#this is for everyone nursing a hangover on new year's day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theostrophywife · 1 year ago

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chicken noodle soup.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

song inspiration: is it really so strange? by the smiths

author's note: just a soft fluffy comfort fic cause i've been thinking about matty lately and i needed cheering up after the end of kwaf. let's all laugh at the fact that i set a 1k limit on this fic only to fail miserably lmao 😭

Mattheo Riddle was not a fan of Mondays.

Most of the time, Mattheo spent the first day of the week nursing a hangover and getting higher than a hippogriff at the Astronomy Tower with his friends to achieve equilibrium. The only thing he looked forward to every week was the prospect of riling you up in class. To be fair, it didn’t take much to get under your skin. Being himself seemed to do the trick.

As he walked through the castle halls, Mattheo smiled to himself as he plotted out all the different ways he could provoke you on this dreadful day. For some sick and twisted reason, he reveled in the fact that only he could manage to rouse such a violent reaction out of you. There was something satisfying about the way your eyes blazed, your rosy cheeks tinged with heat as you told him off.

Maybe he'd flirt with you today. Tell you how good you looked in your short little skirt. Watch as you turned as red as the tie around your neck. His pretty little Gryffindor good girl. In Mattheo's mind, you were his to tease and taunt.

With his usual swagger, Mattheo sauntered into Advanced Transfiguration fully prepared to test out his new tactics on his nemesis, but you were nowhere to be found.

At first, he figured that you were just running late. Throughout the duration of your rivalry, Mattheo had never once witnessed you skip class. He would’ve bet his entire cigarette supply that you’ve had perfect attendance since first year. When Professor McGonagall started the lesson and you were still missing in action, Mattheo was understandably concerned.

The uneasy feeling in his stomach didn’t mean that he was worried about you though. This was purely about mutual benefit. Mattheo couldn’t very well have his Transfigurations partner skipping out on lessons. Even though he regularly did so himself. But still, that was different. Everyone knew he was a delinquent. You, on the other hand, were anything but. Until today, you’ve probably never missed a class in your life.

Mattheo waited. Surprisingly, the two of you had the majority of your classes together. All of which dragged more than usual since you weren’t there to yell at him for dicking around. When you still hadn't turned up for Charms or Herbology, he became convinced that something was horribly wrong. Missing one lesson was alarming, but three in a row? That was entirely out of character for you.

When Professor Sprout finally dismissed the class, Mattheo sauntered over to Granger’s desk. As always, she was surrounded by her two dimwit friends who immediately tensed the second he loomed near. Potter and Weasley shot him matching menacing glares, but Mattheo ignored them entirely.

“Granger,” he drawled, leaning against the wooden desk. “Care to tell me where my partner’s been all day?”

The Gryffindor girl appeared a bit perturbed by the question. “Why do you want to know where Y/N is?”

Mattheo sighed in exasperation and produced the set of notes he’d taken during class. A first for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually listened to an entire lesson, let alone take notes, but he knew that you would have a million questions for him when you returned. The notes were his way of saving himself from your relentless interrogation.

“Figured the little know-it-all would want my notes.”

“Y/N is feeling a bit under the weather,” Hermione said cautiously. “I can take the notes to her if you’d like.”

“No.” Mattheo declared rather suddenly. He cleared his throat and attempted to smooth over the sharp response. “No, McGonagall tasked me with it. I don’t want her docking points from my house when she finds out that you did my dirty work for me.”

Hermione raised a brow. “Sure.” The quirk of her mouth told Mattheo that she wasn’t convinced by his excuse. “Well, Y/N is resting up in the tower if you fancy a visit.”

After a quick detour to the kitchens, Mattheo made his way over to Gryffindor tower. It was surprisingly easy to gain access to the lion’s den. He simply threatened a third year to let him in and got on with it. They truly needed to upgrade their security measures. One glare was all it took for Creevey to crumble and cave.

With a satisfied smirk, Mattheo walked past the gaudy common room. For Salazar's sake, hadn't the Gryffindors ever heard of subtlety? The decor consisted solely of crimson and gold and the furnishings looked like something out of that muggle show his nan loved to watch—Antiques Roadshow. Antique was right. The worn out couch that he passed looked older than him.

Merlin, now he was starting to sound like Malfoy. Mattheo hurried along before he caught the urge to fold origami notes and chuck it at Potter's head. Fortunately for him, the place was devoid of the Chosen One or anyone for that matter.

By now, his fellow classmates were all in the Great Hall eating dinner, which he was thankful for. It was no secret that Mattheo’s presence wouldn’t be welcome here and he wasn’t really in the mood to fight his way through the Gryffindors just to deliver a note from the kindness of his black heart. Thank Salazar that there wasn’t a single soul in the tower to bicker with. Until he reached your dorm, of course.

The relationship between the two of you was volatile to say the least. Despite Mattheo’s reputation, you weren’t shy about telling him off. When you were first assigned as partners, Mattheo had fully intended to let you do all the work while he skipped class to smoke, but he quickly realized that this would not be the case. You hunted him down at his hideout in the Astronomy Tower and discovered him blissfully sharing some premium grade mirthroot with Theo and Draco. When you found him, you were so angry that you dragged him by the ear all the way to the library, much to the amusement of his friends. Needless to say, Mattheo never missed a study session again.

In a way, Mattheo admired you for it. Aside from his friends, everyone in the castle feared him. It was sort of refreshing to have someone call him out on his shit. Especially if that someone was a funny, feisty, ferocious Gryffindor who he enjoyed pestering every chance that he got. Mattheo always did have a penchant for girls with an attitude problem.

Even as he knocked on your door, the Slytherin boy couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when he heard you grumbling from the other side.

“Oh, for Godric’s fucking sake, what is it now?”

The door swung open, revealing a very pissed off Y/N. Clad in striped pajamas and fuzzy bunny slippers, you placed a hand on your hip and frowned. Even in the throes of sickness, you still somehow managed to inject venom in your glare. Mattheo grinned like an idiot.

“Nice slippers, princess.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “What do you want, Riddle?”

“To make sure my partner doesn’t slack.” He waved his set of notes around. “Don’t think your sickness excuses you from studying.”

“This is payback for making you revise with me after you fell off your broom and broke your arm, isn’t it?”

Mattheo cringed as he recalled the quidditch accident that sent him to the infirmary for a week. In true Y/N fashion, you were sitting by his bedside with a stack of books in your lap the second he woke up. Madam Pomfrey hadn't even put his arm in a sling yet before you were drilling him on proper spell enunciation and wand movements.

“You terrorized the infirmary with your mnemonics,” Mattheo said with a dramatic sigh. “It’s my turn now. This is sweet revenge, Y/N.”

You squinted at his barely legible handwriting. “I’m just surprised you took your head out of your arse long enough to take notes.”

“Glad to see that illness hasn’t lessened your bite. If anything, those teeth seem a little sharper than usual.” He leaned against the doorframe and smiled down at you. “Feeling a bit feral, princess?”

“Why don’t you come a little closer and find out?” you quipped, baring your teeth at the aggravating boy.

The gesture appeared intimidating for a full second until you sniffled and launched into a coughing fit, which made Mattheo frown.

“Are you alright?”

“Of course I am. I regularly cough my lungs out on nosy Slytherins whose sole purpose of existence is to make my life a living hell.”

He pressed the back of his hand against your forehead. The way his brow furrowed strangely resembled concern. Mattheo trained his chocolate brown eyes on you, examining the rosiness of your cheeks and the slight pinch of discomfort in your features.

"You're burning up." Mattheo's hand dropped from your forehead to the side of your neck. He pressed his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the erratic beating of your heart underneath his touch. It was strangely intimate. "You have an elevated heart rate."

You flushed and swatted his hand away. "Well, yes. That usually happens when one is ill."

