#from the pharmacy FOUR BLOCKS from my apartment

[it-grrl]

I mean, the fact that I successfully rescheduled the ADHD meds follow up appointment over a week before the prior appointment date probably means they're working at least a little bit right?

[heartthrobin]

press your tulips to mine

steven grant x female!reader

wc: 4.6k

warnings: mutual pining, steven is a shy babygirl, marc playing wingman (but he's kinda terrible at it cause he's also falling in love), no jake (the crowd is booing), no khonshu, steven still works at the museum, post mk s1, no use of y/n

an: rewatched the whole of mk last night and needed to write about my dearest stevie :)) don't forget to repost to support your fav writers

summary: Steven's apartment has become overrun with more bouquets of flowers than any one man could ever find use for, but they would continue to pile up as long as the pretty girl at the flower shop continued to melt him with that syrupy smile each time he walked in.

Steven Grant had never given much thought to flowers.

Sure, he could offer a momentary appreciation for a flicker of yellow growing out the cracks in London sidewalks or maybe if he passed a house with a particularly impressive rose bush he could smile, but beyond that flowers remained mostly inconsequential.

Steven never had girlfriends in high school, or - to be frank - thereafter either.

He’d never had to pick out a bouquet, one that he would need to consider: does this match her eyes? will it match her dress? how does it smell?

In the face of discovering that he was unalone in the occupancy of his five foot nine frame and fighting in the name of an Egyptian moon-god, Steven had less time than ever to consider his frighteningly barren love life or the lack of interest in flowers on account of it.

Isn’t life funny? In the way that we look so far beyond ourselves for answers, when sometimes they’re just around the corner.

Specifically the corner one street over from the museum.

Steven had walked the path to work plenty of times. A designated route. In the days when he still worked at the gift shop, the same route now that he’d been bumped up to tour guide.

Until one otherwise unimportant morning when construction bound his usual way, forcing him a walk further around the block: adding another four minutes to his trip and a view of the quaint shops down Little Russel street.

He hadn’t been down there in months. His last venture had been in search of a pharmacy for sleeping tablets, when Khonshu was still a nightmare and Marc nothing more than a migraine.

Steven noticed first that the pharmacy no longer stood. In fact, the previously white brick face of it’s stand had been painted a lush lemonade-pink. The Petal Parlour.

Almost immediately, in just about the same breath, Steven’s eyes found a woman leaned over a broom and sweeping the edge of the shop step. She was humming, he could just make out a Stevie Wonder tune.

The morning light flickered off your hair as if off the face of a pond out in a beautiful garden. An elderly man passed your work, uttering a greeting, and you'd perked up with a melodic: "good morning Mr B!"

Steven's footfalls stalled down the sidewalk. A man crashed into his back, strewing the contents of his messenger bag around him. "Watch where you're going, asshole!" He'd seethed at him.

By the time Steven had looked up, you'd already retreated back into the shop. He could make out your outline through the stained glass front.

There hadn't been a day since that Steven had taken his normal, considerably shorter, route to work. He got up five minutes earlier each day, brushed his teeth, made a cup of tea and let the memory of you swim behind his eyes. He could hear Marc's sighs every time.

Most mornings you were inside. Steven would deflate when he rounded the block to an empty corner, but he refused to consider it a total loss because - more often than not - he could make out your figure beyond the window fiddling with petunias on a shelf or smiling at a customer.

Some mornings, when he found himself most lucky, you'd be outside the shop. Usually clipping stray leaves off the rows of bouquets that glimmered happily at the people passing down the street. When it rained, Steven was privy to the way your hair clung to your forehead and the smudge of black mascara beneath your eyes. In the sunlight your arms were exposed from under a pink work shirt and a soil-stained apron.

It went like that for nearly a month. Between Steven and Marc's alternating schedules, he learned to appreciate the slim sightings of you he could manage. Marc didn't make it any easier, mind you, with the way he would whine and complain into Steven's ear.

"Jesus, Steven, just go up to her and say hi!"

Once or twice, Marc had managed to gain control of Steven's legs: teetering him drunkenly in your direction.

The fright would rise quickly up in Steven's chest, steering his legs back in the direction he was walking. You'd looked up one of those times, meeting his eye and spilling out a soft laugh that dissolved into a syrupy smile, but he'd rushed off before you could say anything.

Steven's face stayed red that whole day. "See. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Marc jeered.

"That was mortifying." He muttered back.

The bus rocked beneath his feet and his palm was growing sweaty around the pole he was using to steady himself. Frost was creeping up at the edge of the window he was watching out of.

"Okay, so all you're going to do is go in there and ask for ... help with something." Marc clarified again, his voice echoing around Steven's head.

He'd been bugging Steven since he was brushing his teeth before bed the previous night, something about how "I can't handle any more of this, please Steven. Put me out of my misery."

"Help with what?" Steven whispered. A woman looked up at him from her seat. He smiled shyly, turning away from her.

"I don't know ... tell her you're looking to buy some roses. Tell her it's someone's birthday."

Steven nodded slowly to himself. "Okay ... okay."

Marc had worked hard over the last twelve hours at convincing him. The endeavour was initially futile, but after Marc threatened to go in there and ask her out himself with a - frankly insulting - cockney accent, Steven was left with limited options.

He rounded the corner with wobbly legs and The Petal Parlour loomed in the distance. A bunch of sunflowers taunted him with swaying faces.

It drew ever closer and Steven's heart was beating loudly in his throat. The pink brick was crossing his vision now, his footsteps growing heavier, faster, past the floral print on the window--

"Steven don't even think about it--"

Against Steven's will, his legs knotted around each other: collapsing his body in the direction of the white painted door. It crashed open and Marc, more than Steven, caught his body before it hit the tiled floor inside the shop.

"Oh my god, are you alright?"

The shop was cramped now that he'd gotten his first glimpse inside and the three people crowding the space had their eyes on him.

As if appearing from a mirage, you pressed past the people towards him. He nodded frantically, the scalding touch of embarrassment burned his cheeks. "Yeah, yeah ... I'm fine."

Your earrings jingled from where your head was tilted to inspect him. Ringed fingers pressed down over your soil-covered apron. "Okay then, if you're sure."

Your concerned brow dissolved slowly and that syrupy smile he'd seen pointed in other's directions was suddenly overwhelming him with it's warmth. "Well then, can I help you find anything? Are you looking for some arrangement in particular?"

Steven nodded dumbly, he was fidgeting with the edge of his coat. "Yeah ... I'm looking for, uhm..."

"Birthday!" Marc called from somewhere deep in his mind.

"Birthday!" Steven spluttered loudly. There followed a quiet moment of confusion dripping between you and him.

"Jesus, Steven."

Your giggles crumbled into the space before Steven had the ability to conjure more words.

"I-- I'm sorry, I'm being rude ..." Laugher spilt between your words and your cheeks were turning a soft pink, "you want something for a birthday?"

An embarrassed smile had reached up into the corners of Steven's mouth. He liked the tinkle of your laughter, half convinced he could get drunk off the sound. A molecule of pride floated in his chest knowing that he was responsible for it.

"Uh, yes. Sorry, yes." Steven nodded, fidgeting with the bag strap over his shoulder. "Someone's birthday."

"Well, we just gotten some new arrangements in this morning ..." You turned on him, steering across the little shop to a orange, yellow and pink stacked shelf. He followed you tentatively, trying to pretend that he didn't smell perfume where you moved past him. Pretend that it wasn't making his knees buckle.

"They're pretty." He said quietly. You smiled again. You're pretty, he thought.

"Focus!" Marc's sharp voice sliced through his thoughts.

"Who's birthday is it?"

Steven's tongue lodged back into his airways. "Uhm--"

"Oh shit ... uh, say--!"

"My girlfriend's."

"Not girlfriend, you idiot!"

"Oh, alright--" Your hands fidgeted with your necklace, eyes wide.

"My sister." Steven interrupted you again, the argument in his brain between his thoughts and Marc’s voice was rattling his resolve. "I ... not my girlfriend, I don't have ... I don't have a girlfriend."

"You don't have a sister either." Marc quipped.

Steven ignored him. You were watching him with another smile flirting at your lips. "Okay, well, do you know what kind of flowers she likes? Or have an idea of what you want?"

Steven shrugged, head wobbling into a shake. "Uh no ... what kind do you like?"

You seemed taken back by his question. "Oh. Well, I like the tulips. The yellow ones, especially, but they're tough to find around here ... they have tons in Netherlands and Turkey, which not many people know because everyone thinks of them--"

Steven was sure you could see the little birds floating around his head, and how his pupils turned to tiny black hearts: maybe that's why you stopped.

You blushed a velvety red.

"I'm sorry ..." you turned back, hiding your warm face to wave your hand over the shelf of stacked bouquets. "We have some orchids and some irises if you think she might like them?"

"Yes." Steven nodded, hands folding over each other. His eyes were trailing the outline of your profile, savouring the closeness he'd finally been granted. "Those ... they're beautiful. She'll like them."

Your eyes twinkled where you nodded and it made his stomach churn. "Great."

He lingered patiently by the register while you wrapped the flowers with careful hands.

"Say," your gaze flickered up between him and the brown paper. "Do you work around here? I'm sure I've seen you passing in the morning sometimes."

Steven's breath tripped in his throat. She noticed me?

"Yes, now answer her." Marc's voice rung again.

"I-- yeah, I work by the museum actually." His voice stumbled nervously from the back of his throat.

"Oh really? That's so cool!" Your voice lilted with a pitch of interest. "I really like their exhibit on the liberation of India from English colonial regimes. I've only been once or twice though."

Chest buzzing delightfully, Steven nodded. He knew the one you were referencing, it was a couple corridors down from the Egyptian exhibits.

"Well, you should definitely come see the Ancient Egyptian section. The exhibit is huge and we have hundred year old pieces, sarcophaguses and vases and slabs of cave walls with carved hieroglyphics. I work there and it's really the most fascinating--"

"Let her respond, Steven."

But you seemed content to allow him to continue his splurge, your eyes warm and gentle where it caressed over Steven's face. He stopped talking, winding off embarrassed.

"So, uh, yeah."

"You've made a very good case. Maybe I will come visit." You nodded, fingers stroking absently at the edge of the counter. "If you promise me a tour?"

Warm blood rose up from his chest and pooled in his cheeks. "Of course. Anytime."

You handed him the flowers over the stretch of counter. "I never caught your name?"

"Steven." He said quickly, dejection gathering in his throat at the fact that your interaction was nearing a close. "G-Grant. Steven Grant."

You nodded. "Nice name. It's very James Bond."

"Thanks."

"Ask her name!" Marc poked at the back of his brain.

"Uh-- and you are?"

"Oh!" your eyes fell down to your chest where the corner of your stained apron was obscuring the sharpened edge of your name-tag. You shifted it for him to see.

Steven's eyes followed over the letters, he tried your name out on his tongue. It tasted sweeter than he thought a name ever could, rolling off his lips like a song or a bird whistling on a summer evening.

"It's ... it's a beautiful name."

You blushed, eyes moving back to the keyboard for momentary solace before paralysing him with your warm gaze again. "Thank you. I guess I'll see you 'round Stevie."

His mind whirred with how casually the little nickname slipped from you. "Yeah, yeah you will ..."

Leaving the store, Marc called from between the sludge of Steven's muddy mind.

"Good job, Stevie."

-

Steven was consumed by the interaction the whole rest of the day and when then next morning loomed overhead, he could hardly believe his luck when you were pinching together some lilacs out on the front step where he passed.

Half convinced by the nauseating twist in his stomach to just march quietly past, the decision was made for him when you glanced up from the flowers and offered him a friendly wave: “good morning, Stevie!”

His brain dissolved into a warm, gloopy mess. “… Morning.”

-

In the coming weeks, Steven’s apartment had become a botanical garden of epic proportions.

Vases and cups and pots, and whatever he could fit a flower into, lined his kitchen counters and his shelves and his bathroom sink with every possible kind of flower that The Petal Parlour had to offer.

Marc grumbled most days, in search of a coffee mug or apartment keys between what he described the “Amazon jungle in here.”

But Steven paid him little mind. It was a harmless jab and Steven noticed in the reflection of the shop’s stained glass window how Marc watched you too, eyes glazed with a soft affection. He mentioned nothing of it to Marc.

Steven had begun frequenting the shop when he could, on mornings he got up early enough or afternoons when the day’s work brought soil stains across your ruddy, tired cheeks.

He’d bought flowers for every possible celebration to be had in London, seemingly nabbing an invite to each one. Bat mitzvahs, birthdays, weddings, farewells, funerals: he’d bought bouquets for one of each kind.

Each visit would play out similarly. He’d step into the shop, maybe once a week or every other week - with Marc muttering somewhere in his mind, we’re hardly gonna be able afford groceries at this rate - and you’d beam at him from behind the counter or from beneath a brightly coloured shelf.

“What’s up, Stevie?”

The nickname made him shiver every time.

“Let me guess … Christmas in July?” You’d tease.

When he’d find you behind the counter, that was his favourite, because you’d lean lazily over it. It blessed him with the view down the slope of your nose, the smell of your fading perfume, the jingle of your clinking earrings.

“Baby shower.” It comes out almost as a question, curling upward at the end.

You’d giggle softly. “Right. Boy or girl?”

It had been long enough that Steven could just about draw out your work schedule.

Fridays you didn’t work, Sundays and Tuesdays you only clocked in the afternoon. He tracked it with the little greetings he got, or didn’t get, as he passed on the way to or from the museum.

“You know,” Marc was fronting an early morning in August, subjecting Steven to a cup of coffee. He hated the stale taste it left in his mouth. “We’re quickly approaching, if not already long surpassed, the point where you need to actually ask her on a date. You know that right?”

Steven remained quiet in the depths of Marc’s mind.

He stayed like that until Marc had cleaned out the mug and stuck a wet toothbrush into his mouth.

“Can I please just get ready for work now?” Steven muttered after nearly twenty minutes of silence.

Marc huffed, letting his eyes roll back and the toothbrush dangle from his lips.

Steven shook out his shoulders, Marc was always so tense. “Thank you.”

It was only when he’d passed the flower shop that he remembered that it was Friday. A group of school kids were expected at the museum around nine that morning.

He was almost grateful for your absence, it allowed him to wallow in Marc’s words for at least one more day. He should ask you out, god does he want to.

The day passed like most of them do.

The school children were rowdy and mostly impartial to the magnificent feats of Ancient Egyptian architecture, but he took another tour around two o’ clock with three couples and a family who were significantly, thankfully, more engaging.

Steven had just wrapped up the hour, on the tail end of explaining how do we know what hieroglyphics mean? to the man who’d asked, when a flitter of shifting fabric floated past the back of his head.

Emerging like a bottle-green wet dream, Steven's gaze found you drifting under the arch between rooms. Your eyes alight in searching, they caressed momentarily over each framed painting and encased ornate vase.

He'd never seen you in anything more than your tight pink work shirt, which - don't get it mistaken - did enough damage to his psyche on it's own, but he immediately knew he'd never recover from the little green dress that clung to your frame.

A square neckline reached past clinking necklaces, long sleeves brushed along your palm - a job Steven desperately wished was his own - and a ruffled edge that teased an upper expanse of thigh which he'd never before been gifted a view of ... and if you shifted just a little, bent just slightly over--

"Hey, thanks a lot. The tour was great."

The middle aged man's face reappeared into Steven's view: dirtied spectacles pressing down the edge of his sweating red nose.

Steven stuttered, eyes flickering between the man's face and your figure in the distance. "Y-Yeah, of course ... anytime, mate."

Your eyes found him, waving a hand.

Uninterested in letting the American tourists keep him from you any longer, Steven slipped past them towards your nearing frame.

"Stevie, hey." You beamed up at his face, hands playing with the strap of your bag: clearly unsure. "You-- well, it was my day off and I thought maybe I could take you up on that tour, but I just saw the board and it says you'd already finished your last one--"

"Hey, hey," Steven shook his head. "No, I'm ... I'm glad you came. I can take you if you'd still like, I'd love to show you around? It will be like a private tour."

He swore he could dissolve under the shine of the smile you gave him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Oh—“ you started digging into the bag draped down over your shoulder. “That reminds me …”

Your hand emerged with a single white flower. It’s petals were wide with a barely there yellow dot in the centre.

“I thought it would match the jacket you always wear.” A hand reached out, tugging gently on the corner pocket of his grey trench coat and slipping the flower in so it stuck half out happily. “It’s a white daffodil. Nicked it last night before I closed up.”

Steven’s chest was clenching up with a tightness that felt like his last remaining decisions in this life were to either immediately faint, or kiss you until the oxygen deprivation lead him to faint anyways.

“I—“ His fingers caressed gently at the edge of it’s petal. “Thank you.”

“Give her a compliment, Steven.” Marc’s voice startled him. He was a rare presence when Steven was at work.

The idea prodded at Steven that maybe it was the sound of your voice that had drawn him out.

“You … you look beautiful, by the way.” Steven pressed out, “the dress, it’s — it’s very nice.”

With nervous hands at the edge of the skirt, your looked quickly between the dress and Steven's face. "Ugh, this old thing. Just thought it would be a good idea to get out of my work uniform for a bit."

"I agree ... a great idea." He nodded, "You wanna ... get started?"

"Of course."

Steven lead you over the same route that he walked three times a day, four times on weekends, but somehow still felt itchy between the rooms. He figured it had to do with you gaze pressing curiously over his face, it made his neck hot and he prayed you couldn't see it.

When he spoke, you leaned close into his frame: eyes flickering between his trembling lips and the artefacts he was describing.

"That's so cool ..." you'd whisper to yourself at different points, sometimes a "that's crazy" or a "that's kinda gross", and Steven was drinking in your reactions like a man parched.

The tour closed off at the spot it usually does, with the replica of the Rosetta's Stone near the West Exit. By then, the sun had already sunk behind the backdrop of summer London and Steven's nerves were downright shot.

Your perfume was sending him on a chemical high and he's sure Marc heard every one of his desperate thoughts about the way your fingers tightened around his arm when they'd bump past other visitors moving room to room.

With the dress swaying merrily at your sides, you recounted points of the tour with animated hands flying ahead of you.

"And the way they managed to get those tombs so far underground? Not to even mention the complex tunnelling systems, how much work that would actually take to figure out--"

The tiny birds had returned to flying in circles over Steven's head, Isn't She Lovely was playing absently from somewhere in the depths of his mind.

Your excited hands came to find your sides and you huffed yourself into silence.

Following beside him, Steven lead you two out under the arched gates towards the steps of the museum. The moon twinkled between streetlights, and Steven avoided its gaze. Like he could feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He smiled at you, a smile that just about suffocated him.

“Enjoyed it?” You laughed. “It was amazing, I mean, you were amazing.”

He laughed softly too, but didn’t respond.

The silence was beginning to turn stale.

“Now is as good a time as it’s gonna get.” Marc pestered.

“Well I should—“ you pointed obviously over your shoulder, before finding the face of your wrist watch. “My bus will be leaving soon.”

Steven nodded. “Yeah … yeah of course. I had fun, you should come by more often.”

“It was … it was very sweet. Taking me on the tour when you probably had better things to do.” Your hand curled over his forearm again, “You’re very sweet, Steven.”

