grasp and glancing at him expectantly. He looks at her with the same expression. 

"Call it off." She assumes that this canine belongs to him, either that or he's used to its presence because he isn't freaking out about it. He stares down at her, unblinking, and the dog bites down harder, making her intake a sharp breath of discomfort. "Please. It hurts."

"Oh, it hurts, does it?" He takes his hand and pulls his 'mask' down around his neck, revealing the very noticeable scars that look to have been messily carved into his cheeks, forming a crooked, permanent smile. She withdraws slightly, a bit alarmed by his disfigured face. Sure, it's definitely freaky and raises inquiries, but it's not as unnerving as random men showing up with featureless masks and no eyes who kidnap you in the middle of the night. "I do believe that's the point."

She stays silent, taking in his odd attributes. Those cuts, no matter how healed they may be, look like they could burst open any second. Did he do that to himself? What kind of sick freak would carve a smile into their face? Then again, who would own a dog with human teeth? He smirks—at least, she thinks it's a smirk—and leans in closer, causing her to scoot farther away. Well, as far away as she can get, considering her current restraint. 

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" He's probably well aware of the thoughts racing through her mind and is taking pleasure in making her uncomfortable, but her expression hardens, not willing to show him that he's getting to her. 

"No." She takes a glimpse at the dog still holding onto her tightly, refusing to let her go. "Dog got my ankle." He snorts in what she takes as amusement, his gaze shifting down to the dog briefly as well before he meets her eyes again. 

"Fair enough." He snaps his fingers, rising to his full height and pulling the bandana back up over his mouth and the bridge of his nose, once again hiding his slightly disturbing facial features. "Smile, let go." As soon as the command leaves his mouth, the dog, who she now knows is called 'Smile' for fitting reasons, immediately releases her ankle and takes a step away from her, attention on the male of average height. 

Once the action is completed, she flips on her back and sits up, bending her knee and examining the affected area. The bottom leg of her pants is not only soaked with saliva but also ripped in various places, and worse, she can see blood coming to the surface of the torn skin beneath. So I was wrong... Scowling at Smile, she rubs at her ankle, not even considering fleeing the scene again. Smile would most certainly catch her, and a failed attempt at escape isn't worth an injury, especially one disabling her to walk. 

"Good boy, Smile," he says, patting the dog affectionately on the head and earning an excited bark in response. "You have a fat, juicy steak in your near future." She rolls her eyes when Smile wags his tail, grumbling in protest and wincing when she hits a particularly raw area on her ankle. The man nudges her leg with his shoe, hard enough that it'll likely leave a bruise later, and she narrows her eyes up at him. "Hey, if you didn't want to be dog chow maybe you shouldn't have tried to run away."

"Well, maybe your buddy shouldn't have kidnapped me." 

"You kiddin'? Jack isn't my buddy. And I didn't even want you here, but the others thought it was the 'best call'." Before she has time to process it, she feels his hand wrap around her arm before she's effortlessly pulled to her feet, stumbling a bit and having to lean against a nearby tree for support since he let go as soon as she was up. "Trust me dollface; if it were up to me, you wouldn't even be here."

Her nose scrunches up in disgust at the abrupt and very much unwanted nickname, watching as he starts walking back in the direction she originally came from while he pulls out a phone, scrolling through something unknown with his thumb and looking back up at her as if waiting for her to do something. 

"Well? I don't have all day, ya know. I've got things to do." He signals ahead of him with his head, implying what he expects of her. She is currently zoned in on the small device in his hand, though. If she can get her hands on that, she'll be able to call the cops and get out of here. Back to her grandparents... if something hasn't been done to them. She will kill every person here if she finds out one of them killed or hurt her Nana and Pops, even if she dies in the process.

He continues staring at her for several more seconds, almost seeming confused as to what she's looking at so intently until he follows her gaze and it leads him to the phone. Raising his eyebrows knowingly, he grins from behind his mask, holding the device between his thumb and index finger and waving it in front of her face. 

"Oh, I see. You want this, don't cha?" She presses her lips together into a firm line, shifting her e\c eyes back up to his mostly-covered face and giving him an indignant glare. "What, you gonna call the police? Get us arrested?" A dark chuckle escapes his mouth, and he takes a step closer to her when she doesn't answer. "Lemme let you in on a little secret, girlie." She leans her head back as he gets way past her personal boundaries, staring her directly in the eyes as his entire aura grows dangerous and whispering. "Cops don't scare me. I've dealt with way, way worse than guns and tasers."

The mere tone his voice holds is enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up from unease, though she doesn't break eye-contact, no matter how much he may be trying to intimidate her right now. What the heck is wrong with this person! His words almost sound like a threat, and she has to hold her breath to stop it from shaking. 

"Keep that in mind next time you try and get out, k?" He brings his hand down onto her shoulder, giving it a rough pat before spinning around and continuing to walk ahead of her with Smile by his side, and she doesn't miss the way he discreetly pulls the shiny blade of his knife out of his hoodie pocket, in clear view of her, before putting it back and acting as if nothing happened. She gulps, quickly figuring out that this dude is not to be messed with. Not without proper defenses, at least. 

She tries to slow down her accelerated heartbeat, remaining completely still until he looks back at her with an evil glint in his icy-blue orbs, once again silently telling her to get a move on, to which she hesitantly obeys. If she were to try and run, she'd surely be caught. She doesn't want to get on this guy's bad side, not until she has a weapon of her own so maybe she'll have a fighting chance. Limping a few feet behind him, sharp pains zip up her leg each time she puts weight on the injury, and she stares at the man's back, watching as he presses the phone to his ear.

"I got her, don't send the others out to look." An incoherent voice erupts from the opposite line, and she tries to listen in on what's being said, though fails. "Well, call them back. It isn't that hard." What sounds like a scoff can be heard from the phone before he takes it away from his ear and shoves it back into his jeans pocket, seemingly done with the short conversation. "You better pick up the pace back there. I'm not gonna frickin' carry you if that's what you expect."

"Over my dead body," she retorts, though makes an effort to walk a bit faster to avoid making him mad, even at her disadvantage and the pain it causes. 

"That can be arranged. Smile." She eyes the dog warily as it raises its head in attention, subconsciously shifting closer to the male in front just so maybe she can use him as a sort of shield before she's completely mauled to death. "Shall we teach her not to say such a thing without actually meaning it?" Smile whines, she can't figure out if it's in agreement or confusion, but for her sake, she hopes it's the latter. 