"Come on, you should sit down."

"Don't tell me what to do, Riddle."

Mattheo rolled his eyes before dragging you by the elbow. Your protests fell on deaf ears as he barged his way into your dorm and walked you over to the bed. You watched as he pulled up a chair next to you before rifling through the contents of his backpack. Out of the sordid mess of his belongings, Mattheo produced a small container of soup. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a spoon.

“Here, have some of this. It should help.”

As soon as he pried the lid open, the heavenly smell of chicken noodle soup filled your senses. Mattheo scooped up an equal amount of soup and noodle and blew on it to cool it down before tilting it towards you. The sight of him offering you food like you were some helpless toddler was only slightly insulting. You swore to Godric that if Mattheo started making airplane sounds, you’d strangle the bloody twat.

“I can feed myself, you know.”

“Just eat the damn soup, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes in return, but obliged nonetheless. Despite the source, you could never resist comfort food.

“Chicken noodle soup?”

As soon as you tasted it, you knew that it wasn’t just soup. It was your favorite soup. The very same one that Winky made every third Wednesday of the month. You knew because you looked forward to it every time. It was even marked on your calendar. That’s how much you liked it.

Mattheo nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know it’s your favorite so I bribed Winky to make some.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “How do you know it’s my favorite?”

For once in his life, Mattheo looked utterly uncomfortable. He averted his gaze and busied himself by stirring through the carrots and celery. “You, uh, mentioned it in class once.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Maybe it was the fever talking, but you thought that was sweet. “You remembered that?”

Mattheo looked up, a stray curl kissing the tops of his cheekbones as he met your gaze. The shy smile on his face was alarmingly endearing. Sometimes when you looked at those angelic curls and stupid big, brown eyes, you forgot that you were supposed to loathe him. “Of course. It’s my favorite too.”

You chuckled, sniffling a little. “It’s like a hug in a cup, right?”

The curly headed boy nodded. “It totally is.”

After you finished the soup, you expected Mattheo to take his leave. Instead, he inspected the vials of potions laying out on your night stand. He read through every label, frowning a little.

“You should really have some pepperup potion in here.” Mattheo remarked as he arranged the vials one by one. “Are you sure this dose is potent enough? Maybe you should ask them to brew something stronger.”

“Pomfrey prescribed them herself. No offense, but I think I’ll take her years of healing experience over your expert opinion.” Mattheo gasped rather dramatically, which made you chuckle. “As much as I appreciate the notes and the soup, I don't think it's wise for you to stick around. I’m feeling a bit better, but I might still be contagious.”

Mattheo shrugged. “It’s alright, I’m not scared of a little cold. Besides, I still have to go over the Transfiguration assignment with you.”

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll get you sick?”

“Not really,” he said, waving off your concern. “I know you’re going to pester me about everything you missed in class, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

To your surprise, Mattheo’s notes were extremely detailed. It was a bit hard to read given his boyish scrawl, but with a little help in translation, you were making great progress in becoming fluent in Riddle. The more Mattheo explained the concepts and ideas that were discussed in each class, the more baffled you were. You've always known that he was smarter than he let on, but this was borderline impressive.

“How do you know all of that?”

“I asked.”

“You asked?” Mattheo stared blankly at your surprised expression. “You never ask questions in class.”

“I never had to since you're always there interrogating the professor like the little know-it-all that you are. Thanks to your absence, I had to fill your role in class today.”

You grinned. It grew wider and wider, spreading until your cheeks hurt. Mattheo glared at your joyous expression. “What? What’s that shit eating little grin for?”

“You missed me.”

Color flooded Mattheo’s cheeks. You were surprised to find how well crimson suited him. It was almost the exact shade of your house colors. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Riddle, you asked questions in class. You took notes for me. You brought me chicken noodle soup." Mattheo flushed as you pointed out the obvious. "You totally missed me.”

“If you tell anyone, I’ll hex you.”

“Admit it, Mattheo. Your day was utterly dull without me.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, sighing in defeat. “Fine, you’ve got me. I was bored out of my mind without you around. How else am I supposed to pass the time if you’re not there for me to argue with?”

“There’s plenty of other people in the castle that you could bicker with.”

“Yeah, but they’re not you.”

He seemed a little shocked by his own statement, but he didn't try to retract it. In fact, Mattheo almost seemed resigned to it.

“Careful, Riddle. It almost sounds like you have a crush on me.”

“I’d have to be a bloody idiot to fall for a girl who absolutely despises me.”

“That wasn’t a denial, you know.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose like the very idea of it vexed him, but you caught the little smile he hid beneath his fingers. Mattheo snatched the notes from your hands. “Focus on the lesson, will you?” He grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth. “I can’t believe I’ve just said that. Look at what you’re doing to me, Y/N.”

“You’ll live, Riddle.” You poked a section of his notes that you hadn’t quite deciphered. “Now what in the bloody hell is the Gobstopper Ruffian?”

“The Goblin Rebellion. Merlin, my handwriting isn't that bad.”

“Are you kidding? A kindergartner writes more legibly than this.”

The hours passed while you bickered and bantered. You hated to admit it, but you missed arguing with him too. Laying in bed all day had you positively bored, but yet time passed within the blink of an eye as you went back and forth with Mattheo. Somewhere between discussing the possibility of Longbottom running an underground exotic plant ring and arguing over the best Smiths song, the sun had set over the horizon. Mattheo rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“You look knackered, Riddle,” you teased, patting the spot beside you. “Do you want to lie down for a bit?”

Chocolate brown eyes widened at you. “Lie down? With you? On your bed?”

“Yes, that’s typically how people do it.” You smirked as he shot you an apprehensive look. “Unless you’re too scared.”’

Never one to back down from a challenge, Mattheo lifted the covers and gestured for you to make room. “Scoot over, then.”

The jest seemed to have backfired on you because now Mattheo was crawling into bed and making himself completely at home. All the apprehension from earlier melted as he pulled you against him, his chest pressed against your back as he nuzzled into the crook of your shoulder. You stifled a giggle as Mattheo released a satisfied little sigh.

Mattheo wrapped his arms around you until you were covered in the scent of amber, cinnamon, and leather. You never expected to unearth the fact that Mattheo Riddle was a great cuddler, but yet here you were, reaping the benefits of this newfound revelation. He slipped his fingers through yours and nuzzled closer.

"Who would've known that Mattheo Riddle was such a great cuddler?"

"If you tell anyone—"

"You'll hex me. Put a curse on my family. Set my possessions on fire. Yes, I know, Riddle. You keep threatening me, but you never follow through. I'm starting to think that you're losing your touch."

Mattheo squeezed your hip before twining your legs together. "I wouldn't test me, Y/N. You're in a very vulnerable position right now."

You chuckled as he scooted even closer. "Maybe, but you won't do anything."

"Why's that, princess?"

"You like me too much," you retorted, chuckling as Mattheo buried his face in your hair. "One day without me and you're already a needy mess."

"You infuriate me," Mattheo whispered against your ear. "But you're also the best part of my day. I couldn't imagine fighting with anyone else but you, my dear nemesis."

"I totally loathe you, Mattheo Riddle."

He chuckled as you snuggled into him. "I loathe you too, Y/N Y/L/N."

The irony of the statement contrasted with how tangled up you were wasn't lost on you. For two people who supposedly hated each other, cuddling with your enemy had never felt so right. The steady beat of Mattheo's heart lulled you towards sleep. You were slowly succumbing to its hypnotic lullaby until Mattheo's voice broke through the silence.

“Y/N?” He murmured against your hair.

You shifted, your eyes feeling heavy as his warmth enveloped you. “Hmm?”

Mattheo’s voice was low and gravelly, flowing like honey in your ears. “This is nice.”

