#sorry in advance to next housemates who have no idea what they’re in for

[yakultii]

ok but reason no 2 why imma move back into a sharehouse when lease is up so I don’t have to worry ab randomly dying bc it’s not necessarily death that scares me but the literal rotting alone in my apartment for days and literally no one will know bc I have no human interactions except sometimes my mum texts me every few days (she’s 4hr away) but she’ll think I’m just being rude and ignoring her which makes me even sadder which is all hella ironic cos I wouldn’t be here anyway but my anxiety transcends all dimensions … like also it doesn’t scare me the fact I’d be rotting it’s more like the anxiety I’d get if I ever did a prank pretending to not know something cause I’d wanna tell them right away I want them to know I know, I can’t stand them not knowing the truth not knowing that I know the truth I always want people to know things idk why I’m like this why do they need know things when I never really know anything

[willowbleedsonpaper]

Play Dumb

Draco Malfoy x Ravenclaw Female Reader

W.C. 3500

A/N: Hello! So this is my first time posting something I wrote. I’m a little nervous but also very proud of this. I apologize in advance if there is any mistake, English is not my first language.  

I would love to know what you think! Thank you and happy reading.

Summary: One day visiting your friend Myrtle, you found that she already had company. Learning some things you shouldn’t about Draco Malfoy you become really nervous around him and see yourself in the need to face him.

*Not my GIF. Credits to the creator*

 You knew you shouldn’t be out so late, the corridors were completely empty and the echo of your hurried footsteps were so loud you wouldn’t be surprised if some prefect caught you just because of the sound. 

But you weren’t the only one out past curfew. The sound of laughter and chase reached your ears from the end of the hallway and there was only one escape. You waited until whoever was having worse luck than you ran past so you could turn and head to your destination. Just as your back rested flat against the stone wall a group of Gryffindors ran the opposite direction from where you were followed close by Mr. Filch who limped as fast as he could after them.

You counted to ten on your head, letting out a breath and resuming your way. The second floor girl’s bathroom was rarely visited by anyone, but you found comfort in the friendly chat you could have with the fellow Ravenclaw, even is she was dead. Not many took the time to get to know Myrtle and she didn’t give chances easily after being called names and thrown things her way, you on the other hand, gathered the patience and tried your best to be an enjoyable company to the girl. You argued, many times ending in an exchange of shouts and petty insults but you always came back and Myrtle always welcomed you with open arms. 

So to say that you were shocked to hear a different voice from Myrtle’s as you walked through the door was an understatement. You tiptoed your way in, curious as to who would be there that late at night, you never encountered anyone else there on your visits. 

“Myrtle?” you called, taking the last steps to where Myrtle usually. There on the floor sat a boy, he rested his body against the wall, hugging his knees and looking up to nowhere in particular. He didn’t seemed to have heard you until his head snapped at you, your shoe stepping in a puddle of water.

“What are you doing here?” he grumbled, clearly annoyed as his wide eyes changed into a glare. It was Draco Malfoy. You could see him now more clearly, his hair was little wild and his eyes looked tormented, but otherwise it was just the Slytherin Prince in the flesh.

“I came here to see Myrtle.” you answered him, opting to not say a thing about his puffy eyes of the fact that his hands shaked at his sides “I can go,” you offered pointing at the door “She’s not here anyway” and with that you turned on your heel, leaving without another word.

********************************************************************

Your days at Hogwarts were peaceful and full of joy. You adored each and every single one of your classes even if you weren't the best at them, the fact that you tried was enough for you, spending time at the library to research the subjects you didn’t fully understand and just for the sake of being there. If someone was looking for you that would be the first place to look. 

You were rarely alone. You were always by your housemate and best friend side, Luna Lovegood, and so it wasn’t a surprise to find her alongside her friends from Gryffindor, Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom. Ginny was the only Weasley you ever considered talking to, the others were too involved in the drama of  Harry Potter’s life, and even if you caught on the looks Ginny would give the boy who lived, she didn’t drag the problems with her. 

You were happy.

The biggest problem you’ve had in all your years at Hogwarts involved failing a test. That was it. You weren’t a brilliant witch like Granger but you weren’t stupid either. You learned even if that didn’t reflect on your grades all the time. 

And yet, lately you found yourself nervous all the time. You felt watched, every place you turned a certain Slytherin was looking your way. Sometimes his eyes would drift away from you and pretend he wasn’t staring but in more than one occasion you’ve locked eyes with him and he shamelessly would keep on looking at you. 

Did you do something to anger him? No, you would remember something like that. You’ve barely crossed paths with him, much less talked to him. Then why the sudden interest in you? 

“Y/N?” you turned your eyes to Luna next to you, giving her a shy smile “Are you alright?” she asked you with a little smile of her own.

You nodded your head, and took a sip of your juice in front of you “Sorry Luna,” you said “I’m just distracted, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” she sighed happily “I can see that. I’ve also noticed how Draco has been staring at you the entire week” she said, you choked a little on your juice at the casual tone with which she spoke.  She handed you a napkin, muttering a Thank you you took it from her hand. Luna tilted her head in your direction “Haven’t you noticed?”

“Actually, yes.” you answered nervously “I don’t why, though.”

Luna hummed softly under her breath, turning gracefully to the table and getting a piece of fruit “Maybe it has to do with your encounter with him” she said.

“Why is that? We barely spoke” you frowned at her, the idea never crossing your mind

“Well, if I was Draco and someone had seen me potentially crying I would be scared of that someone gossiping” Luna smiled, grabbing her bag and holding her hand out for you to take “You coming?” she asked.

You mirrored her actions, taking her hand and walking to your first class of the day. You found it difficult to concentrate the entire day, Luna’s words ringing inside your head at all times. You couldn’t grasp your head around the idea of Draco Malfoy being scared of you telling everyone that you saw him crying. Why would anyone do that? Everybody cries, it’s human. 

You pushed the thoughts aside, or as much as you could, and carried on with your day as normally as you could. The back of your head burning at all times with glares and stares from the blonde boy.

********************************************************************

“What’s gotten into you?” Blaise Zabini took his usual spot next to Draco on the common room, the fire burning as he started intently into the flames.

“What do you mean?” Draco asked back, never lifting his eyes to look at him.

Blaise laughed softly, pointing his hands at him “That’s what I mean.” he exclaimed “You’ve been inside your head the past week, barely putting any attention to any of us or the classes. How many times have you asked for my notes?” he asked with a raised eyebrow “Pansy’s? Theo’s? Merlin! Next thing we know we’ll have to give the class ourselves” 

Draco’s glare made Blaise slump a little in his seat, but he didn’t walk away or apologized like many did. Years of practice being around Draco did that to you.

“It’s called thinking, Zabini” he growled standing from his seat “You should try it some time”

“Where are you going?” he asked Draco who stopped at door of the common room. Draco only flashed his prefect badge at him, turning and leaving without uttering a word.

No one had said anything to him, not a comment making fun of him nor a funny look, nothing. He was on edge every time he stepped on his common room and heard his friends laughing. The first thought coming to his head being They're laughing at me. But it was never the case. Why was he so scared of you saying something? Did you even notice he was crying? He didn’t even knew your name until two days back when Longbottom shouted for you on the middle of the courtyard, you ran towards him and didn't even spare a glance his way. 

Y/N Y/L/N. A Half-blood Ravenclaw. 

He would have never acknowledged your existence if it wasn’t for those miserable ten seconds he talked to you, and know you were his every waking thought. Why did he had to breakdown that night? Why did you have to go there at the same time as him?

Why was he walking to the exact same place where yet another problem was thrown over his shoulders?

He opened the door, finding it empty. Maybe it was just a coincidence you were there that night. He made his way to one of the windows, sitting down so the moonlight would shine over his face. He closed his eyes, shaky breaths leaving his lips as he tried to even his breathing. Then the door burst open.

“Myrtle!” It was you again, he rolled his eyes standing and crossing his arms over his chest, you halted and squinting your eyes at him “Hello” you said, recuperating quickly from the shock and walking past him “Have you seen Myrtle?” you asked him so casually his entire unbothered look faltered.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in annoyance, his face hardened as you pulled several things from your bag without a care in the world.

“I could ask you the same thing?” you said back, not bothering to look at him.

“I’m a prefect” he said matter of factly and your entire body stiffened, standing up straight with your eyes scrunched closed.   

You cursed under your breath, but then you came to the realization that you were in the girl’s bathroom, your body relaxing as you asked him “Are you patrolling the bathroom?”

He was about to answer but no words left his mouth, he stared at you in anger and pointed to the door “I have to report you” 

You turned your entire body to him, he had to admit you were intimidating with the look of determination in your eyes, your straight posture that make you look taller than you were but still, you had to tilt your head upwards to stare into his eyes “Right, let’s go to professor Flitwick. I bet he’ll love to hear how you find me in your patrol through the girl's bathroom.” the words left your mouth so fast you didn't even had control over your voice, sounding like a complete bitch.

“Sorry,” you sighed, still accommodating your place “But I’m not going with you” you shrugged, giving him a side glance to see his reaction.

He scoffed loudly, the bitterness in his face almost making you uncomfortable but you were more taken aback at his reaction, turning completely to him with a frown. “You’re trying to blackmail me, aren’t you?” he laughed humorlessly missing your face contort in one of utter confusion.

“Excuse me?” you said, letting your body fall to the ground sitting there as you looked at him pace.

“You are going to tell the entire school that you saw me crying the other night unless I let you get away with this.” he said, his pacing increasing as he started to rant “I knew there was a reason you didn’t tell anyone…”

“Malfoy”

“...I knew Ravenclaw’s were clever…”

“Malfoy!” 

“...this is infuriating!”

“DRACO!” you finally shouted, grabbing his shoulders to hold him in place “Who was crying?” you asked and watched his face fell.

“What?” he whispered, you gave him a concerned look and he shook himself from your grasp “You mean you didn’t  see me?” he asked relieved, a relief that quickly was replaced with anger. How could he had been so stupid?

“Draco” you called softly, keeping your distance as you noticed how he had tensed at your touch “Are you alright?”

He shoot you a glare, practically fuming “Stay away from me” he growled and stormed away, leaving a very bad energy in the air.

You sighed, picking up your bag and getting all your supplies inside. Your painting session would have to wait. You stayed a few more minutes chatting with Myrtle, the only thing she could talk about being Draco and how he visited her too from time to time. 

 That night you stay up until late, wandering what other things did Draco do that you didn’t know of. You wondered why was he so scared of you and the information you learned of him.

********************************************************************

Weeks passed by and you had managed to avoid Draco at all costs, dominating the art of ignoring stares you tried to never be alone, you also cut short your visits to Myrtle, her telling you specifically which day to go. You didn't question her, you even managed to convince Luna to tag along a few times. 

Everything was going great. You changed spots and instead of visiting Myrtle you found a windowsill covered by a thick curtain where you could sit and read, sometimes even paint.

So when someone cleared his throat from beside you, you jumped in your place, heart beating hard as you turned to face whoever interrupted your reading. Coming face to face with stern grey eyes.

“Merlin,” you breathed out, catching your breath as you picked your book from the floor “Next time announce yourself or something.” you said. 

“Go to your common room” he said, walking past you. You stayed frozen in place and he seemed to notice, his head turning to look at you in disbelief “Now!” he hissed but you still couldn’t take a step.

“Aren’t you going to report me?” you asked him.

He began to lose his patience, marching towards you and you stumbled back as you caught sight of his sleeves rolled up his arms, bracing yourself against the wall “Do you,” he said eyeing your entire body “want me to report you?”

Saying your heart rate was normal would be a lie, that your arms were not shaking would also be a lie. You swallowed the gulp in your throat, shaking your head fast you avoided to look at him and what you just saw, ducking your head down “Goodnight Draco” you said making a beeline to your dorm. Who knew Draco had a tattoo?

********************************************************************

   You were officially paranoid. Everywhere you go your eyes scanned the room at least three times for the Slytherin Prefect, and if you even saw a glimpse of him you would run the opposite direction like your life depended on it. You would collapse on other people walking, drop their books or leave your friends abandoned in the middle of a hallway with confused looks, by now they didn’t question you, they just sighed and waited for you to return on your own or for them to find you again.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell them that Draco Malfoy had you walking on eggshells, that you couldn’t be in the same room as him out of fear of him snapping at you. 

You were terrified. 

And Draco had caught up in your odd behaviour, he never paid attention to you but now it was hard not to.  As soon as your professors said the class was over you jumped to your feet and ran; he went several times to the second floor bathroom in the hopes that he would found you there, he even tried the same windowsill where scared you so bad you dropped your book. He thought of going to your friends but not one time did he gathered the courage to do so. He was lost. 