"I do mean it." Her words are strong, a lot stronger than she expected considering the nerves jumping in her throat, but she's satisfied nonetheless. He's quiet a moment before clicking his tongue, glancing back at her with crinkled eyes, and shaking his head. 

"Heh. Ya know, maybe you won't be as annoying as I thought."

"Oh really? Gee, thanks," she mutters, biting the inside of her cheek and dreading what's to happen when she gets back to...Jack's house. He certainly won't react well to her reappearance considering what she did to him. Was he telling the truth? Is he actually the Jack that she met just a couple of days prior? But... she doesn't see how that could be possible. Jack looked like an actual human being, but this person looked completely different... He is wearing the same attire, though, and his voice is undeniably similar.

If that is the case, why would he bring her here, to a place full of weirdos, Jack himself being one of them? As far as she knows, they seemed to hit it off pretty well. So why would he kidnap and put her in danger? Cause he's a psycho. Just like Joker wannabe over here. 

"Now, I think we both know what happens if you try and get away, again." She stares at the back of his head, unimpressed, as she wraps her arms loosely around her torso to soothe herself a minuscule amount. "Not that I care, of course. Frowny face just wants you alive, I could give less of a crap whether you become Smile's dinner or not if I'm being honest."

"Yeah, you already established that. I appreciate the concern, really." Sarcasm practically drips from her voice, as she tries to form some kind of escape plan in her mind. 

"Hey, what else am I here for?" Rolling her eyes and releasing a small huff, she looks down at her ankle as it steadily leaks blood, knowing she'll have to doctor it soon before it gets infected. Who knows what that... thing is carrying? Considering her no doubt unfortunate situation, she shakes her head in disbelief.

My God... what is going on? And why am I involved with it?

[buckleyirondad]

4. Running Out Of Time “Collapsed Building”

Tony messes with an artifact, in the Sanctum Sanctorum, and ends up, stuck inside Peter's darkest memories.

AO3 Link

Tony loved visiting Strange’s place.

There was a lot to see, and for once, he understood none of it.

He was a man of science, and he refused to be drawn in by magic.

However, he did have trouble, with listening to the rules, but that was nothing new.

He tried, but he couldn’t stop his mind from drifting. He’d reach out, to touch artifacts, forgetting that he shouldn’t.

That was why he brought Peter with him.

“Mr. Stark.” Peter turned, batting Tony’s hand away from a display unit, “Stop it.”

Tony pulled back his hand, “I was looking.”

Peter hissed, with a glare, “Look with your eyes.” He turned back, to continue his conversation with Strange.

It was times like these, that Tony couldn’t believe he was the parental one.

Tony stepped aside, scanning the display, on his left.

A small, black box caught his attention. It didn’t look like much, but somehow, it was worthy of its own shelf. Tony unconsciously raised his hand, reaching out to quickly poke it, while Peter was distracted.

Before he could change course, Peter screamed out, “Mr. Stark, wait-” He grabbed Tony’s low-hanging wrist, with a trembling hand.

Tony’s finger barely scraped the artifact, but when he turned, to see Strange’s wide-eyes, and a pale look, he realized he’d made the wrong choice. Strange’s cloak wrapped around him, he stepped forward, with a yelp, “Peter, let go!”

A bright white light blinded Tony, “Shit.”

He blinked, to clear his vision. He was standing, outside. Underneath his feet, was damp grass, and beside him, was cobble ground.

“Peter?” He called, flipping to the side, “Strange?” He rubbed his fingers against his temple, “I am an idiot.”

It was dark, and he seemed to be, in the middle of some sort of industrial estate, “Peter!” He spun on his heel, “Holy Shit.”

In front of him was a fallen building – a pile of rubble, to put it simply. It couldn’t have been long since it was demolished, he could tell by the accompanying dust in the air.

A figure hurried past him, barely visible, Tony waved an arm out, “Hey!”

The figure didn’t even flinch.

Tony hurried ahead, “Hey, can-” He dug his heel, into the mud below, when the person’s face became visible, under the moonlight.

It was Adrian Toomes.

Tony curled his fingers, digging them into his palm, “You—” Raged absorbed him, he clenched his fists by his side, “Toomes!” He hissed, reaching out his hand, to grab the man’s shoulder, but his hand, fell right through him, “What?”

He reached up, waving his hand in front of Toomes’ face, but he went, unnoticed.

“Fuck.”

This wasn’t real, it couldn’t be.

“Tony, can you hear me?” Strange’s voice echoed, it came from all directions, sending a chill up Tony’s spine.

“Yes.” He sprinted ahead, looking everywhere, “I can hear you, where are you?”

“Where you left us.” Strange said, his tone laced with sarcasm, “It’s going to take some time getting you back – you gotta hang on.”

“Where am I?”

“Well, technically you’re still in the Sanctum.” Strange sighed, “Alas, your soul is elsewhere.”

Tony rolled his eyes, watching Toomes put on his Wingsuit, “So, I’m unconscious?”

“Not exactly.” Strange explained, “Your soul is stuck.”

“Thanks for dumbing it down,” Tony crossed his arms, “Stuck where?”

“Haven’t you worked that out yet?”

Tony looked to the skies, as Toomes landed, on a nearby ledge, “-Peter?”

“You’re in his mind, you’re seeing his memories.” Strange cut in, “You’re only going to see—” His words drowned out like they were communicating over a bad phone line, “You’re—”

Tony tapped the back of his ear, “You’re breaking up, Doc.”

“I’m sor-ry, Ton-y.” Strange’s voice glitched, “You’re on your own.”

Silence.

“Ah.” Tony combed a hand through his hair, “Brilliant.”

It was Peter’s mind, but considering Tony’s day job, it wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d ever experienced.

This was the night that Peter defeated Toomes.

Tony knew about the fallen building, but from Happy’s report, it was likely that Toomes had demolished it to hide evidence of his wrongdoing.

Peter’s familiar voice screamed, “Hello! Hello!”

Something invisible hit Tony’s chest, paralyzing him, “Kid?” He pressed a hand to his chest, this is a memory, this is a memory, this is only a memory.

“Please.” Peter sobbed, in desperation, “Hey, hey, please. I’m down here. I’m down here—”

Tony leaped forward, “Peter!”