You smiled against the pillow, staring at your intertwined fingers. “Better than chicken noodle soup?”

You felt him grin against your skin before he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on your temple. “Way better than soup.”

TAGLIST

@annaisabookworm @bubybubsters @criesinlies @niktwazny303 @therealallisonspear @athenalikethegoddess @clairesjointshurt @vixzwrites @elle4404

#a cuddle from him could reset my brain chemistry #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fluff

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neochan · 10 months ago

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( 2:46 PM ) mark lee hates mondays.

he hates that its a brand new day. a new week. probably a new month. but the same old year. the same monotonous routine that came with mondays.

wake up. go to class. eat lunch. more class. go home. do homework. sleep.

theres nothing new about mondays.

so he hates them.

mark lee hates tuesdays.

theres nothing special about this day either. but each second reminds him of you. of sitting next to each other in the lecture that he didn't find so boring. because you were there.

now you're not. so he hates them.

mark lee especially hates wednesdays.

but doesn't everyone? its the middle of the week. no events. no drinking. probably a test. or quiz. or writing assignment. definitely homework he forgot to turn in on monday.

so he hates them.

mark lee despises thursdays.

who decided that the school week needed to be this long. same classes as tuesday. without you. without anyone. and it tears him to pieces. how is he supposed to sit through hour long lectures by himself and stay content?

he can't. so he despises thursdays.

on fridays, mark lee wishes he could disappear.

the day is nothing short of long, tortuous, and disappointing.

you left him on a friday. therefore he can never find the day exciting again. the hours are spent procrastinating school work he missed during the week. thinking of all the ways he could have been better. done better. loved you better. love you more.

what could he have done. what? what?

he hates fridays.

mark lee is fond of saturdays.

no school. no work. nothing but him and the bottle of alcohol he kept locked away in the bottom drawer of his dresser. hours spent drinking and crying and ranting to hyuck. hours spent missing you. hours spent numbing the emotions that drowned him on every other day of the week.

at least he wouldn't remember in the morning.

so he's okay with saturdays.

sundays are meant for nursing saturdays hangover.

he lays in bed. orders take out. and regrets all decisions made on saturday. especially when the decision leads him into someone elses bed. not yours. just someone elses.

and then maybe he can play catch up with his late assignments. probably not.

mark lee doesn't care for sundays.

he doesn't really care for any day of the week. they all remind him of you.

#mark x reader #nct dream #nct mark angst #mark lee x reader #nct dream x reader #mark lee angst #mark angst #nct dream angst

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sincerelyhecate · 5 days ago

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you (hit me with a broom and) set my heart ablaze

Title: you (hit me with a broom and) set my heart ablaze (final chapter)

Pairing: Jason Grace/Percy Jackson

Length: 7.9k words

You can also read this on AO3.

∘◦ ☆ ◦∘

Six years later.

On a lovely Saturday morning, in the kitchen of Jason and Percy’s home, it isn’t strange for one to hear the screams of Piper McLean echoing throughout the cosy ambience of the place. Today the sound is shrill and delighted, whistle-like before devolving into banshee cackles, to the absolute indifference of everyone else in the vicinity. In her precarious clutch is a rumpled copy of the Daily Prophet hanging on for dear life, papers on the verge of falling apart from the way it’s shaken this way and that. Poring over the morning news next to her hysterical girlfriend (or rather, trying to), Annabeth makes a face, disturbed by the headline emblazoned on the front page.

Jason, who’s preoccupied with wardrobe preparations for the International Quidditch Gala this evening, which is to be hosted in London this year, cannot be bothered to investigate his best friend’s cause of hysteria. Piper hops on a mission to rupture her close friends’ eardrums at least three times a day, most of the time because of things as small as losing a game of Exploding Snaps, so the effort would’ve been for naught. You can even say it’s a regular phenomenon in his life. Non-indicative of anything in need of serious attention.

On the other hand, he’s dealing with a slightly bigger problem: everything for the gala should’ve been in order before noon, which is only thirty minutes away. His Percy, who is sweet and charming and would probably kill another man for him, has the unfortunate tendency to procrastinate whenever he gets ready (“Can’t we snog for just another five minutes, babe? Please?”); another regular phenomenon in this household. And tardiness is simply out of the question today, when both of them will be the highlights of the event tonight.

Thalia, nursing a cup of tea for her hangover, walks around the kitchen island toward the girls to take a curious look. Jason jerks in surprise, barely managing to catch the bundle of robes falling out of his hold, when she all but shrieks, “JASON, WHAT HAS THAT TWAT DONE TO YOU?!”

Uh, oh.

When he gathers enough courage to glance her way, his sister has collapsed on a nearby chair. Her sharp face paints a perfect mixture of devastation and rage.

“My sweet, innocent baby brother!” she wails to the ceiling, like there’s an unknowable power above that could answer her woes. Her fingers clutch tufts of her black hair in anguish, like he’s about to be boiled inside a bubbling cauldron right before her eyes. “Debauched and corrupted by that filthy, foul beast!”

There’s an internal defensive system in Jason that’s set up for Percy, activating automatically whenever the man is spoken ill of. It doesn’t care for the offending person, whether they’re family, friend or foe.

“Excuse me?” he thus demands, incredulous by his sister’s exaggerated lament. “That’s my fiancé you’re talking about. What’s even going on?”

“He’s what’s going on!” Thalia yells back, but it’s too late. Her words might as well be the passing wind by then. For Jason, a helpless romantic by default, has already found himself scatterbrained by the word he just uttered.

Fiancé.

Isn’t it so telling of his character that, even in the face of Thalia Grace’s unbridled rage, his heart still embarrassingly flips at the word for the nth time? It’s mad. It's invigorating at the same time. Every time he says it, it’s as if the word has been just newly minted into his vocabulary. Like the idea of it is just dawning on him for the very first time.

And really, can anyone blame his tongue when it tastes honeyed mead every time?

His trembling heart, when the man he’s engaged to is the one and only Percy Jackson?

The giddiness overwhelming his chest, when he’s due being wedded to the love of his life one day, the owner of his heart and soul?

Reality still hasn’t set in completely. One in which he’ll be tying the knot with his Hogwarts sweetheart. Promising a lifetime with him. Loving each other till death do them part, then reunite them in the afterlife. Everything feels like a dream still, rose-coloured and hazy, even when three months have already passed since he said yes.

Like second nature, his thumb finds the lovely band wrapped around his ring finger. A sweet reminder that follows him wherever he goes. Counting days, that seem longer the nearer the date of their happy end and new beginning.

Speaking of which, the date has been easy to decide. And Jason, on his part, thinks their choice is perfect. He knows Percy thinks the same too, so attuned with each other they are; two meshing gears in a well-oiled machine.

After all, what’s more romantic than to have your first kiss as a husband on the date you had as a boyfriend?

The story of their engagement day was an incredible one.

The talk of wizarding Britain for a month straight, it made the headline of the Prophet the very next day, dethroned the current It Witch Drew Tanaka in the cover of Witch Weekly the very next week (“The Wicked has fallen!” Piper had yelled), before making its home in the gossip column for at least three subsequent issues of any known wizarding publication.

Representing the UK, Jason had just sealed their victory against Peru in the World Cup finals that very fateful day. When he had presented the Snitch to Percy, as per their very own personal tradition, Percy had in turn knelt on the grass and stolen Jason’s heart once more. His adorably shaky fingers had unclasped the golden ball to reveal the most brilliant thing Jason had ever seen: a ring of rose gold etched in intricate waves, the head mounted with a sparkling aquamarine.

With the same solemnity, the exact sincerity, his voice held when he had first asked Jason to be his lover, Percy had said:

“Jason Grace, will you marry me?”

There was only one correct answer.