“Draco?” he lifted his head from the book spread over the library table, his eyes falling back to the pages as he met Pansy Parkinson’s eyes “We looked all over the castle for you” she said, a little upset but said nothing more as she took the chair next to him. She frowned at the papers he worked on, not recognizing the subject “What is that?” 

He was quick to cover the pages with his arms, gathering all of it so he could put it away in his bag. He muttered a Nothing, getting to his feet, Pansy following close “We’re going to the three Broomsticks“ she said “You want to come with us?” 

“I have homework to do” he answered coldly, and she sighed knowing it was lie. They all had finished their homework the day before so they could go out without any worry. 

Pansy glanced at him, a smirk tugging to her lips as she leaned into his ear “I heard certain Ravenclaw girl would be there” she whispered, making him stop leaving him a few steps behind her.

“What?” he asked, glaring at his friend when her smirk widened “You’re  mental.” he established resuming his walk. She catched up with him, holding his wrist so he would turn and face her.

“I didn’t say who,” she said triumphantly “and you didn’t deny it.” he scoffed moving his eyes away from her, crossing his arms over his chest “Oh, c’mon Draco. We all saw it, you’re not as discrete as you think”

If only you knew, he thought. With a shake of his head he turned to their common room muttering the password and stepping inside. “Leave it, Pansy.” he asked in defeat “This has nothing to do with her, she’s just a problem I’ll have to deal with”

Pansy Parkinson made her fame around being a gossiper, annoying, nosey and manipulative. But she treasure her friends . She knew they all had their boundaries and problems of their own. She knew when to step back.

One of her hands came to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze “We’ll be at the three broomsticks for a while.” she said as an invitation, her hand fell and she left him be. 

Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair he looked at his reflection in one vase over the table, he was thinner and looked untidy. He hated looking as he felt. But right now wasn’t time for looks, he had a job to do. 

He changed into a more comfortable choice of clothes, making his way to the Room of Requirement. He paced outside the wall a few times before the door appeared before him. 

“In the name of Rowena Ravenclaw!” he heard you yell as soon as he crossed the door, closing it slowly behind him “Are you following me?” you asked shutting your book with such a force a thin coat of dust flew from it. 

He stood there in shock, that wasn’t the room of requirement. It was a library, but a more comfortable one. Soft couches were lined alongside the bookshelves full of every book you would want to read, the floor was scattered with rugs and cushions, many of them accomodated in a makeshift bed where you had been reading previous his arrival.

“What?” he whispered, looking at you for answers. But you were having no more of it.  You jumped to your feet and stormed to his side “Y/N…”

“No” you said pointing a finger at him “Don’t Y/N me” you shut him, and he stood there listening to your every word “You know how much I have suffered because you told me to stay away from you? I don’t even know why I listened to you, but I was terrified. You are intimidating, did you you knew that?”

“Terrified?” he gasped. Never would he have thought that you would use that word to describe him but here you were, ranting on and on about how scared you were, tripping over your own feet as you unconsciously took a few steps back.

 You stopped all the gibberish pouring out of your mouth at his question, your eyes were wide but something told you that he was hurt by your words. Your eyes stole glance at his left forearm, quickly realizing your mistake as his own eyes followed your movement.

“You saw it?” he asked, moving a hand to his forearm, running his thumb softly over his sleeve.

You nodded, still shaky that after all your attempts at hiding from him he managed to find you. “I haven’t told anyone” you practically yelled and he now understood your fear towards him. 

You knew he was a Death Eater.

“It’s alright” he whispered “I know you haven’t”

You let a breath out, fidgeting with your hands “Look, I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m worried about you.” you admitted, a blush creeping over your face “No one deserves to be alone” you muttered, not daring to look up in fear you just made a fool out of yourself in front of the person you were scared of not  more than an hour ago. 

But when he did not answer the curiosity killed you and you rose your head. His eyes glistened and he had a soft smile on his lips, he looked sad and vulnerable. You couldn’t resist and took the short steps separating the two of you. You engulfed him in a tight embrace, resting your head in his chest as you waited for his body to relax. Just when you thought about letting go of him, he let out a shaky laugh and wrapped his arms around you with the same intensity you did.

 You stayed like that for a short while, him pulling you away and looking down at you “Does that mean you didn’t see me cry?” he asked.

You laughed loudly, a look of adoration in his face as your laugh died down “Oh, I did” you said with a chuckle “I just played dumb”

[allegedlyanandroid]

Pairing: Allen60 Prompt: Cold Types: Found Family, Fluff AU: Angels and Demons, Sixty as the little devil he is, and Allen just being human.

I am so late 😅 I wrote an entire thing before realising I hated every word of it and started over from scratch. Anyway... excuses aside, I hope you like it @yayen-chan <3 `(‾◡◝)´ 

“Okay, bookshelves first,” Allen mutters, following the intricate maze of arrows and concrete as he tries to navigate the local IKEA. “Or rugs. That works too,” he sighs when he glances up and finds himself in the wrong part of the store. Looking through the copious amounts of different rugs Allen rapidly finds himself overwhelmed. He tries reading a few of the ridiculously complicated names, stuttering over them when trying to read them out loud. “Ra- raskmol- mölle?”  

Giving up on the fifth time trying to pronounce it correctly Allen rolls the grey-and-black striped fabric up and tosses it on the cart, already dreading trying to find the rest of the items on his list. There’s only one really but when passing through the plant-section he stops to pick up a potted plant. The other one is beyond salvaging from lack of water. “Ilex, foreeneling? För-enlig. What are these names?”  

After another dead-end and some frustrated grumbling, he does find the bookshelf he needs. Honestly… this trip alone solidifies why he’s never getting a puppy. The one he took in to foster was a sweet thing but very demanding and unaware that he weighed quite a lot for a pup. He’d knocked Allen’s bookshelf over, thus breaking it, and also had an accident on his rug. If being petless meant never having to go here again then that’s a price he’s willing to pay. At least the shelter had found a family for him quickly and, while he did miss the little rascal, the puppy was undoubtedly in better hands.  

“Kallax, hemnes... gersby?”

Too caught up in his own head he doesn't notice the strange scent of warm brimstone and ash filtering through the air nor does he notice the young “man” standing behind him, a man who seemingly appeared out of thin air, until he hears the sound of a throat clearing. Allen jerks his head up from wrestling with the cardboard box and offers an apologetic smile over his shoulder. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

“Or, you could tell me why I’m here and spare me the mundane small talk you humans seem so obnoxiously fond of.”

“I’m sorry?”

The man squints. “You summoned me.”

Allen pauses to take a good look at the man. He’s tall with black, artistically tousled hair and endless amounts of freckles. A few moles are scattered across his skin and his brown eyes are filled with irritation. Dark jeans with a long-sleeved shirt tucked into it, a black overcoat ending at about mid-thigh and a purple scarf hanging unknotted around his neck. Allen thinks long and hard yet finds no recollection of ever seeing this man before in his life let alone speaking to him. “I have no idea who you are.”

“You-” the man pinches the bridge of his nose, inhales deeply and slowly let it out before starting again. “You read the incantation to evoke me and you what… didn’t even realise it?” he asks and receives nothing but a blank stare from Allen in return. “Ugh, humans.”

In the blink of an eye the man transforms. Horns curve with the shape of his skull, producing from close to his temples, before ending in sharp tips that blend in with his raven hair. A black tail is wrapped around his leg which ends with a jagged spear-like point. The tips of his fingers look like they’ve been dipped in charcoal, fading into dark grey about halfway up his fingers, with claw-like black nails top it all off. They tap against the metal shelf next to them as the demon slowly advances.  

Too shocked to move, Allen’s jaw is taken in a firm grip and when the demon smiles his teeth are pointed blades. “So… are you going to tell me what it is you want?”

“You can let go of my face for a start,” Allen says, adding a quick “thank you,” when the demon does as he’s told. “What’s your name?”

“You may call me Sixty.”

“Sixty,” Allen repeats. “No offence but I quite like having my soul intact. I’m sorry for dragging you from… whatever circle of hell you reside in, but I’m not interested in making any sort of deal with you.”

“Sucks to be you then because I’m not leaving until you do,” Sixty says and from his tone of voice alone Allen knows he’s a hundred percent serious.  

‘Fucking IKEA.’

-

“Really? You couldn’t have chosen to live somewhere a bit warmer?” Sixty asks with disdain, thankfully back to looking human. His feet sink into the four inches worth of snow dusting the ground and he can already feel the cold seeping in through the gaps in his clothing. “Or somewhere nicer in general.”

“No one’s forcing you to stay.”

“No one’s forcing you to live here.” A pause. “Or if they are, I am more than willing to kill them for you free of charge.”  

Allen sighs.

-

Having a demon for a housemate isn’t as bad as he thought it would be. Sixty mostly keeps to himself whenever he isn’t trying to get a rise out of him or complaining about the cold or putting things on tall shelves like the little shit he is. Until Sixty gets bored that is.

Because when Sixty gets bored trouble ensues.  

-

Emerging from his office after a long day of meetings to see his demonic housemate casually chatting with parts of his team in the breakroom is a bit out of left field and the sight of Sixty’s mischievous eyes boring into his own is enough to quicken his pace. “What are you doing here, Si- Silas?” he asks, forcing a smile on his face.

He hates how no one else can look past the innocent brown eyes and syrupy grin to see the smugness beneath. “I thought we were supposed to eat lunch together? Did you forget?”

“No, of course not,” Allen hastens to say, ignoring Willis and Clark’s knowing grins, as he wracks his brain for a response. “Though I distinctly remember asking you to wait outside.”

“It would have been rude of me to decline Julie’s offer of getting coffee,” Sixty replies and raises his mug as if to show it off.

“No need to be jealous, boss. We just wanted to get to know the guy better,” Julie says.

“Yeah, it’s not like we’ve ever seen you hang out with anyone outside of work apart from Reed,” Clark pipes up. “We got curious.”

“I’m not jealous!” Allen tries to defend himself, latching on to the word, but the agitated tone does nothing to help his case. Sixty smirking behind the rim of the coffee cup like a cat who got the cream isn’t helping to improve his mood either.

“You are the pettiest asshole I’ve ever had the unfortunate luck of meeting,” Allen says when they’re safely away from prying eyes.

Sixty snickers, knowing full well the amount of endless curiosity and ceaseless questions he’s unleashed on the human. “There’s an easy way to get rid of me.”

The fistful of snow he gets shoved in his face shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

By the time he manages to blink the melting snow out of his eyes Allen is too far away to retaliate, though that doesn’t stop Sixty from trying.  

-

Despite his best efforts Sixty’s irritation with being unceremoniously dragged into the mortal plane dissipates after the third week of staying with Allen. By the time he’s been there for a month and a half, Allen’s team have adopted him as one of their own and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t flattered. They genuinely care about his well-being and often invite him along on outings. As someone whose family is… overbearing, their light-hearted ribbing is a nice change of pace. Their easy dynamic is the very opposite of stifling. No one ever pries when he declines to answer a question. No one touches him after he made it clear he dislikes physical contact. No one quizzes him about his every movement.

It’s… nice.

The next team building exercise and subsequent photo op, proudly displayed on the communal fridge, includes him and Sixty doesn’t cry even a little bit upon seeing that.  

Not at all.

-

In the end, the shift in their relationship is near seamless ‒ from reluctant roommates to friends to something more.  

What hits him first is the metallic scent of fresh blood and Sixty is halfway across the room before he can even process rising to his feet. He gathers Allen up in his arms and leads him to sit down on one of the kitchen chairs. Part of his dark shirt is tacky with blood and Sixty feels no remorse when he shreds it to get it off as quickly as possible. Something, a bullet or knife, must have grazed his side. It’s bleeding sluggishly though it thankfully isn’t deep. Sixty takes the ruined shirt and presses it against the wound. “Keep putting pressure on it.”

Allen doesn’t answer and in the end he’s the one who has to move Allen’s hand to take over while he dashes to the bathroom for the medkit. Sixty plunks it down on the floor and fills a bowl of lukewarm water to put down beside it before fetching a clean towel. He kneels down between Allen’s legs and cleans meticulously around the area, noting the patches of skin where bruises are slowly forming. Swiping over the wound with antiseptic earns him a bitten-off hiss and Sixty puts a hand on Allen’s sternum to steady him after the first involuntary flinch.  

He keeps it there, soothed by feeling the steady thrum of Allen’s heartbeat beneath his fingertips, until he needs the use of both his hands. In its absence, Sixty’s tail comes up to wrap loosely around his thigh for comfort.  