“And you’re very beautiful.”

The words found the air between them before Steven even knew what he’d said.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, cheeks brushed with a warm pink: “I— thank you, Stevie.”

Steven nodded, not looking at you and suffocating on his own embarrassment. “I’m gonna— need to go finish up inside.”

An unmistakably wounded look passed over your face. It dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.

“Sure.” It was curt. “I’ll see you round the shop.”

“Steven, if you do not stop her so help me God—“

A flurry of hot and cold feelings were chasing up and down his chest: he watched your figure turn and worked to do the same.

The outline of the museum had barely returned to his frame of vision when the cold hand of his subconscious reached out and dragged him down into it’s icy black depths: now watching the view of his eyes as if from a foggy tape recorder.

Marc stiffened his shoulders, turning to where you were bounding down the steps of the museum, heels clicking on each jump.

He chased down after you, skipping two steps at a time.

“Marc, don’t! You’re gonna scare her!” Steven was shouting now, rattling his already shaky consciousness.

He called your name where you’d just reached the sidewalk. You turned up to meet his face.

In barely fractions of a moment, Marc was able to find some sympathy for dear Steven.

Now that he was faced with you himself, as opposed to the blurry lens he’d been cursed to only peer through before, he wondered how Steven ever conjured up the courage to say more than three words to you.

“Steven?”

The light of the street-lamp was flickering in little circles off your eyes in the dim street and Marc was half convinced to abandon Steven in the darkness.

He didn’t.

Rather, he slipped back down into the shadows where he felt Steven surpass him again.

Your brow bent deeper in confusion, “Are you alright?”

If he had time, Steven might have taken a moment to huff at Marc for not even bothering to turn away when he forced himself back to the front, spared you from the sight of his eyes rolling back in their head. But no, you probably thought he was possessed.

“I, yes, that doesn’t matter—“

He could feel ice cold adrenaline pumping down from his brain. Like he did in the seconds before a fight, when the suit would crawl up over his skin.

“Your eyes,” your hand came close up to his face, hesitant enough to just float in its orbit. “They rolled—“

“Will you go on a date with me?”

You blinked up at him. Once, twice.

The silence was reaching far past the limits that it did in all the romance movies Steven had seen and his palms were growing itchy with the passing seconds.

“When?”

Steven’s head was reeling. He hadn’t thought that far, but why quit while he’s ahead?

“Now. Right now, tonight.”

The surprise was fading from your face, replaced with eyes that were glowing around the corners and a smile that made his heart skip every second beat.

“Don’t you have work?”

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“If you promise to still come visit the shop ... I would love to go on a date with you, Stevie. Right now.”

Warmth was flooding back into Steven’s hands. “I’ll set up a tent outside on the sidewalk …” he breathed, “you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Steven nodded. Almost tripping on the step up behind him, “I’m going to tell them that I’m leaving. Just wait right here …“

He’d already moved up two steps, legs buzzing with untamed exhilaration.

“Steven, hold on just one sec—“ when he turned, you’d surpassed the small steps separating you.

He’d barely a chance to turn all the way back around when your index finger hooked between his neck and the collar of his shirt and your lips were on his.

They were warm and soft and Steven had no idea what he was doing.

With his experience being limited to the pool of:

A. The girl he’d pecked in first grade on the swings in the playground.

B. A drunken make-out at a college party for a college he didn’t even attend and,

C. His (mostly Marc’s) ex-wife,

It was nothing short of a miracle when his hand came up to find the side of your neck. When he pulled your waist flush against his.

“Atta’ boy.” He ignored Marc.

You pulled back, Steven was pleased to notice your reddened, wet lips.

“Sorry,” you whispered close against him, voice half-drowned out by the rumbling of taxis in the street and people passing by. “Been itching to do that for a while.”

-

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@pcrushinnerd @since-im-already-here @am-3-thyst @aug-ust69 @hangmanslover @suddenlysteven @nxonlights @lwjmoonchild7 @o-zenith-o @amasdaydream @may-tulip @skarrkiie @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @lxne20 @sangwoahsbat @orihimi-19 @purple-amaranthe @autismsupermusicalassassin @mt2sssss @angie2274 @dancing-pinky-flower @y2kbratzqouturr @brekkers-desigirl @its-me-ya-boi-lisa @softdvng0dness87 @venomous-ko @grilled-steak @emily-roberts @airzonaaa @yomoms-stuff @mess-of-fandom @winter-soul @insomniacrobyn

i couldn't tag some of you, just check that your settings allow for mentions :))

[mama-ivy]

Whumpril 2024

Day 14 - Urgent Care

Jessie's first thought when the news first broke a little over six months ago certainly wasn't that she would be in this position. She’d be lying though, if she said that this exact moment was not the second thought on her mind when she saw the newscast of the outbreak.  Her first thought, of course, was the same as everyone else’s – what the actual fuck? And then her second thought was this: I have to find more insulin.

Ever since, she’s been thinking that exact thought over and over. Daily. I have to find more insulin.

She had called the pharmacy first. After waiting on hold for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time, she learned that she was not the only person having a similar fear. The pharmacy technician tried to reassure her that they would stay open as long as possible and supply whatever drugs they had on hand to the patients with long standing prescriptions on file with their facility.  But Jessie was not an idiot. They would run out and quickly. Several calls later, she had learned that finding additional insulin was going to become near impossible. Her endocrinologist was giving out whatever samples she had and Jessie was welcome to some if she could make it to the office before some of the other patients. The big-name pharmacies and the manufacturers were handing out samples as well if she could make it there with medical records proving her diabetic status, but some of those places were days away.

So she had devised a plan. She would head to the grocery store first. It was located in a shopping center only two blocks from her house that also contained a vitamin shop.  She would grab a little food, sure, but her main goal was the nutrition aisle.  When she got there, it was a mad house. A sad little clerk stood confused in the center of the closed down checkout area pointlessly telling anyone who would listen to leave some things for other people. Jessie wasn’t sure why the overly stressed teenage boy was even trying. There were several people on the aisle she needed, but it wasn’t the swarm that some of the other aisles had.  She had found an empty hand basket and grabbed as much as she could: Niacin, Vitamin E, Chromium, Glucose. On her way out she had been able to get some canned vegetables, but there wasn’t much else.  The vitamin shop was only slightly less crowded, but got some things there also.

After dropping off her treasures in her apartment, she got into her car and drove to the pharmacy and then to the endocrinologist’s office.  She had been able to get enough insulin to last about three months. She hoped her electricity would last that long.  It didn’t. A week. It had lasted a week.

She packed up her car with her priceless possessions - food, a couple changes of clothes, her medication stash, a pillow and blanket, and a few photographs.  If she couldn’t stay home, she’d go north. At least with summer coming, the temperatures would be milder and she may just last longer.

The gas in her car had lasted about 400 miles. She couldn’t see how she was going to get more since every gas station she had passed was dry.  She had found an old shopping cart, loaded her things into it and started walking. Her doctor had always encouraged her to get more exercise, although she was sure this wasn’t what she meant.

She stuck to the populated roads. It would take longer sure, but there were more places to stop and more supplies to raid. At first, she saw quite a few people, but after a few weeks, there were fewer and fewer people to meet.  She found random items here and there, a pocket knife and a tent, for example, but her main goal was insulin.

I have to find more insulin.

Day 192.   I am having trouble catching my breath today.  Insulin ran out four days ago. My legs don’t want to work as well and my feet hurt from all the walking.  I almost didn’t break down my tent and stayed in my sleeping bag.  I haven’t seen anyone or anything for a week. Just the trees.  The road signs say that there is a town ahead. Maybe I can find a clinic to restock.

Day 194.  My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. My fingers and toes have swollen and I had trouble getting my boots on. Still no insulin. Still no town. Only the trees. My head is pounding and I started dry heaving. I feel hot all over even though the breezes are almost icy.

Day 195.  I found the town. It’s so quiet. Like a ghost town in the old west. I found an urgent care and thankfully, it was open. The medicine stores are empty. It’s cooler in here though, so I’m going to stay a while. My legs hurt so bad. My toes are turning purple from my boots. My head feels like it’s going to explode and every muscle in my body is screaming.  I just want to sleep. I’m so tired. And thirsty. And tired. Did I say tired already? I’m also very tired. I'm just going to rest my eyes for a few minutes. I need to find more Insulin.

@whumpril

[endlessbittersweetdreams]

"Broken & Beautiful" Chapter 19

     Thankfully, with plenty of rest and fluids, I was able to kick my sickness to the curb. On day two of my illness, I allowed Jake to convince me to call in sick. Granted, I didn’t have to make a mad dash to the bathroom like I did before. But I had to face the facts: I really shouldn’t go to work that day. Jake was great throughout the entire ordeal, coming straight to my apartment after work to make sure I was okay. Let’s just say that my love and respect for him went through the roof.

     Even though I tried to put it out of my mind, I admit that the comment Scott made to Jake at the truck depot got me thinking. Thanks to my illness, combined with Scott’s words, my mind was racing. I had to be absolutely, 100% certain. Otherwise, I would drive myself - and Jake - crazy. So the morning after my illness ran its course, I walked to the store just a few blocks from my apartment and bought every brand of pregnancy test I could find. I didn’t care about the judgmental looks I was receiving from the other people in line, or the not-so-subtle head shake the cashier gave me as she scanned each test. I had no time to be bothered by their stupidity.

     When I got home, I chugged as much water as I could and then made a mad dash to the bathroom. I know Jake was trying to be supportive, but I really couldn’t focus with him standing right outside the bathroom door. So I ordered him to wait for me in the living room, telling him that I would let him know when the test results were ready. Several minutes and four pregnancy tests later, I called him into the bathroom to give him the results. Each and every test told us the same thing: I was not pregnant.

     You can’t imagine the relief I felt at that moment. As much as I love Jake, we’ve only been together for a few months. It’s far too soon to bring a new life into the world, and neither one of us are ready. And although he was supportive during the ordeal, I couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction would have been if I turned out to be pregnant. He tends to run and hide when things become difficult. Could I trust him to not do that when I needed him the most? Would he be there for me? I’d like to think so, but that is the one thing I can’t be sure of when it comes to him.

     It is now Valentine’s Day, and we are bracing ourselves for what is sure to be an extremely busy night. Talk about hitting the ground running.

     I walk through the employees’ door and make my way through the kitchen, waving hello to the kitchen staff before I make my way up the stairs to the locker room. I reach the top of the stairs and encounter Simone as she makes her way out. We exchange pleasantries, and I have to remind myself to “keep the peace,” the entire time. If not for Jake, I would have clawed this woman’s eyes out long ago. We discuss our plans for this evening, and then go our separate ways.

     When I reach my destination, I’m pleased to find that Jake and I are the only ones here. There’s something we need to discuss before work, and we don’t need people listening in. I approach him as he stands at his locker, having just put on his tie. After taking a look around to make sure we’re alone, I reach out and straighten his tie as I speak softly.

     “So, I went to my doctor this morning.” He gives me his full attention, leaning against the lockers. “First of all, I’m fine. She checked me over. She said that whatever made me sick must have passed through me. I talked to her about our ... scare. And I decided that, given how ...” I search for a delicate way to phrase things. “... active we are, extra precautions should be taken. So tomorrow morning, as soon as the pharmacy opens, I’ll pick up my prescription.” He nods in acknowledgment. “Now that that’s settled ...” I smile at him. “... happy Valentine’s Day.”

     He returns the sentiment, and we share a kiss. It doesn’t last long. In fact, we keep it PG because of where we are. But it’s still just what I need. I reluctantly pull myself out of his embrace and make my way to my locker, while he walks out of the room. After taking off my coat and scarf, and then slipping out of my boots, I open up my locker and smile at what I see. On the shelf is a heart-shaped box filled with my favorite chocolates, accompanied by two roses: one pink and one red. The note that is taped to the box is simple: Love, J.

     “Aww! That’s sweet,” Tess comments when she walks into the locker room.

     “Yeah. He has his moments,” I remark as I put my gifts back on the shelf and start to get ready. “So, are you and Will doing anything special tonight?”

     “He’s taking me out to dinner. What about you and Jake?”

     “I can’t say.”

     Tess pauses as she takes off her jacket, looking at me. “Is he going to surprise you?”

     “Nope. I am going to surprise him.” I grin to myself as I think over my plan. There’s something about me that Jake doesn’t know, and he’s going to find out tonight.

     The time for Shift Drinks has finally arrived, and we let out a collective sigh of relief. It would be an understatement to say that the shift was busy. It seemed that every table was filled with couples celebrating the holiday, and I think we are all drained.

     I enter the main floor area, holding the two roses in one hand while I have my box of chocolates safely tucked under my arm and hidden by my coat. There’s no way I’m letting Ari see these things. She’s an even bigger chocolate fiend than I am. I sit down on a stool and discreetly place the box on my lap, making sure it’s still hidden. I’m busy listening to Sasha ramble on about how he believes Valentine’s Day is nothing but one great, big conspiracy when something in my peripheral catches my attention.

     “Happy Valentine’s Day,” Will says, holding out a flower. It seems that my best friend, being the sweetheart that he is, has decided to present each of us ladies with a flower. It’s just his way of making us feel special.

     “Aww! Thank you, Will. Your momma raised you right.”

     “That, she did,” he answers proudly. “So, what are you and Jake up to tonight?”

     “I’m not at liberty to say. I’m keeping it a surprise,” I remark. I see him shake his head a little, and I look at him curiously. “What?”

     “I don’t know. It’s just ... You two. I mean, no offense. I’m just surprised that you guys have lasted this long. You know, given how Jake used to be.”

     I’m trying not to feel annoyed, but it’s a hard emotion to swallow. “Yeah, Will. Key words: ‘used to be’. He’s different now.”

     “I can see that,” he remarks with a nod. “You two seem great together.”

     “We are,” I declare with a smile. “What’s that saying from that movie? ‘I don’t make sense. He doesn’t make sense. Together, we make sense.’ That’s me and Jake.”

     “I’m happy for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me ...”

     I watch as Will and Tess leave for their date and then turn to see Jake standing behind the bar. “Well, it’s about time! I was starting to think you’d wandered off,” I comment, and he laughs.

     “You ready to go?”

     “Yes, I am. But I’m going to need you to hang out here for a little while.” I do some calculations in my head, rolling my eyes upward as I do so. “Say ... thirty minutes or so.”

     “What are you up to?”

     “It’s a surprise. Just meet me at my apartment in thirty minutes. You have your key. Right?” He reaches into the left pocket of his leather jacket and holds up the key, attached to a keychain with a little camera decoration. A little something special for my favorite photographer. “Good. See you in thirty.” I lean over the bar and give him a quick peck on the lips, then bid everyone else a good night.

     As soon as I make it home, I lock the door and then discard my purse and coat. I take my gifts into the kitchen, put the roses in a small vase filled with water, and then set the box of chocolates down on my kitchen table. I begin to make my way to my next destination when I decide that I do have time for a treat. I pick one that seems particularly tasty and take a bite, grimacing and then throwing the chocolate in the garbage can under the sink. Strawberry cream. Yuck! I grab another one, close the box, and take a bite. Okay. This one is better: caramel.

     Now that that’s out of my system, I put my plan into action. First, I create a trail of rose petals leading from the door to my bedroom. I use the remaining petals to decorate my bedspread before I begin to light the candles that I’ve placed in various areas around my bedroom.

     Create romantic atmosphere: check.

     Now on to step two: see if I can render him speechless with what I’ve kept hidden from him. I open up my closet and move my clothes aside, reaching for the shopping bag that I left dangling from one of the hangers on the wall. I reach inside and pull out the items. Yes, ladies and gents. I overcame my awkwardness long enough to pay a visit to a certain place known for its lingerie. It took me a while, and I was blushing the entire time, but I think I found something that will make an impression on my valentine. It’s a light pink, lacy little number that’s see-through save for ... certain areas. I slip into it and then pull on a short black satin robe, deciding to pin up my hair so a few auburn ringlets frame my face. Now all I have to do is wait for him to arrive.

     Sure enough, a few minutes later I hear the door open and shut. After switching on some ambient music, I sit at the foot of the bed. I scramble to find the right pose, settling for crossing my legs and using my hands to support myself as I lean back just so. The curtain is pushed aside and Jake steps into the room, his eyes immediately landing on me.

     “Wow! You look ... uh ...”

     “Wait ‘til you see what’s underneath.”

     I get up and slowly walk up to Jake, and then I begin the process of slowly sliding his hoodie off of him. The garment lands on the floor and Jake reaches for me, but I step back and shake my head. “No. Not yet. I told you I have a surprise for you. I want you to take off your clothes and lay down on the bed. On your stomach, please.”

     Jake furrows his brows at me in confusion, and I smile at him. “Don’t worry. You’ll like it. Trust me.” He gives me that mischievous grin of his and then does as he’s been told, stretching out on my bed. I drape a white sheet over his bottom half, leaving his legs and feet exposed. “What are you going to do to me?” he asks, adjusting the pillow so he’s more comfortable.

     I walk over to my dresser and grab my bottle of massage oil. “Well, I’m not going to go all “Fifty Shades of Grey,” on you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He makes a sound that indicates he’s disappointed, and I choose to ignore it for now. I climb onto the bed and position myself so I’m close enough to accomplish what I’m about to do. “There’s something you don’t know about me, Jake.”

     “Oh, no. Let me guess. Lilah isn’t your real name, and you’re just working at the restaurant to cover up your secret identity as a spy. Don’t worry. I’ll still love you,” he teases.

     I shake my head. He does have an imagination. “No. A few years ago, before I started working at the restaurant ... I was a massage therapist.”

     “A what?”

     “A massage therapist ... for about six months.”

     “Ah! Is that what you’re going to do to me?”

     “Mm-hmm. You've been tense lately, and I am going to help you relax,” I confirm as I pour some massage oil into my hands, closing the bottle and setting it aside. I rub the oil between my hands, warming it up. “And believe me, Jake, you are going to love it.”

     “Oh, really? What makes you think that?”

     “Because I know what I’m doing,” I announce before I reach out and apply gentle pressure to his neck and shoulders. He tenses up at first, but then I can feel him start to relax. I can even hear him let out a low, soft, pleasure-filled moan. “Just relax and enjoy, Jake. Think of this as my way of saying ‘Thank you’.”

     “For what?” he asks, his voice muffled by the pillow.

     “Oh, I don’t know. For taking care of me while I was sick. For putting up with all of my drama. For showing up at my apartment that night and staying with me. The list goes on and on.” I move on to his upper back, my hands gliding over his skin.

     “You could have said ‘Thank you,’ you know.”

     I pause for a moment and pout at him. “Are you complaining? Should I stop?”

     “Don’t even think about it. Keep going.”

     “That’s what I thought.”

     I move my hands down to his lower back, placing my hands against the area near his hips, and push forward toward the middle of his back. He lets out a groan and I pause, looking down at him in concern. “Too hard? You want me to lighten up?”

     “No. Keep going. That felt ... good, in a weird way.”