It dawned on him, pretty quickly.

“No.”

Peter was trapped, underneath the rubble.

It wasn’t his Peter.

Still, Peter had never told him about this.

Tony took in a deep breath and charged forward, he phased through the rubble, like it wasn’t even there, because it wasn’t.

He came to a standstill, and got down on his knees, “Peter—”

Peter was laid on his front, crushed underneath a heap of rubble, wearing his ridiculous makeshift suit.

His face was a gallery of small cuts and bruises, he was breathing, at irregular intervals, as he stared down, at the puddle in front of him.

Peter would be dead if he didn’t have his powers. This would have killed him.

Tony was unsure, how he’d managed to survive, without backup. Scenarios ran through his head. If the debris, to their left, had fallen at another angle, even Spider-Man would have died on impact.

Toomes would have gotten away with his plan.

Tony would have recovered his kid’s body, curled under the rubble, of a random building – he wouldn’t have been Tony’s kid then, they’d only just met. It was the time after this, that Tony grew to love Peter.

If Peter had met his end, in pain and distress, under tons of concrete, the world would have lost its greatest hero.

May would have lost, the only family she had left, and she’d resent Tony. So would Ned. He wouldn’t be able to blame them, it would have been his fault, it was his fault.

Tony would have lost, his last hope. That’s what Peter was. Peter, by being himself, gave Tony a new perspective of life. A hope that kept Tony’s head out of the sand, in those five years that Peter was gone.

Tears welled in Tony’s eyes, “Kid, I’m sorry…” He held a trembling hand under his chin, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here—”

Peter started ahead, with red-rimmed eyes, and a trembling lower lip, “Come on, Peter.” He spoke to himself, he moved, shifting the debris off his back, “Come on, Spider-Man.”

Tony sat back, his jaw dropped, “Holy Shit.”

“Come on, Spider-Man.” Peter managed to get up, onto his feet, “Come on, Spider-Man.” He held up his arms, using everything he had to shift the rubble, “Come on, Spider-Man!”

“Oh, kid—” Tony didn’t have long to be surprised, or amazed because suddenly, he was falling. He landed, on his feet, on an unfamiliar street corner, “What the fuck.”

Somewhere new.

Peter walked past him, with a Star Wars magazine tucked under his arm, and a can of Coke, in his hand.

The kid looked young, his curls swooped down, covering his eyes, but his jaw was clenched, and his eyes were burning holes in the sidewalk below his feet.

Tony mindlessly called out, “Peter?” It was a force of habit, like talking out loud to a movie, whenever the character was heading head-first into danger.

A gunshot ricocheted in the distance, perhaps a street or two away from them. Tony flinched, gaining air. It was New York, so it wasn’t unheard of, but it was sudden, breaking the silence.

Peter stopped, in his tracks, and turned back.

A man charged into view, sprinting across the road, with his head hung low.

Peter watched him go, with a knowing look in his eyes. The kid straightened his back, blew a slow breath, and ran back, heading towards the direction of the gunshot.

Tony followed, in a slow jog.

This was early for Peter, the origin of Spider-Man. It was clear, he’d already been bitten, at this point – he wasn’t wearing his glasses, and he was running, with ease, with no need for an asthma inhaler.

They turned a corner, and Peter came to a sudden standstill.

Tony swayed aside, to see what Peter was.

He gasped, stepping back, “Oh, God—”

It was Ben Parker, he was sprawled across the sidewalk, on his back. His hand was rested against his bullet wound, blood seeping through his fingers, as he slowly moved his head.

The can and magazine dropped from Peter’s grasp, as he leaped forward, “Ben!”

Tony brought a hand to his head, “Jesus—”

“Uncle Ben!” Peter yelped, stumbling over, “Uncle Ben!” He collapsed onto his knees, with a heavy thud, “Oh, shit—”

Ben choked out, “Peter?”

“It’s me, I’m here, it’s Peter.” With shaking hands, he pulled out his phone, “No…”

Tony cautiously stepped closer, Peter’s cell was dead.

“Eh..” Peter fumbled, through Ben’s coat pocket, “Come on—”

Ben weakly moved his hand, away from the wound, “Petey—”

Peter shushed him, “Gotta—"

“Buddy—” Ben gargled, “Look at—"

Peter swayed back, sitting on his heels, “Ben—"

Ben reached up, resting his bloodied hand against Peter’s cheek, “My Peter…”

Tony’s throat cracked, he brushed the back of his hand, over his eyes. He used to despise, the idea of not being there, for his mother, when she died. He’d even envied Peter, at times, knowing the kid was there, with Ben, in his last moments. He didn’t anymore. If he’d had to watch, his mum, die, knowing he couldn’t save her, would have been a fate worse than death.

A fate Peter survived.

“I—” Peter sobbed, “I—”

Ben’s eyes flickered shut, and his hand fell away from Peter’s face.

“Ben?” Peter’s small voice cried; he pulled on Ben’s arm, “Ben! No, please!”

Tony edged closer, “Kid.”

“Ben, please!” Peter sobbed, “I can’t do this on my own.” He held his head back, shrieking as loud as he could, “Help! Somebody, please!”

Tony stepped over, with caution, he knelt, “Peter—”

“Ben…” He choked on a sob, “Please, I wanna go home.”

Tony hated not being able to reach out and help, “Kid…”

A new voice, came from nearby, “Oh my, God!”

And another, “—I think he’s been shot!”

“Call the police!”

A lady, no older than forty, rushed over, kneeling beside Peter, “Honey…”

A man stood behind Tony, a cell phone pressed to his ear.

Peter kept a hand on Ben’s shoulder, he turned, “Can you—"

She locked an arm around Peter’s back, “We can help.”

“I couldn’t—”

She gently shushed him, and took his hand, “Come with me, sweetheart.”

Peter shook his head, “I can’t leave him.”

“My husband, George –“ She pointed up, at the man, “He’s gonna keep your dad safe, I promise.” She spoke gently, “And I’m gonna take care of you.”

Peter inhaled sharply, “Okay—”

She locked her fingers his arm and helping him onto his feet, “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

She guided him aside, coaxing him away, making sure his back was turned.

Tony made a mental image of her because he needed to thank her, for saving his kid, on the worst day of his life.