Butterfly bandages instead of sutures, his tail instead of his hand. Allen doesn’t say a word about either choice though he is smiling down where they’re connected once Sixty chances a quick peek.

There’s nothing left for him to do after covering the wound with gauze, taping the edges down, yet Sixty finds himself lingering there regardless.  

It’s easy to trace around the gauze with the very tip of a claw and when he catches Allen’s dark eyes the urge to lean down to place a gentle kiss over it wins out. Allen sighs quietly and coaxes Sixty up to kiss him properly ‒ a chaste press of lips against lips followed by a sincere thank you.  

Sixty blushes and knocks his forehead against Allen’s, mindful of his horns, in a silent show of affection.

-

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“Because I literally stepped in the door a second ago?” Allen laughs and pulls Sixty in for a quick kiss.

“Excuses,” Sixty sniffs and steals another kiss, one that quickly devolves into a dozen pecks being pressed all over his face until Allen plants a last lingering one to his lips.

“I love you,” Allen says when they break apart for real.  

The shy smile spreading over Sixty’s lips is one he’ll never tire of seeing.

[engenuity]

voldy minime and the gryffindor golden boy

A gryffindor!jay and slytherin!reader fic

word count: 2450 words

genre: fantasy

Your teachers and probably anyone who looks at you longer than a second think that you are the next Voldemort.

Well, you can’t really blame them because you have a lot of similarities with the former Dark Lord

A half-blood who was left with the muggles, sorted into Slytherin, full of charms and wit that is both astounding and terrifying

You put all the blame on Tom Riddle on why he had to be a Dark Lord out of all the possible career choices because now, even with all your charm and no matter how much you smile, everyone is just hesitant when it comes to you

It makes manipulating a lot more difficult than it should be and it sucks

You can remember how disbelieving you were when one man suddenly came before you and told you that you are a wizard and apparently, magic really does exist

It’s a prank — probably made by your friends who decided that it was a good time to make you look dumb and dreamy just because you’re way too serious, and “having fun won’t hurt you”

Turned out that the man wasn’t a fraud, and he is a professor in an institution called Hogwarts which you’ll now attend. Congratulations!

You still can’t believe that you get to have free magic education

If you were the next Voldy as everyone lowkey believes, you’ll also hold Hogwarts in a high regard like he did

But sorry to disappoint them, you don’t really want to conquer the world nor annihilate the muggles and muggleborns

Your mother is a muggle and you grew up in the muggle world for god’s sake

I mean, yeah, to live in the streets after your mother died wasn’t easy and some people really deserve to be avada kedavra’d but dark lord isn’t on the top of your career choices list right now or like ever

And you’re so not going to make horcruxes. You don’t fear death, you accept the whole concept of living and then dying wholeheartedly. What you fear is commitment.

So how do we make one Nishimura Riki to go away and pester someone else?

First year, after the sorting, this guy with aristocratic features immediately befriended you. Good thing you’re on the same house. He was the one to teach you most of the things that you needed in order to survive inside the house of the snakes. Apparently everyone knew that you are an illegitimate child, and your father came from a line of a highly regarded pureblood family, so you were a big scandal when you came into the wizarding world.

At first you were really suspicious of Ni-ki, but it turned out that he just really wanted to help you and he’s a big softie under all those piercing gazes

The hat sorted him into slytherin because he asked it to

He’s a vain to your existence because your greatest fear is to get attached but the boy is such a precious bean so you always have an internal conflict on whether to keep him or make him go away

But to think about your bestfriend having other friends kinda hurt

Except that’s exactly what happened when Taki from Hufflepuff easily passed through all the walls around Ni-ki and then he was adopted into K and Seon’s friend group

It’s comprised of wizards and witches from different houses so you really weren’t that worried that Ni-ki will face discrimination

Honestly, ever since Harry Potter ended the last wizarding war everyone’s putting more effort to treat all students equally regardless of their house

You were happy for Ni-ki, of course, because you see him having fun setting pranks among other things with them

Merlin, he even plays quidditch with them when you both already established that he can’t ride a broom even if his life depended on it

You tried teaching him, because, well, you’re one of slytherin’s beater and you’re good at quidditch

(Another point on why you can’t be a Voldemort wannabe)

Then one day, Ni-ki suddenly approached you after you exited the library and you can see his new friend group meters away from where you both stand

He invited you to a quidditch match, and who are you to say no?

You highkey want to prove that, well, you’re better than Ni-ki’s new friends and yes, you’re petty and jealous like that

Pretty sure you glared at everyone included in K and Seon’s little (big) friend group but they just look amused and it’s irritating

It’s not like Ni-ki comments or anything so it’s fine

Quidditch happened, and your team (aka you, sungchul, daniel, ej, heeseung, k and taeyong) won the game so you can’t help but wear a huge ass grin

You definitely proved the point you’re just proving to yourself, and well, you enjoyed aggressively hitting the bludgers to Jay from Gryffindor  

You enjoy the quiet yet the guy is just so LOUD every single time

And he clings to Ni-ki so much

You despise him, lowkey, just lowkey

Jake of Hufflepuff commented that you were out for Jay’s blood but is he wrong though

You didn’t miss the way Jungwon of Gryffindor glared at you though

After the match, you sorta also kind of got adopted to their friend group

You didn’t really notice it at first, but when you’re in classes without having Ni-ki with you, one of the guys sit beside you instead.

You find yourself gossiping with Jaebeom of Gryffindor and Sunoo of Ravenclaw in the library instead of doing your essays weeks in advance

That summer, Heeseung of Hufflepuff invited you to stay with them and you accepted the invitation. You didn’t regret it.

You also met with the other guys when you go shopping in the muggle or wizarding world, or when you go for dinner together, and  —

Going to the arcade was fun especially seeing Sunghoon, your housemate, who’s mostly calm and poised, lose his voice because of all the shouting he made while playing the vr

Jay also got mad scared but it’s the normal. He’s Jay after all.

You also went to an ice skating rink and Sunghoon is just so majestic

When Jungwon said that he’s better at skating than walking, he wasn’t lying

Sunghoon and Heeseung taught you how to skate. You suck at it, but well you can’t be good at everything. Can You-Know-Who even skate?

It was fun, they’re fun, you enjoy being with them so so much.

Now what happened to not getting attached?

The most unexpected was your friendship with Jay. How did it even happen?

You’re a hundred percent sure you wanted him dead during your first quidditch match. Now you found yourself running and throwing yourself to him when their team won the quidditch cup this year. The fact that they defeated your usually undefeated team went ignored.

A loud cough pulled you away from Jay (it was definitely Sunghoon’s) but you proceeded to ruffle Jeongseong’s sweaty hair anyway while giving him a very very bright smile you didn’t know you can do.

Why are you so proud of him anyway? He was that annoyingly loud guy within the friend group, a pureblooded gryffindor who acts first before thinking, thinks he’s funny when he’s not, had the patience to listen to your nonsensical existentialist ramblings, comforted you when you were having a breakdown about your grades, always shares his plans for the future and all of those plans include you, he includes you?

You still can’t remove Ni-ki’s affronted face matching Jay’s proud one when you helplessly giggle because of a joke the gryffindor made.

In your defense the joke is actually funny (other people says otherwise)

You find it easier to have fun, be happy, when you’re around them, especially when you’re around Jay.

It wasn’t your observation, you see, it was Ni-ki’s. He confronted you about it and that’s how you became more aware of your feelings. It’s all good though, Jay’s just your friend, or best friend? depends on how you categorize or think of the people within the group

Besides, the fear is still there

Except the observation wasn’t solely noted by your first best friend. Sunoo and Jaebeom can tease you with just using Jeongseong’s name. K and Seon sometimes give you advice about love and courting at random times. Taki and Ni-ki literally pushes you to him whenever you meet. Jake and Sunghoon give subtle hints around that you think you’re supposed to remember such as Jay likes sweet things — He likes watching anime, you know what that is right? It’s really weird for a pureblood to know about those muggle things but his aunt is a muggleborn so I think that’s the reason why —Jay’s like a puppy isn’t he? — That Park Jeongseong is still angry at Heesung hyung because he gets to have you the whole summer last year —

Are you crushing on him? Or is this just an attraction you can easily recover from? Or are you feeling this way because of how your friends always tease you?

You have no idea, lol.

And as much as those romance novels you borrowed from Hanbin shows that whenever the main character gets confused, they avoid the other person, you didn’t avoid Jay because well, that would be stupid

But if he ever really do confess to you just like what Jungwon suspects, you’re gonna ride a broom and zoom out of the castle real quick, and probably build a following and actually just be the next dark lord because that’s easier than dealing with feelings

Especially if those feelings involve absolute pure softness to a guy who just used only his arms to crawl on the floor

“That’s the dance step, he’s not high or anything”  — Seon, explaining, because he probably feared the way you see Jay will change after what he did

But again those feelings involve absolute pure softness and you didn’t really think before saying “aww, he’s cute”  as a reply

Seon looked at you surprised. K, Ni-ki, Daniel, and Nicholas wear huge grins on their faces. Geonu looks so horrified by the statement. Sunghoon snorted, Sunoo rolled his eyes while wearing a knowing smirk, and Jake patted your shoulders. You’re still processing what really happened.

Jay, now walking, came closer to the group and asked why you look so horrified

Of course, you composed yourself aka wore the resting face Ni-ki and Sunghoon taught you, and said “nothing” while the rest of the group snickers

Jay just snorted and put his arms around your shoulders. It’s time for dinner after all.

The thing is, a lot of people are already asking around whether you and the golden boy of Gryffindor are dating. That includes the group and most of all Jay, who just answers those type of question with a bright smile.

They can’t ask you directly because most students and professors are still scared of you. If not scared, intimidated then.

But if ever anyone dares to ask you, you’ll say that no, you’re not dating Jeongseong. It’s the truth anyway. You’re close, and you’re most fond of him ( sorry Ni-ki, I still love you ) but you’re just friends, nothing more.

Then the Hogsmeade incident happened

It’s already a tradition that the whole group visits the village together. Sometimes you separate into groups, but most of the time the whole 24 of you go together. And isn’t that a sight?

Except this time a certain group of slytherins by the looks of their tie, decided that it’s fun to go back to their nasty old ways and insult other people just because of their blood status.

According to them, K’s embarrassing the whole pureblood community by allowing mudbloods to join the group

But to you, they’re just jealous because the group’s quiet really popular, hah

Unfortunately things got really heated and suddenly there’s a whole lot of shouting and shoving around

Thank Merlin, they confiscate your wands before allowing you to venture outside the school property

Jay, no mater how loud and crazy he gets, isn’t really one to fight. So as he was trying to reach out to the opposite and probably suggest peace, someone pushed him in his chest hard enough that he collided with Jake behind him.

You didn’t see red, no, you’re not that kind of person

You were a hundred percent sane when you stepped forward and faced the senior who just pushed jay, gave him the most lethal smile you can give that could have certainly make him pee in his pants, only that he didn’t even have the time for that as you punched him square in the face

Years as a street dweller and as a thief ought to teach you skills.

The fight quietened and your pretty sure your friends are staring at you in disbelief. The accomplices of the guy you just punched look so red with either embarrassment or anger, you really can’t tell.

Your memory failed you this time. You can’t really recall everything you said and did but you’re pretty sure you said a lot of insults, and threw a whole lot of punches and kicks, and what else did you do?

But now you found yourself sitting in the Slytherin common room surrounded by everyone with Jay kneeling in front of you and dressing your wounds.

You didn’t even notice how your hands are hurting, or that they’re bleeding. However, you’re a hundred-percent sure those guys from a while ago have bleeding faces or something which is fun

No one spoke for a while.

Until Jay went on an hour long rant about how you’re so reckless, that you should’ve kept your cool and didn’t physically fight the bigots, then it went on how you’re so amazing, and where did you learn how to fight like that?

Yes, you did notice how you’re sitting there facing the ranting guy while wearing a foolish and fond smile even though the said guy’s one half ranting and another half insulting you. You didn’t stop smiling anyway.

The fear of committing, of loving, of being attached is still there. You decided to be brave anyway. After all, if it’s for your friends, then you can dare.

And if said fear runs deeper when it comes to a certain Gryffindor, you decide to even be braver everyday then.

If it means you get to keep him.

The definite line separating romantic from platonic love is already way too blurry between the both of you, and if Jay won’t ask you out first, then it is also practical to do it first for the both of you.

[1heartfanfics]

Julius health scare

Trigger warnings: depictions of vomiting and blood and also hospitals? ambulances? emergencies? idk if any of those are triggers but maybe so anyway yeah

Also I apologize in advance because this is like some hella whump.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Oh my god this can’t be happening!! You have to save him, you have to, please!” 