     “Okay. If you say so.” I work on that area for a few minutes and then move on to the next section. I don’t know if he’d be comfortable massaging the area that’s covered with the sheet, so I skip over it and move down to his legs. Because he has this thing about his feet being touched, I skip that area as well and choose to move on to his arms. By now, he seems completely relaxed. His eyes are closed, and I start to wonder if he’s asleep. “You still with me?”

     “Mmmm,” is his only response.

     Soon, my work is done and I have one very relaxed, very happy and very content valentine. I make a move to get off of the bed when Jake calls out to me.

     “Hey. Where are you going?”

     “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “I’m just going to put the oil away and then wash my hands. I’ll be back.”

     He makes another “Mmm,” sound, and I quickly do as I said.

     Though I do admit that I make one pit stop in the kitchen for another bite of chocolate. After locking the door and turning out the lights, I return to the bedroom. I check on Jake, shaking my head when he seems to be sleeping. Seems I relaxed him a little too much. Deciding that the rest of our romantic night will have to wait, I begin to blow out the candles. I don’t make it very far before he wakes up and calls out to me.

     “Do I get to see what’s under that robe now?”

@anastacia-lynn

@mypsychoticlove

[leftoblique]

We currently live in a big city and can walk to everything we need except a pharmacy (which is only a short bus/bike ride away, or a slightly longer walk). Grocery, school, daycare, tea, coffee, restaurants, pubs, doctors, etc. - it's all at most fifteen minutes away on foot.

I've lived in places where any of those things - once you account for finding parking and navigating huge suburban parking lots - were minimum ten to fifteen minutes away by car and the only thing you could walk to were strangers' houses and a highway.

And I've lived in a place with an even better transit system where basically the entire city was at most like a 30-minute subway ride away.

The city where the only thing you needed was some tokens or a transit card? That was the absolute most convenient. Because you could go anywhere and do anything.

Still, where I live now is the most connected I've ever felt to the place I've lived. This is my neighborhood. This is where I'm raising my kid. My neighborhood absolutely fucking rocks.

Do I use a car sometimes? Yes (I am on a sports team that practices out in the suburbs, so I unfortunately have to). Is it sometimes faster to drive across town to get to a specific store? Also yes. But when I drive, I feel tethered to my car - oh, my meter is gonna run out; oh, that's only one-hour parking; oh, I don't wanna wander too far because if I do then I won't make it back in time. Whereas if we bus it, it might take a touch longer, but we can take our time; explore; wander the city; and when we're ready to head home there's a bus a couple of blocks away that will take us there.

We lived here for over a year without a car; we could do it again. Frankly, if I didn't need to drive to practice, for the money we've spent on the car (purchase price, insurance, gas, maintenance, repairs), we could easily have just hired a Lyft or a taxi anytime we wanted to get somewhere faster, and rented a car or took the train when we needed to go cross-country.

I think a lot of people - especially Americans - have been sold on the idea of Suburbia: you live in a giant house that is your castle; you have 3 giant cars in the driveway for you and your kids; any time you have to leave you're negotiating with other giant cars on giant roads full of strangers and walking across miles of parking lot to go to your big box stores; your commute is an hour each way in the same traffic; maybe you get out to the mall or a movie once a week; you spend all your money on house and car payments and on your lawn. That's supposed to be "winning" at living in America.

But, like, let me give you another vision: you have a cozy little loft apartment or condo or co-op where you know your neighbors; it's just large enough to comfortably fit your family, cook meals, and have TV nights in when the weather is bad; your kid's school is four blocks away; your favorite bar is three; your favorite restaurant is two; there's a park with a cool playground you all walk to on the weekends; you roll out of bed in the morning, get your kids packed up, walk a block to the bus or subway stop, and someone else drives you the ten minutes to your office. At the end of the day you can walk your kids home from their after-school program and still have enough time to cook a nice meal and have an after-dinner family activity.

(Oh btw the view from the park is this:)

Cars and Independence

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[injuredcyclist]

Fixes and Shifts

About 15 years ago when I was living in Spanish Harlem in NYC I bought a carbon fiber road bicycle. It was the kind of bike I wanted terribly as a kid. We used to drive two hours to Rapid City and I'd stare at the $1k+ bikes they had for sale at Scheels in the mall. It was a Specialize Paris Roubaix Compact. I rode it constantly when I lived in the city.

I had owned it maybe three weeks and I commuted from my apartment on 110th to the office I worked at on Wall St. I was riding on the West Side Greenway with my hands in the drops (for some stupid reason) and there were a lot of other people out. I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have been and didn't have as much fine control at that point in that riding position. Another cycling commuter and I crashed head-on. I went head-over-handlebars and came down on my helmet and right shoulder. I don't even think the impact knocked him down; he was riding an old, beat-up steel everything mountain bike. It probably weighed twice what my ride did and was the kind of thing you wouldn't care too much if it got stolen.

The shoulder hurt like hell but I was miles from my apartment, the bike was in ridable condition, and I didn't want to walk in clip-ons or call a cab so I slowly rode home, not able to put much of any pressure on that shoulder. Hurting the next day I went to the ER, where an x-ray turned up no broken bones. It kept hurting so an MRI followed. Diagnosis: small labral tear. Treatment: for some fucking reason, just physical therapy and no surgery.

Fast forward 15 years. I've just turned 40 and am closing in on two years sober, having swapped my carbon road bicycle for a 3 cylinder 900cc Yamaha motorcycle. My shoulder still bothers me, and has at a low level for all of the intervening years. I can many times very accutely feel where the tear is, and with moderate exercise (shoveling three or four inches of snow for example) or if I move just right or lean against a wall or door jam too long it hurts.

A new MRI and evaluation, because I want to put 20k miles on my Yamaha this year, I want to go back to Ontario camping, and I want to hike more. Can't have this keep lingering, and recovering and body upkeep is only going to get more time consuming as I keep getting older. Also, its fucking cold here in mid Michigan, and the days are short. It was -1F when I woke up today. If I'm going to have a useless right arm for a couple months now is perfect time.

Tear is still there, with some arthritis sprinkled on top. I'm having surgery this time, scheduled for the day after I get back from a work trip to Corporate. My pre-op appointment is in 10 days, at which time I'll know how long recovery will be. Could be in a sling for a week, could be a month. Sorta oddly hoping for the month because I want them to not just clean up stuff, but actually anchor and repair the tear.

This change is leading to another. Cleaning up who I follow and what I post, and blocking some followers I think were bots the whole time but left around so I'd feel better about myself. I still have no memorized idea of what the rules and culture are here anymore. I'll be reblogging political posts a lot less. maybe just liking them more. Shift toward riding and moto culture, with stars/astronomy, and animals. Those three represent the longest held, most continuous interests I've managed to sustain in my life, along with two or three sci-fi universes (Dune, Star Wars, and Battletech). Best I can do with my ADHD-addled mind.

Looking for a new pharmacy where I can get generic Vyvanse consistently. Meijer isn't going to carry it for at least six months because they aren't nationally cost competetive for the available supply, per one of the pharmacists where I get my stuff filled. Also going to finally see about that professional autism screening. I've taken two or three self tests/evaluations that float around online and I've come up with positive results on each one.

Here's to changes, and learning how to do a lot more with my left hand.

[worldwright]

Good evening ! ill be reading crackships after the day i just had bc wtf

I finally could get my meds, had some issues regarding that, but my usual pharmacy was nice enough to not care and just handed me my meds for free (im not paying for those things, they don't work at all but i still need to take them)

Im so exhausted, I cant ;-; dont wanna be tomorrow, have a very important call that's useless i have to answer

I KNOW what I'm thinking about kinda sounds bad and is NOT a good idea AT ALL, but I just want to make another attempt, same as last time, just to get some rest for fuck's sake, don't feel rested since September and no news about the psych ward (i think they didn't actually add me to the waiting list, i know it's bad to insinuate that but it's france, everything mental health related is some real shit so it's not that farfetched)

but alas, i cant do that again, because first i like walking, second im waiting for 4 important things (my id, one of the two things i need for 'free' healthcare, the bad i ordered, and finally my doctor's eyes' appointment that i finally have, omg, ill be able to finally have some glasses that fit my eyes, oh do i want them now)

ugh, why am i dealing with so many medical issues, oh yeah i have free healthcare bc france but good lord would it kill them to actually do something that works for once ??????

also, unrelated, someone asked me if i sold or if i knew someone who sold drugs when we were on the bus, that was fun ngl. why would i go do smth illegal when i can be high with my prescribed meds if i dose them right lol

Have a wonderful morning my friend !

goddamn isn't it. so fucking fantastic. that nobody takes mental health seriously unless there's obvious tangible attempts at literal death. that being said you better fuckin not. who will kick the asses of the dickwads managing the psych ward if you don't

obviously I don't expect you to go commit violence lmfao, but like. spite

lol my manager keeps dropping more projects on me. it's like yeah I was confident I could finish those four drawings in time but now there are six. oh you have another one? bitch

I gotta start taking advantage of my medical insurance lol. I switched to a different plan that's ostensibly better, but it takes money out of my paycheck so like. I'm gonna go use that goddamn health insurance. funny how that works. luckily there's a clinic literally one block from my apartment

it's supposed to snow this weekend.... I need to stock up on groceries in case I get locked in (oh no how terrible, having to stay home oh nooooo lmao)

ughhhhh I need to move closer to my friends!!!! I cannot live alone I keep making too much food!! and I'm notoriously bad at eating leftovers!! looking at apartment listings is keeping me alive until I can fuck off out of Seattle

(not that I hate seattle, it's just too far from friends. also it's loud)

hope you have a wonderful and relaxing evening!!

[randomperson351]

Shopping - BB

Summary - Soldat and Sparrow go shopping on a budget.

Note - I don’t live in Romania nor am I Romanian so any information here about Romania is from Google. If any of it is wrong, don’t be afraid to tell me so I can correct it!

Also I don’t speak Russian or Romanian or any other language than English so if something is wrong in those parts it’s because I used Google translate, again feel free to help me correct this if something is wrong.

Do not repost or rewrite any of my work. Minors and ageless blogs are blocked.

This is an original series/oneshot that I am writing based off of the Captain America films, the female assassin is my character, all other rights of the characters to Marvel.

Masterlist     Talk to me     Series Masterlist

Bold = Romanian        Italics = Russian      Regular = English

〰

“Why don’t I just buy my own cow and milk it myself, that would be cheaper!” Bucky whisper shouted at the abhorrent price of milk.

“Oh stop it.”

"No look at this, 4.82 lei for a litre of milk. One litre!"

"It's 2016 Bucky, inflation rates."

"In the fourties you could buy four of them for 52¢. Tell me how you could inflate it that much so quickly?" He continued arguing, starstruck and slightly aggravated.

"It's a different currency as well." She ignored him, walking away with the basket and looking at the ready meals. A few minutes later Bucky begrudgingly makes his way over and places a pint of milk in the basket.

"Have you stopped your pouting now?" She asked while comparing the calories of two meals, picking up two of the one with the most.

"Yes." He grumbled, looking away at the fruit stand in the market outside. "C'mon, lets go get some fruit."

Bucky pulled her arm over to the cashier and started speed piling their food onto the stand.

“Is that everything for you today?” The cashier asked as Bucky packed their things into a bag.

“Yes, thank you.” She answered, counting out the money they needed to pay in cash and so not catching the look of confusion on the cashier’s face; but Bucky did and softly nudged her with his elbow.

“Romanian.”

“Uh-yes, thank you.” She corrected and the vendor smiled and took the payment.

They walked back out to the market and Bucky linked her arm through his, making a beeline for the plum stand. She stood patiently next to him as Bucky squeezed all the plums with his glove covered hand, only picking the ripest ones and handing them over to the person behind the stall.

“We don’t have enough money for all of those.” She said quietly having observed how many he picked out.

Bucky looked at her, then flitted his eyes down at the purse which held their cash for the month, then met her eyes again. “Yes we do, we’ll just do some more repairs and then we’ll build the rest of the money up again.”

“No Bucky, you know we don’t want to start that. We need the rent money.” She explained, feeling a little bad at the dejected look on his face as he turned away. “Look, how about you choose seven plums that you want, and I’ll get you-” she unzipped her purse and looked at the vouchers they’d collected, picking one from the inside pocket- “One free pack of pattered plasters from the pharmacy.”

With his interest sufficiently peaked, Bucky agreed and took the money he needed to pay before walking away with the bag of groceries and his plums, soon to be joined by a pack of dinosaur plasters.

Deciding that they’d been outside for long enough, they started walking back to their apartment, her arm still looped through his, talking about what they wanted for dinner. They reached their block fairly quickly and started up the stairs since the elevator was still broken.

“You go ahead, I’ll go check the postbox.” She remembered.

“Okay, I’ll wait here.”

“No it’s alright, I won’t be a minute, I’ll catch up.” She insisted, turning back down the stairs before he could resist.

Bucky sighed ruefully, slowly starting his way back up and listening out for her footsteps to come up behind him (which they did eventually) and the steady heartbeat he’s come to recognise.

“Anything?” He asked when she made it behind him.

“No.”

He nodded his head and gestured for her to come up and walk beside him instead of behind. The pair entered their apartment and Bucky dropped the bags onto the kitchen counter, taking the ready meals out and putting them in the fridge for later. Amalia took her jacket off and hung it up; went back over to Bucky stood in the kitchen and carefully took his cap to hang it up as well.

Eventually they both settled down on the sofa and were quite content to sit in the quiet with each other.

“You doing okay today?” She asked while they had a moment of quiet, tilting her head to look at his (for once) peaceful expression.

“You know, I’m not so bad.” Bucky cracked his eye open where they’d fallen closed and sent a soft smile in her direction, dust particles floating around his head where the sun shone in through the curtains.

Amalia nodded and looked forward again, “Good.”

Even though she wasn’t looking at him, he sure took his fill of her. Every glimpse he got of her helped lessen the monsters in his mind, helped him to remember how he used to be, helped him be him again.

And you could be damn sure he’d do anything to help her the way she helped him.

[betweenthepages]

Hold Me, Love Me; Dean Forester x Male! Reader

Warnings ⚠️ - mentions of rape, sexual assault

Summary: Dean has difficulty finding a mate due to being different to most omegas. But on one faithful night, he finds someone who will accept him for his differences and give him the life he deserves.

Word count: 3218

Being an omega wasn’t easy. You were the lowest in society, had the least power. If you were unmated, you had to deal alphas staring you down everywhere you went, pure hunger and lust in their eyes. It was sickening. However if you were Dean Forester, life was twice as difficult. Everyone figured he’d present as an alpha, with his steady build and towering height. When he was revealed to be an omega, there were mixed reactions. His friends and family were surprised, but they would accept him no matter what. On the other hand, he got looks of disgust from the townspeople. Omegas were meant to be small, pretty. Not like him.

Dean wished he had a mate. Someone to love him, take care of him and hopefully be the father of his future children. And if he found his soulmate, he’d finally be spared from men whistling at him on the streets or constantly looking over his shoulder while on a late night walk. No one would dare touch a mated omega. There were too many stories of alphas going on a possessive rage when another alpha dare even look at their mate for too long, sometimes it lead to death. Dean was stronger than most omegas, thank god for that but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Unfortunately, the chances of him finding an alpha were slim. No one could love someone like him, or at least that’s what he thought. Even though Dean’s body was different, his personality was very omega-like, something alpha’s would swoon over. He was shy and timid, easily startled. He had a look of innocence in his eye, which increased the common desire to wreck him. He was well mannered and had such a kind soul, always willing to help anyone who needed it. His heart was simply too big for his chest. Of course people took advantage of that sometimes, but he didn’t let a couple mishaps ruin his sweet nature.

Dean stared at the calendar on the wall, his face paling. His heat was in a week. And he was out of suppressants. Panic took over him as he realised he was supposed to start taking them today, as you have to take them every night a week before your heat for them to work. Shit shit shit. His eyes darted to the clock. 11:15 at night. Going out this late by himself was a death wish, but he had no choice. Going through a heat by yourself without medication was unbearable, and he wasn’t willing to go through that. He looked at his outfit in the mirror, making sure his clothes were baggy enough to cover every inch of his body, anything that might tempt alphas.

He took a deep breath, wiping his hands on his jeans. It was just a walk around the block to the pharmacy. Not too far. He’ll be there and back in no time. The icy wind brought goosebumps to his skin. There wasn’t anyone on the street at this hour, at least not anyone in sight. Sometimes alphas would hide in bushes or alleyways and pounce on unsuspecting omegas. The thought made him shudder. He increased his pace, following the light of the dimly lit street lamps.

So far so good. Just a little more and- fuck. There was a dimly lit alleyway he had to pass to get to the store. His blood ran cold. Fear churned in his gut staring into the dark abyss. Anything- anyone could be in there. Was he willing to take the chance? Come on you idiot, you’re just being paranoid. What are you, five? Just walk past it, no big deal. He was brave. He needed those meds, and he has to take the risk. He screwed his eyes shut, walking as fast as he could, ignoring his heart pounding in his chest. When he opened his eyes, he realised the alleyway was behind him. Unimaginable relief filled his chest. Of course there was no one there. He was just scared for nothing.

Suddenly, a pair of footsteps paced behind him. “Hey boys, look what we’ve got here.” His relief was short lived. Very, very short lived. His heart dropped. Four more pairs of footsteps followed. There were more of them. Dean’s first instinct was to run. But his legs felt weak, like he was frozen in place. He was rather agile, but there was a whole group of them. Surely one of them would catch up if he tried to escape. He turned around hesitantly, seeing five males about his age standing there, eyeing him hungrily. “Now what’s a pretty little thing like you doing out this late, hm?” The one in the middle, their leader seemingly, spoke up. Dean wished he could wipe off that disgusting smirk on his face.

“P-Please-” he took a step back, “what do you want? Money? I’ll give it you just leave me alone.” He felt tears well up. No matter how much he tried to reason with them, it was useless. “I think we’ve found our prey tonight.” He said calmly, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Get him.” It all happened so fast. Before he could process it, there were hands all over him, dragging him by the shirt, plunging him into the darkness. No one would find him here, no one would hear his cries for help. Besides, there wouldn’t be anyone else out this late to interfere. This couldn’t be happening. He prayed this was some nightmare and he’d wake up soon. But that wasn’t the case. He was truly helpless.

You sighed, looking up into the pitch black sky. No stars tonight. Pity, you usually liked stargazing in the park at this hour. You usually took long midnight strolls to clear your head. It worked too. An odd sense of peace filled the town’s atmosphere at this hour. Well, the atmosphere lasted until you caught a whiff of the air. A strong scent filled your nose, similar to stench of rain. Your eyes widened when you realised what it was. The smell of an omega in distress. And judging by how prominent it was, the poor thing was in a lot of danger. Most people would’ve turned back and went home, not wanting to get in any trouble. But you couldn’t stand the thought of turning around and acting like nothing happened when someone’s life could be on the line. Doesn’t matter what their status was, they needed help.

You sniffed the air again and you ran to the direction it was coming from. You really hoped you got there in time before something bad happened. Thankfully it wasn’t far, just around the street corner. As you got closer, you realised it was coming from a dark alleyway. Oh. You had a pretty good guess of what was happening right now. You’d heard countless stories of omegas being attacked in places like this. It boiled your blood thinking some alphas could take advantage of others just because of their biological status, something no one could control.