He closed his eyes, as he started falling again – this time, he landed on the muddy ground. He stood straight, looking around, “Fuck.”

This time, it was a familiar sight.

It was the battleground, the place he almost died, laying his life down for the universe.

He knew what he was destined to see, but he wasn’t ready.

He turned, on his heel, to see Rhodey, knelt by his side.

Tony saw himself, collapsed against a pile of debris, his entire right side charred beyond recognition.

He jerked, hearing swoop overheard, “No—”

Peter landed, with a haunted look across his face.

Tony jumped ahead, reaching out, “Kid, don’t—”

Peter cried out, acting strong, “Mr. Stark?”

Rhodey hung his head, moving aside, to give Peter space.

Peter sprinted ahead, kneeling, “Hey– Mr. Stark?” He grabbed Tony’s uninjured hand, “Can you hear me?” His voice broke, “It's Peter.”

Tony glared, at himself, “Say something.”

“Hey.” Peter breathed, slowly, “We won, Mr. Stark– We won, Mr. Stark. We won.” He cracked, “You did it, sir, you did it.”

Tony swayed back, turning away. Sometimes, he doubted his place in Peter’s life, who he was and what he stood for, but he realised, hearing the same terror in Peter’s voice, from the night that Ben died, that Peter saw him as a father-figure, that was who he was destined to be.

Tony jolted, as a hand wrapped around his wrist, and Peter shouted out, “Tony!”

Tony sprung upright, his eyes flew open, “Woah.” He waited until his head, stopped spinning, before taking in his surroundings, he was back in Strange’s place, sat on the floor, “Peter?”

Peter was knelt, in front of him, hand on his arm, “Ugh.” He sighed heavily, and then slapped Tony’s arm, “Idiot.”

“Huh?”

Peter whined, sitting down, “We couldn’t get you back.”

Tony looked up to Strange, “That was—” He swallowed, “A lot.”

“You were merely in Peter’s darkest memories.”

Tony barked a laugh, “Merely?”

Peter snapped his head up, his cheeks devoid of color, “What did you see?”

Tony nudged his chin up, “We’ll talk about it later.”

Peter nodded.

Tony turned his attention back to Strange, “What was that thing?”

“It’s called the Truce.” He said, “An artifact that was created to end wars.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, “How?”

“The leader, from each side, would see the other’s darkest memories, to help them better understand one another’s sides.”

Tony frowned, seeing the obvious flaw with that, “Oh, really?”

“Despite it being invented for that reason, most of the time, it achieved the opposite.”

“There it is.” He flinched, spinning to Peter, “Wait, so Peter, did you—"

“I was able to stop Peter, from seeing into your mind, but it took some time, extracting you—"

Tony leaned forward, grabbing Peter’s hand, “Thank God, for that.” He got up, planting a kiss against Peter’s cheek.

Peter turned, “Will he be okay now, Strange?”

“Yes, he’ll be fine.” Strange crossed his arms, “And Stark?”

Tony kept his eyes on Peter, “Yes, dear?”

“Keep your hands to yourself, next time.”

“Gotcha.”

[pressedinthepages]

Kalon (Part 2)

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Eskel x Reader

Word Count: 3642

Rating: E

Masterlist

a/n: OMG, I just hit 100 followers!!! I am beyond words, thank you all so much for your kind words and support of this weird venture I’ve embarked on XD I was originally going to wait a little longer to release this chapter, but I thought it would be a nice way to celebrate the milestone :)

Tags: @whitewolfandthefox​ @havenoffandoms​ @MishaFaye @criminaly-supernatural​ @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely​ @magpie343​ @queenxxxsupreme​ @belalugosisdead​​  @hina-chans-stuff​

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: SMUT, draw me like one of your french girls, codpiece, oral sex, penetrative sex, eskel is a pussy eating GOD and you cant change my mind

You find inspiration for your next drawing, and Eskel is happy to help. (Part 1)

    “May I draw you again?”

    Your words ring clear in the lull of the morning, Eskel being the only other person in the kitchen with you. You’ve gotten up early, intent on making breakfast for the Witchers. You’d not been up longer than five minutes before Eskel joined you, wrapping an arm around your waist and placing a lingering kiss to your cheek before sitting at one of the benches at the table. 

    The pot of kasha steams and bubbles over the fire as you ladle two bowls full, bringing them over to the table as you speak. At your words, Eskel’s eyes shoot to yours, fingers clenching on nothing in particular. You set a bowl in front of him before sitting on the other side of the table, facing him as you sprinkle some dried fruits into your breakfast. 

    Eskel stares into his bowl, mixing some molasses into his kasha with a bit more ferocity than necessary. You let him ponder your question, gently blowing on the first spoonful of your meal as you tuck in. 

    “Did-” he clears his throat before starting again, “Did you have anything specific in mind?”

    “Actually, yes, but only if it was alright with you,” you whisper, not wanting to wake the others up before you could actually make your request. Ever since that first kiss that you shared, you’ve been unable to keep this idea from your mind. 

    Eskel’s eyes are still glued to the bowl, absentmindedly running his thumb over a groove in the table as he mulls over your words. “How is it you want to draw me?” His voice is low and gravelly, but you can’t tell if it’s from having just woken up or nervousness.

    “Well,” you start, pushing away your now-empty bowl, “I know how important your wolf medallion is, and I want to highlight that with you wearing it,”

    Eskel’s brows furrow, his head tilting down to glance at the metal circle that hangs from his neck. “Okay...seems easy enough-”

    “Wearing only the medallion.”

    Eskel’s golden eyes dart back to yours, a deep flush settling across the high planes of his cheeks. His spoon stills, halfway between the bowl and his mouth before he drops it, landing back in the bowl with a loud clatter. At the noise, he blinks back to himself, his hand coming up to scratch at the scars on his face.

    “Can-can I think about it?” he murmurs, not fully comfortable but intrigued nonetheless. 

    “Of course, darling, I’d never want to push you into something that you didn’t want to do,” your words reassure him as footsteps sound from across the keep. Eskel pushes away his now-abandoned breakfast, deep in thought as you rise to clean up. 

    When you return, all of the other wolves have gathered around the table, Lambert sliding up to sit next to Eskel with a bowl of his own. Geralt’s hair is wild with sleep, and Vesemir sips from a steaming mug as he works on waking to a reasonable state. Here, in the safety of the keep, the witchers can afford to fully rest and take their time in lounging as the sun rises.