Tayden cried, tears pouring down his cheeks as he jumped down out of the ambulance after the gurney that his boyfriend was being wheeled away on. 

“Son you’re gonna have to stay out here in the waiting room, I’m sorry,” he was shoved back as the doctors rushed Julius down the hallway. 

“No! I need to go with him, he’ll be so scared!” Tayden yelled, but the man was already jogging towards the gurney. The gurney with his boyfriend on it, curled up on his side, writhing and screaming in pain. 

Tayden ran his fingers through his hair as he let out a sob. He couldn’t handle this, it was too much. It was all just too much. 

They almost made it. Tayden’s mom had bought a plane ticket for both him and Julius to fly back to stay with her in San Diego for Friday afternoon. Just four more days and they would’ve made it home. 

*1 hour earlier*

“You not feeling good again?” Tayden asked nervously, lurking in the doorway of the bathroom. Julius was camped out on the floor in front of the toilet. All he’d eaten for dinner was a piece of toast and some grapes but apparently that had still been too much for his stomach tonight.

“Not really,” Julius sighed, a hand resting on his stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” Tayden bit his lip, fidgeting with his hands anxiously. If Julius was in the bathroom that meant that he was nauseous which meant that he might... no don’t think about it. 

“Go, I’m okay,” Julius sighed, giving him as much of a smile as he could muster. He really was so nauseous. It wasn’t usually this bad, but his stomach was killing him tonight. 

“I don’t want to leave you here by yourself Juli, you’ve been taking care of me for weeks even though you’re the sick one,” Tayden sighed. 

“Stop that. You’re sick too, just in a different way,” Julius said through clenched teeth as he breathed through a cramp. God this was awful. 

“I’ll be alright,” Tayden said, forcing himself to take a step into the bathroom. Julius needed him. He slowly walked over and sat down beside him. 

Julius rolled his eyes. This was a bad idea and they both knew it. He slid his hand under his shirt to rub at his stomach with a groan, ushering up a wet belch, which threatened to bring up something more. 

“Oh god,” he gagged into his hand, “Tayden, GO,” he said as forcefully as he could manage. It wouldn’t do him any good if his boyfriend started having a panic attack and throwing up next to him. 

“Fuck,” Tayden scrambled for the door. Julius was right, he couldn’t do this. “I’m sorry,” he said as he walked quickly down the hall and into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. 

He paced back and forth for a few minutes, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. God he was so angry at himself. Julius needed him and he couldn’t even sit in there with him, let alone help him feel any better. 

Come on Tayden, man up. Go in there and be a boyfriend. 

After a few minutes of psyching himself up he did. He walked out of his room and down the hall to the bathroom. But it was quiet. That was a good sign right, Julius had stopped... yeah. Anyway, maybe he was feeling better. He slowly pushed the bathroom door open.

“O-oh god,” he stammered, stumbling backwards. He tripped over his feet and landed on the floor, gaping at the scene he saw in the bathroom. 

Julius was slumped on the floor, body limp. His eyes were rolled back in his head and his face was as white as the linoleum. But that wasn’t even the worst part. His mouth was ringed in red, blood spattered on the floor in front of him. 

Tayden’s stomach lurched but he fought back the heave and the panic rising in him and practically crawled forwards into the bathroom, dropping to his knees nest to Julius. He grabbed his shoulder and shook, “Juli? Jules wake up, hey, Julius come on!” 

He was shouting now, which apparently was enough to wake up one of his housemates, Ollie. 

“Dude shut the- oh Jesus Christ what the hell happened?” Ollie appeared in the doorway.

Julius groaned, his eyes fluttering open, just in time for his body to lurch forwards. He coughed up another mouthful of vomit, tinged with blood, all over Tayden. It was all too much for him too, he turned to the side and puked up his own stomach contents, fortunately into the toilet. 

“Alex, call 911!” 

Tayden heard a lot of shouting and commotion, but he didn’t know what was happening. His eyes were closed and he couldn’t breathe. But he could still feel Julius in his arms, panting and crying. 

“Ah, god it hurts!” Julius yelled, curling in on himself in Tayden’s lap. Tayden kept his eyes closed, but managed to find Julius’s hand with his own. Julius squeezed it so tight Tayden thought he might break, but he didn’t say anything. 

Then Julius screamed. Literally screamed in pain. Tayden could feel himself crying, but everything felt weird, fuzzy. 

“I love you, I’m here, I love you, I love you so much,” Tayden realized he had been saying it over and over, rocking back and forth with Julius in his lap as he squeezed his hand and screamed, writhed. It was a sound he wished he’d never had to hear come out of his love’s mouth. 

*present time*

“Kiddo, are you okay?” a lady in scrubs asked him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“M-my boyfriend, they just t-took him aw-ay and, and-” Tayden broke off with a sob, his legs giving out beneath him. He crumpled to the floor, dropping his head into his hands. 

“Woah, hey sweetie, are you hurt?” she asked, kneeling down next to him.

“N-no, no, I’m fine,” Tayden cried. He was trying to pull himself together, but he was so scared. 

“Alright, lets get you into a chair and we’ll get things all sorted out okay? I’m sure your boyfriend is gonna be fine,” she said. After Tayden nodded, she grabbed his arm, helping him shakily up off of the floor and into a chair. “Now can you tell me your name?” she asked.

“Tayden,”

“Hi Tayden, I’m Maria. And what’s your boyfriend’s name?” she asked.

“Julius Kovak,” Tayden answered, wiping his sleeve across his face and sniffling. 

“Alright, let’s see here,” she scrolled on her phone for a moment, “Okay here he is, they’ve already got him put into the system, which is a good sign,” she told him.

“What’s wrong with him?” Tayden asked. “He passed out and he was t-throwing up blood a-and screaming,” he stammered. He hadn’t said those two words out loud for as long as he could remember. He’d been too afraid to think about it let alone say it. 

“Well, we don’t know yet, but they’ve got him stabilized, so no more blood or screaming. And he’s getting a CT right now so they should know soon, but it sounds to me like something’s wrong inside that they’ve just got to find before they can fix,” Maria said. 

“Right. Right okay. You think he’ll be okay?” Tayden asked. His heart was still beating so fast it made him dizzy. 

“I think that he has the best doctors working on him and that they’re gonna figure out what’s going on,” she said, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

“Okay,” he breathed out, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths. 

“Oh! And it looks like they found an ulcer in his stomach,” she said suddenly.

“An ulcer? Oh god, okay,” Tayden’s heart rate sky rocketed right back up.

“I can take you back to see him now so the doctors will talk to you but he’ll be okay dear,” she said, standing up. 

He followed her into a room, rushing over to the bed, where Julius was laying. He was still sheet white, but he looked okay now, calm, peaceful. No blood, no sick, no screaming. 

“Is he gonna be okay?” he asked the doctor who was standing next to the bed, hooking up a bag to Julius’s IV.

“Yes, he’ll be okay. And you are?” the doctor asked.

“Tayden Mills. I-I’m his emergency contact. We’re not married but his family is, they’re not, it’s just me, I’m all he has,” Tayden stammered.

“Okay, alright, you’re right. We saw your name on his medical records. It’s okay, just breathe son,” the doctor said.

“Okay,” Tayden said quietly.

“So, first of all, I’m Dr. Johnson, I’m the GI specialist here. I believe Maria told you that we found a stomach ulcer on his CT scan?” Dr. Johnson explained.

“Yeah,” Tayden nodded.

“That was the cause for the pain and the bleeding, but someone his age with no prior medical history should not be getting stomach ulcers. We did another test that indicates ulcerative colitis but we can’t be sure yet. Has he been having other issues?” Dr. Johnson pulled out a notepad and sat down in a chair on one side of the room. 

“Yeah, he’s been feeling sick, getting n-nauseous all the time, and he gets these sores in his mouth and he faints sometimes. Or just gets really dizzy. He’s lost a lot of weight,” Tayden rambled.

“Those are all symptoms consistent with ulcerative colitis,” the doctor mused. 

“Oh god, stomach ulcer and ulcerative colitis,” Tayden sighed.

“Well, most likely the colitis caused the stomach ulcer because it went untreated for too long. But it should go away with some antibiotics and some rest. But ulcerative colitis is chronic unfortunately, it can’t be cured. We can talk about that later, after he’s had a chance to do some healing. We’ll go ahead and put him on a steroid though to keep it under control,” Dr. Johnson told him.

“Okay,” Tayden sighed, “Thank you.” He looked down at Julius, so small and broken in that hospital bed and realized that he was in way over his head. He really needed to call his mom. That could wait a little while though. So once the doctor had left, he crawled into the tiny bed and curled up to Julius, pressing a kiss to his cheek before letting himself fall down off his adrenaline high and go to sleep too.

[arabellaflynn]

Text of a test monologue. Would you like to see me deliver this on camera, with no makeup, no lighting equipment, and using Notepad as a TelePrompTer? Head on over to my https://www.patreon.com/ArabellaFlynnPatreon, and for a dollar a month you too can see me waffle on in real time.

Hi, all. You may notice that I am on video now. I was going to shoot a couple of tests and apologize for the poor quality of the footage, and explain that I want to start vlogging and streaming in addition to writing, but I need some equipment to do it properly and for that I need to raise some funds... But fuck it. This is going out first instead.

As I record this, it is the fourth of July. You can probably hear the fireworks outside my window. I know I can. There are a lot of those, because we've all been inside and bored for the past four months. 

I know a lot of people who have opted not to observe the holiday this year. The 4th of July is often viewed as a celebration of the American institution, which is a little bit on fire right now, with a few people determined to squirt lighter fluid all over the flames like a bored suburban dad at a barbecue. On the other hand, it's also Independence Day, and marks the end of the long, painful process by which a population broke free of distant, uncaring overlords who cared mainly about the financial dividends of their colonies, and ignored the grievances of the people until they started breaking shit. So YMMV.

I would comment on some of the details, but I don't know them. The Late Show is on hiatus, and John Oliver doesn't air until tomorrow. I, like a lot of my demographic, get most of my current events from comedians. There's a reason for that.

I actually watched a lot of news as a teenager.

Well, "watched" might be too strong a word. It's easier for me to fall asleep if there's some sort of droning noise in the background. When I was about fifteen, I discovered that, unlike the main CNN channel, which has actual shows and documentaries, CNN Headline News just runs the day's top stories over and over again in an unending 30 minute loop. Interesting enough to keep me from falling into a train of thought that will prevent me from sleeping, boring enough that I don't want to stay up and listen.

I have no memory of the desk anchors. I'm sure they were consummate professionals, but they also had no distinguishing human characteristics whatsoever. I know they were updating the loop live, because occasionally a story would be added to the list and another one would drop off the back, and occasionally one would flub the text on their prompter, but other than that there was no hint that the face at the desk was attached to a living, breathing person.

I do remember a couple of the correspondents. One was Christiane Amanpour. Her voice stood out; CNN is an American news station that was originally restricted to American cable networks, and the vast majority of the staff is from the US. Amanpour is British-Iranian, having split her childhood between Tehran, before the revolution, and London, after. They liked to send her to the bowels of Eastern Europe to report from the war-torn streets of Citygrad in Countrystan. She had already caught some criticism on her reporting of the Bosnian War, for advancing the apparently controversial opinion that genocide was bad. I didn't know that at the time; I just thought she sounded more like she told real stories than read off lists of facts.

Another was Anderson Cooper, who was not nearly such a big deal then as he is now. Cooper, a self-described adrenaline junkie, was a war correspondent at the time, with a habit of ducking only briefly for explosions before standing back up to continue his piece to camera. He wouldn't be infamous until his coverage of Hurricane Katrina years later, both for the overall stellar job he did, and also for that one time he got tired of getting non-answers from some government toad in a live interview and very professionally flipped his shit at the lady, asking if she realized how tone deaf it was to sit there thanking other politicians for doing essentially nothing while there were still bodies in the street.

I quit watching the news when I moved away to college. It wasn't necessarily that knowing was worse than not knowing, but I felt a lot of pressure to be "adult" about it at that point, and watching proper news shows made me anxious to the point where I wouldn't sleep. I outright avoided it to the point where I made it to a canceled class at 4 pm, Mountain Standard Time, on September 11, 2001, before anyone told me what was going on.