Loud whimpers filled your ears, and in the darkness you could make it a few bodies surrounding a large figure. Your fist clenched. Red filled your vision. It was all a blur. You ran up to one of the guys, knocking him out with one punch. Two others tried to jump on you, but you sent them flying to the wall. You swore you heard a crack at the impact. “G-Guys let’s go.” The group leader figured messing with you wasn’t a good idea. They didn’t hesitate to flee, picking up their unconscious friend along the way.

Now they were out of the way, you had to deal with the figure hunched over on the ground. “Hey-” you reached out a hand, but the person panicked, scambling against the wall. Fear pheromones wafted in the air. You crouched down to their level, slowly inching towards the trembling form. “Shh, I’m not gonna hurt you. Don’t be scared.” Your voice sounded so soft, so genuine, Dean looked up to make eye contact.

Something shifted in you when you gazed into those chocolate orbs. You couldn’t explain the feeling, exactly, only it was intense. And warm. All your senses screamed to you, ‘mate!’ You were stunned. He wished he inflicted more damage on those boys before they left. This was your mate, sitting here in a cold dark alleyway with the living daylights scared out of him. Dean experienced the feeling as well, only afterwards he felt shame. His alpha found him like this, in a pitiful state almost taken by other people. He was weak, easy to use. He whimpered, making your heart clench. Your mate instinct made you want to comfort him, take him into your arms and tell him everything’s alright, that you were here and no one was going to hurt him. But you couldn’t. Not now, at least. The boy had almost been attacked, and now he found his mate. He needed to process the situation.

“What’s your name sweetheart?” You asked gently, hoping the petname would coax him a little. “D-Dean. My name’s Dean.” He sniffled. “I’m (Y/N). Listen, do you want to go back to my place? It’s not too far from here. I won’t try anything, I promise. It’s probably closer than your and I suppose you might need some company tonight.” You looked at him hopefully. “Yes please.” He agreed quietly. You practically saved his life. And you were his mate. He wanted to be near you. “Are you hurt?” You asked worriedly, looking for any injuries. He shook his head no, there were just a couple bruises here and there, nothing too serious. “You’re shivering,” you frowned, wrapping your jacket around him. His eyes widened. He was completely enveloped in your scent. You smelt like cinnamon and honey. It put his mind to ease, calming him immediately.

You took his hand and helped him to his feet, extending an arm to him. He gladly took it, walking close to you. He’d just met you, but you made him feel so safe. You observed his facial features under the moonlight. He was so beautiful. He didn’t look like any other omega you’ve seen before though. He a bit taller than you, admittedly a subtle blow to your ego. But it was cute. The walk home was relatively quiet, understandably so. He was still a little shaken up from what happened, you couldn’t expect to him to act calm.

Your apartment was rather large even though you lived by yourself. You saw Dean looking around the place in awe, which had you biting back a smile at how adorable he was. You thoroughly enjoyed the thought of having him around often. Newly mated couples tended to move in together one or two days after they met because being seperated wasn’t good for their mental state. “Sit down.” You motioned to the coach. He did as told with his hands in his lap, looking up at you shyly through his brown locks. You took your place next to him, wondering where to go from here. “Have you eaten dinner yet?” You asked. He shook his head no. “There’s some soup in the fridge I can heat up for you. You can go shower in the meantime. I’ve got some clothes that might fit. How does that sound?” He nodded. “Thank you.” He said quietly. “No problem.” You smiled back, motioning him to follow you.

The hot water was therapeutic in easing Dean’s tense muscles. An almost disaturous night was slowly turning out for the better. He had a mate- an extremely handsome alpha. The thought made him giddy. Plus you were so, so nice. So far you’d welcomed him to your home and let him borrow your clothes and made him food. You were able to protect him. Nonetheless, he didn’t have time to swoon now, not when dinner had yet to be served. He admired himself in the mirror in the clothes he picked for you. Just a simple black hoodie and sweatpants. They were a little big but he loved them because they were yours.

You had his back turned to him when he entered the kitchen, stirring the pot on the stove. You felt a presence behind you, your eyes landing on the omega. “Food’s almost done.” You said gently. He nodded but stayed put, interested in seeing you cook. “Can I watch you?” Dean asked, fiddling with his sleeve. “Sure thing.” Your next action took him by surprise. He gasped as you lifted him effortlessly and placed him on the countertop, his long legs dangling off the edge.

“So, Dean... How old are you?” You asked, wanting to know more about the boy who’d hardly spoken a full sentence the whole night. “I’m seventeen.” Ah, you’d be just one grade above him. “Oh, I’m eighteen. Do you work anywhere? What do major in?” “I work in a café. My dream job would be to work with animals though. I’m a biology major.” You hummed. The room went silent for a bit. Dean felt like the conversation was all about him and he wasn’t cooperating enough. You’d done so much for him so far and he couldn’t get a word out. He was nervous. Nervous about saying the wrong thing, nervous about rambling. He knew deep down you wouldn’t make fun of him, but his anxiety said otherwise.

“Soup’s ready.” You said, carrying two bowls to the dining table, Dean following suite. The two of you ate in silence, stealing occasional glances at each other. “It’s really good.” Dean said. You smiled warmly. “Glad you like it.” You were genuinely trying your best to make him comfortable and get him to open up. You didn’t want your mate feeling anxious around you.

He helped you with the dishes and before you knew it, it was time for bed. Despite his protests you insisted on taking the couch. As much as you wanted to hold him and cuddle all night, you respected his boundaries. Currently you were seated on the couch since you wanted to discuss something with him. “Dean, do you want to talk about what happened tonight? You don’t have to, but it might make you feel better.” You asked gently, squeezing his hand. Tears welled up in his eyes recounting earlier events. The sheer terror he felt at that moment was indescribable.

“I-I was going to the pharmacy for some medication,” he sniffled, “and those alphas came out of nowhere. I know it my fault for going out that late b-but I really needed those pills and...” If you’d never felt the urge to kill someone, you did now. But you needed to control your anger and comfort your mate. “Sweetie no, this isn’t your fault at all. You shouldn’t have to avoid going out and night just because some bastard alphas can’t keep it in their pants.” He looked up at you, eyes bloodshot with tear tracks running down his cheeks, a sight that made your heart clench. “Can I have a hug alpha?”

“Of course you can.” You brought him to your welcoming arms, Dean burying his face into your chest. You rested your chin on his head, faintly catching the whiff of strawberry shampoo. “Thank you. For everything. For saving me, for letting me stay with you...” His voice came muffled from your shirt. “It’s okay, baby. You’re safe with me now. I’ll protect you.”

━━━━━━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━━━━━━

Panic filled Dean when he woke up in a stranger’s bed, unable to recognise anything in the room. Where was he? How did he get here? The bed sheets smelt awfully familiar. Slowly, everything that happened last night came rushing back to him. It occurred to him that he was lying in your bed. His heart swelled at the thought. However, he would prefer if the space beside him wasn’t empty.

You had just started on breakfast by the time he got to the kitchen. He offered to help out and the two of you chatted pleasantly as the golden rays of morning sun peeked through the curtains. You felt joy knowing he was warming up to you. Despite the short period of time you’d known each other, you felt like you’ve known him your whole life. It wasn’t awkward, there was no hesitation from either ends. It felt right.“(Y/N).” You hummed to signal you were listening, not taking your eyes off the frying pan. “You know how I told you I went out to get medication yesterday? They were heat suppressants.”

You turned to him, jaw dropping in shock. Out of all things to come out of his mouth, that was the last of what you expected. There was no problem of course- just short notice. “Oh. You want me to help you through it?” You wiggled an eyebrow suggestively, liking the way his face flushed at your words. “Is that really all you can think of?” Dean whined. “Well it is important to discuss wether I’ll be around or not. Do you want me to help you through it?” Being around an omega in heat was irresistible for an alpha. Even the faintest smell of slick can them into hormonal overdrive. “Mhm. I trust you.” He said. He wanted to be your first, last and everything in between.

On the third day you marked each other. Marking was a rather intimate action, it was the way of claiming someone as yours. They tended to be on the neck where it was visible to everyone, and you had to take care of them for a few days while it was sore, or else you’d risk infection and a deformed mark. It was Dean’s first time going into public since that night so you could help him move some of his stuff to your place. Let’s just say you weren’t weren’t taking any risks when it came to the safety of your omega. He’d be lying if he said your protectiveness wasn’t a massive turn on.

Day five was when the pre-heat began. The pre-heat period was when an omegas body prepared to go into heat. Excessive clinginess and need for affection weren’t too uncommon either. Dean would crawl into your lap at the most random times, whether you were working on an essay or watching TV. He wore your hoodies around the house, scented everything you owned. Cuddling was a necessity. Sometimes he’d get you to lay on his lap, massaging your scalp and playing with your hair as you nuzzled his stomach. Good morning and goodnight kisses were a must. You two started sleeping in the same bed, but you didn’t always cuddle. On nights where you’d slept a good distance opposite each other you’d find him snug in your arms when you woke up.

However, despite his bodily needs, Dean still respected your personal space and gave you time to yourself though he was constantly aching for your touch. Never overstepping, never being the source of your frustration. You couldn’t begin to fathom how you got lucky enough to be mated with someone as kind and warm-hearted as your babyboy. Fate was good.

https://ko-fi.com/sunehri_c

[myqueenmarceline]

Down to the Root chapter 5: Princess Carry

Summary: Bonnibel gets injured, and needs Marceline's help.

Warnings: description of a broken leg/pain medication, but nothing graphic

Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25732921/chapters/88159531

Read the collection from the beginning: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25732921/chapters/62486167

Thank you to @nebula-gaster for beta reading

“You know, I’m pretty sure that Finn didn’t make Simon carry him around like this when he broke his leg,” Marceline said, lifting Bonnie up bridal style.

Bonnie still smelled like hospital, and the strong antiseptic scent made Marceline cringe slightly. She had been in training as a doctor before, but her nose had become sensitive to it again in the years since them. Bonnie had found a change of clothes, though the walking boot on her right leg made it clear she wasn’t going anywhere quickly. She hadn’t even managed to pick up a pair of crutches before ducking out of the hospital.

“He might have, the old man can be pretty strong when he wants to.” Bonnibel wrapped her arms around Marceline’s shoulders.

As she pressed closer, Marceline noticed that her hair was damp with sweat, and she was trembling slightly. Her face was as unreadable as ever, but her body couldn’t lie so easily. Whatever medication the doctors had given her must be wearing off, and the pain was coming back.

“How much strain have you put on your leg?” Marceline asked, slowing her pace a bit so she wasn’t jostling Bonnie too much.

“It was only a few blocks of walking, the rest was by bus.” Bonnie protested, but she didn’t put on her usual theatrical show of it. “I sat in the back, and kept my head down. I still might have been followed. I barely made it to the fire escape by the time the agents were knocking on my door.”

“We’re always being followed. Do you have any pain medication?” Marceline cut back to her original line of questioning, not letting Bonnie escape.

Bonnie sighed. “I have a script, but I don’t know if the ID for it is still valid. Either way, if you try to pick it up it will alert the others where I am. They must have gotten my current name in the hospital.”

“Fine.” Marceline felt some of the tension leave her shoulders as their car finally came into sight.

Marceline had been driving the grey sedan with tinted windows for a few days, and it worked well. It was discreet, but not an automatically recognizable spy car. There was enough space for several discreet gun holsters, and Marceline had added a small reflective sticker around the license plate to make it harder to read.

“I don’t know where the nearest pharmacy is,” Bonnie said, looking around as Marceline approached the passenger side of the car door. “It’ll probably be hard to find a twenty-four hour one. Just drop me off somewhere, I can ask the Guardian for directions when we get closer.”

Marceline shifted so she was holding Bonnie with one arm, and quickly reached into her back pocket. Thankfully, Bonnie had enough sense left to take the key fob. Marceline put her other arm back under Bonnie’s knees, holding her steady as she unlocked the car doors.

“Fine, I’m not getting you the pain meds…” Marceline bent down, carefully lowering Bonnie down into the passenger seat. “But I’m taking you back to my place. You aren’t going to get yourself killed like an idiot on my watch.”

“My hero.” Bonnie kissed Marceline’s cheek, then let go of her. She slid into the car seat easily, and had already buckled her seatbelt by the time Marceline closed the car door.

Marceline walked around to the other side, giving another discreet look. There were no cameras in this narrow street, and no other cars. This was an industrial district, so apart from a few security officers, they should be alone. Still, it never hurt to be cautious. She got into the car, then reached down underneath her seat.

“Why’re you adjusting your—” Bonnie’s words were cut off as Marceline sat back up, holding a pistol. There were 8 rounds in the magazine, and a refill in the glove box.

“Be ready to return fire if we’re pursued.” Marceline put the key into the ignition, and turned it.

“Yes ma’am,” Bonnie purred, shifting in her seat as the car started. She giggled as Marceline pulled out, reaching over and dragging one finger along Marceline’s shoulder. “You’re hot when you’re bossy.”

“Not while I’m driving,” Marceline muttered, keeping her eyes on the road. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, and for once, Bonnie did what Marceline requested, and returned both hands to her lap.

Marceline just hoped that the light was dim enough to hide her face. Even when Bonnie was still half out of her mind, the sincerity and open lust in her voice flustered Marceline. It was one thing to get that kind of interest from some random person, but Bonnie was… different. She was one of the few people who actually understood Marceline’s situation, and while she was unpredictable, she had never waved off her comments as a joke.

Unfortunately, there was only so much running and poker-facing she could do. Marceline would be dealing with Bonnie a lot more in the next few days, unless a big new mission popped up. She just had to mentally prepare, and make sure Bonnie actually got some proper care and rest. No problem.

[farfromsugafanfic]

Not So Silent Night

Genre: Quarantine Romance, slight Enemies To Lovers, Neighbors AU, Fluff, slight Angst

Pairing: Namjoon/ Reader

Warnings: none

Synopsis: Namjoon hadn’t intended to spend much time in his tiny apartment. And then a pandemic broke out. Now he’s stuck dealing with his noisy neighbor, you.

✦✧✦✧

Namjoon thought he was in the clear that Wednesday night. He'd heard the opening and closing of your front door, the clink of your keys in the lock, and the rustle of the groceries in your arms. He knew it was your Friday, which meant you'd usually turn on music while you cleaned your tiny apartment, or a play a movie on full blast while you devoured an entire pizza yourself.

It was nearly 9 pm and he hadn't heard a peep from you, not even the true crime podcast you sometimes put on. Namjoon, unlike you, had worked from home for months now. Even though most of his time at work was spent in his private studio, he had nearly an identical set up in his apartment.

He was still working, albeit, not on the songs he produced for other artists, but on his own. He'd just started editing the melody when heard the familiar bass chords of "What Makes You Beautiful". It was your favorite song to torture him with. Namjoon had nothing against the British boyband you seemed to love so much, that was until you started them playing them loudly at odd hours.

Namjoon sighed, pausing his work and rubbing his temples. He really needed to save up for a good pair of noise canceling headphones, although he wouldn't find it surprising if you somehow managed to invade his eardrums right away.

He tried to continue working, turning his headphones all the way up. Yet, all he could focus on was the way he heard the familiar bass line restart when the song ended.

Namjoon groaned and threw his headphones onto his desk. He'd only moved into this tiny apartment because the rent was cheap and he hadn't intended to spend much time in it. Then, a pandemic hit and suddenly, Namjoon was confined to four menacing white walls with the only company being his noisy neighbor, you.

He waited a half hour before he walked down the stairs to your apartment. Even though the city was under quarantine, the apartment building was snug and it was nearly impossible not to come into contact with each other. Securing his mask over his ear, he knocked on your door.

"Yes?" you asked, answering the door as if you'd been expecting him. You, too, had just finished looping the mask around your ear. It was a bright polka dot pattern that distracted Namjoon long enough that he managed to speak before noticing that your oversized T-shirt made it look like you weren't wearing shorts.

"Can you please keep it down, Y/N? It's the middle of the week for me and I have a Zoom call at 8 am tomorrow."

"That sounds like your problem," you said, leaving your door open as you tied the top of the trash bag you'd been getting ready to take out when Namjoon knocked.

A glint of annoyance passed over Namjoon's eyes and even from under your mask he could make out your familiar smirk from the way your eyebrows rose.

"Do you even own headphones?" he asked, crossing his arms. He didn't notice the way your eyes swept over his biceps and chest with his movement.

"They hurt my ears," you said, shrugging. Grabbing the trash bag by the tied top and heading back for your front door. "Now, be a doll and take this out for me? My legs hurt from work."

Namjoon looked at you with his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. He didn't say anything as you shoved the bag into his hands.

"What? Why are looking at me like that?" you paused, dialing down your attitude for a moment. "Listen, if you do this, I'll turn it off so you can get your beauty sleep."

He watched as you reached up and pat his shoulder. Your nail polish was chipping and the gleam from your gold promise ring dulled. His eyes traced as your hand left the fabric of his T-shirt and came to the doorknob of your front door.

"Goodnight Namjoon," you said, shutting the door.

Namjoon stood in the hallway, his lips parted and a small breath. He scoffed as the familiar bassline blasted from your apartment.

✦✧✦✧

You'd had a long day. Work was keeping you at least an hour over every day and you felt your feet ache as slipped off your shoes. Even though you just wanted to fall into bed, you changed and washed your hands first, doing your best to feel clean before your skin hit the sheets. As a Pharmacy Technician, you were essential, and even if most of your job was counting pills and performing customer service, right now it was harder than ever.

With only ten hours until you had to be at work, you ordered food and eyed the laundry that was beginning to spill over the edge of the hamper like waves over a jetty. You sighed, taking out your phone and putting on music. You gathered up your clothes and laundry soap. Pocketing your keys and a handful of quarters dug out of the bottom of your purse, you made your way to the basement laundry room.

You let the music play. While you weren't particularly trying to get your tall neighbor's attention, or get on his nerves, like you usually were, you secretly hoped you'd get to catch a glimpse of his signature white T-shirt against his bronzed skin.

Loading your clothes into the shared washer, your phone began to ring and your boyfriend's face flashed across the screen. He was smiling widely in the picture, his hair swept back by the coastal breeze. At one point, it had been your favorite photo of him. Now, it just felt like a sweet apple that turned out to be poison.

You ignored the call and poured the detergent into the machine. Inserting the quarters, you heard footsteps coming down the stairs. You'd heard his feet on the stairs enough, that you recognized the soft one, two pattern as he made his way downstairs.

"I think the whole complex knows you're a fan of One Direction now," Namjoon said, coming into view. His hands were empty, having obviously come down purely because of your disruption.

"So be it," you said, starting the machine and glancing down as the music stopped and your phone rang again. You frowned as you rejected the call.

Namjoon noticed, his brow furrowing as his eyes glanced down at the phone in your hand. "You should've answered. At least you'd be less of a bother."

The two calls and the exhaustion weighed you down and felt yourself drifting below the surface. "I'm really not in the mood right now, Namjoon. Maybe tomorrow."

His sarcastic smile faltered. "If you don't want me to bother you, then don't play your music so loud." He crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles becoming more prominent as the fabric of his T-shirt stretched to accommodate the new position. You had no idea how he stayed so toned with the apartment gym shut down and such a small apartment.