A photo, capturing the moment Jason had jumped into Percy’s arms before kissing him like his life depended on it, would make itself a permanent home on one of the walls of their hallway.

Later that night, with the warmth of afterglow still thrumming under his skin, and the sense of security taking form in the arms wrapped around him, he asked his would-be husband, “What would’ve happened if I’d lost the match?”

Percy made a show of humming in thought, complete with a contemplative frown. Apparently, via means Jason couldn’t even try to comprehend, he’d somehow colluded with the organisers to have the Snitch carry the engagement ring the whole game, with the goal of letting Jason unknowingly catch it.

“I wouldn’t know,” Percy decided, “because you didn’t lose.”

As his fingers drew shapeless patterns on Percy’s fuzzy chest, he mused, “I could have.”

“Nah,” Percy retorted, his voice taking on the stubborn edge that Jason was so intimately acquainted with. “I did my calculations, baby. I knew you’d win before you even got to the stadium.”

“Statistically, my darling, there’s always a possibility that I could,” Jason said matter-of-factly. “What would you've done, then?”

“My calculations were perfect, thank you very much,” Percy said, also matter-of-factly. “So, I still wouldn’t have known!”

“Have you already forgotten that time you’d lost a match against Hufflepuff? A team you had been one hundred percent confident you’d win against?”

“Oh,” Percy drawled. In the dim light of the bedside lamp, his eyes glinted like the rippling ocean under the moonlight. “I see how it is.” His lips, swollen from being kissed so much, bit back a smile. “Making your future spouse recall a traumatic experience now, aren’t you, Mr Jackson-Grace? Right after the best fucking sex we’ve ever had of all times? Shouldn’t you wait at least a month after the wedding to show your true colours?”

“Oh, Mr Grace-Jackson,” Jason replied sweetly, burying his nose into Percy’s sternum. He wanted to stay there forever. “You know I’d play all the cards in my hands whenever we argue.”

The throaty laugh escaping Percy’s lips was siren-like in its melody, stoking the fire within his chest brighter. He wished the sound could stay entrapped in his ear canals forever; he never wanted to stop listening to it.

“Well, if you wanna know so badly,” Percy relented. “In the almost impossible, purely hypothetical, higher-chance-Dumbledore-would-sooner-rise-from-his-grave scenario of you losing…I’d be thoroughly fucked!”

Their laughter twirled together in a dance above their heads.

“I’d probably have to steal the Snitch from the other team too,” Percy said amidst his giggles, “before they unknowingly take your ring across the ocean. Luckily for us,” he grinned, so beguilingly handsome. “I’m rather a prolific Seeker myself.”

His heart an ocean of bliss, Jason stifled a yawn and buried himself deeper into Percy’s embrace. How surreal it felt now, even after years of doing it; to lie in the arms of this beautiful man who wouldn’t just be his lover anymore. Who would also be his husband soon, his partner for life. A dream he didn’t have to wake up from, because it’s now the indubitable reality.

As he basked in such loveliness, a question formed itself in the back of his sleep-addled mind. “Darling.”

“Baby.”

“Should we go for the hyphen route, how do we decide the order of our surnames?”

“Let’s just draw lots tomorrow and call it a day,” Percy said.

“It won’t work with just the two of us, will it?”

“We’re hosting the get-together dinner with the Hogwarts lot, aren’t we?” Percy reminded him, finishing his words with a gigantic yawn. “Let’s do it with them, then.”

“Fantastic,” Jason mumbled. Despite the young night, sleepiness tugged at his eyelids. The rising and falling of Percy’s chest made it impossible to ignore. The cool sensation around his ring finger followed him into his dream, of an ethereal painting of rose petals on the sand and an altar by the beach.

The following day was an event in and of itself. After drawing lots five times in rapid succession, a couple of heated arguments between Thalia, Nico and Reyna that almost turned into a duel, and a chaotic coin toss that somebody had charmed into displaying heads on both sides, the decision was ultimately vetoed by the happy couple in the end.

And so, Jason was proud to announce that he would one day be known as a Mr Jackson-Grace.

“Jason! Jason!”

“Er, what?”

“Care to explain this?!” Thalia’s anguished voice pierces through Jason’s fond recounting of his most favourite memory. ”You’d never say stuff like this before! And to the press of all people? Are you out of your mind?!”

She snatches the newspaper from Piper before shoving the front page in his face. A huge moving photograph, of him smiling genially amidst the many blinding flashes of the camera, adorns half the page. In bold capitalised letters, the headline reads:

GRACE’S SECRET TO PEERLESS FLYING: “I RIDE MY FIANCÉ EVERY NIGHT.”

His jaw drops against his will. Finding the sufficient words to describe the sheer absurdity is a struggle on its own. After a good ten seconds, however, amusement betrays him in the end. It’s hard not to join in on Piper’s shrill laughter, which has yet to cease after five solid minutes, when you also happen to be the reason.

Merlin. The press can be crazy at times, but he certainly didn’t expect it to be this insane.

“What are you laughing about?!” Thalia demands.

“Okay. In my defence,” he takes a deep breath to compose himself, his grin refusing to go away, “I distinctly remember saying to the reporters that I ride with Percy every night. On our broomsticks. Separately.”

“So that’s why people were giving me funny looks at Diagon Alley,” a voice, dear and familiar, says on his right, just as he feels an arm snakes around his waist.

“Percy!” He didn’t notice their fireplace going off when the man in question Floo-ed in.

“Hello, my sweet.”

Jason sees his amused grin before his green eyes, still gleaming with the same kind of endearing boyishness from six years ago. As easy as breathing, Percy pulls him by the waist to plant a sweet kiss on the corner of his jaw, unbothered by the soot all over himself. As always, his black hair is a handsomely tousled mess, bangs draping over his lovely eyes gossamer-like. Jason waves the shopping bags away to fussily brush the dust off his fiancé.

“For the record, ladies,” Percy says, his eyes full of gratitude as he stares into Jason’s, “it’s actually every two to three nights.”

“Percy!” Jason admonishes, his reprimand ineffective by his own giggle.

“We should still sue the wankers, though! For all their worth,” Percy adds, serious yet unserious at the same time. He rests his forehead against Jason’s, and they share a fond, helpless grin.

“Merlin’s pants, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth chastises as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Could’ve gone peacefully without knowing that.” Exasperated, she snatches the offending newspaper back, before flipping to a presumably less crazier section.

“And I would’ve hexed your stupid arse to oblivion if Jason didn't love you as much as he does, Jackson,” Thalia supplies. It isn’t as threatening as usual. Her fondness for their display of affection must’ve mellowed her down.

“Love you too, Thals,” Percy throws a cheeky grin her way, chuckling as they watch her face fight off a smile behind her cup.

Jason’s heart squeezes happily. To see two of his most favourite people getting on is a blessing he won’t exchange for anything else.

Percy lets go of his waist, but not before nipping his lower lip affectionately. The spoils of his shopping float along as he crosses to the kitchen, arranging themselves into the arrays of cabinets and drawers and the large refrigerator.

As a half-blood, Percy has insisted on retaining a portion of his Muggle lifestyle. They purchased a home in a Muggle neighbourhood as a result, a quaint double-storey semi-detached house fondly dubbed as the Cabin, a callback from Percy’s favourite place back in his mum’s hometown in New York. It’s only a twenty-minute drive away from the Jackson-Blofis’, filled with everything you could find in a cosy Muggle household. The only recognizable magic consists of the private Floo connection and the Fidelius Charm, to keep the press and some deranged Quidditch fans away.

Over the hours, more of their friends come over. Grover and his girlfriend Juniper; Leo, Hazel and Frank; Nico, Will and Reyna; and Rachel, the last to arrive with her makeup supplies for Piper’s MUA duties. With every familiar face popping out of the fireplace, Jason can see the ever-present smile on Percy’s gorgeous face growing wider, his own heart soaring higher in return.