I wasn't able to put my finger on why I found the news so horrible until many years later. I can't remember what rabbit hole I'd fallen down, but I ended up sitting on YouTube watching segments of the live news coverage of the 1981 assassination attempt on President Reagan. Reagan was shot in the side and later recovered without complications, but his Press Secretary, James Brady, was struck in the head and sustained considerable neurological damage. Brady, together with his wife Sarah, later went on to be a noted advocate for gun control, but at the time was reported to have died on the scene. 

I wound up watching a lot of one of the news desks -- ABC, I think. It started out like all the others, until the anchor tripped up a couple of times and referred to Press Secretary Brady as "Jim", and I realized: He knows these people. Personally. He's a member of the White House Press Corps, or a friend of the Bradys, or both. I'm watching a journalist reporting on a moment of historical significance to the American people, and a human being who has to tell the entire nation about someone's personal tragedy. His investment did not make him any less professional or informative than any of the others, but it did make his coverage feel very grounded in reality in a way that most news, then and now, does not.

The older I get, the more disquieting I find it to have a talking head behind a shiny desk read me a list of horrible things that have happened today without any apparent reaction. It makes it seem like these things are a randomized representative sample of the cruelty of the universe, rather than what they are, which is a list of things so unusually terrible they made the news. I realize that this is part of an effort to remain impartial so that the viewer can decide how they feel about events, but it's also disturbingly normative. Yes, everything is on fire, everything is always on fire, this is nothing new. 

I can't say I'm any more enamored of the opposite, either, the more recent style where the news anchor's entire job is to tell you that entirety of human existence is awful and here's what you should prioritize being afraid of this week. Everything around you is on fire, the fire is racing right at you, and here's whose fault the fire is.

A lot of Americans, especially younger ones, have taken to getting their news mostly from political satire because-- well, one, because for about the past twenty years, our comedians have been better at fact-checking than our actual newsrooms. You can thank Jon Stewart for getting a bee in his bonnet over that. But also because their coverage of major issues takes neither of those paths. The Daily Show alumni write up stories like they actually live on the planet they're reporting from. You're on fire? They're on fire too! Holy shit, let's all find some water! 

The conceit behind the comedy of The Daily Show and the Colbert Report and Full Frontal and Last Week Tonight and now the monologues on The Late Show is not that this is a normal amount of fire for everything to be on so it's fine, nor establishing that someone has set you on fire on purpose and here's who should be punished for it. It's bewilderment and frustration at the way we somehow keep catching on fire over and over again. Yeah, they crack jokes, because it's their job, but all the jokes are predicated on the idea that this is, above all, just very, very, inexplicably stupid. We can, and we should, be better than this. And the hosts stubbornly refuse to just give up and internalize as immutable all the reasons why we aren't.

You wouldn't know it to look at him, but Jon Stewart has accumulated "fuck you" money from his time on The Daily Show, among other things. I really hope the rest of them are doing the same. Because we need some figureheads who are able to say "fuck you" to a lot of authority figures right now without having to worry about how their family is going to survive the next month. John Oliver has HBO backing and I'm pretty sure Last Week Tonight has roughly equal budgets set aside for handling lawsuits and shoveling money at charity. Stephen Colbert has been insulting Donald Trump as hard as he possibly can since day one, and he just re-upped until 2023. Samantha Bee has her husband holding the camera to shoot her monologues out in the woods. 

They've all figured out how to produce their show over the internet, so at least we have something to watch in the After Times.

I really hope the neighbors run out of fireworks soon. Aside from not wanting the neighborhood to be literally on fire at any point, one of my housemates has a dog, and the dog has epilepsy, so this has been an interesting evening. Sorry about the fireworks, sorry about the camera, sorry about the country, sorry about the state of the world. Imma go find my Xanax. G'night.

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[honestandsincere]

when the party’s over pt.2

“But the thing is, he’s like objectively gorgeous. He’s not even hot, he’s beautiful.” “I get it.” “I’ve spoken to like four different girls across campus and all of them think he’s perfect.” “That’s interesting.” “I think I might be in love. That’s not even an exaggeration, it’s- y/n? Are you listening?”

Y/n looks up from her bowl of now soggy cereal and gives her friend a tight-lipped smile, “Sorry, Cass. I am paying attention. Promise.” Cassie tucks a strand of auburn hair behind her pierced ear and crosses her arms against the table, the way she does whenever she feels inclined to stage an intervention, “You’re not, you’ve been infatuated with your cornflakes for the past twenty minutes. You’re not good.” “I’m fine.” “And I’m going to get a first in my degree. Stop lying, y/n! You’ve been a hermit for the past week. Talk to me.”

Y/n sighs and runs a hand through her hair. Cassie is annoyingly astute. It’s a Thursday morning and they’ve got the apartment to themselves. Ethan has an early morning lecture and Grayson is on the other side of town at lacrosse training.

“I don’t know what to say.” she shrugs. “Is it something I’ve done?” Cassie asks, her eyebrows furrowed in deep concern. “Jesus, of course not, Cass!” “Oh thank God!” she laughs in relief, placing her hand over y/n’s that’s cradling her spoon, “The last thing I want to do is fall out with you.” “I know me too.” y/n smiles. “So what’s up?” Y/n grimaces and Cassie notices the way her eyes drift upwards to wander around the kitchen and avoid contact with hers, “I haven’t been sleeping well recently.”

The penny drops for Cassandra Young as she finally puts two and two together. She fights the pleased smirk that dances across her lips. She’s hit the jackpot. Cassie is acutely aware of Grayson���s little habit of accumulating female companions and then sending them home after maybe half an hour of sitting next to each other on his bed. She’d stumbled into a girl who was leaving their apartment as she was walking in, alcohol’s effects wearing off and her eye makeup smeared halfway down her cheeks. This girl, Lauren if Cassie can remember correctly, had explained that Grayson had brought her home but had decided he was too tired for anything more than talking about what football team they each support. Cassie was baffled, to say the least when she’d met Lauren, not expecting to see anyone awake at four thirty in the morning. She was even more taken aback by the concept of Grayson Dolan bringing girls back to their apartment. Cassie is not ignorant or deluded or oblivious, she knows the way Grayson feels about y/n based on what she would deem empirical evidence. This notion of him trying to prove some kind of point makes her want to knock some sense into him. It’s a typical boy thing really, the whole jealousy card.

“Let me guess, it’s because of Gray.” “Well, yeah that’s partly to blame.” y/n flushes, not expecting Cassie to be so observant, “You’ve noticed it too?” “Noticed what?” “The girls, Cass. Every single weekend he’s got someone new in his bed, and not that there’s anything wrong with that, I just wish they weren’t so loud!” she’s getting more worked up by the second and Cassie has to hide her amusement. “Oh my God, you’ve heard them doing it?” she knows full well that there’s no way y/n could’ve heard something that wasn’t actually going on, but Cassie can’t wait until her friend finally admits that this is irritating her. “No! I’ve always fallen asleep by then or I’ve got a podcast playing or something.” Y/n doesn’t want to admit that Grayson having female company irks her beyond her own belief, because admitting it aloud would make it that much more real. Suppressed feelings are dangerous enough as it is, having an external source acknowledging the emotions is essentially a recipe for emotional armageddon. She can sense that maybe Cassie has an inkling because Cassie can read people the way a middle-aged woman devours the horoscope page of a trashy magazine; with intense analysis. But simply stating that you’re jealous of the girls your best friend brings home is laughably harder than it sounds. So y/n consciously changes conversation topic back to Cassie’s beautiful stranger in her Economics seminar, reveling in the way her best friend’s eyes widen with excitement. They’re stood at the sink when Cassie’s mouth works faster than her mind and decides to drop the bombshell, “You do know that he doesn’t actually sleep with them, right?” Y/n, having forced her mind to stray far away from Grayson Dolan, doesn’t quite understand, “What?” Cassie dries her sudsy hands on the back of her jeans and turns to look at y/n who’s leaning on the kitchen counter, “Grayson hasn’t had sex with any of the girls he’s brought home. He doesn’t sleep with them at all. They all end up leaving after like an hour of him being all awkward because he doesn’t know how to tell them he’s not into it.”

This revelation hangs in the air above the girls, like flecks of dust that haven’t yet settled. Y/n is processing what Cassie has said, the words all making perfect sense yet being completely incomprehensible. Grayson Dolan has sex, he must do. She can’t fathom a universe in which the boy wouldn’t get any. She’s heard him talking to girls in his bed. She knows they must do stuff. Cassie watches as incredulity washes over y/n’s blushing features. Bingo. “Where did you get that idea from?” she stammers. “I’ve bumped into some of them leaving, they’re all super sweet. I’ve heard them too, I’ll be going to the kitchen to get water or something and he’s talking about getting them an Uber.” “Oh.” Cassie breaks into laughter, the soft chuckles telling y/n that she’s been so blind. It’s blatantly obvious, as cliche as it may sound, that she’s the last person to know. She knows that the connection y/n and Grayson have may be strong, but it’s also deep. It’s fragile in its strength, both them incredibly insecure in their own forged bond. It’s as if their closeness is a given, that regardless of their romantic circumstances, Grayson and y/n will always be Grayson and y/n. Through disjointing themselves into a relationship in which they consider their friendship absolute, they’re setting themselves up for heartbreak.

Luckily, y/n has a painfully busy day. She’s occupied with the tribulations of a tutorial and then an excessively profound study session with her Literature research group in the library. Y/n doesn’t think about Grayson. She desperately wants to, even if it’s just for a split second, but she knows that thinking about him will only lead to her conjuring theoretical scenarios in which she always gets let down. A wave of relief comes in the form of Ethan Dolan when he meets her outside of the student theatre at six in the evening. His eyes light up when he sees her coming his way, her tote bag filled with notebooks slung over her shoulder. “Hey there, kiddo.” he jokes, pulling her into a hug, “How’ve you been?” “Swamped,” she mumbles into his t-shirt, inhaling a familiar scent of gum and cologne, “Super excited for this though.” “Yeah me too, the reviews it’s had are all very complimentary.” Ethan leads her into the ugly concrete building that was probably recognized as architectural genius last century. “Guess we’ll have to see for ourselves!” y/n smiles, reaching for the programme he had in his hand. The show is underwhelming, to say the least; a load of students rolling around in fake blood screaming in iambic pentameter. Ethan and y/n sit catatonically, in sheer shock until the interval arrives. As the lights come up they turn to look at one another, pale-faced and slightly panicked and burst into a fit of childish giggles. “Jesus,” he breathes, “What is this?” “I don’t even know, I’ve never hated Macbeth more.” “I’m sorry I dragged you along to this,” he grimaces, unable to fathom what they’ve just watched. “Don’t be, it’s all very interesting.”

Ethan sighs loudly, like you do after you’ve been laughing for a while and suddenly remember that life seems to advance without giving you time to tap out. “Cass said you two had a talk this morning,” he says. Y/n feels her face get considerably warmer, “She did?” “Yeah, something about Gray keeping you awake at night.” Ethan spreads his legs a little wider, trying to get comfortable in the weirdly malleable velvet chair. He turns to gauge her expression. “Only on Saturdays,” y/n cringes, “It’s not that big of a deal.” “Just know he’s not having sex like five centimeters from you, yeah? Gray wouldn’t do that to you.”

He has to bite his tongue to keep himself from telling her more than his brother would want her to hear. Ethan loves y/n, they’ve been friends since they’d started college. But this was Grayson’s business and he didn’t want to intervene, as much as it frustrated him. Watching y/n shuffle into the kitchen on a Sunday morning, her hair slipping from the scrunchie she’d tied it in the night before and a fake smile adorning her slightly chapped lips when she saw Grayson, is painful in itself. Knowing that she thinks Grayson is the type of person to say one thing and completely refute his own morals is irritating. Living in an apartment with two human beings who refuse to accept that maybe there’s a possibility that they might be in love with each other is wickedly bothersome.

Y/n doesn’t know how she’s supposed to deal with this information. When returning from the theatre with Ethan that evening she heads straight to her room, avoiding any interaction with her housemates. She strips herself of her jeans and blouse and pulls on some sweatpants and the softest hoodie she owns, before curling up on her bed with her laptop in front of her. Being a recluse is quite enjoyable. Her phone vibrates on the bedside table, causing her to look up from the Netflix show playing in front of her. Y/n feels her heart begin to pound markedly faster when she sees who the text is from. SMS messages from your best friend aren’t supposed to make your palms damp. breakfast tomorrow?