    You rest a hand on Eskel’s shoulder before coasting onto the bench beside him, nodding a greeting to Geralt as he reaches for the molasses. Eskel turns his head to you, meeting your eyes as he stares deep into them. He smiles, something fleeting between heartbeats, before leaning to whisper in your ear.

    “I’ll do it.”

    …

    That evening, you’re setting up the different materials that you’ve collected throughout the day. Your journal and pencils rest on your bed as you work, draping several thick furs over the cold stone floor in front of the fire. There is no moon tonight, only the stars twinkling in the sky as they wait in anticipation. 

    As the last fur hits the ground you stand, hands on your hips as you consider if there’s anything else you’ll need. The room is silent, save for the occasional crackling of the fire, and you jump a bit when there is a sudden knock at the door. 

    You cross the room, your light skirt just barely drifting along the floor. You typically wear trousers around the keep, since they’re much warmer and easier to work in, but the skirt is less restrictive, fluttering and flowing around your legs. The door opens with a low creak, revealing Eskel standing behind it. His broad form takes up most of the doorway, but at least he has foregone the heavy armor and swords that are almost always strapped to his back.

    You smile, stepping back into the room and gesture for Eskel to follow. He does, gently closing the door behind him and kicking his boots off by the table before joining you in front of the fire. His hands are cool in yours as you take them, running your fingers over his knuckles as you look into his eyes. He’s nervous, you can tell, but you can also see the budding excitement that lies contained just below the surface. 

    “You’re sure that you’re okay with this?” you ask, your voice soft and soothing.

    “Mhm,” Eskel nods, leaning down to place a sweet kiss to your lips. You smile into it, squeezing his hands in your own as you pull back. 

    “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, dear,” you reach to his waist and untuck the light shirt from his trousers. The fabric is soft and well worn, comfortable to even the barest touch. You reach to undo the buttons at the neck, letting the edges fall away and reveal little glimpses of tanned skin. You fit your fingers under the hem and lift, raising the shirt over his head as he slides out of it. You carefully fold it up, taking your time as you place it on the edge of the bed. 

    You turn around, your eyes roving Eskel’s newly exposed chest as he watches you. You let yourself look, taking in the swell of his arms, the breadth of his shoulders, the dark dusting of hair over his skin, lingering only slightly on a particularly painful-looking scar that sits just below his sternum. You cross the room back to him, running your hands up his arms as you feel the muscles beneath twitch under your fingers. You admire the medallion, bright silver raised in the shape of a wolf’s head. You kiss the skin right next to it, Eskel’s chest pushing into your touch as he takes in a deep breath.

    You straighten up, letting your fingers skirt along the band of his trousers. Your eyes flick up to his for permission, smiling to yourself as he nods for you to continue.

    “Red is a good color on you,” you murmur, deftly undoing the bright ties on his codpiece. He huffs out a laugh, his smile easy and soft under your watch. You slip your hands down, pulling the now loosened trousers to the floor as you kneel. Eskel rests a hand on your shoulder as he steps out of them, letting you slide them out from underneath him. 

    You turn once more to the bed, folding the garments as you go and placing them with the same care that you had his shirt. When you face him once more, your eyes run up the long planes of his legs, the slight dip of his hip, and the impressive manhood that hid under the not-so-subtle codpiece. You blush a bit when you notice that he is already half-hard, swelling and flushing with the beginnings of his arousal. 

    As you approach him, you take a moment to thread your hands through his hair with a sweet reverence. Eskel sighs into your touch as you trace the lines and valleys of his face, feeling the slope of his nose and the slightly chapped lips under your fingers. You step back after a moment, fiddling with a loose thread on your blouse to keep your hands busy.

    “This alright, love?” Eskel blushes at the pet name, lowering his gaze for a moment before smiling lightly at you. 

    “I’m fine, it’s a little odd though,” he says, quiet in the sanctuary of the room, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so...exposed…” His brow furrows as his voice trails off, his gaze vulnerable as you smile back at him. 

    “Do you want to continue? We’ll stop if you don’t want to-”

    “Yes, I mean, yes I want to continue, it’s strange, but a good strange,” Eskel’s voice is strong now, reassuring both of you with his words. 

    “Well then,” you hum, “let’s get started.” There is a cushiony chair in the corner of the room and you move over to it, pulling it back to sit at an angle just off parallel to the fireplace. “Eskel, could you kneel, almost like you’re meditating? Mostly faced towards me, but angled a little bit away towards the fire please.” Your voice is no more than a whisper as you grab your materials, kicking off your shoes before sitting in the chair as he follows your direction. 

    Eskel’s eyes flick up to yours as he settles, knees pressing into the soft furs as he rests his hands atop them. The medallion around his neck glints with the light from the fire as he adjusts for a moment, getting comfortable. When he is satisfied, he looks over to you for what to do next. 

    “My Gods, you are simply gorgeous,” you smile, Eskel preening slightly at your words. “Now, I just want you to relax. This may take a little while, so please, just let me know if you need anything-oh wait, I almost forgot!”

    You jump up, grabbing the cup of water that you had brought with you earlier in the evening. You set it at his side, leaving it within reach so that he can grab it with ease. Taking a thin strand of leather, you tie your hair back from your face, a few strands falling down nonetheless. You sit back down in the chair, tucking your feet under you as you flip to a fresh page. 

    “Eskel, you can close your eyes if it’s better for you, I just want you to be comfortable. Okay, here we go…” You take a deep breath before pressing the pencil to the page, gently marking the outline of his form. You hum lightly as you work, watching as Eskel sits still under your gaze. The fire warms you from the outside as you feel a different warmth bloom from deep within, settling in your core as you begin to add details. 

    You sit like this for a while, tracing the numerous scars and the lines of his muscles with your pencil. Eskel is relaxed, breathing slowly as you focus on the medallion. You take your time here, smudging and erasing the harsh lines to fade into a better representation of the decades of wear that it has seen. You move up and down his body on the page, shading and highlighting every inch of his skin with as much reverence as you would if you were actually touching him. 

You watch as Eskel’s chest rises with a deep breath in through his nose, almost growling as he exhales. His cock throbs in his lap, now fully hard and leaking onto his hip. He murmurs your name and you hum in response, using the opportunity to focus on capturing the way his length bends upward slightly at the end.