Times like this, when their loved ones are close, are the ones they appreciate the most. With everyone present, the walls of the Cabin would illuminate with the glow of camaraderie. Grover, Percy and Leo would run the kitchen to prepare culinary masterpieces. The ladies, a tightly-knit group as ever, would drag Frank in on one of their shenanigans. Nico and Will would hog the TV to watch some 90s soap operas.

Jason is content watching from the sidelines, often with a mug filled with hot cocoa in hand, occasionally joining whichever faction that wants him around. He feels happy and included in all of them; it feels like the bond they share transcends lifetimes and worlds over.

Jason probably has the best team of stylists ever. Granted, it’s a ragtag team of his friends who don’t style professionally, only as a hobby, but boy do they come through every time he needs to look good in front of the camera. Their teamwork is a spectacle on its own, working seamlessly like a well-oiled sewing machine whenever Jason Grace needs a look (“Lewk,” Piper would always correct him) worthy of the male celebrities’ section of Witch Weekly.

The process is simple and well-rehearsed, divided according to each member’s talent. Rachel sketches and colours, Annabeth measures and sews, and Piper paints the face. Hazel and Reyna assist on the side, while Thalia sips a glass of firewhisky nearby, occasionally giving her grunts of approval. The men know to stay clear, though Nico and Will would sometimes chime in to provide helpful input.

The theme this time is robin egg blue. Their suits, tailored to match as always, quality rivalling those of Madam Malkin’s, are embroidered gorgeously in shimmering threads to detail patterns of clouds and waves, illustrating the horizon parting the crystalline skies and the tranquil seas. To distinguish the wearer, Percy’s suit is of a slimmer cut to fit his swimmer’s build, whilst Jason’s tapers at the waist to accommodate his own shape. Instead of flowing around the body like Jason’s does, the shine of Percy’s dress robe magically ripples downwards, to mimic merry waves hitting a summertime beach.

When Percy twirls around to showcase his outfit, Jason has never seen a lovelier picture. How is it fair for him to fall for the most beautiful man in the world? He’s not sure he can survive their first fitting in the future.

Then, it is time for makeup. Though he knew he shouldn’t be looking down on Piper’s skills (which are godly, by the way, despite her aversion to wearing any kind of cosmetics herself), it didn’t prevent his usual unfair presumption: nothing she attempts could ever hope to elevate the perfect canvas that is Percy’s face. Perfection cannot be improved, after all, and Percy’s natural features were painted by the Muses.

But once she��s done, and Percy turns to look at him, lo and behold: once again, she has achieved the impossible. Clever enough to leave the canvas as it is, she’s added subtle yet intricate engravings to its frame, tastefully complementing the existing work of art.

Hazel voices out his thoughts helpfully: “Wow. Makeup is really a whole other branch of magic.”

“Funny, because this collection is all Muggle-made,” Rachel says with a sprinkle of smugness.

When his eyes arrive at Percy’s countenance from their frantic travelling up his physique, whatever air that was left inside his lungs departs in a sharp outtake of breath.

A poet would find inspiration from the glitter that hung from the curve of Percy’s long, rich eyelashes; compose songs in the subtle turquoise blended into his eyelids. A painter could paint flowers of the prettiest pigment if they extract the rose of his lips; sandy beaches from the smooth brown of his flawless skin; and the seashells dotting the sand from the shadows of his stubble. His hair, untameable like the roughest of seas, is now subdued to a windswept look that weakens Jason’s knees.

He's no artist, but a strong urge to get a drawing quill and a roll of parchment suddenly overwhelms his chest. A subject like Percy would only allow masterpieces to exist, even if made by hands as untrained as his.

“Breathe, guys,” Leo pipes up.

Oh. Being deprived of air for quite some time, his lungs have long caught on fire. The adrenaline flowing through his veins is better than Quidditch itself.

When did Percy close the distance between them? He’s a few metres away just a second ago, and now Jason can smell the seaside tang of his breath, its warmth caressing his cheeks like sea breeze. Up close, his sea green irises, left untouched by the makeover, turn out the most beautiful. Bright, earnest and pure, just like how they were in the trophy room a million years ago.

“I would kiss you senseless right now,” Percy says, his grin widening into that of the Cheshire Cat’s, “but I can’t do that without ruining our lipsticks.”

Jason’s own makeover has been nothing special. A dash of glitter here, a few brushes of rouge there, over and out. “Frankly, Jason, Mum would probably be pissed if she ever sees me touching your face up,” Piper says, the meaning of her words escaping his understanding. The mirror seems to agree; he hardly sees a difference after she's done.

Not that it matters in the end. After all, he’s always been a poor judge of his own looks. Though judging from Percy’s reaction, she’s probably done an exquisite job. And he only really cares for Percy’s opinion.

“Er, should we leave?” Grover says. “Looks like they’re about to undress each other again.”

“Ew!” exclaims someone else, but Jason is too entranced at this point to know who.

“Alright, everyone out!” Percy announces with a clap that resounds in his head, kind enough to break him out of his silly reverie. “Thank you so much for pretty much everything, but we’re about to head out, and we don’t want to be greeted by a pile of rubble when we get back.”

“Can’t even trust your own friends with house-sitting?” Nico says.

“I’m gonna fuck him as soon as we walk through the door when we’re back,” Percy replies with a shrug, “and I wouldn’t care who’s there to—”

Half of them are out the door before Percy could finish his sentence.

“Works every time,” Percy said, as soon as Thalia, the last of their friends, Floo-ed away in an angry burst of green flames.

“You’re a walking menace.”

“And you love me for it.”

“And I love you for it.”

Jason walks backwards as he guides Percy by the hand towards the back door, not at all worried of running into anything by accident, every inch of the Cabin long mapped into the back of his mind. The evening breeze greets them as they step outside, its scent a little damp and woody. Their most favourite spot to Disapparate together is the backyard, a shrine filled with all kinds of paraphernalia, big or small, narrating tales of their loved ones. Sally’s beds of roses, Estelle’s mini playground, Paul’s tools for his home projects, Thalia’s archery targets; things to miss when they depart, and to look forward to seeing when they arrive home. He already misses all of them.

Right at the threshold of the pathway leading to their private Quidditch pitch, Percy loosens his hold to lace their fingers together. Where they've always belonged.

“You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

There’s a hint of a whine in Percy’s next words. “Can’t wait to get home already.”

Jason smiles softly. “I’ll be there with you, won't I?

“Oh!” Percy mirrors his expression. “You’re right.”

Home is wherever they’re together, after all.

Before the swirling darkness of Disapparation takes over, Percy’s warm face, evoking all good feelings within those privileged enough to witness, is the last thing Jason sees.

***

Percy isn’t the most self-conscious person in the room, but they really do make quite the pair before the press.

And Merlin, is he not made to be press material.

“And joining us for the gala this beautiful evening is the thrice world champion, the hottest Seeker in the scene, Jason Grace! And his wonderful beau Percy Jackson!” Despite the Sonorus spell casted directly to his throat, the interviewer somehow finds it necessary to shout his announcement anyway, like it’s the only way to be heard above all the clicking noises of the press cameras. His face, in Percy’s honest opinion, looks exceptionally punchable.

All around the press wall, which bears the logos of the International Association of Quidditch and its various sponsors, white flashes assault Percy and Jason’s visions blind as they try for smiles that might as well be grimaces. The only solace is Jason’s fingers intertwining his, a sweet anchor in a sea of madness.

Right this second is Percy’s least favourite part of this whole semi-famous thing he has going on as Jason’s partner. Not that he has any place he’d rather be other than by Jason’s side. Not at all. It’s just that being the centre of attention isn’t very kind to his temperament, and the noise and the flashes and the heat only serve to make things worse.