She replies with the excuse that she has an essay to write. She hopes he’ll believe her, but she knows deep down that he’ll see right through the lie. Y/n hasn’t seen Grayson since Tuesday when he’d knocked on her door asking her if their Wi-Fi had cut out or if it was just his computer messing around. She doesn’t think she’s going to be able to face him again. Everything about him hurts her, and the worst part is that she knows it’s not intentional. Grayson can’t help how adorable he is when he laughs at one of his own jokes. He’s utterly oblivious to the way he makes her feel when he makes direct eye contact with her and asks her for her opinion because he really values it. Grayson Dolan doesn’t know that all he is is damn near perfect. There’s nothing he can do to make this better, she can’t risk losing their friendship over her emotional confusion. She wishes she could blame the whole scenario on someone else. But sadly, when you’re in love with your best friend, there’s not much you can do other than wallow in your own misfortune. Y/n curses whoever decided that unrequited emotions should be a fixture of human existence.

-

When she should be sharing pancakes and maple syrup with Grayson, y/n’s in the library. Her copy of Wuthering Heights is fanned out in front of her and her legs are tucked underneath her on one of the semi-comfortable chairs. Academia serves its purpose as a distraction, recently her motivation levels have been unwaveringly high. Someone moves to sit in front of her and instinctively she looks up to see who’s been unlucky in finding their own table. Y/n’s greeted by the blinding grin of Nat, his hair as tousled and as soft looking as it has always been and his adorable tortoise-shell glasses perched on his news. “Hi!” she whispers with a smile, fiddling with her pastel highlighter. “Hey, how are you?” he unzips his Kanken and takes out a hefty looking book. “I’m good, still studying. You?” “You’re incredibly motivated this term, aren’t you? I’m just trying to get in some reading before a lecture.” “How conscientious of you.”

Nat laughs, causing a few heads in the quiet space to turn their way. Y/n isn’t embarrassed to be seen with Nat. If anything, she’s quite proud. He’s popular across campus; vice-president of the student union, on the lacrosse team and well-known amongst faculty staff. People don’t mind that he’s a little loud, his vivaciousness is admirable. The pair get to work in their comfortable silence. He’s got his head rested on his hand as he flicks through the browned pages of his novel and she’s taking notes as she reads the assigned extract of her book. Y/n can’t help but sneak a few glances at him, so enthralled by his studiousness and his effortless ability to look cool. She’s halfway through quoting Heathcliff when she hears a whisper of her name. Nat watches her intently as she looks towards him, taking in the adorable sweater she’s wearing and the way pieces of her hair fall into her face every few minutes, forcing her to swipe them behind her ears. “There’s a party at mine tomorrow night, just a few of us seniors getting together. I’d really like you to come,” he says quietly. Y/n’s a little startled by the invitation. She’s never been directly invited to a party before, let alone a senior’s.

“I think I’m around,” she says abashed. “Awesome! I was kinda worried you wouldn’t wanna come.” Nat runs his tongue over his bottom lip and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “I don’t see you at many parties anymore.” “I haven’t been up to go out recently,” “I always see the Dolans at frat events, but never you.” “I guess I just haven’t been invited to a party I actually want to attend,” she lies, Nat’s not going to know about her situation so there’s no point feeling guilty. “Sounds like you’ve got high standards,” he laughs. “The highest.”

-

“You’re an actual saint, Grayson! Thank you so much!” Cassie cheers as she slams the back door of his Bronco. “Yeah thanks, bro.” Ethan chimes in, giving his brother a firm pat on the shoulder before clambering out of the car. “Don’t mention it.”

Grayson watches as Ethan shuts his door and begins to walk towards Alpha Sigma Pi’s house. He’s just about to drive off when Cassie runs back to the passenger side of the vehicle and pounds her tiny fist against the window. Grayson winds it down, looking at her in bewilderment. “Jesus, Cass! What’s wrong?” “If you’re planning on talking to y/n tonight, she’s not home.” “Oh, ok.” “She’s gone to this senior’s house to talk about Descartes with other clever people and she’ll probably wind up having sex with one of them because they all look cool as fu-” “When is she coming back?” Grayson asks, his mind teeming with scenarios in which something awful happens to y/n. “She never said, I’m sorry G.” Ethan’s noticed that Cassie hasn’t been following him, so he turns back towards the car. Grayson wants to question why he’s in need of Cassie’s sympathy but doesn’t want to have his entire emotional turmoil relayed to him through the eyes of his housemate. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging on it slightly as he realizes his entire plan for the night has been foiled. “What’s going on?” Ethan asks as he reaches the Bronco, his arm wrapping around Cassie so he can stick his head in through the window too. “I told him that y/n’s not in tonight.” “Yeah she’s gone to Nat’s, y’know the guy on the lacrosse team,” Ethan tells his twin, “Looks like you’ve got the apartment to yourself tonight, Gray.”

Cassie can practically feel the tension radiating off Grayson. She notices the way he’s refusing to look at them, his hazel eyes fixated on the empty road in front of him. His jaw clenches and relaxes a few times and he exhales loudly. “She’s safe, it’s not like this guy’s a creep or anything, and she hasn’t been out in ages.” she reasons. “I know,” Grayson mumbles, “I’m just gonna head home, get some sleep. You’re sure you don’t mind getting an Uber?” “No, you go ahead. You haven’t had a quiet weekend in ages.” Ethan says, giving the Bronco a little tap before lifting his weight off it. Cassie flashes Grayson a look of uncertainty to which he returns a tight-lipped smile. She steps away from the car and Grayson rolls up the window. The pair on the sidewalk watch as he drives off down the street. Cassie looks to Ethan, “Do you think it’s ever going to happen?” The broad floppy-haired boy shrugs, “I mean, I’ll be surprised if it doesn’t.”

-

Y/n has never felt so out of place in her entire college life. She’s stood in Nat’s kitchen alone, pouring herself a glass of something strong. Around her are a few seniors, collectively looking like an Urban Outfitters campaign, chatting animatedly amongst themselves. This kind of affair was a lot more understated than she was expecting; there’s no pounding bass blasting through speakers and there isn't a keg in sight. Y/n recognizes a few of the girls there, one red-head making an effort to approach her and ask if Professor Stevens was grading harshly this year. She’s received some compliments on her dress and a guy told her that her earrings were ‘actually awesome’, yet y/n feels so uncomfortable. She wonders if everyone that’s acknowledged her presence knows that she’s not a third year and doesn’t really belong here. She doesn’t even know why she decided to come.

Nat stumbles into the kitchen, notably tipsy and cheers at the sight of all his guests. He makes his way around each small cluster of people, giving hugs to the girls and weird bro-hugs that y/n will never fully understand to the guys. When he finally reaches her, his flushed face is adorned with a megawatt smile. “Y/n! I’m so glad you made it! How are you?” he shouts. “I’m good thank you, Nat. I see you’re having a nice time.” “We were playing Ring of Fire,” he guffaws, leaning on the counter opposite her for balance, “And as you can probably tell, the odds were not in my favor.” Y/n takes a sip of her drink, wincing at the burn it leaves in her throat, before taking another. She listens to him ramble about various drinking games as he gesticulates fiercely. Nat, despite being rather drunk, notices that y/n isn’t her usual relaxed self. He pushes up his glasses that have slipped hilariously far down his nose and shoves his hands into the pocket of his patterned dress pants. “You’re not drunk enough.” Y/n chuckles mid-sip of her drink, “You’re very right.” “Come play some games with us, it’ll get you pissed in no time.” Y/n gladly follows him into the living room and ends up squashed on a couch in between Nat and a very friendly girl called Sarah.

-

Grayson Dolan is pissed off. Not at anybody, unless if being angry towards yourself counts. He’s finally decided that he can’t go on avoiding y/n and she can’t go on avoiding him. Granted, it’s taken him far longer than it should have to come to the conclusion that there’s no point dancing around the term friendship if they’re not exactly friends right now. Grayson doesn’t know how he intended on telling her that he thinks he might have feelings for her. Before he’d found out that she wasn't in their apartment, he’d assumed that he might just walk in and profess his love for her on one knee. Y/n likes romantic literature, so she probably would have liked that. Nonetheless, Grayson is acutely aware that he does live in a reality in which everyone can break into song and somehow all know the choreography to an improvised number. As rom-com-like as this whole ordeal may feel, it’s still very much a brutal situation in which someone inevitably gets hurt. Not every male is a loveable, bumbling and  British with the ability to somehow win the emotional lottery. Take that Hugh Grant.

He’s lying in his bed, the curtains drawn and the lights out, with the hood of his sweatshirt blocking out the rest of the world. He wants y/n. He wants her so much it hurts. He hates himself for ever blindly believing that it would take another girl to fill the weird void he has in his life. Grayson thought perhaps having someone else would ease the pain, maybe even dull it down a little until he could watch y/n smile at him and not have a rapid increase in heart rate.

Falling for your best friend is excessively romanticized and Grayson has come to realize this now. He didn’t wake up one morning realizing he loves y/n, nor did it come to him in an inexplicable flash of affection. It all sort of happened in stages. One minute he was admiring how charmingly funny she is, the next he’s noticing how pretty her eyes are and eventually he decides that she’s the best thing since sliced bread. It wasn’t a mutual epiphany, more of a staggered process in which the ‘f word’ transforms from something fricative and blasphemous to friend.

He doesn’t notice his phone’s vibrating at first, he’s far too immersed in his thoughts to be tugged away from them. But as Grayson rolls over onto his side, he notices his bedside table is shaking. His large hand fumbles along the surface, knocking over a tube of zit cream on his quest for his device. His eyes widen at her name across the screen and in panic, he accepts the call. “Y/n?” “Grayson?” he notices the way the first syllable of his name slurs into the second. “I’m here, is everything ok?” “Gray, I miss you. The party’s finished. I just wanted to call you.” 

Part two! Here it is! I hope you guys liked it! It’s been a bit of a struggle trying to write all my ideas down in a way that’s somewhat cohesive and readable. This is definitely the longest piece I’ve written on Tumblr to date! I think it’s because this little story thingy is told from both characters’ perspectives, and usually I tend to like to stick to one narrative, if that makes sense? Anywho, please let me know what you thought because your feedback means the most! Have a lovely day / night - K x

{ p.s. here’s the lil tag list shenanigans I promised I’d try and sort out for you gorgeous people! @the-evolution-of-stupidity @skurtdolans @graydolan12 @thedarkrozeofnight @yslbailey thank you so much for all the love! }

[accio-ambition]

No Good Deed (8/15)

Summary: Killian Jones is a gentleman. He and his brother pride themselves on the matter, even if it ends with harm to them. So when an angry ex of Killian’s client bites him, he tends to the wound, watches it heal, and thinks no more of it.Until he wakes up in a closet on his ship with no memory of what happened the night of the full moon.

Fleeing from the unknown, the brothers Jones find Storybrooke, and with it, Emma Swan, who is a lot more familiar with their situation than anyone could expect. And when an old foe comes to their new home, Killian has to rely on new talents to keep those he loves safe.

Rating: M for language, violence, some sexual content. (better safe than sorry)

Content warnings: violence

I'm not going to say that I'm completely happy with how this chapter ended up in its entirety, but there are parts in here that I really like and am really proud of. :) As always, thank you to @killiarious, @wellhellotragic, and @captainswanbigbang for all the work they did to get this project off the floor and into the interwebs.

Ao3

Chapter Eight

Honestly, Liam has been a saint through this whole experience. Living with him was one thing, but with the addition of Swan into their household - his superior, no less - Killian thought that the transition would’ve gone a lot worse. He knows his brother, knows that Liam likes to run a tight and clean ship and as someone who was raised in such a manner, Killian never really had any trouble with that.

But Emma was the wildcard. And though she’s managed to fit herself seamlessly into their lives, the whole pack mentality thing really does make it easier for him and much more trouble for Liam.

His brother is learning to live with the two of them always off on their own wolf adventure. Killian’s half sure he thinks of them as advanced guard dogs, always asking them to go out and check noises when he was the one to do so before. It’s humorous to say the least, if not a little annoying.

Killian and Emma get him back easily and often, saying they smell something burning when they know it’s not or pretending not to hear something that’s so loud, the neighbors can hear it. And it’s all fun and games, a way to lightening up tense atmospheres or stay away from heavier topics all meant in good humor

But Liam really hates the whole telepathy bond thing.

“So what you’re telling me,” he parses out, his mind barely keeping up with the words coming out of his mouth, “is that, not only do you run around the woods together and can speak, but you can do it like this too?”

“Yep,” Emma says, goofy smile across her face. She knows how much it annoys him, can tell by the furrow in his brows and the hint of graying hair at his temple. Killian doesn’t think it was there when this whole wolf ordeal started, or even before Emma moved in. It’s aged them all, but none worse than Liam.

Glancing over at her, Killian sees her wink at him. He shakes his head incredulously, chuckling and looking away.