"Maybe you should invest in earplugs."

"Maybe you should invest in headphones."

You scoffed and headed back upstairs, not feeling the banter. Your neck and shoulders were tense and you just wanted to finish your laundry and pass out for the night.

✦✧✦✧

Namjoon didn't think much of your sour mood. It was obvious that it extended beyond him since you rejected the phone call. He stood in the laundry room for a few moments and watched your laundry spin around in the washer.

He remembered back to the week before when you forced him to take out your garbage. A thought crossed his mind and he wondered if a good prank would lift your spirits.

With most coin operated washers, the doors locked right after the money is inserted and the washer starts. The ones at your apartment complex, however, had a loophole. Hitting the coin return button a few times, the quarters you'd entered fell into the coin return and the machine slowed to a stop.

Waiting a few moments to make sure you weren't coming back, he opened the door and took your wet clothes out of the dryer. He pocketed the coins, reminding himself to use them for your clothes later. Setting them on top of the washer, he rushed up to his apartment and grabbed his own laundry, starting it.

✦✧✦✧

The timer went off a half hour later. You were halfway through eating dinner but paused to go switch loads. You knew between your boyfriend' incessant calls and the hour long drying cycle, you were not going to get to sleep any time soon.

Shuffling down to the laundry room, you didn't even bother to throw on music this time. The heaviness in your eyes wouldn't be cured with Harry's sweet voice as usual.

Opening the door to the washer, your clothes were not there. A stroke of panic ran down your spine as your eyes darted across the row of washers, wondering if you had gone to the wrong one. All the other doors were open. You felt a stirring in your stomach as your mind raced with what to do.

"Lose something?"

You turned to see Namjoon coming down the stairs, carrying a laundry basket full of your wet clothes. Your heart beat out of your chest, your vision went black as your mind processed the sight.

"What the fuck, Namjoon?" you asked, yanking the basket from him. Tears came to your eyes as you looked down at the sopping wet clothes.

Namjoon's eyes widened at his words, having expected a snarky quip from you, he released his grip on the basket easily. Fishing for the quarters in his pocket, he held them out to you.

"God, I'm gonna get absolutely no sleep tonight," you said, shoving your half washed clothes back into the washer.

"Y/N?" he asked, his voice soft. "What's wrong?"

Once you'd restarted the washer, placing your body physically in front of it to block Namjoon from tampering with it once again, you eyed him.

"I'm only gonna get a few hours of sleep," you said, your voice surprisingly level. "My work clothes are in there." You leaned back against the washer, sighing as you looked down at the time on your phone.

"I-I'm--"

"Save it, Namjoon," you said. "Listen, I know we have this sort of relationship where we mess with each other. But, I'm really not in the mood for it tonight."

Namjoon tried to move towards you, but stopped himself, unsure of exactly what he was going to do or how he could help. He'd never seen you like this before. Dark circles around your eyes, your hair stringy and tousled from running your hands through it, and your posture so tense. Even though the lower half of your face was covered with a bright green mask, he could still make out your frown behind the fabric.

"Just le--" You were cut off by your phone's vibration.

Despite Namjoon having caused your distress, whoever kept calling you made your brow furrow and eyes water in a way that left Namjoon wanting to answer the phone and find out what they had done to you.

"Is everything okay?" he asked. "Who keeps calling you?"

Glancing down at the washer it had now moved onto the second cycle, you ignored. Meeting Namjoon's eyes, it hurt your chest to see the concern in them. After seeing you like this, after getting annoyed with him, he still worried about you.

"Just leave me alone, Namjoon."

✦✧✦✧

It was midnight on Wednesday night when the sound of yelling overtook the melody in his headphones. At first, he didn't think much of it. Many couples lived in the complex, and an occasional fight wasn't uncommon. Then, he heard your voice.

✦✧✦✧

"Jae-ho, what are you doing here? I told you you couldn't come."

"I just want to see you, baby." There was a softness in his voice, but it didn't reach his eyes. You'd been dodging his calls and texts for the past few days, hoping he would get the hint.

"Not until your test comes back negative," you said. "Plus, we really shouldn't be seeing each other that much. Especially since I'm still working."

Your boyfriend let out a long sigh and moved to walk inside. You blocked him, shutting the door slightly and wedging yourself in the gap. This only made him more frustrated, his hands reaching out to touch you.

You let him, allowing his hand to brush your own. You knew it was unlikely your boyfriend would get a positive result, his exposure limited and brief. But you couldn't risk it.

"Are you not scared of spreading it to me? To anyone?"

"I don't have it, babe. I've told you."

"You were still required to get tested. And since I see so many vulnerable people at work, I can't risk it." This wasn't the first time this was an issue. You'd been tested twice already. You job required you to come into contact with people all day, and more than a few confirmed cases had come through your pharmacy.

Jae-ho had had an issue those times too. Coming over when you'd told him not to, calling you until he got sick of dialing your number. You weren't sure how much longer you could take this.

"Are you cheating on me?"

The question lingered in the air as your mouth fell open in shock. Did he think that was the only reason you could not want to see him?

"No, of course not! I'm trying to protect you, Jae-ho!"

"I know you like that neighbor of yours. You still see him, don't you? Why do you see him and not me?"

"We're neighbors! This complex is so tiny, we can't help it!"

Your voice and his gradually rose with your emotions. You barely remember what either of you said after that, you only remembering sliding the promise ring off your finger and flinging it down the stairs.

✦✧✦✧

Namjoon walked down the stairs when he heard your door slam. He came upon your boyfriend, scoffing at your door. When he met the other man's eyes, Namjoon's immediately narrowed.

"Of course," Jae-ho said. He shook his head and walked down the stairs, pausing at the next landing. He bent down to retrieve something and Namjoon stopped focusing on the other man, reaching up to knock on your door.

Namjoon's knuckles didn't even make contact with your door before he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Jae-ho stood a few steps down and held out the gold promise ring you always wore.

"Give this back to Y/N," he said. "I don't want it either."

He handed Namjoon the ring before turning around and leaving for good.

✦✧✦✧

"Y/N?" Namjoon's voice cut through the dark silence of your apartment. You'd everything outside, but not realized that it was Namjoon Jae-ho was talking to. "Are you okay?

You opened the door. You tried to wipe your tears before Namjoon could take in your figure, but it was fruitless. When your eyes met his, you saw his heartbreaking at the sight of you.

"I'm okay."

"No, you're not," Namjoon said, waiting for you to give the okay for him to enter your apartment. You knew that there was no hiding from Namjoon. The two of you literally lived on top of one another and saw each other almost daily when you did the laundry or took the trash out. There was nearly no way to avoid Kim Namjoon for long.

You moved aside and closed the door behind him. Flopping down on your bed, you looked up at him. "Sorry if we woke you up."

Namjoon shook his head. "You didn't."

"Sorry to interrupt your work then," you said, feeling like you owed the man an apology for more than just this one night. "I didn't mean for it to escalate like that."

Namjoon didn't say anything. He glanced around your apartment, sensing the way that his eyes on you made you uncomfortable.

"You don't need to apologize," he said. "For anything."

You stayed silent, hugging a pillow to your chest.

The silence wasn't tense, but it wasn't calm either. There was something lingering between you. Something keeping Namjoon in your apartment after making sure you were okay. And something that allowed you to let him in at all.

"You know, whenever I was upset or I had trouble sleeping. My mom would always make me milk and cookies. It seems counterintuitive that something sugary helped me sleep. But it never failed."

Namjoon left for his apartment for a moment, coming back with a package of chocolate chip cookies and two glasses of milk. He handed you one of the glasses and sat the package of cookies down beside you.

"Is it okay if I stick around? Just in case your boyfriend tries to come back," Namjoon said. He knew his explanation was flimsy. It was obvious when the man left that he did not intend on coming back.

"Yes," you said, reaching to pull out a cookie and dip it in the milk. "I'd like that."

The two of you ate in silence. Silence rarely occurred when you saw Namjoon, no matter how much he may want it to, but now, you could tell by the tension in his shoulders that it worried him.

"You know, I kinda look forward to hearing you every night," he said. "Lets me take a break from my work. Means I get to come see you."

You chuckled, smiling for the first time that night. "Why do you think I was always loud?" The crunch of a cookie filled your pause. "I knew you would always come complain."

✦✧✦✧

"I have a present for you, Y/N," Namjoon said.

It was the holidays now. Your family was far away and none of you wanted to get on a plane. It saddened you that you wouldn't be able to see your family, but Namjoon had become your solace. He'd usually hear when you got home and about ten minutes later, he'd appear at your door, asking what you were having for dinner that night. Most of the time, you ate together.

It was just like all those other nights, except you didn't have to work the next morning. Namjoon had met you by your door, takeout in hand, and a backpack slung over his shoulder.

Namjoon reached into his backpack and pulled out a wrapped package. The paper was a bit wrinkled, indicating he'd wrapped it himself. It made you smile.

"Oh, wait," you said, getting up and walking to the closet where you pulled out a similarly wrapped package. You handed it to him and looked down at his gift for you.

Tearing off the paper, you laughed when you noticed it was headphones. They were expensive too, which made your stomach turn thinking that he spent so much money on you.

"Open the box," he said, a smug smile on his face.

You ripped open the box, finding crumpled up paper. You felt around until you felt a thin object. Pulling it out. you found a CD.

"It's a mixtape. For you." Namjoon's eyes wandered around the room. "I--uh--hope you'll play it like you do One Direction."

You flung your arms around him, but he stopped you. "There's something else."

You looked down at the box quizzically before you began pulling out the paper. Reaching inside, you felt what you immediately recognized as a ring. Thoughts ran through your mind as you pulled it out.

It was your promise ring from Jae-ho, shinier than when you had last seen it. "He wanted me to give it back to you. But, I knew it might be painful. I had it cleaned and engraved for you."

You turned the ring to see the engraving on the inside: Be Loud - KNJ

[stayatiny]

Playing with A Leader ~ Chapter 2

(Gif made by me)

Pairing(s) Mafia!Hoseok x F!Innocent!Reader, Sister!Reader x Mafia!Namjoon

Series warning(s) – Violence, Swearing, blood, guns, killing, smut (later on), and others that will be added.

Chapter Warning(s) –Swearing, guns

A/N - Sorry this chapter is kinda short the next one will be longer ^^;

I don’t remember falling asleep on Hoseok at all. But I feel him shaking me awake. I open my eyes to see him back in his clothes from last night.

“Hobi, you aren’t supposed to be walking around just yet,” I said, rubbing my eyes. I sit up hugging the blanket to me.

“I’m okay, Y/N. I’m waking you up to tell you that I’m going home now. Namjoon already left this morning. Thank you for taking care of us,” he said, then lightly kissing the top of my head. I blush slightly. I nod and watch him leave out the door. I flop back on the couch feeling my heart pound.

‘I’m hopelessly in love with him,’ I thought. I laid there for a while before getting up. I needed to refill on supplies before going to my office. I had a small business that made websites. It wasn’t much but it was nice to be able to have a business and make my own rules. Namjoon paid for my bills because he didn’t want me working a real job worrying that I would get hurt. Namjoon being in the mafia was dangerous. He was afraid that rivals would take me and using me as weak point thus me not having a real job. Namjoon even had an apartment across the hall from me. I get dressed and head out to the local pharmacy and restock the supplies that I used last night.

“Hey Y/N, refilling again?” I turn to see an older lady behind the counter. Her husband also a part of the gang my brother and Hoseok ran with.

“Yeah, the boys decided to be idiots last night and go with just the two of them,” I said, picking up the bandages. She shook her head.

“I don’t understand what goes on in their heads sometime. What is the point of having underlings if you are just going to go in head first,” she said getting the other stuff that I needed.

“Alright how much do I own?” She rolled her eyes.

“Come on Y/N you know that it goes back to Mr. Hoseok,” she said. I nod and grab the bag she handed me. The gang repays for everything that its members use.

“Have a good day, Y/N. Be careful out there,” she said, as I left the small shop. I head over to my office about a block from the main HQ where my brother and Hoseok worked. I unlock the door and relock it as I entered. I checked the time, just passed noon. I sat down in my plushie office chair checking emails and even replying to a few. I sighed leaning back in my chair and looking out the window. A black SUV is in front of my office building. I stared out of the window, my eyebrows scrunching together. I didn’t know whose car it was, but I know that it didn’t belong to my brother or Hobi. I waited for twenty minutes to see if it would leave but nothing. I could see two people in the car staring up at my window. I call Namjoon.

“Hey sissy. Is everything okay? You never call me at work,” he said. I could hear other mafia members in the background.

“Uh not really. I was looking out my window and there is a black SUV that I’ve never seen before. Do you know anything about it?” I hear Namjoon swear.

“Listen to me, Y/N, I want you to lock the office door and grab your gun. Make sure that it’s loaded and ready in case I don’t get there in time.” My heart leaped as I ran to the door locking and deadbolting it.

“Did you lock the door? When I get there, I’ll knock four times so that you will know that it’s me, okay? We’ll be there soon,” he said, hanging up the phone. I slide my phone into my pocket and headed over to my desk. I pulled the small gun from the bottom draw that I had just for this occasion. I sat against the wall next to door waiting for Namjoon and the others. I stayed still not making any noise. Time seems to slow down what felt like hours was only a few minutes.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Namjoon is here.

“Y/N, it’s okay open up.” I unbolted the door. I open it seeing Namjoon and Hoseok.

“Are you alright?” Hoseok walked into the room slowly knowing his leg is still hurt.

“Yeah, I’m fine but are they still there?” Namjoon shook his head.

“No, they aren’t but we have men out looking for them. How long were they there before you noticed them,” Hoseok asked sitting down on my little futon/couch I had.

“I watched them for twenty minutes or so before I called you guys. I don’t know how long they were actually there for. I don’t remember that car being there when I came into work,” I explained. The boys looked at each other for a bit not saying anything.

“Does this have anything to do with last night,” I finally asked. They said nothing.

“You don’t need to know that. All you need to know is that you are now in danger. The Black Spades know who you are now,” Hoseok finally spoke. The Black Spades were a rival group ran by a former member.

“So, what do I do, Hobi?” He frowned looking at Namjoon.

“You’ll be staying with me until we can figure out what they know,” Hoseok said. I nodded. This wasn’t the first time that this has happened. It first happened when I was sixteen and even then, I wasn’t in that much danger like I am now.

“Hoseok, is that a good idea?” Namjoon looked more worried than usual.

“Namjoon, are you questioning me?” My eyes widen. Namjoon has never question Hoseok…ever.

“No, Hoseok, I’m not but this is different than the last time. I just need Y/N to be safe,” he said. Hoseok stood up grabbing my hand.

“You know I won’t let anything happen to her. You have my word,” he said. Namjoon nodded and went back to the HQ while I went with Hoseok to his home. Hobi’s house was like a fort nothing got in or out without his permission. Hoseok and I didn’t say much to each other on the drive.

“So, any house rules that I need to know about?” Hoseok took a quick glance at me then back to the road.

“Come one Y/N, you know that I don’t. Other than not you can’t leave without me or Namjoon with you,” he said, then putting the pin number in for his gate and talking to some of the guards.

“I know but it’s been a while since I’ve had to stay here.” Hoseok parked the car into his huge garage and into the house. He led me to a spare bedroom that has its own bathroom attached to it.

“It’s not much. I’ll have my assistant get you some things from your home, so it doesn’t seem so stiff here,” he said, leaning on the doorframe and mostly standing on his good leg.

“It’s alright. You shouldn’t be up, Hobi,” I said, walking back over to him.

“I know. I’m gonna be working from home since you’re here now and I do need to rest and you won’t leave me alone about it,” he said with a smile. I helped him to his office and propped up his bad leg. Good thing his wound was a deep graze. Hoseok’s phone rang while I was helping him. It seemed important so I left and walked back to my bedroom. I looked out the window seeing guards patrol the grounds. I flopped down on the bed staring up at the ceiling.

“Hey you okay?” I looked over to see Hoseok walking into my room sitting on the chair in the corner.

“For the most part yeah but I don’t understand why they would be after me,” I said sitting back up. Hoseok bit his lip. Please don’t do that.

“They must know that you are related to Namjoon. He is the leader over the guards and the others in our gang,” he said. I nodded. Namjoon and Hoseok are equals in the gang even though most people looked to Hoseok.

“That call was from Namjoon, and someone has broken into your apartment. So, it’s gonna be too dangerous for you to even get any of your things,” he said folding his arms over his chest. I looked down at the floor waiting for Hoseok to say anything. I see him stand up hobbling over to me.

“But Namjoon is bring you some food. It’ll be alright. This’ll be over before you know it,” he said, leaning down kissing the top of my head. I blushed a nice shade of red. Not the first time he’s done this but was the first time in a while. Its also the first time since I realized that I was in love with him. I looked up staring at him. I smiled that’s when I feel him grab and kiss my lips. I didn’t know what to do at first, but I started to kiss him back. I couldn’t believe I was kissing my crush of five plus years. I also did realize how soft his lips were. Hoseok’s arms wrapped around my waist. One of my hands slid into his soft black hair the other on his chest. He backed away from me and stared at me breathless.

“I didn’t know if you felt the same way,” he whispered. I bit my lips.

“I didn’t know you did either. I just thought that since I was Namjoon’s sister that you wouldn’t see me that way,” I say looking down. I didn’t want to see him in the eye in case he decided to reject me.

“I could never. Actually, I like you a lot. You’re so sweet and considerate. You care for us when we get hurt and you are pretty hot.” He smiles and winks towards me then kisses me again putting his arms back around my waist. arms back around my waist. But while he was he was kissing me this time, Namjoon busts open the door. Doesn’t this bitch knock?

“What the hell is going on?” I jumped at Namjoon’s outburst.

“I said to protect her, not fuck her.” Hoseok rolled his eyes. I hugged Hoseok.

“I’m not fucking her. I just kissed her don’t be so dramatic,” he says holding me tight. Namjoon sighed throwing his head back.

“Do you lover her?” I look at Namjoon and then Hoseok.

“I do.” Namjoon held out his hand for Hoseok to shake.

“If you let her get hurt or you hurt her, I’ll kill you,” he said. Hoseok shook his hand and nodded understanding. Hoseok kissed my head and then I let him go. He always knew how to keep me calm.

“Now come on its time to eat,” Namjoon said. We headed to the dining room for pizza.

[softboywriting]

Serendipity | Santiago “Pope” Garcia

Summary: He is everything you never wanted but you fell in love all the same. [Film: Triple Frontier] [tw for violence, gunfire, injury, age difference(?)] [fluff ending] 

Word Count: 2.1k

|Masterlist In Bio|

You grew up telling yourself you would never fall for a military man, a police officer, any sort of authority. Their lives were too rough, too dangerous. You couldn't stand to get a call one day that your husband had been killed in the line of duty. Until you met Santiago Garcia.

Just over six months ago you moved to a small town outside of Sao Paulo, having tired of the city and the noise and corruption. Two of your friends have ended up in prison in the last year because of association with the wrong people. You want nothing to do with it.