Ever his hero in shining armor, Jason does his best to direct all the attention to himself, cutting through the questions quickly so they can move on. In the meantime, Percy tries his best to maintain his dwindling composure and stave off his rising nausea. His vision flies everywhere, in need of something easier on the eye to help. Predictably, Jason’s perfect side profile does the trick.

“Hello? Earth to Percy?” a ping of a voice intrudes his already wobbling mindscape. He barely suppresses the urge to growl like a territorial wolf.

“Er, yes?”

“Other than staring at your fiancé all evening, which is understandable,” the interviewer jokes, like he ever has the right to, “what are you most excited for in this event?”

Deep breaths. Remember your PR training. Make Frank proud.

“Going home, definitely,” Percy says, his next words accompanied with a wink. “Jason and I have our nightly riding to do.”

Jason laughs before playfully pinching his side. “He meant broomstick riding, by the way. No funny headlines tomorrow, folks.”

“Or our lawyer will keep in touch!” Percy adds with a cheeky grin. Jason laughs again as he waggles his index finger at the interviewer—a lighthearted warning of a not-so-lighthearted consequence.

“Cheeky as always!” the interviewer says cheerfully. His posture betrays otherwise, visibly unsettled by the threat lurking underneath their unassuming smiles. “Now, Jason, what do you think of the new faces for this upcoming—”

Despite his discomfort for interviews, Jason glows like the star he is, the perfect picture of a celebrity sportsman. The marvel of his glasses perching on the strong curve of his nose serves as Percy’s distraction for the next few minutes of press torture. Then, before he can give in to Disapparating back to the Cabin on the spot, they’re finally, finally being led towards the heart of the celebration.

As they walk through the grand double doors and into the gargantuan hall serving as the venue, Jason’s hand around his own tightens in a quick squeeze, as if to say, ‘Good job out there.’

It could also mean nothing, but he finds himself preening anyway.

Out of biased nostalgia, he’s inclined to believe that the Great Hall back in Hogwarts is the most magical place when it comes to hosting a grand event. Now that he’s here, this place certainly gives it a run for its Galleons. The ceiling is conceptually familiar, charmed in a way to showcase the astral magnificence above, but the interior design, boasting impressive Ancient Roman architecture, certainly exudes more pzazz. Every inch of it speaks of grandeur, dialled up to eleven, regaled by the marble floor and the pillars of gold, giving off the illusion of an ancient godly residence.

In celebration of Quidditch and the sportsmanship it brings out of every attendee, waiters zoom around on leisure broomsticks, handing out glasses of overpriced beverages to those desiring to drink the night away. Replicas of the Golden Snitch flit over people’s heads, dangling lucky prizes to whoever manages to catch them by hand (no brooms allowed). Tables topped with crystal covers, decorated with swaths of silk ribbons, boast fancy china plates of culinary specialties hailing from every member country of the Association. The aroma hanging over the dining area is enough to make anyone with working taste buds salivate. The festive air is so electric, Percy could almost feel its buzz within his bones.

Merlin, he thinks ruefully, it’s gonna be a long night.

An event like this, in which the majority of its attendees are world-class athletes, can only mean one thing: good-looking people frolicking around everywhere. People whose winks can make the average Quidditch fan blush in an instant, whose musculature can make anyone weak in the knees…for those who are looking, this place is a prime opportunity for a prospective relationship, serious or otherwise. More than once Percy could recognize people he’d seen countless times in magazines, some of them legends whose active years even preceded his time in Hogwarts.

Despite that, it’s funny how nobody holds a candle to Jason. Pale in comparison, pitifully eclipsed, reduced to the shadows, by the walking sun by his side.

Jason’s ensemble for the night seems to agree with him, billowing around his fit body like a cool superhero’s cape. The eye-catching robin egg blue perfectly complements his divine exterior, making every feature pop; his eyes bluer, his lips redder, his hair as if spun from pure gold. Matching robes was probably the best decision they’ve ever made as a celebrity couple. Percy loves how it tells everyone else who he belongs to, who he belongs with.

I’m the luckiest man in the world, aren’t I?

“I heard Albus has already started his first year at Hogwarts,” Jason says out of the blue, eyes casted towards a corner of the hall, unaware of how musical he sounds in Percy’s ears. “He’s grown so big already.”

Percy follows his gaze to see the Potters, who—sans their infamous eldest child—are lounging around a table at the VIP section. Despite drawing every eye in the vicinity to their general direction, they mostly keep to themselves, only making polite conversations with the starry-eyed passersby when necessary. The boy in question, a downright clone of his legendary dad, is particularly gloomy-looking.

“And little Lily! It feels like only yesterday since she’s this small,” Jason says adoringly, hands shaped as if holding an invisible Quaffle.

“You sound like you’re the one giving birth to her.”

“Half of the League players think they did,” Jason agrees. He then sighs, in a longing way that makes Percy’s heart clench. “Having kids must be so lovely.”

“Wait ‘til we get home, baby. I’ll put as many as you want inside you.”

Jason pauses, eyes widening in surprise, before a hopelessly infatuated grin cracks his face.

“Oh my wonderfully vulgar fiancé,” he whispers, chuckling amusedly as he closes the already small distance between them. The azure of his eyeliner sparkles as he blinks at Percy, wondrous, like his offhanded dirty talking is ever something to wonder about. He noses Percy’s cheek, affectionate, as if they’re not at the edge of the polychromatic dance floor about to headline a ball. “You’re lucky I’m beyond head over heels for you.”

Overhead, the emcee announces their presence and implores them to take the floor. They walk hand in hand as they do, soaking in the cheers all over. As the band begins to play the flowy tune of an idyllic waltz, Jason turns around, places his hand over his heart, and takes a bow before Percy. The fabric of his robe flows around him majestically, in tandem with his elegant gestures.

Mine, Percy thinks.

“May I have this dance?” Jason extends his hand out, offering a beacon of happiness.

Percy takes that warm, solid grip into his own. Goosebumps run down every inch of him as he feels the callouses that have long etched themselves into his own skin. Everything else tunes itself out. It’s a wonderful feeling that never ages: as familiar as home, yet so novel every time.

With Jason Grace, everything is a never-ending loop of a brand new experience.

Jason’s other hand touches the small of his back. With a slight push inwards, he brings their bodies flush together. Like they’re created so, their fingers connect seamlessly. In a flash, the surrounding banishes itself into non-existence, and they’re left all alone.

“I’m all yours,” Percy replies, right before he’s brought to a twirl for a night to remember.

Ah. Twelve years old Percy would probably cry at the sight of them dancing like this. Maybe wish he’d grow faster just to rush headlong into this moment.

Twenty-four years old Percy is rather simple; he’s the happiest he ever feels.

This happiness will certainly grow when Jason walks down the aisle towards him in the near future, ready to proclaim their sacred, eternal vows.

But now?

To dance in their private bubble of bliss, while the rest of the world ceases to exist?

Nothing could ever compare—past, present and future.

“Ow,” Jason says as Percy steps on his foot.

Way to ruin the moment. “Whoops.”

“Oh, darling.” Jason’s voice is hoarse and thick. “I’m so happy I could cry. Thank you for snapping me out of it.”

Percy decides against admitting that he’s three seconds away from bawling himself. Blinking the sting away, he resorts to giving Jason something better: his most charming, carefree grin yet. “Anytime.”

“I’m the luckiest man in the world, aren’t I?”

Jason yelps a little as Percy pushes him down to kiss him deep.

“Get over yourself,” he says against Jason’s lips. Cradled in his arm, Jason’s broad back is pliant and warm. “I am.”

And thus the dance floor transforms itself into clouds for good. Everywhere around them turns into the vast blue sky, unlimited. Jason mirrors his face, all luscious pink and pearly whites, woven and painted and carved from the finest stuff of dreams, before he takes him for the soaring of his lifetime.