    “You smell delicious,” your gaze flicks up, catching him looking over at you. He is still in exactly the same position, but his eyes are open and boring into you, golden flames stoking the fire in your core. 

    “Patience, love,” you chide, smiling as you consider that you could really be speaking to either of you at this point. “I’m almost finished…”

    Eskel smirks, his eyes falling closed as he takes another deep breath. You shake your head, now determined to complete this quickly. You stop and start back a few times, looking over the picture for mistakes and making small adjustments as you find them.

    Finally satisfied, you rise from the chair and cross to the table by the door. You set down your journal and pencils, releasing your hair from its tie before turning back to Eskel. He is still kneeling on the floor, his eyes open once more and tracking your every move. 

    “Will you let me see it?” he asks, turning his head slightly towards you as you slink to his side. You stand over him, watching as he raises his eyes to look directly at you. They are clouded with lust, his hesitance and shame having been washed away by your worship of him. 

    “Hmm,” you ponder out loud, “I could, but Gods, I want to touch you so badly…” You lean down and fit the tip of one of your fingers under his chin, tracing the line of his jaw as you sink to meet him. You thread your fingers through the silk of his hair, bringing them down to rest at the back of his neck as you pull him to you.

    Your lips meet in a sweet, soft caress before swelling into something bigger, more powerful as Eskel steals your breath. You move as a push and pull of the tides, each keeping the other steady as your hands become desperate. Eskel licks into your mouth, sweeping you into his embrace as you feel his hand start to undo the ties of your skirt. It floats to the ground, pooling around you as he lifts your chemise. 

His hands are rough against the soft skin of your abdomen, but he moves with such grace that it’s insignificant. Your lips part only for the time it takes for the chemise to be lifted from your head before you surge back into Eskel’s grasp. His hands quickly find the ties to your underclothes, but he fumbles blindly with the knots. You laugh into his mouth when he growls in frustration, finally choosing to just rip them off of you. A fresh wave of arousal surges through you when you are finally, blissfully, bare before him, pressing as much skin into him as you can. 

You fling your clothes off of the rugs, leaving them to be picked up in the morning. You have far better things to concern yourself with at the moment, pushing Eskel’s shoulders back to have him lay on the furs as you straddle his hips. His hands move all over you, touching everywhere he can reach, glancing up your thighs, over your hips, pressing across your breasts, grabbing you by the hands and pulling you down, capturing your lips once more. 

He nips at the bottom lip before shifting his weight, bracing one of his feet on the floor before twisting, flipping the both of you so that you lie on the floor, caged in his arms. You laugh freely, the sound turning swiftly into a moan as Eskel brings his hand to cup your cunt.

“My Gods,” he sighs, “you’re dripping,”

“Mmm, only for you, darling,” you hum as his fingers move up and down the length of your slit, your legs falling open as he moves downward. Eskel takes his time, kissing and licking along your skin before laying on the floor with his head between your legs. Your nerves are singing under your skin, rising and falling in hums of pleasure that reverberate through your bones. He kisses along the inside of one of your thighs, climbing up, up, finally finding the peak of your core and suckling the little bundle of nerves. Your hands tangle in his hair as you moan, the sound low and deep and pressed through gritted teeth as he slowly sinks two of his fingers into you.

He hums against you, licking and thrusting and pushing and holding and taking, leaving you with barely a breath to tide you over. Your hips rock unbidden, chasing a pleasure that only they know the path to. You watch Eskel, his eyes glazed over, fucked out on the taste of you, his hips rutting against the ground in time with his fingers in your cunt. 

“Oh gods, please, Eskel, please,” you babble, words turning incoherent as he brushes just the smallest glance of teeth against you. He groans, sending you soaring into an abyss of stars that burn too bright and noise that is deafening in its silence. Your thighs shake and your core clenches around Eskel’s fingers as he coaxes through your climax.

You sink down into the furs, finding his hand at your waist and threading your fingers together as you whisper, “Oh, Eskel,”

He falls apart, growling into you as his hips falter, his hand squeezing yours as his release takes over. He thrusts a few times more, spilling between his body and the furs as he holds you tight. Eskel gasps against your core, his lips shiny with the evidence of your arousal. His grip relaxes as he comes down, breathing deeply as he rises to his knees. He is still hard, his own spend dripping down his chest as he looms above you. You reach up, tracing a line through it, feeling him clench as you do. You bring your hand to your mouth and suck his spend from your fingers.

“Fuck,” Eskel says, leaning down to kiss you. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist as you taste your own arousal on his mouth. He is heavy atop you, the weight of him enveloping you as you thrust your hips gently towards his. You pull back, panting as you feel the tip of his cock against your folds. 

“Please, Eskel, don’t make me beg,” you murmur into his lips. He hums in response, looking down as he takes his length in his hand to align himself. His mahogany hair tickles your forehead as he leans against you, slowly pressing into your core. Your fingers grasp for purchase on the thickest parts of his arms, your nails digging in as he stretches you wide. It’s almost too much, dancing the line between pain and pleasure. 

But when he pulls back, only to thrust into you again just a little bit faster, you can’t help that your legs push against his back, forcing him deeper inside of you as your hips rise to meet him. Your breaths intermingle in the space between you, filled with praise and begging for more, more, his cock spearing, nudging the bundle of nerves nestled deep in your core with every snap of his hips. 

“Oohh, yes, Eskel, right there, keep going, just like that,” your voice is husky in the night, stars drifting from their place in the sky to line your words. Eskel pushes himself up, gripping your hips with an insurmountable strength and holding you steady as he fucks into you. Your back arches with the new angle, feeling every move that he makes in a way that drowns out everything from existence. All you know in this moment is Eskel, the bright, shining moon that was missing from your sky. 

“Fuck, I’m-I’m gonna…” Eskel groans as his thrusts turn sloppy, the sound of skin on skin echoing around the room.

“Go on, take your pleasure in me, let me have it,” you grip his hand where it rests once more and he roars, spending deep inside of you, his cock throbbing against the most sensitive spot over and over and over, and all of that sends you spiraling in your own peak with him. Your bones sing, simultaneously feeling everything and nothing as you hurtle through an endless night. Eskel comes and comes, his climax taking over all of his senses, his spend dripping past the tight seal of his cock in your cunt and dripping down onto the furs. 