You met Santiago while he was on a job and you got caught in the crossfire during a drug raid. It was late afternoon on a Friday and you were picking up some medicine at the pharmacy across from the apartment building where the raid was taking place. Your apartment building to be exact. This is the first time in six months you've been thrust back into the corruption you left the city because of. As soon as you heard the big black SUVs pull up, tearing across the dusty old roads, you knew exactly why they were there. Armed men and women were everywhere, blocking every entry and exit to the town square, cops and special forces flooded the street.

The pharmacy owner promptly walked around the counter, locked the door, and pulled the security cage closed and locked it too. He said something about how this was happening again and you were surprised. The area did not seem that troublesome, it's why you chose to move there. Honestly it does not surprise you though. You know there is a massive cartel that runs the city and outlying towns, but you thought this area was better, far enough away to be quiet and safe.

Minutes after the fleet of cars arrived you see a man in plain clothes, jeans, a khaki green shirt and a tactical vest. He walks toward the pharmacy, sunglasses up on his head. He is flanked by four men in police uniforms, all heavily armed. He looks through the window at you and the man behind the counter, giving a little nod. He is gorgeous, dark eyes, dark stubble, tan complexion and curly black hair. He's not the usual type of special agent you'd seen when you lived in the city. They were always older white men, angry and tired looking with the same ugly military haircut and white button down shirt.

You never got to ask the pharmacy owner what was going on, if he knew who the police were after. Because the next thing you knew gunfire was deafening you, the sound of glass shattering blocked out any thoughts aside from the ones telling you to run and hide. Guteral instinct told you to drop down, and move away from the windows.

You find yourself running up the stairs behind the pharmacy counter and kicking desperately at the door at the top until it swung inward. Inside is a living room, a small home belonging to the owner you assume. More glass shatters and you drop to the floor. Your arm is on fire, aching and burning. When you look at it, you've been grazed by a bullet, the skin open and bleeding but no hole. You curl up against the back of the couch in the center of the room and close your eyes.

Shouting and gunfire is all you hear for about two minutes. Then there is a loud boom like a bomb going off nearby. You look around as a heavy quiet fills the room. There isn't so much as a foot step to break the silence. After another minute or so ticks by you decide to move, to find something to help your arm because it is bleeding a lot and it hurts like a son of a bitch.

The bathroom is small and not very well cleaned but it's better than nothing. You turn on the water and grab a towel from a rack over the toilet. Heavy boot laden footsteps startle you and you turn to see the special agent from before standing in the bathroom doorway.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to break into this place. I was scared." You drop the towel and put your hands up. "I'm sorry."

"You're alive...and bleeding." He steps in and offers his hand. You tentatively take it and he gently turns your arm to see the wound. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah it's just grazed it's fine. Why did you come in here?"

He picks up the towel and presses it to your arm. "I saw you through the window when I passed by. They were shattered when I came back and the police went to storm the apartment building. I came to check on you and the clerk since things kicked off very fast, I knew there wasn't not enough time for you to take cover."

"Oh."

"You did the right thing." He opens the medicine cabinet over the sink and digs around in it. "The clerk was caught in the crossfire, he didn't make it."

"Oh God."

"There's nothing in here to use....you'd think a pharmacist would be better stocked. I can get a medic to look at you." He releases your arm and you hold the towel against it. "Follow me."

You follow after him and stop at the top of the stairs. Why is he helping you? What does he gain from this? Shouldn't he be in there with the police?

"What's your name?"

"You can call me Pope."

"Are you a special agent?"

Pope looks back at you on the stairs and raises his eyebrows. "You're a curious one."

You narrow your eyes. "Yes or no?"

"Do you always talk back to authorities?"

"Do you always come after people caught in the crossfire of your missions?"

"Don't say it like I'm arresting you." He steps back up the stairs and looks at you pointedly. "I came to check because I saw you before everything started and I saw the windows were shattered like I said. Should I have left you to bleed alone?"

You look away and he clears his throat. "No. Thank you, I guess."

"You're stubborn."

You glare at him and he chuckles. "Can we get to this medic you supposedly are taking me to? This hurts."

"Yes, come on. We'll get you patched up."

_____________________

One thing leads to another, and you and Santiago end up at the same bar chatting hours after the raid.  A few drinks lead to going home together, and that leads to seeing each other again and again and again. He is everything you never wanted and yet, you cannot get enough of him. His touch, his voice, his smile. He lures you in effortlessly and you take the bait every time. He tells you how he's trying to clean up the country, to release it from the grasp the cartels have upon it. You're infatuated with his work, his dedication and love for the people. He's a good man with a good soul and you find yourself falling in love so easily.

It's been a year and half that you have been together. There are things you know, things you wish you didn't know, and things you don't want to know about him. He has never hidden anything, he has always been an open book with you and you have been the same to him. Honesty and trust are the core building blocks in the relationship you started together.

There is one thing you have hesitated to ask. His age. It must seem silly, that such a normal thing to share hasn't come up, but truly it has not. When you think about it, falling in love with someone and not knowing that information changes things. It allows for a relationship without hindrance toward a preconceived notion of what a person of a particular age should do or say. You know rationally he can't be that much older, you've got much of the same music taste and the same sense of humor. You just have not asked and he has not mentioned it.

In all honesty you are not sure if you don't want to know because you know he's much older than you think and you'll feel uncomfortable, or if you just don't want a preconceived idea of him that your mind will inevitably create the moment you know. But it's time, you have decided that no matter what you find out, you will not be any less in love with him. You want to take him to meet your grandmother soon and she will definitely say something since he does look a bit older than you. Grandma never holds back when it comes to you and men.

So here you are Christmas morning in his apartment, laying together as the sun rises. You're both early risers, so it's no surprise that today is no different. "Santiago? Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, always."

"How old are you?"

He hums. "I wondered when you'd ask that. Why are you curious now? You're into older men aren't you?" He rolls onto his side and you turn to face him. "You get off on it right?"

"Santiago!"

He laughs and you shove him. "I'm teasing you. But I'm curious too. What's your guess?"

"Well, you've got a little gray." You run a hand over his curls, sinking your fingers into his thick hair and giving a gentle scratch. "And you've got lines outside your eyes when you smile, but that doesn't always come with age. You have had a rough life so you could seem older than you are...hmm."

"Mmmhmm. Your guess?"

"Thirty seven."

He smiles and kisses your nose. "So close."

"Up or down?"

"Mmm just keep guessing."

"Santiago, you're playing with me." You twist your finger around the thin gold chain on his neck. He covers your hand with his and curls his fingers around yours. "Can I have a hint?"

He shakes his head.

"Are you....fifty?"

"Ouch. That is not close to thirty seven, that hurts. Do I look that old?"

"Well you won't give me any clues!"

Santiago rolls on top of you and holds himself up, forearms on the pillow bracketing your head. "I'm thirty nine."

"Turning or?"

"I'll be forty on my birthday next month."

You close your eyes and laugh softly. "My grandma is never going to let me live this down."

"Why?"

"Because I'm only thirty. You're a solid decade older than me. I've told her my typical type and you're so not it."

He leans in and kisses you softly. "Do you love me any less? Am I too old for you now?"

You smile playfully, teasing him. "No, well, maybe. I used to say my limit was five years older."

"Until you met me." He grins and kisses you again. "I broke all your rules. You like me, you like my-"

"Oh shut it." You cover his mouth and he licks your hand. "Hey!"

He rolls his hips down against you and you shudder. "We should get up and open gifts."

"What? You got me something?"

"Of course."

"I thought we said no gifts."

"No, I said don't get me a gift. Everyday with you is my gift." He kisses along your throat and down your chest. "You're more than I could ever want for."

"Santiago...I didn't get you anything. Did you really get me something?"

He hums against your skin. "I did."

You arch against him as he shifts and it pulls the blankets away, making you cold. "That's not fair."

"It is." He crawls forward, covering you with his body and supporting himself on his forearms again. He reaches under his pillow and brings out a square box that he sets on your chest. "It's nothing too big."

You look down at the little gold lidded box. "Wh- no."

"Open it."

"I swear to God." You take it and open it, turning it over in your hand. Out falls a little delicate ring with eight stones in a tiara like shape.

"Are you ready for the big gift?"

You look up at him and he grins like a fool. "This is a big g-"

"I want to give you my last name." He bumps his nose against yours. "Will you marry me?"

"O-oh. Yes, I'll take it. I mean- yes of course I'll marry you!" You slide the ring on your finger and he presses a kiss to your lips. You bring your hands up and grip his back in a crushing hug. Never did you think you would fall in love with a man who is everything you thought you never wanted. But here you are, and you wouldn't choose anyone else.

----------

end

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Header image by delicate-venus

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted works.*****

[imagine-loki]

The sniffles

TITLE: The sniffles CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: ONE SHOT AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump ORIGINAL IMAGINE: 

After the Chitauri attack on New York, imagine Loki being sentenced to public service on Earth, specifically in aiding people who got hurt during the attack. His magic has been limited to only be enough to aid keeping Odin’s spell in place so he wouldn’t turn blue. His task is to help people with special needs, to do house chores, help them get around, do their grocery and keep them company while they recover. He is assigned to a girl who ended up blind after one of the Chitauri shot at her.

+

Imagine that against everything you both thought possible, Loki gets the flu. 

RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: It’s getting to be chilly season, so the flu is lurking about. Get your flu shots! Be careful! Socially distance! Language, maybe? Mostly fluff. Mentions of illness? (Do people tag that?) Not beta’d or edited, really–probs lots of typos.

SUMMARY: Loki gets sick, though he insists it’s just allergies. Charlie puts on her bossy pants and shows Loki she’s a bamf. Loki is a Nervous Nelly.

X

Loki had nearly frowned himself into an alternate dimension when it first happened–a simple sneeze. He had been sorting through some paperwork that Stark had asked him to complete, a mindless task meant to keep him occupied under the guise of his rehabilitation. With a shrug, Loki aired out the papers, assuming dust had tickled his nose for the briefest of moments, but thought nothing more of it.

Two years into his exile to Midgard and working under the tech guru, Loki had pretty much worked off his sentence in Tony’s eyes. According to anyone with half a brain, depriving Loki of his magic, the major condition of his exile, was punishment enough for the Prince (Loki would never admit that the act of cleaning a whole kitchen to perfection on his hands and knees was methodical and soothing, but it was one of the many joys of his near mortal existence). Still, it turned out that Stark was a bleeding heart and could recognize the tell-tale signs of a son who never got proper validation from their father (or enough hugs). It could have also been the fact that the former hissing-serpent-of-an-Asgardian all but turned into a golden retriever after he fell in love. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that Stark was deathly afraid of the five-foot-nothing woman Loki now shared an apartment with, and who would most definitely cause him bodily harm for overworking her boyfriend.

All in all, within the constraints of this supposed punishment, everything was wonderful.

Then, Loki sneezed again.

And continued to do so.

But, of course, he wasn’t ill.

Achoo!

Charlie started, letting out a half-strangled shriek that soon turned into a groan as objects clattered on her desk. Her jaw clenched together so tightly, she thought her teeth would crack.

Now, Charlie wasn’t irritated that her dork alien of a boyfriend was sneezing in her presence while she was trying to get work done. No, she was irritated because she had sent him to bed (again, for the sixth time) twenty minutes ago when his fever and chills started to turn him into an unintelligible, hallucinating mess. She thought she had been quite clear in her order for him to get some rest. After all, it had been three days since Loki first sneezed, and though he had brushed it off as a bad case of seasonal allergies, his denial was starting to get ridiculous, not to mention, harmful.

Turns out thousand year old demigods-turned-mortal are no better at following orders than any other man on the planet. In fact, Charlie was pretty sure he was being more of a brat than any other mortal… not that she’d ever tell him.

Pushing away her keyboard, she stood away from the desk, taking a second to orient herself and stare in the general direction she had heard the sneeze come from.

She schooled her facial expression into what she hoped was a no-nonsense expression. “Go. Back. To. Bed.”

Loki grumbled, his voice particularly hoarse and gravelly with an added nasally quality from his blocked passages. “It’s allergies and I have things to do,” he retorted stubbornly, ignoring the fact that his whole world seemed to tilt ever-so-slightly with each step he took.

“Allergies, my ass. Loki Odinson, you have the flu. You belong back in bed. Don’t make me be the bad guy here.”

He let out a half-hearted snort, pretending that he did not at all feel the need to double over and repeat whatever little breakfast he was able to get down his gullet that morning. “I am not sick. I haven’t been sick in four centuries. Your sorry Midgardian microbes cannot infect me.”

“Yeah, when you had your full powers. Now, though–”

“I’m fine-d.”

It was a small, momentary miracle that Charlie wasn’t able to see the way he swayed on a spot, holding his head pathetically against the sudden bout of vertigo that assaulted him. At least he thought she couldn’t. Though Loki could not explain the fact that her hand grasped him by an elbow a moment later with what appeared to be no difficulty. Clearly he was off his game, and he didn’t even bother complaining when Charlie half-dragged him all the way to the sofa and forced him to sit.

He couldn’t help but smile at the brows knitted together in worry or the lower lip being chewed within an inch of its soft, supple life. The extreme gentleness and care she took in smoothing back his hair and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead made his stomach twist in the most pleasant way. This was the best antidote, he supposed, just watching her fuss over his shivering body. Loki certainly wasn’t used to being taken care of in this manner. It felt almost wrong to succumb to the desire of slumping into the pillows and letting her dote on him.

“I love you,” slipped from his lips before he was even aware that his brain had attempted to convey the message.

Charlie beamed in response, cheeks turning warm copper with a blush. Her fingers trailed down the sides of his face to cup his cheeks. “I love you, too, sweets, but if you don’t stay still and rest, I will put on Stark’s suit and make you.”

Loki smirked, twining one of her curls around his finger and letting it bounce back with a gentle tug. “Have I told you how attractive I find you when you get all bossy?”

“Only every single second this week, Lo.”

“Well, I firmly believe in truth-telling, dove,” he added, voice betraying the exhaustion that seeped into his bones. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that the gentle circles she drew around his temples were some sort of ancient magic. “I’m late for work,” he protested, making an effort to sit back up. He would admit that they way Charlie shoved him back onto the cushions was a little distracting for two entirely different reasons: one, he was weak enough that Charlie could push him down like it was nothing; and, two… it was sort of… sexy. He would take them both to his grave.

“I called Tony and told him you were sick.”

Loki frowned. “What did he say?”

“He asked FRIDAY to queue up ”Ding dong! The witch is dead“,” she joked, lips tugging up in a smirk. “He said to take the week off. No one needs your Asgardian super bugs rolling around the Tower.” Charlie’s lips pressed against his forehead, followed immediately by a sigh. “You’re burning up again, Loki.”

“Everything hurts,” he conceded in a small voice, feeling like a failure when the concern etched in her features deepened further.

Charlie took in the complaint with a resolute nod.

“OK. I’ll go to the pharmacy down the street for some medicine and some electrolytes. You get some rest.” She patted his cheek and made to stand when Loki’s hand wrapped around her wrist.

“I’ll come with you.” He assured, at once, hoping the edge of nervousness wasn’t obvious in his voice.

“Nice try, super spreader.” Her fingers peeled his, dexterously. “No. Get some rest. I’ll be back in twenty.”

“But–”

“I promise you I will be fine, Loki. It’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

Loki was still reluctant as he watched her cool and confident expression. He shifted awkwardly. He knew that Charlie was entirely capable of any task and she had adapted well to the technology available to her as a non-seeing person, but… Norns, he was just a pathetic mess when it came to her. The thought of anything happening to her… “I know, but–”

“You worry. I understand, but this is important, Loki. You’re important and you’re sick and you need me to go get you medicine.”

He sighed, resting his forehead against her hand for a long moment before finding the courage to speak. “Just… be careful, alright? Maximum alertness, yeah?”

“I promise,” she assured in a whisper, leaning in to kiss his crown. “Please get some rest until I get back.” Her fingers were back to scratching his scalp, combing through his shaggy locks until he could no longer fight against the heaviness of sleep. He uttered half a protest before drifting off, leaving Charlie to cover him up with the spare blanket she kept on the sofa and tucking him in.

Charlie would not say that she was nervous about going out without Loki, but she was certainly not not nervous. She wrapped herself up warm to ward off the autumn chill and triple checked her belongings: keys, phone, card wallet, cane. Her head turned over her shoulder on instinct, as if attempting to spare a glance at Loki sleeping on the couch, before she closed the door behind her.

Loki awoke with a start what felt like an eternity later. His hair was sticking out in all directions and his clothes felt like they were pasted to his body with sweat. He was no longer on the couch, but in bed, and he felt… marginally better. Still, his heart was thumping loudly against his ribcage with a sense of uneasiness.

Charlie.

Where was Charlie?

“Oh, gods, please no.” It was too still. Too quiet. “CHARLIE!?” He called frantically, kicking the covers off of himself, despite the fact that his head disliked his sudden change in momentum. He grit his teeth against the nausea that rose immediately after. He needed to get out of bed and–

“Oh, you’re up!” Charlie chirped happily from the doorway.

His head snapped toward her voice to find her standing with a tray and very carefully balancing a bowl of soup, a sports drink and a bottle of water atop it. The grace with which she was managing to balance the liquids over the wooden serving tray was uncharacteristic–Charlie had never been particularly poised due to her impatience and going blind had not helped matters. After a minute, she placed the tray beside him on the bed and managed to sit down without any major spillage. Loki beamed at the satisfied look on her face and the anxiously flitting and hovering gaze she got when she was particularly excited.

“You’re back,” he breathed softly, fingertips trailing over the hand resting closest to him.

“I was only gone for fifteen minutes.” Charlie giggled. “Do you not remember taking your medicine and coming to bed?”

Loki shook his head before remembering his replies had to be aloud. “Er… no. No, I don’t.”

“You were pretty out of it,” she admitted, not thinking anything of it. “We had a lot of extra veggies, so I made you soup.”

He swallowed at the lump in his throat to no avail as he watched the perfectly cubed pieces of vegetables floating in a golden broth. He could practically feel her efforts radiating off the bowl with every plume of steam that rose enticingly. “You cooked?” His voice caught slightly.

“Yeah. Don’t tell me if it’s no good. It took me forever to chop things, so I might actually cry,” she replied, only half serious.

He picked up the bowl and tentatively sipped at the broth, letting out an involuntary moan when the rich taste flooded his taste buds. “Charlie, it… it’s perfect. It’s delicious.” The satisfied grin she gave in response made the remainder of his pain float away like dandelion fluff. He sipped some more before letting out a contented sigh as his bones warmed. “You are a wonder of wonders, Charlotte Camden.”

Charlie snorted. “I went to the pharmacy and managed not to burn down the apartment. I am middling, at best.”

“Say what you want, but I am proud of you,” he whispered, enjoying the blush on her cheeks as he slurped down the rest of his soup.

He knew she was secretly pleased with the praise, even if she didn’t admit it. Loki was aware that he worried all too much about giving her extra independence with all the what-ifs that popped up in his head. She was always so eager to challenge herself and had proven time and again she was capable of so much more than what she did on a daily basis. Loki was still in her life because she desired it, not because she needed anything from him.

For goodness’ sake, here she was, minding him.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Charlie. I feel restored, already.”