“You guys are talking about me in the other’s head, aren’t you?” Liam asks.

“Don’t worry, brother,” Killian reassures him, his arm sneaking around the back of Emma’s chair. “We’re just communicating nonverbally. We’re not in each other’s heads right now.”

Emma agrees. “Yeah, I can just read what Killian thinks of your stupidity in his eyes alone.” She breaks into raucous laughter as Liam stands up so forcefully that his chair falls back and Killian rests his head on the edge of the table.

“No, Liam, I’m joking!” she shouts, trying to catch him as he storms off into the kitchen with his dishes. “It’s only really around just before and just after the transformation. The rest of the time, we can only communicate verbally and through looks just like everyone else.”

Slowly, Liam reappears in the kitchen entryway. “Well, ain't that a fucking relief.”

Killian thinks it’s fair that his brother detest his and Swan’s new way of communication, but he sees it as pay back. In the time before Swan, when Elsa joined them more often than not, they had a similar nonverbal type of talking and making comments about, well, usually him. He’d never really understood it. Now, though, it makes sense.

There's a timid knock on his bedroom door a couple nights later, almost too quiet for him to hear in the first place.

"Come in," he bids just as softly, marking his page and setting his book down next to him on the bed. A moment passes where the door doesn't open, and Killian thinks that perhaps he misheard. It wasn't a knock on the door, but the floor groaning as either of his housemates visited the restroom.

But then the door creaks open, slowly revealing Emma. Her hair falls in front of her face, forcing her to brush it back as she sneaks between the door and the jamb before shutting it once more.

"Swan," he sits up in bed, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

She shrugs, coming up to the other side of his bed and taking a seat. She looks a lot more innocent, more at risk for being hurt in her pajamas. They're mismatched: her top is more suited for winter, very similar to some of the flannel shirts in his own closet, but her shorts have little balloons on them and show off an illegal amount of leg in his opinion.

"I couldn't sleep," she grumbles, pulling her legs up until she can rest her chin on her knees. She likes to curl up, he's noticed. Not just when she's in wolf form, but as a human as well. It's almost like she's trying to hide herself in plain sight, makes herself as small as possible to avoid whatever life might throw at her.

There’s a sense of need in their bond. It’s weak, hidden behind fatigued and confusion and concern, but it comes off to Killian as a desire for warmth, familiarity, comfort.

He’s at her beck and call, unable to let Swan think a single negative thought or emotion.

He’s very good at sticking his foot in his mouth.

"Would you like me to tell you a story?" He asks in jest, but then she begins to nod and he can't leave her hanging like that. With a sigh, Killian moves his book to the bedside table. "What would you like to hear about?"

"I don't know." After fluffing the pillow, Emma lays down and curls up facing him. "You could read that book aloud," she suggests.

His brows furrow for a moment before one arches. "Were you listening to me from your room?" he inquires. She nods. "For how long?"

She shrugs noncommittally. "I like listening to you before I go to bed sometimes," she admits.

"Sometimes?"

A blush rushes to her cheeks as she moans and hides her face in the pillow. "Most nights, don't be an ass about it," she says, or something close to that. Her exact words are muffled by the fabric. "It's calming."

"What's calming, love?"

"Your voice." Peeking from her pillow hideout, Emma groans again at his smug expression.

“You could hear me through the walls?”

Shaking her head, Emma hides her face once more. “No,” comes the mumble between the fluff, “through the bond.” He’s confused, to say the least, but his face must express some unknown emotion because Emma stands up in a huff. "Look, I came here because I thought we were friends, that we were past this level and I just wanted to see what it was like in real life."

"Don't leave." He really loves having her around, loves having her near him regardless of his form because, just as his voice appears to calm her, her presence makes him feel whole. She's halfway between the bed and the door when she glances over her shoulder. Killian beckons her back with a wiggle of his fingers and a crick of his neck. “I was just confused because it’s not the full moon.”

“I thought the same thing.”

“But you came all this way,” he says. “It would be ungentlemanly of me to deny such a kind request.”

Emma scoffs, but slowly makes comes back to the open side of the bed. “All this way?” she asks, getting under the blankets. “You mean down the hall?”

He shrugs. Raising his arm, Killian invites her to scoot closer. She does with little hesitation, pillowing her head on his shoulder. “I know you, Swan,” he tells her in hushed tones. “You aren’t one to openly ask for help-“

“I’m not asking you for help,” she protests, jabbing him in the chest.

With an oof, Killian chuckles. he wraps his hand around her finger pulls it to his lips. “You didn’t let me finish.” He watches a hint of blush spread across the one cheek he can see as he sets her hand down. “I believe myself to be one of the only people who can read you like an open book. You’re a bit closed off sometimes. And that’s is fine,” he quickly adds, feeling her chest inflate. Brushing her shoulder in an action meant to comfort, Killian presses his nose to her hair. “It’s who you are. But you don’t have to be so stoic around people who care about you.”

“Like?” Her voice is soft and confused, but he can feel the nerves in her end of the bond fall away.

“Ruby and Elsa, your other friends. Liam,” he easily lists off. Then he nudges her. “Me. Especially me.”

She giggles into this chest. “That’s only cause you know what I’m thinking.”

“And feeling,” he reminds her. “Don’t lie, I felt the need for comfort when you came in here. You were timid to ask.” His hand finds the tip of her chin and gently pushes it up. Emma looks up at him, her green eyes hazy but aware. “Don’t be.”

She shrugs, looking away. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Agreed. But that doesn’t mean we can try harder to kill them.”

Sitting up, Emma looks at him, letting a breeze enter through the new opening in the blanket. “What are you talking about?” she asks.

“A bit of an experiment,” he suggests, sitting up himself. “You’ve got to tell me what you’re thinking.”

“But you know what I’m thinking, and feeling,” she reminds him, poking him on the forehead. “Remember what you just said?”

“Mhm.” He rests his thumb in the cleft of her chin and softly adds, “But I want you to tell me. Open up a little bit.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

“You’ve just got to…” He licks his lips, chuckling at the idea of him without words. Killian shrugs and shakes his head. “Open up.”

Laughing outright, Emma nods her head. “Yeah, that’s very straightforward,” she scoffs.

“Okay, what do you like about me reading?” It’s a different tactic then what he originally was going to go with, but since this maddening woman has somehow managed to render him speechless, Killian rolls with the punches.

“What?”

Now he scoffs. “Emma, I know you’ve got better than average hearing,” he reasons with her before asking again. “What do you like about me reading?”

“I told you, it’s calming.”

“What about it calms you?”

“I don’t know,” she says. The tone of her voice is growing clipped, and he knows she’s got very little patient left to entertain him. “There’s something in your voice.”

“Yeah?” he goads her.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she snaps, whipping the blanket up her body. “Something about it makes me feel…” Slowly, the covers fall with her hands until the lay peacefully in her lap. Her shoulders untense, her face falls the tiniest bit, and Emma sighs. “Safe.”

A flash of memory overwhelms him for a moment. Of when he was sick as a lad and his mother, bless her heart, making him feel safe as she read to soothe him. It makes his heart warm and he smiles softly.

“Good. You’re doing wonderfully, Swan,” he encourages her, gently guiding her down to lie on her side facing him. “What else makes you feel safe?”

“Hunting with you during the full moon,” she continues. “I know you’ve got my back, so I can basically run wild.”

That makes him chuckle, his hand brushing against her arm. “I’m sure you’d run wild even if I wasn’t there.”

“Yeah, but,” she can’t look at him. She licks her bottom lip and bites it. Then her green green eyes shoot up to his. “Killian.”

“Yes, love?”

There’s a moment, between his answer and her action, that Killian understands much of what he never understood before. There’s something in her eyes that makes complete sense. He understands why men would go to war for a woman, and why they’d give their lives just to see her. For some reason, it makes sense.

And then Sheriff Emma Swan is kissing him. In his bed, her hand on his cheek warm save for her freezing fingertips.

He’s gobsmacked, to say the least, but gives as good as he can take. And when she pulls away, he keeps his eyes shut for a moment, because he must be dreaming.

Except he’s not. When he opens his eyes, Killian finds Emma’s hand over her mouth and her cheeks red as cherries.

“Not that I’m arguing it, but what was that for?” he asks quietly. HIs hand finds her wrist, finds the slightly raised skin of a tattoo he’s never seen.

She shrugs, looking anywhere that isn’t him. “You wanted me to open up,” she explains. Emma’s eyes match his swiftly before glancing away again. “I couldn’t think of a way of saying that that wasn’t corny.”

“And what exactly is it that you were trying to say?” he asks. He hopes his touch comforts her and not drive her away.

Reluctantly, Emma issues a chuckle from her lips. She leans forward, her forehead pressing against his and the tips of their noses touching. “You’re a safe place. My safe place.” Her hand comes to rest on his cheek, scratching at the skin by his ear, and then she kisses him again. “I wasn’t going to keep up this game. I don’t have the patience for it.”

Killian laughs. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me in the least.” He kisses her this time, pushing her backwards until she’s flat on her back. “You feel a little better?” he asks, hovering over her.

“Yeah,” she sighs. Then she jerks her head toward the bedside table. “Do you wanna read?”

He falls back on to one elbow. “Is that you telling me you’d like me to read to you?” he clarifies, raising his eyebrow. She nods and settles back on to his chest until he chuckles. “Swan, I can’t read anything if I don’t have the book to read.”

Groaning, Emma rolls back for a moment just to let him reach for his book and settle back into the mattress.

0000

The next morning, he wake to a weight on his chest. It’s Emma, he realizes, his book haphazardly shoved down to their knees, the pages folded over.

(That’s gonna bother him later, but right now, the little puffs of Emma’s breath is worth the discomfort.)

He closes his eyes, intending to only wake up further, but falls back asleep. When he wakes again, Emma’s staring at him. She looks away when their eyes connect, her cheeks reddening. She grumbles out a sorry and starts sliding out of the mess of sheets.

Killian reaches out and grabs her hand. “Where are you going?” he asks.

“Back to my room.” She pulls away from him and lifting the sheets away from her body. “I’m sorry I stayed here the whole night,” she apologizes.

“Don’t apologize,” he requests, “come back here.” With a moan and a roll of her eyes, Emma crawls back on to the bed. She flops gracelessly at his side, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. “I’m glad you stayed,” he tells her.

Her gaze shoots up to his. “Yeah?” she asks, her voice higher and self conscious.

“Aye,” he says. “May I kiss you?”

“You’re asking?” she says confusedly.

Killian shrugs. “Seemed appropriate.”

Shaking her head, Emma’s smile gives him his answer. He leans forward and presses his lips to hers and it’s just as sweet, if not sweeter, than those he got the night before.

“You don’t need to ask anymore,” Emma says against his lips. He chuckles and falls back on his pillow, Emma following and landing on his chest.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” he says.

“Ha!” Emma sits up and stares at him. “Fine. Let’s conduct another experiment.”

His arms come up over and behind his head. “I’m listening,” he says with a smirk.

Coming over him, Emma straddles him. “Make me breathless. No asking,” she says, her hair hanging around them like a curtain. “Make me regret saying that.”

He’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

0000

Enamoured. He’s enamoured with her. They spend the nights between their two bedrooms and poorly hiding their growing affection from Liam.

But the moment that cements everything for him is at the next transformation. He’s led her to his favorite part of the woods: a little clearing on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. It’s where he feels most as peace, regardless of whether he’s wolf or not. They’ve both got their places to hide away, but sometimes, just like a normal couple, he and Emma have got to hide away together.

“How did it happen to you?” he asks telepathically.

“Did what happen?”

His chuckle come outs as a wolfish grunt, his nose knocking playfully at her ear. “Am I to assume you were born with four legs and somehow changed into the delightful woman I’ve come to know?”

Emma grumbles and shifts, scooting closer to him.

“No.” Her head comes to rest on his side. “I was about 17, figuring out places to sleep whenever I got tired and stealing food from convenience stores. And I actually met my ex trying to get some Pop Tarts past a grocery store clerk.” She sighs and sinks further on to Killian. “He was older than me, but he was the first person who actually showed any sort of interest in me at all. He taught me how to hotwire cars. That’s how I got the Bug.”

He can’t lie - Killian is hurt by the fact that his love’s trusty, if not a bit rusty, car is a remnant of a relationship gone awry. Especially when she continues her story.

“He bit me,” she says, burying her snout into his fur as if trying to hide from shame or embarrassment. A little bit of both, perhaps, if the feeling he gets through their mental bond is anything to go by. “We had gotten a little too frisky in the back of the Bug and he broke the skin. Not that I thought it meant anything like this would happen in the long run.” Emma sighs again. “I was already running from the foster system, so I just kept running. And I had hoped he would come with, but he left shortly after.”