As the stars return to their place in the sky you smile, pulling him down to kiss him, humming against his mouth. He pulls out of you, a small whine crawling out of your chest with the emptiness. Eskel kneels next to you, fitting his arms beneath your knees and your back as he swiftly rises, cradling you in his grasp as he carries you to the bed. He sets you down gently, laughing as you keep your hands locked around his neck and try to pull him in after you. 

“Hang on a moment, love, I just want to grab something,” he pads away and you get comfortable, yanking the blanket up and nuzzling into it, accidentally kicking Eskel’s clothes off of the bed in your haste. When Eskel returns to your side, he climbs into the bed beneath the blanket, pulling you close as he fits his nose just beneath your ear. He inhales, moaning softly as he relaxes into your arms. 

“You always smell so nice,” he whispers, light and sweet in your ear. He pulls back, letting you curl around his side as he holds you close. You rest your head on his chest, reaching for the journal that he has clasped in his free hand. Eskel opens it, flipping to the most recent page. You feel him tense up just a bit beneath you, his heartbeat quickening ever so slightly as he regards the drawing on the parchment. 

“I-I don’t know what to say, I just...thank you,” his words rumble through his chest, thick with emotion that he still doesn’t really know what to do with. You tilt your head up, looking into his golden eyes that are shiny with unshed tears.

“You don’t have to say anything, I know,” you murmur, letting him hold you close as the stars twinkle and fade in the early morning light, content in their witness to worship.

................................................

a/n: So i just needed to tell you that I also briefly considered using this infamous photo as a reference for Eskel’s pose, but I couldn’t write it without laughing hysterically so I went with this instead XD

[wardenrainwall]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Original Female Character(s), Cullen Rutherford Additional Tags: Smut, Pining Summary:

A tryst that was meant to be inconsequential, a pleasurable escape for both parties ends up turning into far more than either bargained for.

--

 Cullen stared down at the paper in front of him, a frown on his face as he read Ellana’s recount of the dragon she and her companions had taken on in the Hinterlands. Along with destroying a red lyrium deposit.  He worried for her, but her companions were strong, as was she, which was what had attracted him to her from the start.

 The moment he’d seen Ellana leap onto the back of a demon, arrow knocked, and save the lives of more than just a few soldiers that day on the battlefield, Cullen had been smitten. She was beautiful, yes, but it was also the way she’d so easily stepped into the role of leadership, how she navigated disputes with such grace that neither party felt slighted.

 It only stung his pride a bit, or at least, that is what he told himself, that Ellana made it no secret of who she took to her bed, and that he was not one of them. Even in that, no one seemed to mind that they only held her attention for so long. A giggling young woman at the tavern who had sighed wistfully recounting the week she’d spent in the Inquisitor’s favor. The Iron Bull, whose lap Ellana would perch on every now and then before the two would disappear together.

 And perhaps he was a fool for holding out hope that one day she might look at him and see how good they could be together.

 The side door opened and he barely glanced up from his work. Clara hesitated in the doorway for a beat, which he thought strange. She never hesitated. Even the day she walked through a door he’d known he’d locked when he’d been so restless in his own skin. She’d simply glanced over, seen him sprawled in his chair, fisting his cock, and continued over to the ladder up to his quarters. “Are you expecting a hand with that?” she’d asked, then disappeared up into the loft.

 But now she hesitated before she began to cross the room. Cullen kept his head down, though his attention was now fully focused on her. She was limping. Not terribly, but there was a definite unevenness in her gait.

 “You’re limping,” he murmured.

 “It’s nothing,” her tone held a sharp bite. Then she stopped at the base of the ladder, hands reaching up to grip the rungs she simply stood there. “Why can’t you sleep in a normal room like a normal person?” Her snapped out words had him blinking at her in surprise.

They spoke little to each other, though she came to him several times a week and had for just over the last two months. Often the only words murmured were her pleasantly wishing him good night before leaving. “What’s wrong?” he asked, getting to his feet. Clara shook her head, and as he closed in on her, she put one foot up on the bottom rung and winced. 

Then he saw it, the faint bruise on her cheek, her lip swollen and split. A slow-simmering anger began to build. “Who hit you?” he demanded, reaching out to grasp her chin between thumb and forefinger, angling her head to allow him a better look in the low candlelight.

“No one hit- ow!” Clara slapped his hand away when his thumb grazed just below the cut. “I said it’s nothing,” she bit out, glaring at him.

“Then why does it look like someone punched you in the face, and how do you explain away the limping?”

Hands on her hips she let out a huff of air. “It’s fine. It’s none of your business.” 

A part of Cullen felt amused seeing this spark of anger, seeing who this quiet woman actually was. But then he had the sinking feeling of dread. Did she have a husband? One who beat her when she came to him because she believed she had no other choice? “Clara, if someone hit you-”

She made a quiet sound of frustration and reached up, yanking the kerchief from her hair to then run her fingers through the short locks. “No one hit me,” she told him, shaking her head. “I fell. Because I’m a stupid, clumsy idiot.” Clara took a step and he saw the pain cross her face again.

“Why haven’t you seen a healer,” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest because it was obvious that she hadn’t. 

“I said it’s fine,” she sighed, waving her hand. “It’ll be fine in a day or two-” She reached down, absently rubbing a hand against her left hip. “It isn’t a big deal, I’ll just-” Clara cast a glance up the ladder.

“The bedding will keep,” he said because it was ridiculous how often she changed the sheets as her excuse for being there. He was certain the servants thought him an ass demanding they be changed nearly every other day when half the time he felt he’d barely even slept in his bed. “Tell me what happened, and why you refuse to see a healer.” Cullen nudged her toward the desk and she opened her mouth snapped it shut and took the limping steps to the side of the desk.

Her hand going to the grip the edge made him feel like the worst kind of bastard. Did she really think he planned to bend her over and fuck her when she was so obviously in pain? He continued to his chair, sat down, and then reached out, his fingers curling in the fabric of her skirt and tugged. “Over here,” he said and he saw the look of confusion as he pulled her closer, then gripping her waist he lifted her onto the edge of his desk in front of him.

“Oh, what are you- your papers-” her hands fluttered and she moved her legs as if to jump back down, but Cullen held her there, pulling his chair closer to block her escape.

“Do you have a problem with mages?” he asked curious. It wasn’t unusual, he still sometimes found himself hesitant to seek them out for injuries.