“Finally, he admits illness!” She snickered under her breath while Loki grumbled. “Of course, Loki. It is my distinct pleasure.” She leaned in just enough to prompt Loki to proffer his cheek, skin warm from the flush that could only half be attributed to the warmth of the broth. Her fingers trailed over his scalp, making him shudder from head to toe. “Drink all your fluids and back to bed,” she ordered gently before disappearing back out the bedroom door.

Loki wasn’t used to being taken care of like this but… he could get used to it.

[peralta-guaranteed]

Can you hear me, S.O.S., help me put my mind to rest

“Sorry they made you come out for something so stupid.” He mumbles, finally, in the elevator up to his apartment. “It’s not stupid.” “It’s 1am on a sunday, I’m pretty sure you had better things to do than pick up a beat-up co-worker and buy him his drugs.” He shoots her a quick glance as they get out on his floor. “I’m gonna pay you back for those, of course.” She doesn’t even acknowledge it, because they both know he can’t afford it. “It’s actually 12:30, and my partner needed my help. So there’s definitely nothing better to do with my time.”

---*---

Amy is Jake’s emergency contact on his medical file, which makes sense if you think about them as the lovey-dovey couple that they are now. She has been his emergency contact since two months after he’d met her, which makes less sense, until you realise that she is reliable, comforting, supportive Amy, and he is Jake, and he has never not been yearning for her attention just a little bit.

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 “Jesus Christ, Jake. I know you’re bad at paperwork, but this is a horror show.”

 Amy rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands, trying to stare down the little stars that appear in her vision from doing so. Jake, across the room on his worn-down couch, eating something very sweet and very crumbly - a cannoli, maybe? it was gone too fast for Amy to recognise - simply shrugs.

 “You don’t have to do it, Ames, you know that.”

 She does. She knows. She offered, after all.

 Maybe it was too early for something like this, anyway. They’d been officially together for barely a month, a stage where most other couples would still be discovering each other’s little likes and dislikes and trying to hide some imperfections from the other. Definitely not the stage of going through their partner’s chaotic mountain of very personal paperwork and files. Yet here she is, sorting through insurances (the rare few that Jake actually has, mostly because he’s legally required to), licenses, bills and Academy certificates.

 It was a mess that had Amy’s fingers itching every time she saw it, she reasons, and nothing they’d done in their month together really fit the usual trajectory of a relationship anyway, based on the fact that they already knew each other like the back of their hands. So when Jake had groaned about another forgotten bill from the mail tub that Amy forced him to steadily work through every time she came over, she’d offered to get things straightened out for him once and for all.

 She’s not sure if she regrets it now. Thumbing through a pile of loose papers that turn out to be several medical records from his injuries as a rookie cop, she realises that maybe this is a bit too personal, a step too close for what they have so far. Would she be willing to share this kind of information with a boyfriend of four weeks? she wonders as she skims over a page detailing the frankly insane amount of medication he was supposed to take after another week-long stay at the hospital. She’s quite sure he took barely half of it, gritting his teeth and moaning about stupid doctors instead, even though she didn’t know him back then - she knows him too well now not to immediately picture a slightly younger Jake with a list of weird-sounding pills he couldn’t pronounce and a giant frown on his face at the pharmacy.

 “I don’t have to- I mean, I can stop. If you don’t want me to do this.”

 Jake, finished with whatever he was eating, leans back on the couch to face her at the tiny table in his kitchenette. He gives her the patented Peralta-grin, the sweetness only heightened by some leftover cream-filling (definitely a cannoli) on his right cheek. She has half a mind to get up and lick it off, but she’s blocked in by paper piles all around her.

 “And keep Amy Santiago from a chance to file paperwork? Pretty sure that’d be grounds for a break-up. I’m surprised you haven’t run out to buy me a filing cabinet filled with all sorts of folders and tabs and whatnot.”

 She lets her eyes drop back down to the papers in her hands, trying hard not to show him the blush creeping onto her face. She had been making a mental list of what binders she should buy to really get this in order.

 “I’m just saying, if you don’t want me to see some of this- it’s very private information-”

 “Babe.” He still grins, and Amy thinks about how that pet name has settled between them far too quickly and far too comfortably as well. “Pretty sure nothing in that mountain of papers is any more embarrassing than all the stuff you already know and tease me about all the time.”

 “True. It’s not like I’m going to find out here why you think using the same soap for your dishes and your shower routine sometimes is an okay thing to do.” She grins back before filing away another old medical record, suddenly getting stuck on one little line at the top of it. “Jake, please tell me Stevie Schillens is      not     still your emergency contact.”

 “What? No. Of course he isn't. They make you update your info with every promotion at work.” That alone tells her that if ‘they’ didn’t, Jake would definitely still have a co-worker from his starting days on his files rather than, say, his current sergeant or a close friend. She shuffles through a few papers to find a more recent record.

 “Who is it, then? Might be good to update again and reconsider, promotion or not. Your mom is like half an hour’s drive away if anything happened, Terry can’t really get away from his family if it’s after hours. I wouldn’t trust Charles not to break down worse than you if he ever gets a call, and Rosa- I guess she’s responsible enough, but she might hurt you more for giving out her phone number-”

 “Really, Ames?” His voice is so soft from the couch, and when she finally looks up again, his face has that strange tilt to it, between affectionate and amused. As if she’d just said the most ridiculous, yet adorable thing in the universe. As if the answer wasn’t completely obvious.

 She looks down again at the paper she picked up, a medical report from a while ago, and as she reads the little line on top, she remembers.

-*-

 “Amy Santiago?”

 “This is she.”

 The voice down the line is as foreign as the number on her cell had been when she picked it up. She didn’t get many calls on her private phone anyway, apart from her family, and they were not the kind of people who’d call her at midnight on a saturday.

 “This is NewYork-Presbyterian Brooklyn Methodist Hospital. We’re calling on behalf of Jake Peralta? You’re listed as his emergency contact, but there is no additional info on your status-”

 She’s up off the couch and into her bedroom to change into jeans before the nurse on the line can even finish.

 “I’m his partner. Work. Partner. We’re detectives. NYPD.” Amy almost barks down the line while wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear to pull down her sweatpants. Jake would obviously carry his badge even when he wasn’t on duty like tonight, but maybe they hadn’t found it, maybe he hadn’t been able to give them that info... and while it was slightly upsetting to think about, she knew that the hospital would give fast-tracks and special treatments to active cops, and if that was something that could help him now, the morality of it all didn’t matter one bit to her. “What’s happened? Is he- is Jake okay?”

Obviously he’s not, you idiot, he’s in the hospital and not present enough to give them any information so they have to call his emergency contact, that is the furthest from okay that he could be-  

 Her inner scolding is interrupted by the very calm, very soothing voice of the nurse.

 “He should be fine. He was brought in ten minutes ago. Somebody assaulted him, but a nearby officer intervened and called for an ambulance. We just needed to check because his files are very… incomplete.” Amy hears the rustling of paper and the slight distaste tinging the nurse’s voice and makes a mental note to sit down with Jake and make him update all his information as soon as possible. “And he’s not clear enough to answer any questions due to the painkillers. Are you aware of any allergies or problems that could arise from medications? He doesn’t need surgery, but we have to treat some lacerations and other wounds.”

 “He’s not on any permanent medications. He had to take Vicodin and Heparin after a surgery four months ago.” She replies immediately and without a doubt, remembering her last trip to the hospital with him while she slips into a jacket and checks her bag for her purse and car keys. “Oh, he has asthma, but hasn’t had an attack in years, so he doesn’t use his inhaler regularly or anything. And he’s allergic to bees, but I don’t think that matters?”

 “No.” the nurse almost chuckles. “But the rest is very helpful to know, thanks. Will you be able to arrange for someone to monitor him for the next 24 hours? Otherwise we’ll need to prepare a room for him. He keeps saying you’ll pick him up, but we weren’t sure-”    “I’m on my way.”

-*-

 She speed-walks to the front desk of the emergency room not ten minutes later.

 “Hello. My name is Amy Santiago. I’m here for Jake Peralta - he was brought in twenty minutes ago?”

 “Ah! The lovely lady detective.” The nurse - it’s a different one from the phone call, she can tell from the voice - gives her a weird sort of smile. “Yes, he’s been asking for you non-stop. But the painkillers should have worn off by now, so he might be more coherent.”

 She tries to ignore that comment, she really does. But it’s not easy.

 “The doctor’s going over aftercare with him, so he might be a few more minutes. You can take a seat if you’d like.”

 Amy glances over to the waiting area, full of people even at this time of night, before turning back to the desk. “Uhm, the nurse on the phone said he needs to be monitored for 24 hours - do you know why? Is there anything I need to be aware of?”

 The lady gives her a once-over before another strange smile, like she knows more than Amy does (which, logically, in this situation she does, but it feels like she knows something else, too).

 “He’s had a minor concussion. Nothing to worry about, but he might be a bit disoriented or woozy, so it’s best not to leave him alone. And if he throws up or feels faint, you should bring him back immediately. He has a check-up appointment to remove his stitches in three days. Everything else you need to know will be on his report.”

 “Sure.” Amy nods, and hopes that Jake doesn’t lose track of that report on his way from the examination room to the waiting area - it wouldn’t be the first time he manages to lose paperwork in record time. She gives the still smiling nurse another nod before finally heading to sit down and pull out the crossword puzzle she was halfway done with when she got the call.

 “Hey.”

 “Oh! Hey!” Amy practically drops her puzzle and jumps from her seat in the waiting room once she sees him standing in front of her.

 Jake looks a mess. His leather jacket is ripped on one shoulder seam, and his jeans are covered in grime. There’s an awful lot of blood on his hoodie - probably from his nose, which is covered in a bandage - and his face is more red-bruised than pale in most places. There’s another, bigger bandage over a stitched-up gash across his left cheekbone, the accompanying eye blood-shot, and his lip is split in at least two places.

 “You look like hell.” She blurts out before thinking and immediately scolds herself, but it actually earns her a little laugh.

 “You’re looking lovely as well, Santiago.” His eyes wander over her messy ‘I had to get here in under ten minutes on a saturday couch night’ look, including a steadily unraveling hair-bun and oversized sweater.

 “Sorry, I mean-”

 “S’alright.” He drops into the seat next to her and winces. More bruises, Amy thinks.

 “What happened?” She sits back down as he leans forward, only now noting the clipboard and pen in his hands (which are equally roughed up, knuckles worn down, with scabs already forming. Whatever had happened, he sure hadn’t given in easily).

 “Some big-shot guy whose dealer I arrested last week spotted me coming out of a bar. Decided the best way to deal with his crippling drug addiction was to beat the shit out of the cop who’d cut off his supply. He was, like, a giant of a dude.” Jake puffs up his chest and raises his arms to show the supposed size of the man, and Amy can only nod. “Luckily he was too stupid to check for surveillance on the very public street we were on, and there was a beat cop on the corner who cuffed him pretty quickly.” He looks down again at the clipboard, and tries to scratch his nose before remembering there’s a bandage in the way. “He also called an ambulance, which I think was a bit over the top, but I couldn’t really breathe to tell him no.”

 Amy gives him a quizzical look, and he sighs before explaining.

 “Fucker punched me in the chest so hard I had an asthma attack.”

 She snorts. She doesn’t want to, but it’s not really something you can stop, even as she clutches her hand over her mouth in embarrassment.

 “I’m sorry, Jake, I shouldn’t- it’s not funny-”

 “Well.” He grins at her, far softer than usual, but that might just be to not upset his split lip. “It is a little bit funny, I guess.”

 “Do you have an inhaler at work? You should take one with you, you know, even if you haven’t had problems for a while, you never know when they show up again, case in point, and people might not know what to do - maybe I should get an inhaler too, for when we’re working together, and make sure Charles knows how-”

 “Hey.” He interrupts her verbal stream of consciousness by holding the clipboard up to her, and she grabs it reflexively the same way she does when he sneakily slips her his unfinished paperwork. “Can you help me fill out these stupid forms? I think I’m still a bit high from whatever they gave me back there, or maybe I just don’t know half of these words anyway.”

 She grabs the pen from him as well, clicks it twice, and gets to work. She doesn’t even have to ask him about most of the fields he’s left blank, and after a minute or two, the file is full with both his chicken scratch and her perfect handwriting. She’s filled out so many of these forms for him before, she could probably do it in her sleep. Which would be quite a worrying thought if it wasn’t so weirdly sweet at the same time - she realises that he has never, not once, asked anyone else for a ride to the hospital for work injuries, at least when he had the choice (and luckily, he was barely ever so hurt that he couldn’t, that any one of them had to jump into the back of the ambulance with him, but most of those times it was her as well).

 “Here.” She hands the file back to him. “Get that to the nurses, and we can go back to your place so you can catch up on sleep. Do you have your medical report?”

 He nods and swaps it for the clipboard in her hand in a well-set routine they both know, getting up to hand it in while she does a quick read through. There are not that many after-care instructions - the usual things for concussions she’s aware of, a healing balm for the bruising, replacing the bandages regularly, and another truckload of painkillers and medicine. The doctors sure do seem to love pumping him full with it whenever they get a chance, and he sure does love to ignore them and not take any of it. She still makes a mental note to swing by the pharmacy on their way home to pick it all up when he gets back and gestures for her to leave.

 He does a dramatic turn and bow to say good-bye to the front desk as they pass it, earning himself a giggle from the ladies and swaying only a little after he gets back up. Amy has her hands around his elbow immediately, steadying him and leading him outside - they did say he would be woozy - and the nurse gives her another one of those smiles. She’s still not quite sure if she likes them or not.

-*-

 They stop at the late-night-pharmacy as planned - Jake obeys orders to stay in the car to make it all quicker, but insists on getting a bag of sour gummies as a reward, and Amy sighs as he tears into it right away, probably covering her whole passenger seat with the powder - but the rest of the drive stays quiet. It feels more concerning to Amy than it should. He’s a blabbermouth at the best of times, should be even more so after being loaded up with painkillers and coming down from the adrenaline high of a fight, asthma attack and hospital treatment all at once. But right now he seems utterly silenced, fidgety and... nervous.

 “Sorry they made you come out for something so stupid.” He mumbles, finally, in the elevator up to his apartment.

 “It’s not stupid.”

 “It’s 1am on a sunday, I’m pretty sure you had better things to do than pick up a beat-up co-worker and buy him his drugs.” He shoots her a quick glance as they get out on his floor. “I’m gonna pay you back for those, of course.” She doesn’t even acknowledge it, because they both know he can’t afford it.

 “It’s actually 12:30, and my partner needed my help. So there’s definitely nothing better to do with my time.”

 He mumbles something else as they step through the door, but she doesn’t catch it. She helps him slip out of his jacket instead, reminds herself to google a good tailor that works with leather as she notices the ripped shoulder while hanging it up and turns around to look at the blood-stained hoodie he’s taking off.

 “I don’t think that thing is salvageable.”

 “Damn, and it was one of my favourites, too.” He pouts, playfully, before remembering his injured lip.

 “All your hoodies are your favourite.”

 “Am I not allowed to love them all equally?”

 Amy is already in his kitchen not answering that, instead bundling the hoodie up and into a trash bag she’s pulled from a shelf. She’ll take it down to the dumpster with her when she leaves tomorrow, or else he might try and wash it.

 “You don’t have to do all this, you know.” Jake says as she walks past him to put the bag on the front mat. “I can take care of my clothes.”

 “Sorry.” She halts and takes off her own jacket and shoes, instead. It’s a strange situation - they’re both used to Jake being a lot more inhibited from medication or alcohol when she literally has to bring him home, usually hanging onto Amy’s shoulders and babbling nonsense while she shuffles him into bed. But now he’s standing up all on his own, silent again, looking around the place as if he doesn’t know what to do in his own home with Amy as a not-quite-guest. Neither does she.

 Another beat of silence passes between them before Jake clears his throat and bumbles on.

 “You should- ...do you want something to drink? I think I still have some of that herbal stuff you brought-”

 “You should-” Amy starts at almost the same time, silencing them both again for another beat. “You should change out of these” she gestures to his dirty clothes “and put the balm on your bruises and get ready for bed. You’re gonna crash from the adrenaline soon.”

 It seems like he wants to say something else, but the silence is deafening by now, so he only nods and grabs stuff out of the pharmacy bag before heading to the bathroom.

 “I’m gonna grab a spare shirt for me to sleep in, if that’s okay?” She calls after him and only hears ‘Sure!’ before the door closes.

 Amy realises, as she turns around for the dresser in the one room apartment he inherited from Gina a while ago, that she’s never been here before without some medical emergency clouding her vision. She knew his old place - from a few late evenings working on case files (which he illegally took home, but neither of them mentioned that), and a movie marathon when he was extremely sick and had begged her over on her day off because he was convinced he was ‘going to die any minute’ and didn’t want the neighbours to find his ‘decomposing corpse later in the week’ - and he’d been over at hers far more times than she could count (her place was nicer, she had actual cable tv,, and a working kitchen for him to rustle around in for random late night snacks).

 But this apartment? It seems strangely foreign now, without a drunk or medicated Jake needing her help, without the usual distraction of getting him into bed, getting his shoes and jacket off, forcing him awake to take some aspirin and then settling down on the couch to his snoring. She feels like a guest instead, someone who doesn’t know if they’re allowed to sit down or get a drink from the kitchen without being invited. That’s nonsense, she thinks - she’s here to help like always, and there’s no way Jake would care if she turned his entire kitchen upside down and re-organised it or fell asleep on the couch right then and there.

 Loud grumbling and ranting from the bathroom pulls her out of her thoughts, before she can even decide to pick up the spare bedding set for the couch she knows he keeps in his closet.

 “Everything alright?” She knocks on the door, but barely waits for the angry ‘No!’ before opening it. Her breath catches.

 Jake’s in his pajama pants, and - that’s it. She can see the muscles in his bare back flex as well as the reflection of his front in the mirror, as he tries to bend around in some convoluted way to reach the large, purple bruise that travels from his waist to his back.

 “Stupid doctors and their stupid lotions and stupid ideas for people who can’t do yoga or some shit to reach their own back-” he mumbles, but Amy doesn’t hear much of it. She’s seen Jake shirtless before - you don’t go on stake-outs or undercover assignments without catching each other in different states of undress at some point - and every time has been a secret memory, quickly stolen and hidden somewhere deep in her mind, to be dusted off and remembered at the most inopportune times or when she feels particularly alone after a drink (or maybe four). This time will probably be no different, she thinks as she notes the soft trail of hair under his belly button, down to the sweatpants that definitely sit lower than any jeans she’s seen him shirtless in before.

 She has to act, she reprimands herself, before he notices, before he sees her staring or realises she’s blushing, so she steps up to the sink and pulls the tub of healing balm from his hands.

 “It’s not the doctors’ fault you always get injured in inconvenient places.” She answers his rant while dipping her fingers into the lotion and carefully applying it to the bruise, trying not to rub or press too hard for it to hurt.

 Jake doesn’t breathe the entire time her fingers are on his skin.

 “There you go.” Amy closes the little tub and puts it next to the sink, eyeing his bruised face and completely ignoring the flush that is hiding underneath it. “Lemme change your bandages before you sleep, too. You already got them dirty.”

 “I can do that-”

 “You’re going to rip it straight off and disturb your stitches, most likely.” Her hands are already at the corner of his cheek, carefully prying off the tape and strips, and he forgets how to breathe again.