He’d suspected it all this time - a lost girl has the same look as any other lost and lonely boy, regardless of the circumstances surrounding them. Even if he can’t admit it, it’s probably what drew Killian to her in the first place.

(No, that was most definitely a combination of the sass and striking features.)

“I spent most of my time in the woods when I was a wolf. I was pretty much dependent on cardboard boxes and homeless shelters when I was human.” Sniffing, Emma shuffles toward the edge of the cliff and, for the first time, Killian feels a sense of peace and contentment wash over the both of them.

(Perhaps the water is calming for both of them.)

“And then I gave up,” she says. “I got sick of couches and cots and cardboard boxes and I decided to grow up. Get a real job that gave me real money.” Pawing at the tip of her nose, Emma finally looks him in the eye. “I sent my resume to a police station in Boston and they put me in officer training two weeks later.”

Killian stares at her, overwhelmed by her story as a whole and the emotions bleeding through their bond. It’s getting stronger each day, each transformation. He’s sure if he told Liam of the connection, his brother would force him to worry about it, be concerned over whether this whole “bonding” thing would take over his personality.

But as he lays next to Emma, processing all she told him, Killian can’t find himself to care.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why on heaven and earth are you apologizing, love?”

“I’ve got kind of a shitty story.” Her nose moves from the fur on his shoulder blade to lie right next to this face. “I’ve never really told it to anyone in one fell swoop before.” Her tongue sticks out, licking at her maw as a distraction. “You still aren’t saying anything.”

He brushes his nose against what would be her cheek in human form. “I’m quiet because I’m trying to figure out where your strength comes from,” he murmurs. “I haven’t said a word because I’m trying to determine how you not only survived, but thrived despite the circumstances you were given.” Killian licks the expanse of her face. “In total, I’d have to say that I’m completely astounded by the marvel that you are.”

Emma hums, the hint of a smile appearing on her face. “I can’t be too sure with all that British talk, but I think that was a compliment.” She snuffles and pokes at his snout with hers. “Are you going soft on me, Jones? Buttering me up so I don’t yell at you when my period comes next week?”

Killian barks out a laugh, playfully biting at the space behind her ears. “Maybe,” he grumbles, laughing again when her paws come up and push him away from her. Emma snarls, standing up and moving to another place on the outcropping. She glares at him as she circles her new spot and lays down. With a roll of his head in his neck socket, Killian follows her, curling up beside her and nudging her nose with his. “Or perhaps I meant every single word I told you.”

She doesn’t say anything, her breath evening out shortly after, but killian does spot the hint of a smile on her face. Content ekes through their bond, along with joy and the warmth of familiarity. They’re already pretty close - Killian isn’t even nearly as close to his brother as he is with Swan, and surely he’s got to be closest person for her - but her revelation, her origin story for lack of a better term, cements in his mind just how important he is to her.

And how absolutely, unrecoverably in love with her.

[cecke8]

Your Ginger Housemate - Part 8

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I know, I know. It’s been forever, and I really am sorry. I’ve been busy and away. I guess I can’t really make excuses since I’ve posted. Writer’s block is a pain in the butt. But it’s here and ready for you guys to read!

Another apology since this one is kinda monotonous and uneventful, but it’s a lead-up. If anyone has any requests or ideas, throw ‘em at me, and I’ll see what I can do! Thanks, and enjoy. 

Jerome took the news with a strange, calm demeanour. And if you being completely honest with yourself, it worried you immensely. What was going on in that mind of his? You were scared to find out. It put you on edge. After Jerome’s initial shock and amusement had subsided, he merely sat there, in the same position on the couch for a good five minutes. You only sat next to him watching, waiting for an outburst of some sort. Suddenly, a small, soundless laugh escaped his lips. It was just a single breath of amusement, no other tone suggesting anything else. Smiling, he turned towards you,

“Both your parents?” He asked with curiosity. Not mischievously, just interested. 

“Yeah… Why?” You were confused, what was he up to?

“Just wondering. You haven’t told me much about your, uh, parents -" he said the word with a sense of revulsion - "Think about it, I’ve told you so much… your turn to spill.”

You sighed, still not sure why he would want to know. 

“What do you want to know?” You asked, still dumbfounded. Jerome placed a finger under his chin and tilted his head, thinking… theatrically. 

“What are they like. I’m guessing just a little different from my parents.” 

You swallowed, realising your throat had become dry. 

“No. I guess my Mum and Dad may be a little different.” You looked up to see his grin had widened in amusement. Not mocking, just genuine amusement. 

You continued, “They were really protective when I was younger. Mum was constantly making sure I was under her supervision. I’d be at a friends house, and they, well mum, would constantly ask what I was doing and where I was. It got a little irritating really. They loosened the reins more after I moved out.” You finally took a breath, Jerome’s Cheshire like grin twitched, 

“They sound nagging. And annoying. I probably woulda got rid of ‘em.” He shrugged and leant back on the couch. 

“Jerome! They’re my parents!” You cried. You couldn’t believe he would say something like that.  You were becoming more flustered as time passed, worrying about what he was thinking. Jerome lifted his hands in a gesture of mercy, 

“Sorry, sorry. Just saying. So what’re we gonna do?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, the guest room’s full of my stuff… Some of it, not pleasant so…?” 

You sighed. What were you gonna do? Moving Jerome into the guest room had been a challenge. Neighbour proofing it so Jerome wouldn’t be found. Even if you were on the third story, it had been a tedious and challenging chore. Covering all the windows in black material late at night in the dark, so it didn’t look suspicious. Making sure you bought extra food, toiletries and other basic necessities without it looking suspicious. It was all quite irritating. 

You were getting sick of the constant vigilance you had to keep when merely walking out and into your own home. You hadn’t met up with any of your friends in months, and it was beginning to bother you. Of course, you only really had two friends, and they were both out of Gotham, studying overseas for their classes for a couple of months. But it was holidays at university at the moment, and you’d taken the semester off in advance. Of course, Jerome never asked about these things. Your ambitions, friends and what not. Jerome interrupted your train of thought, 

“Ahem, what are we gonna do?” He asked raising an eyebrow. 

You knew ideas were swirling around in his head, and you were confident not all pleasant. 

“I guess we can only hide all your stuff and pray to God, mum or dad won’t find anything.” You answered with a sigh. 

“How long they staying for anyways?“ 

"Only over the weekend." 

"It’s Thursday,” He stated with an eye-roll. He defiantly had an answer for your predicament.

"Oh. Right. Well then, tomorrow too." Had time really gone that quickly?

Jerome rolled his eyes once more and left for the stairs. He clomped with each step, a slight spring of urgency in his gait.

"What are you doing?” You called out. Jumping off the couch and briskly walking over the bottom of the stairs. No reply, so you called out louder, 

“Jerome? Did you hear me?" 

"Yeah, yeah! Don’t get your knickers in a knot! I’m moving… stuff.” 

You then heard a loud rumble from the room above your head. ‘Oh boy,’ 

"What sort of stuff Jerome?”

The rumbling ceased,

“It’s fine! Nothing’s gonna break!” Then you heard a smash, “Shit!”

You sighed, exasperated. Shaking your head, you willed the courage to stomp up the stairs to the spare room.

“Jerome, what are you doing?” 

As you entered the room, you were shocked. There was Jerome, swinging back and forth on his heels smiling a little too innocently.  The room had just seemed to have made a vast ‘switcheroo’. The bed was on the opposite wall, and the rug had swapped places. However, it was further across the wooden floorboards. Not centre. Not how you liked and most probably not up to your mother's expectations.

“You changed the room? That quickly?” You were stunned. How does someone manage to move a whole double bed in less than a few minutes? 

‘He’s stronger than I thought.”

“I might’ve,” Jerome grinned broadly. 

“Why?” You demanded, eyes narrowing. What was he hiding?

“I was getting the room ready for your parents. I can’t help?” He was messing with you once again, you knew it. He was too innocent for your liking. Sighing you shook your head and walked over the rug.

“So what would happen if I were to, I don’t know, lift the rug?” Jerome wasn’t one to betray his emotions through his face, but you had worked him out. Depending on how large of a lie he would tell, he would either clench his jaw very slightly, or one finger on his right hand would twitch. The latter only when you had hit a nerve. When you asked the question, you glanced at his jaw. There it was, a small twitch.

“Nothing,” he replied nonchalantly. But you knew better. 

Happily, you reached down, “Okay!” You ripped the rug above the ground, causing it to collapse and fold in on itself. Under the rug, there were three loose floorboards. They usually would have obscured from the view of the doorway by the bed. You sighed, rolling your head to the sighed and staring at him, triumphant,

“Jerome…”

“What?” 

You raised an eyebrow and went to lift the floorboards.

He stepped forward, “I wouldn’t do that.”

You huffed and sat on your heels, “And why would I not be wanting to?” 

“Well, you see. It’s just probably best, um, if you didn’t. Ya know?”

“Jerome, if there is something under here that could throw me in jail, tell me. Now.”

“Okay, okay. It’s just equipment and other things…”

“You going to keep talking or am I opening this?”

“Hey, hey, hey. Slow down and calm it sweet cakes.”

“Don’t patronise me pumpkin top.”

“Hey!” he looked up at the ceiling and mumbled, “Jeez, that’s a new one.” 

You want to open your mouth and throw out another insult, but he held up his hand to keep you quiet. You shut your mouth and motioned for him to continue, to which he chuckled and rolled his eyes as he sat down.

“It’s weapons and stuff like that… Okay, that’s not all. There’s stuff for… work too I guess.”

“What work Jerome?”

“Hey, I’ve gotta make a living too ya’ know.” 

“Valeska...” You teased in a sing-song voice, wiggling your fingers above the free wood.

“Okay, okay. There’s photo’s, supplies, money, and uh, I think that’s it.”

You relaxed, your gut instinct telling you he was stating the truth... Not all of it, but enough. Besides, it probably wouldn’t be wise to look, but you did wonder...

“Okay. Fine. It stays closed, but we’re going to have to use something better than a rug.”

Jerome looked at you bewildered, "Why?"

"Because one; it is not centre. Mum wouldn't approve. Two; Because I said so."

He stared for a moment. 

'What on earth is going through his head..."

Okay fine. What'd you have in your mind?”

 *****************

After fifteen minutes both you and Jerome had rearranged the room. One of the bed’s legs now sat on top of the loose floorboards, the rug directly I front of it.  The likelihood of either of your parents finding out was minimal. 

Obviously, Jerome had argued about the impossible access, but you retorted that he wouldn't be able to enter the room regardless. It had been a petty fight on his behalf really, and the first where you were on the winning side in its entirety.

You looked around the room with satisfaction and relief, 

“Well, it is now parent-proof.”

“Parent proof huh?” Jerome said.

"Well, yeah. twice as secure as kid-proof." Twice as dangerous too, you added mentally.

You began to walk out of the room, Jerome following.

"What now? Are we done?" He asked curiously. He was seemingly treading in new territory. Of course, he was. This was utterly foreign to him. Even the idea must be alien. 

“Almost. Now for the big problem: What are we going to do about you?” He possibly couldn’t... stay, could he?

“Well, are your parents from Gotham?”

“No...”

"Perfect! I can stay!" He exclaimed with unnecessary enthusiasm.

"But if they find out who you are, we’re screwed."

Jerome raised an eyebrow, his expression sceptical.

"Yes, both of us Jerome. Your back in Arkham, and if I'm entirely honest, I'd be chucked in there too!"

"Is there something your not telling me?" He asked inquisitively.

You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest, "Hardly. But letting you live here would be reason enough. Don't you think?"

“Pfft. Per-lease. They don’t know who I am. Staying here should be easy.”

“What?! No, it would not!” You couldn’t believe what he was suggesting, as careless as he was he was ridiculous. Completely absurd. He didn’t seem to find any danger it that sort of situation. The both of you stood, not budging, for a while. Knowing he could go on like this for hours, you decided to save any wasted effort. Flinging your hands up into the air, you huffed,

“Fine. Fine. But if they find out, I’m in trouble, and you're in trouble. Just make sure you keep in mind I do want to have a life outside of bars. Thank you!”

Jerome gave a wicked grin, 

“Oh y/n,” he said patronisingly, “that’s what you get for harbouring such a good looking fugitive, such as myself.” He grinned and fell back on the couch, his hands crossed behind his head.

You narrowed your eyes, “You’re such a tool.”

You whipped around and stalked up the stairs. But you were blushing. Jerome began to cackle.

‘Why, oh why, is he so damn right?’