They stumble upon the Potters on their way to sneak out, not even an hour into the gala. It’s one of their signature moves in any event, common knowledge to any organiser at this point. One that Percy finds to be a lot of fun. Accept the invitation, create a spectacle, then ditch the place before the celebration reaches its peak.

He didn’t expect the most famous wizard in the world would also do the same.

“Hello, my good chaps,” says the Boy Who Lived. “Off to escape too?”

“Oh!” Jason exclaims, reverting to an eleven-year-old meeting his hero for the first time. “Good evening, Mr Potter, Ginny.”

“Funny how you call my wife by her first name but not me,” Harry Potter says amusedly. “Just call me Harry.”

Out of kindness, Percy does not point out the second flustered, “Oh!” coming out of Jason. “I’m so sorry. It’s the first time we ever talked, so I wasn’t sure if it’s proper.”

“Don’t sweat it, Jason,” Ginny says kindly. “A friend of mine is a friend of Harry’s.”

“Right,” Harry says.

“Right!” Jason says sheepishly. After a second of visibly collecting himself, he gestures towards Percy with a grand wave, like presenting a masterpiece. Always doing the most during introductions. “And this is my very lovely fiancé, Percy Jackson.”

Percy elbows him good-naturedly before giving the family a small wave. “Hi.”

“Go on, kids,” Harry says. “Introduce yourselves.”

Like Weasley-made firecrackers, so full of life: “Hi, I’m Lily! I’m a huge fan of yours, Mr Grace!”

The way Jason glows with adoration is one for the books. Percy almost feels jealous of a child. Almost.

“It’s an honour, Miss Potter. Please, call me Jason,” Jason says with a princely bow, rewarded with a giggle out of the youngest Potter.

From the other kid, an almost inaudible, “Hullo,” escapes. So faint, like the whisper of wind over the spindly branches of the Forbidden Forest. Percy has to strain his ears just to catch it. “Albus.”

“Hello!” Jason says. “I heard it’s your first year at Hogwarts, Albus. Having a good time over there?”

Wrong question. It doesn’t escape both of them the way Ginny whispers to herself, “Oh, dear.” Harry himself has gone stock still, exchanging a worried look with his wife.

When Albus says nothing and just toes the floor with one of his leather shoes, Jason takes the hint with stride and barely a crack to his charming demeanour. “Don’t worry if you aren’t. Hogwarts isn’t the end-all be-all of your life, and you’re barely starting! I’m sure you’ll get the hang of things soon enough.”

“School sucked for me most of the time too. ‘specially when I started,” Percy adds with a shrug. “You’ll be okay. Just find a cute kid to crush on secretly for five years like I did, and use that as motivation to survive your every day.”

“Percy!” Jason exclaims sheepishly, flustered.

“Fine. A best friend can work too!” He leans in so only Albus can hear. “Nerdy blond boys just worked better in my case.”

Oh, look. There’s a hint of a blush on those freckled cheeks now, barely hidden by the raised shoulders trying to cover equally pink ears. One way or another, his words have hit a mark within the boy. Mayhaps they’re kindred souls; he somehow knows their situations aren’t so dissimilar.

He pushes his luck just a tad further. “As long as they’re there, right?”

Though Albus is still adamant to not meet any of their gazes, a few seconds pass before he finally nods. The looks of relief shared between Harry and Ginny are palpable. Percy gives himself a mental pat on the back. Silently, he wishes the young boy all the best.

Maybe he can manage this whole parenting thing. In the far, unforeseeable future, perhaps.

“James didn’t come?” Jason asks the couple. His question is met with two pairs of rolling eyes.

“Oh, he was here. For all of five minutes,” Ginny explains with a hint of exasperation. “Off with his godbrother as soon as he got the chance.”

“I reckon he’s already home by now,” Harry adds. “Which is good, to be fair, because it’s way past their bedtimes. Well, then.” He gives a nod to each of them. “‘Till we meet again, gentlemen.”

“It’s nice meeting you lovely couple,” Ginny says as they all exchange their parting handshakes.

Lily gives them an enthusiastic wave in parting, and Albus finally works up the courage to look them in the eyes. Percy gives the kid what he dubs as his big brother smile, and is rewarded with another determined nod.

Once the Potters Disapparated in a deafening crack, Jason laces their fingers together. He sighs in fondness once more, blissfully unaware of its effect on Percy. “Kids are so lovely, aren’t they?”

And if that isn’t a blatant hint for what awaits him at home, Percy hasn’t a clue what is.

The moon is reminiscent of its shape during their escapade to the Astronomy Tower a millennium ago.

There are no stakes this time, however. No risk of getting caught by professors or annoying caretakers and their tattling cats. No need to sneak around telescopes and globes while painstakingly covering their tracks. No sense of urgency of impending deadlines, of running out of time, or of counting days until one of them quit Quidditch for good.

Because now, they have all the time in the world.

Percy and Jason’s private Quidditch pitch is located in a vast area enlarged by magic, its true form being a measly portion of their gated backyard. The spell, of course, was performed by the joint efforts of the brains of their gang, the pitch itself solely of Annabeth’s architectural prowess despite her supposed disinterest for Quidditch. The structure of the building is an almost one-to-one replica of the iconic pitch at Hogwarts, minus the colours of the four Houses found in the decor (which was replaced by their favourite shade of blue as per their personal wishes). Jason’s current team sometimes use it as their base, but most of the time, it is the only witness to Percy and Jason’s private, nightly riding.

Tonight, Jason has a little bit of a surprise for him.

“You still have that old thing?” Percy says amusedly, as Jason, in an impressive show of wandless magic, Vanishes the dust off a very familiar broomstick.

“It’s the broomstick I used when you beat me for the first time,” Jason says casually, slotting the handle between his legs, familiarising with the sensation of it underneath him. He’s never looked more at home. “You bet I’m gonna keep it forever.”

“And you think that’s gonna help you now?” Percy replies, making a show of looking unimpressed.

By today’s standards, the broomstick might as well be an ancient artefact. A far cry from Jason’s current beast reserved for tournaments, on which he would perform gravity defying moves like the god he is, a state-of-the-art, one-of-a-kind flying machine handcrafted exclusively for him by the top broomstick makers in Japan.

“If I can’t use any kind of broomstick to beat an old retired school player,” Jason says innocently, “can I even call myself one of the top three Seekers in the world?”

Percy rolls his eyes, prompting an amused snort out of his fiancé. Saying ‘top three’ was just another instance of Jason’s unnecessary humility; he’s officially the no. 1 player, thus the no. 1 Seeker, in the world.

Not that Percy would ever go down without a fight. Especially against the best opponent he could ever have.

Kicking off the ground on one of Jason’s spare broomsticks, which has seen his victory in the World Cup finals four years ago, Percy taunts, “Well, this school player is about to end his retirement just to kick your arse tonight.”

“Fantastic.” Jason’s scar stretches as he grins, the curve of his mouth wide as a hungry wolf's. Despite riding the school standard broomstick, his takeoff is as seamless as ever, like an eagle taking flight. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And just like that, they’re flying in tandem with one another, still mostly dressed from the gala. With the robe out of the way, the waistcoat hugs Jason in such a sinful way that emphasises his tight waist.

Percy can’t wait to strip everything off him.

“Remember this other old friend?” Jason says, unveiling yet another surprise as he unclasps his fingers.

The dark does nothing to diminish the golden shine flitting out of his hand. While every single one of the little buggers looks the same to Percy most of the time, he can tell the significance of this particular Golden Snitch. From the way Jason looks at it with an exceptionally adoring gaze, it’s none other than the one that had witnessed the day they became fiancés.