 She replaces the bandages just as carefully and leaves him to the rest of his night time routine, filling a glass of water in the kitchenette and coming back with a packet of Vicodin at the same moment he steps out of the bathroom, finally pulling a shirt over his head.

 “You should take some painkillers before you sleep. It’ll help.”

 “Oh goodie.” He quips and eyes the water. “Drugs! Because the injuries totally weren’t caused because of somebody off their drugs!”

 “These are prescription drugs. It’s different. You know that.”

 He still stares warily at the package in her hand, but another shuffle forward from her and he grabs them and pops one into his mouth, grimacing after downing it (whether that grimace is for the medicine or the water he actually has to drink, she’s not sure).

 “Good boy.” Amy jokes, and he’s glad he’s already swallowed so he can’t choke on his water from hearing that. “Now get some sleep in. I’ll be down here on the couch if you need anything, or feel worse.”

 “Don’t go-” He stutters and stares right past her head at the aforementioned couch. “I mean, you don’t- you don’t have to sleep on the couch, I know how uncomfortable it is- you can sleep with me- I mean, in the bed, with me in the bed, I mean- there’s enough space- with the extra blanket- I don’t-”

 He interrupts his own rambling with a deep sigh and a ‘Jesus, Jake’ before Amy can stifle another giggle. He feels just as awkward with her here as she does, and it almost makes the whole thing more comfortable. They’ll just have to power through the nonsense and get back to their normal friendly behaviour, she reasons.

 “If you really don’t mind. I’m gonna get the stuff from the closet.”

 He’s already bundled up under his own covers when she comes back with the heap of blanket and pillows for her side of the bed.

 It’s not her side, of course, it’s just the part of the bed he’s freed up from his own duvet, and that she’s going to sleep on now for one night, but it’s not like they have sides in their bed like-

power through the nonsense, she repeats as she settles down and stares over at him. His eyes are closed, his breath already slowing down into a sleepy pattern, and despite all the bruising and bandaging, his face looks so soft when he’s asleep. It’s a sight she could definitely get used to.

-*-

 She remembers waking up the next morning, far too early for the late night they’d had. She remembers how wonderfully warm he was, hurt face buried in her shoulder and softly breathing across his shirt that she’d borrowed. She remembers her heart racing as she tried to untangle herself from the cuddling position their sleeping bodies had found themselves in, and she remembers the soft, quiet, confused ‘Ames..?’ when he woke up a few hours later and found the bed empty, with her already sitting at the tiny kitchen table she was sitting at right now.

 Looking back at the report of the night she just remembered, the little line of her name and phone number at the top seem to glare at her, scolding her for her stupid question about emergency contact changes. She can hear Jake quietly laugh before she looks up.

 “What, did you genuinely think you weren’t my first pick for emergencies?” Jake is still smiling at her, and she realises he obviously didn’t go down that little trip down memory lane with her. Maybe he was even still at the point of their conversation where Stevie Schillens was a viable option for an emergency contact as well. “Like, even without everything else going on with us… You love filling out forms, you’re responsible enough to actually take care of an emergency situation, and you know about all my stupid medical info better than me, because you keep driving me to the hospital from work.”

 “You’re saying you made a serious decision like this based on actual logical evidence instead of one of your ‘gut feelings’?” Amy’s eyebrow raises almost involuntary. Present-Jake, maybe. Past-Jake? Definitely not.

 Present-Jake can only shrug before scratching his nose, a subtle tell that she's identified by now for when he’s embarrassed, as if he’s trying to hide his face before speaking again.

 “Might’ve also liked the idea of having you in the ER with me... instead of a freaked-out Charles or something.”

 She smiles at what sounds like only half-explained truth and decides not to push it. She knows what he means, anyway. She knows, by now, that he would always ask the nurses for her when he was being treated, would always ramble on about her when blissed out on extra-strong painkillers, about how smart she was and how much she would help him and how much he hated hospitals, but not quite so much when he knew she was outside the room waiting for him.

 “Okay, but when exactly did you put me in as your emergency contact?” She puts down the last file and maneuvers around the stacks of yet unsorted papers to get over to him and the couch.

 “Eh, ‘bout two months after we were partnered up.”

 “Two- we didn’t even like each other then!”

 “Wrong. You didn’t like me.” Another nose-scratch before Amy can sit down next to him, cradling his face in her hand and smiling again at how quickly he leans into it.

 “Aw, babe. I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

 “I mean, I didn’t like-like you then. Just for the record. I wasn’t that desperate, okay? I just thought you were... neat. And really good to have around for emergencies. Probably should’ve asked you. For all I know you would’ve stranded your annoying new partner at the hospital and pretended like you never heard of me.”

 “I would have never done that!” Amy glowers at him. “Just for the record as well. I would’ve absolutely taken care of you, even though I didn’t like you or found you super annoying.”

 “I know you’re trying to be nice right now, babe, but you’re really not doing it well.” Jake grins at her again, and she can’t help but pull him towards her to kiss that snarky grin away. It reappears as soon as her lips leave his, unfortunately, but it is decidedly less snarky and far more dopey.

 “And I did show up when they called me after that drug addict attacked you, remember? I was so worried when I got that call, because I didn’t even know I was your contact, and I thought something horrible must’ve happened that they had to call me. And then it was just a fist fight.”

 “Sorry.” He mumbles. “It was a really stupid reason to call an emergency contact. Shoulda filled my forms out better.”

 “Maybe.” She smiles as she strokes across his cheek, noting the tiny scar that is still there from the stitches he had to get. “But I’m glad they did, anyway. You would’ve tried to drive yourself home and clean your wounds with mouthwash, or something.”

 “Maybe.” He echoes with an equal smile. “You do make a better home-nurse than I would, I guess. Even though you were missing the sexy outfit.”

 He earns himself a punch to the arm for that before she goes back to playing with his hair, soothing him enough that he drops the joking facade.

 “I was really happy you showed up, by the way. And took me home. And didn’t leave.”

 “Again: I would’ve never left you or not taken care of you. We’re partners, for God’s sake. What would the Captain have said if he found out I left you home alone with a concussion after you asked me for help?”

 “Yep. Holt’s imminent disappointment. Definitely the only reason I hoped you’d stay.” His smile is crooked, but Amy only continues stroking through his hair, and it quickly turns the uncomfortable smile into a content sigh. “I was so… nervous. Because... you can probably guess that I did like-like you by then. Like, you were right here in my apartment, and I wasn’t out on painkillers, but I also wasn’t awake enough to like, entertain you or anything, and I was so worried that you were already annoyed because of the whole situation and I would do something or say something stupid, but you were still there, and then you helped me with the bandages, and the, the lotion, and I think I remember the worst invitation to my bed I’ve ever given anyone, and when I woke up I thought you’d finally left, but you were just in the kitchen, and I-” He sighs again, closing his eyes and leaning forward to rest his forehead against her shoulder. “I was always torn between wanting to kiss you and wanting to apologise for being so much trouble.”

 “God, we really were hopelessly lost on each other, weren’t we?” Amy chuckles, her hand now carding through the hair on his nape rather than the curls on top.

 “I was definitely hopeless, in every sense of the word. I think I’d rather describe you as oblivious.”

 “Ooooh, good word!” She happily praises him, before realising just how sad that statement of his actually was. He lifts his head again to look at her. “I... actually, I wasn’t really oblivious at all. I’d say I was just as hopeless as you. I just hid it a bit better.”

 “But you were always there.” He smiles at her, his head sideways now, leaning against the back of the couch, and it’s so soft and comforting and homely she wants to sink into him. “For every hospital trip I needed. Maybe that’s kinda why I made you my emergency contact too. I knew you’d come no matter what, and I knew you wouldn’t leave. Whether I annoyed you like crazy or we barely knew each other or we were already good friends or we were not quite on speaking terms due to all the awkwardness.”

 She leans her head next to him, her hands wrapping around his folded in his lap.

 “I’ve got your back. Always.” She whispers, and it’s a lot more than the supportive, yet simple promise of work partners. She thinks of the many times people had left him, the many things he’d been through alone, the lonely walks to an empty house or quiet cab rides back to a dark apartment, the dinner’s in the microwave notes and the sorry, can’t tonight texts, and the few times she has actually left him alone too, not knowing yet that when he was running off scared, what he really needed was someone to run after him and tell him it’s okay.

 Their relationship is only a month old, officially, but she knows that it’s far older than that. She knows that it’s been growing and changing for years, and she knows, in that moment, that it will grow for many, many years to come. For forever, maybe, if they’re lucky. But no matter what it will change into in the future - she also knows, without a doubt in her heart, that she’ll be there. The way he knows she would, the way he’s known since two months after they met.

[duhliriouss]

Joker One Shot:

Don’t Follow Me

Request: Anon request. Thank you for your patience! I’m a little nervous about this one. Some parts felt smashed together to me and I tried to smooth them out. This also hit home and gave me a lot of writers block too because there was a time in my life where I stopped taking my own medications. I tried to mimick the affects that I experienced into this 🖤(minus the psychotic part lol)

Summary: Tired of trying to be functional and happy all the time, Y/N decides to go off her meds, believing it doesn’t matter anyway. Joker is angry with her choices and behaviors, causing him to lash out for her own health.

A/N: This contains a lot of angst and is pretty dark but do not worry it has a fluffy ending ❣️

Beta Reader: @pcrushinnerd Thank you 🖤

Word Count: 2,216

Warnings: Angst, Mental Health, Swearing, Violence and Blood, Sexual Flirting, Dominance

“Why do I attract such crazy men?” 

 “Why do you ask such crazy things?” 

 You finally looked up from the gash below Joker’s collarbone to his eyes, bringing your hand to a halt that had just previously been dabbing the wound with a wet rag. You both mirrored each other with a slight smirk before bringing your attention back to cleaning off the blood that had spread across his chest. 

 “They’re going to find you, you know. We probably shouldn’t stay here.”

“They won’t. You saw for yourself... the car accident I was in. They won’t even be able to make it down the street from the station.” 

 You didn’t have to look up again to feel that sinister smile he had that bore into you, along with his low chuckles that you felt vibrate from his chest into your hand. Joker sat lazily in the wooden dining chair that was moved to the center of his living room. You sat on his right thigh with your legs draped between his as you cleaned his wound. You dipped down to clean and wet the rag again in the bucket that laid on the floor by his feet. The apartment possessed a comforting silence other than the water that dripped back into the bucket as you rang out the rag. And not to mention the riots that raged on not far down the street. 

 The full moon glinted through the window, managing to pass through the smoke that floated up through the sky - It was still the same night that Joker had killed Murray Franklin. Only a few hours had passed since the performance he gave to his new grown followers after the car accident.

 It also had only been four days since Arthur had killed his mother, and the same day you had stopped taking your medications. It was a coincidence that it had been on the same day. It wasn’t the cause for your actions. Instead it was a bad day for you for its own reasons. 

 It was the day you realized none of it truly mattered anymore. They never did anything for you. Almost every visit you had you would always ask for your psychiatrist to increase your medication, which she carried out for you time after time until that day, she finally said it was more than enough. 

 It was anything but enough. 

 You had stormed home that night, skipping the pharmacy deliberately. You haven’t taken a single pill since. 

 You felt okay the first two days however. Only feeling slight headaches and drowsiness. You haven’t had the time to tell Arthur; he had changed since the murder of his mother. The past few days had happened so fast, though you have been with him every step of the way. Taking his side and even helping him remove Randall’s body. You were there as he told Randall and Gary how he felt better after stopping his own medications. 

 You had silently agreed. 

 You have been oh so relentless since then. Joker had figured it was the high of everything that’s been happening that made you act out this way. Little did he know you were just following in his own footsteps.

 You loved it. You loved every second that these passed few days have given you. Joker and your’s relationship was never better. It was tense and thrilling and completely unpredictable. You fed off each others’ behavior and even played menacing head games to see how far each of you could go. Joker would always win. As fun as it all was, it wasn’t all just perks. You’ve been having nightmares that had caused you to wake up in a sweat. Today you have felt angry, tired, sick to your stomach. 

 You even had a couple psychotic outbursts. One consisting of you biting into the flesh of Joker’s collarbone for the whole city to see. You couldn’t help it. Joker had brought you up on the police car as everyone started to chant to the both of you being the King and Queen of crime. You got lost in the attention. And so had Joker. He showed you off by leading you in a ominous dance before bringing you to a halt, sucking and kissing your mouth before biting down hard on your lower lip. Your own blood had flowed down your chin. You saw the admiring twinkle return to his eyes for just a moment before he took his two thumbs and displayed your own bloody smile that almost reached ear to ear. You looked into his now dilated pupils and knew Arthur was gone. And so were you now. So without any thought you had sucked down his neck, down to his collarbone and biting down, hard. The shouting of the crowd intensified, booming in your head as you smirked against his chest that poked out of his green shirt collar. 

~

 Joker hissed as you placed the rag on his chin, cleaning the other cuts and dried blood that had dripped from his mouth. 

 “Sorry, I’m almost done.” 

 He reached around and cradled your hips in place, using his thumbs to draw circles on your hipbones. You shuttered as he did so before suddenly dropping the rag and bringing your hands to your forehead. You were having another random, splitting headache. The sound of the rag splattering onto the floor reached your ears with a throbbing jolt. You closed your eyes tight, pushing down on the starting point of your eyebrow to try and relieve the pain that came without warning. 

 One of Joker’s hands left your hip to push your (y/h/c) strands of hair behind your ear. His eyebrows furrowed together disquietly.

 “Sweetheart, what’s going on with you?”

 “I’m fine!” you snapped defensively, standing up fully, facing Joker with your hands still on your head. He stayed seated as his hand left your hip while you stood, his palm opened up and forwards in a silent plead for you to sit back down. 

 You weren’t usually like this and Joker knew it. He looked up at you as he mulled over how it couldn’t all just be the stimulation you have gone through over the past few days. There was no reason for you to be this angry right now. Your headaches were too frequent. 

 “No, you’re not, look at you,” his voice was flat and as stern as his painted features. He stood up and in just a few strides was mere inches from you. You kept your head down and peaked through your parted fingers to see how close he was. You could feel the tension in the air as he slowly moved your hands away from your head, replacing them with his own. 

 “You’re burning hot.” 

 “Yeah…?” 

 Your capricious behavior was officially taking over. You ignored the agonizing pain that resided in your head as you grabbed Joker’s hand, slowly bringing it down until it ghosted over your parted lips. You took just his thumb, poking your tongue out to lick up the shaft of it before gently placing it between your teeth. Your eyes stayed locked with his as you continued to lick guiltlessly. It was still silent in the room. The only noise breaking it being the clock ticking on the wall and Joker’s breath hitching under your actions. 

 “Stop.… You’re hiding something from me, aren’t you kitten?” His mouth stayed slightly open as his eyes flickered from your mouth to your (y/e/c) eyes. 

 “What? Am I not allowed to do this?” 

 You brought his thumb deeper in your mouth, swirling your tongue expertly. You could still taste your own blood from when he smeared your own very clownish smile. You watched as his eyes darkened mischievously. 

 Before you could even think to object, Joker took his thumb out of your mouth with a pop and replaced it with his own mouth. He hungrily smashed his lips against yours, it was enough to send your steps backwards until your back hit the wall. He separated your lips with his tongue demandingly, trying desperately to taste you. You willingly accepted his silent command up until an unexpected, ghastly sensation rose up your body to the top of your head. You shuttered and pushed him away from you. 

 Joker watched you in disbelief of your sudden actions as you turned away from him, holding your mouth with a shaky hand. You felt even more nauseated now from the movement it took to hide your face. Joker caught on quickly, hastily making his way over to lift and hold your hair behind your head. His left hand leveraged your left arm for you to lean over and throw up. 

 And oh did you throw up viciously. You stayed leaning over and held by him until you were confident it was all out. You would usually be extremely humiliated by such an incident, especially since things were just starting to heat up...but you had instead pulled yourself back up, turned to Joker with a wide, chilling smile, wiping your face with the back of your sleeve, then smiled even wider.

 “I feel so much better now!” 

 Joker had let go of you now. His eyes flickered from the bile on the floor to your misbehaved, spacious smile. His eyes bore into you now with a serious glint. All desire in his eyes vanished, replaced with the annoyance of knowing there was something you weren’t telling him. You watched as his jaw clenched while he licked the bottom of his red stained lip, clearly trying to find the words to question why you were acting this way. 

 “I’d say you’ve learned well from me in this short amount of time darling...but we both know it’s not the cause for this.…” 

 “Oh, but it is,” you smirked, taking a single step towards him. “I’ve only followed in your footsteps, Mr. Fleck.” You took a second step. 

 “What’s that even mean?! And don’t. Call me. That.” he breathed in a threatening tone. Your body fluttered to this new tension you were creating. 

 “I stopped taking my medications on the day your mother croaked. I’ve felt so much better Joker! Just like you said before you killed Randall. Isn’t that great?” Your voice turned more giddy.

 You expected Joker to lower his guard and match your deranged smile. But instead you watched as his hands clenched, shaking just enough to reach his clenched jaw. He huffed out a single laugh, staring off to the ceiling above you. Your smile lowered at the realization that he was still angry. He laughed again, shaking his head as he turned on his heels, making his way over to the bathroom. He threw the medicine cabinet open, fumbling aggressively with pill bottles, looking for the ones that had your name printed on them. He gathered them all in his hands, wiping the sweat off his forehead as he made his way back over to you. He walked fast, wasting no time to teach you a lesson. 

 He stopped until he was less than a inch away from you. You peeked up timidly as he grabbed your jaw, forcing your head to look up at him, making you flinch. 

 “Open.” 

 “But I don’t want to! Why can’t I be like y—“ 

 “I said open!” His voice raised into a deep yell. 

 You complied and opened your mouth, and he took his other hand that contained the pills and sprinkled them one by one on your tongue. You closed your mouth and swallowed. It was silent for just a moment until Joker sighed, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand again before digging in his red pockets for a cigarette. You stayed still as you watched him walk over and fall onto the couch lazily, crossing his legs, with his arm that held the cigarette draped over the back of the couch. He looked deep into thought. He didn’t look at you as he spoke:

 “I never asked you to be like me. I don’t want you to follow in my footsteps. I’m too dangerous for you. I’m sorry if you felt like you needed to.” 

 “I’m sorry...” you said, feeling ashamed as tears filled your eyes. 

 “Don’t be. It’s my own fault. I should have kept better watch on you.” He finally looked up at you. His heart clenched as he watched the tears threaten to fall down your flushed cheeks. “Come here baby girl.” 

 You walked over hesitantly, keeping your head down and your arms by your sides. As you got closer, he uncrossed his legs to give you better access to fall into his embrace. And you did. You adjusted yourself in his lap and tucked your head into the crook of his neck, letting the tears freely fall. He lifted his head and wrapped his free arm around you, taking a deep drag before he spoke again. 

 “I forced you into all this. But you need to promise me that you won’t follow me. Promise me you won’t pick up on my behaviors and actions. Close your precious eyes for now on when I kill for you. Your innocence is what made me fall in love with you Y/N. Please don’t let me take that away from you.” 

 “I promise.…”