Her hands still fluttered slightly, as if unsure what to do with them. “What? Oh, no, that isn’t-” Clara shook her head, her hair swaying with the movement. “I don’t mind the mages.”

“Then why, if someone didn’t do this to you, haven’t you gone to a healer.” 

Clara’s hands finally settled into her lap and she let out a quiet sigh. “It’s the magic,” she told him. “Have you ever had them heal something?” he inclined his head. “When I was six I fell out of a tree, broke my arm. My parents, they-” she sunk her teeth into her lower lip, seemed to hesitate. “There was an apostate in the next village, my parents took me and he set the bone and put his hands over my arm, to heal it, but, it made my skin crawl. It didn’t hurt, but, it was worse than the break.

My father’s a dwarf, they think that might be why I reacted that way,” she gave a shrug. “Allergic to magic,” she let out a quiet laugh. “That’s why I didn’t go to the healers, it’s fine, really.” 

“May I?” Cullen asked, his fingers sliding down to dip under the hem of her skirt.

“Commander,” she breathed, shaking her head. “It’s fine, you don’t need to bother yourself-” His fingers grazed up her calf, felt the thick woolen stockings then up to her knee. Cullen realized as he glanced up at Clara, her cheeks pink, lips parted, that in the weeks of their arrangement, he’d never seen her naked. Her bare rump before he sank into her. But beyond that, they made quick work of getting each other off.

Maker’s breath, he hoped he was getting her off. He felt a wash of mortification at the thought. But she wouldn’t keep returning, if she didn’t enjoy it, unless- “You know that you do not have to come here, to me, like this,” he said suddenly, his hand resting against her knee beneath her skirts. “Clara, your job is not dependant on allowing me to-” he felt his cheeks burn hot.

A smile curved the corner of her mouth. “I know that, Commander,” she murmured. “It’s something to enjoy while it lasts.” One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I’m no love-struck foolish girl, Commander. I’ve seen the way you look at her,” he flinched in surprise at her words, but she still gave him that little smile. “It’s alright. I know my place.”

Her words left an odd sensation in his chest and Cullen frowned as he lowered his head to his task of once more pushing her skirts up. “Maker’s breath, Clara,” he gasped out. A dark bruise ran from knee to hip on her left leg, and he thought it was a wonder she could even walk. “What in the void happened?”

“I fell,” she said, her cheeks a darker shade of red now. “I told you, I was stupid. Three of the other woman in the laundry room are out with some stomach thing and so I picked up some of the slack. Have you been to the laundry room?” she asked and he shook his head, before reaching for one of the drawers where he began to rummage around. “The stairs are very steep. I should have made two trips, but I didn’t. My shoe caught on my skirt, and-” she made the soft frustrated sound again. “And I fell. Slammed my leg against the stairs and I smacked my face on the basket as it spilled.” 

Finding the little ceramic pot he’d been searching for he set it on the desk and looked up at her. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck from the sound of it.” She huffed, arms crossing over her middle. Removing the lid from the jar he glanced up at her, found her watching him. “It isn’t magic, just a salve that helps with minor bruises and aches. This one isn’t minor, but hopefully, it’ll help-” he hesitated. “If you don’t mind?” 

“Alright,” Clara spoke softly and Cullen dipped his fingers into the jar and tried to be gentle as he spread it over the bruise and rubbed it in. Her skin was warm beneath his palm and he silently cursed his growing erection. 

“Your mother isn’t a dwarf?” he asked, going back to their earlier conversation, anything to distract him.

“Human,” Clara told him, shifting slightly, he saw her reaching down, tugging the various papers that he’d set her on free, and stack them into a neat pile. “They are disgustingly in love, even after all these years,” her tone held amusement and joy.

“Are they safe?” Cullen asked, the salve long since absorbed into her skin, but he continued to stroke her thigh.

Clara nodded. “They are, a lot of the violence has bypassed their little village, but mom has kept them well-stocked in swords and armor.” 

This had Cullen looking up in surprise. “Your mother has?”

“She’s a blacksmith.” Cullen’s brows shot up and Clara let out a quiet, delighted little laugh. “My father prefers gardening, but he does help out in the forge from time to time, but it’s my mother’s pride and joy.” 

“She’d be an asset to the Inquisition,” he said.

Clara’s face fell, all traces of amusement vanishing with the shake of her head. “Absolutely not,” she said. “I was in Haven when we were attacked, I saw-” her eyes went liquid and Cullen regretted his words. He’d meant them in jest.

“Clara,” he said shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I understand, I didn’t truly mean it.” He got to his feet, dipped a fingertip into the jar once more, and with her jaw cupped in one hand, he applied it to the bruise on her cheek. She was quiet as he worked, and when he was satisfied, he continued to stand there, between her legs, fingertips gently tracing the curve of her cheek. 

“Did you want-” her eyes darted to the side, to the spot where he most often rucked up her skirts. 

Of course, he wanted her, wanted to bury himself in her wet heat and lose himself for those few moments. But he knew her leg still pained her, despite what she might claim otherwise. He wasn’t the most experienced in sex, a handful of fumbling experiences in Kinloch Hold, before, before everything. He didn’t think Clara was so inexperienced, so obviously he was doing something right. “Yes,” he said, but held her in place when she would have slid off the desk. “But stay where you are.” She did, watching him, her brows drawing together as he sunk down into his chair.

He dragged it closer, then reached out, hands on her hips, and tugged her to the edge of his desk, her legs on either side of him, her skirts still gathered at her knees. Cullen swallowed hard. There was an intimacy to what he was planning on doing, one that he’d thought to reserve for- his cheeks burned. Clara had taken his cock in her mouth, let him come on her tongue, the least he could do was replay the favor, right?

“Commander, what are you-” her breath hitched as he lowered his head to kiss the inside of her knee. 

“I think you can call me Cullen, at this point,” he murmured, pushing her skirts up a bit higher, he pressed a kiss to the other knee.

“That would be,” a quiet gasp when he rubbed his stubbled jaw against her skin. “Improper.” 

Cullen couldn’t help the quiet chuckle that escaped him as he slid one hand behind her knee, tugging it over and over his shoulder. “Improper?” he asked, licked up the inside of her thigh. The heady scent of her desire hit his nostrils and he nearly groaned. Why had he not considered doing this before?