“You know how some old couples would renew their vows?” Jason asks. Percy nods slowly, his heart in his throat. “I was thinking of us doing the same thing.”

His pulse picks up speed. “We’re not married yet.”

“We aren’t, but in our case, I’m not talking about wedding vows.” A deep breath. An earnest gaze. Then, “I’d like a chance to renew our proposal.”

Percy’s chest is a limitless world, of which his soul makes its oyster. “Oh?”

“I never had the chance to propose to you back,” Jason says, a little sheepishly. “Mostly because I never thought I’d be able to outdo yours—the singular most magical thing to ever happen to me.” At the sight of that smile turning a tad more smug, Percy’s poor mind goes into overdrive. “But that changes now.”

“Yeah?”

In a steady voice, Jason announces: “I challenge you to a Seeking game, Percy Jackson. The first to catch the Golden Snitch shall win the chance to propose the other once again.”

The night can’t get any better. “Bring it on, Jason Grace.”

In this game of their own design, the rules are rather simple. The beginning entails letting the Snitch wander off for five minutes, exploring the nook and cranny of the pitch to find the perfect hiding spot, before the Seeking begins. Then, whoever catches it first wins. Simple and, with Jason as his opponent, bloody fun. After playing this game for probably a couple thousand times, Percy is proud to say he’s not falling off too much behind the best Seeker in the world.

(He has a rising suspicion that Jason is secretly training him to play professionally, but that’s a topic for later.)

The measly five minute period is usually the time they’d have a quick chat about nothing or anything. Which, to him, means everything. Sometimes, they’d taunt each other good-naturedly, or playfully try to jostle the other off his broomstick. Most of the time, though, they just revel in the evening air in companionable silence, soaking in each other’s wonderful presence.

Tonight is a tiny bit different.

Almost coyly, yet very coquettish somehow, Jason flies closer to hold his hand and play with his fingers. Embarrassingly, despite everything they've done in bed together, Percy’s heart skips a beat. Their engagement rings are off for now, carried away by the tiny flying ball for this silly little game.

“You know, darling,” his beautiful fiancé says, “we should try for a baby tonight.”

This is bait, he knows that much. But at this point, after years in this perpetually sweet romance, he might as well be an unassuming fish.

Desire pours out of his lips in a rich tone, sultry and deep. “Yeah?”

“I wouldn’t mind a head start for one before we take our vows.” Jason’s face is so close, their noses are practically brushing against each other. His scent, of butterbeer and strawberries and clouds and invigorating musk, is downright divine. “Build our own little family as soon as possible.”

It's probably bad to have a stiffy while flying, isn't it? That day, Percy learns that wood against wood is rather an uncomfortable combination.

“I’d love that.”

“And you’re gonna make it so good for me tonight, aren’t you?”

Oh, he’ll make it so good for him, alright. So fucking good, Jason won’t be able to walk properly for days. In fact, if there’s even a sliver of possibility that he can, he’ll have Jason out of the game for nine months straight.

“I’ll rock your whole world, baby.”

Like a goddamn puppy, Jason whines needily, before locking their lips together in a searing kiss. Percy momentarily forgets everything. Even himself. “Mhm.”

When Jason pulls back, his face is lovelier than the full moon. His half-lidded gaze is the epitome of allure, his lips a promise to bliss. Percy dies, then comes back, all within a blink of an eye.

Filthily needy, yet so wholeheartedly sincere, Jason whispers hotly against his mouth:

“I love you, Percy.”

No paradise could be better than this.

“I love you more—OI!”

Like a balloon, his reply inflates and bursts into surprised, almost indignant cackles, right after Jason leaves him in a burst of wind. It’s answered with Jason’s own melodic laughter, peals of it ringing into the night, diminishing the farther he zooms away.

Looks like the bloke has some Slytherin in him, after all. Not that it’s a surprise; Percy has poured more than enough inside him, in more ways than one.

Oh, well. While victory is exquisite, he doesn’t really mind losing this time. He has long won. He’s now just indulging the rewards to his endeavours. In fact, there’s little to lose when it comes to loving Jason Grace. His soul is but a measly price.

Letting out a whoop of sheer, unadulterated joy, he presses his torso closer to the handle, summons every bit of his Seeking skills within his body, and rockets after his beloved.

Barreling against the chilly night air, he thinks for the millionth time: what an incredible thing, this love is.

And the world simply agrees. It is pure as the pearlescent moonglow bathing over the pitch, exhilarating like the roaring wind around him. Astoundingly magnificent, like the keeper of his heart soaring over the clouds on a broomstick, unstoppable by none.

Years have passed by, yet Jason still remains the boy that never fails to set his heart ablaze. Everlastingly bright.

The end.

#jercy #jasercy #jason grace #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #pjo #hoo #key writes #7.9k #you set my heart ablaze #finally. my shoulders feel so much lighter now that i've finished this silly thing

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bibbykins · 2 years ago

Text

Moonlight Reign Ch. 2

A/N: Sorry I keep disappearing, but hopefully I won't be doing it again! Nothing crazy happened, really, just life gets in the was, you know? But I am back with another part, and I hope you like it!! Everyone say thank you to my sweet B @rapline-heaux for beta-reading. She is the best, go read her stuff!! Also strap in for this one lol

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yandere! Mafia! BTS x Reader

Words: 5.9k

Warnings: crime, sensory flashbacks, trauma, unhealthy relationships, yandere behavior, pining, violence, past abuse, past neglect, academic neglect, talk of stitches, wound description, panic attack, nails pressing into palm, brief suicidal thought

Namjoon watched the clock tick by as Jungkook slept on his chest. Something about you… didn’t feel right. He couldn’t explain it, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t jealous. Although, he would have reason to be. You were beautiful and your figure only added to it. Not to mention the way you looked straddling Jungkook was objectively erotic looking– but that wasn’t the point. The point was how nonchalant you were about the whole thing. From giving his boyfriend stitches to fighting him off to reacting that way when he grabbed you, Namjoon knew there was something more there.

The seven of them had built Bangtan from the ground up, and especially as anniversary day was coming up, it unnerved him to encounter someone he couldn’t get a read on. He would need to have Yoongi look into what he could find about you. The seven of them were all leaders, but Namjoon controlled the above-ground operations while Yoongi managed the underground ones, and something told Namjoon he’d need to look there for anything about you.

First, he just had to get your full name from the younger man drooling on his chest. He sighed as he brushed a hand through Jungkook’s hair, wanting to be angry with him for getting drunk and getting into a fight, but he just couldn’t. After the last few years Jungkook had, he deserved to let loose, what worried him was that he was doing him more often than usual. Jungkook usually only acted out this much when he was holding something in. It didn’t help that the leader had been halfway across the world for the past month. Namjoon was never one to pry or be too good with feelings out of all of them, but he had a nagging feeling it had to do with you.

Eventually, sleep found the older man and he was awoken by the smell of food wafting into the bedroom. His eyes finally cracked open when he felt a kiss being planted on his cheek, “Wakey, wakey.” Hoseok sang, and chuckled at the look of confusion Namjoon gave him, “Jungkook called us all over for breakfast since it’s been a while since we’ve all been in the same city.”

Namjoon was finally fully awake and could hear Jungkook singing along to some show tune with Jin in the kitchen and scoffed, “He’s awfully spry for someone who should be nursing one hell of a hangover.” He mumbled and Hoseok snorted.

“Yeah, I’m sure Yoongi is going to want a full report on last night.” The older man shook his head, knowing it would only stress out the aforementioned man, “Brightside is he should calm down when Jimin and Taehyung tell him the news.” The younger man raised a brow in question but Hoseok shook his head, “I’m not the type to spoil a surprise.” He chuckled before pressing a soft kiss to the man’s furrowed brow, “You’ll know soon enough, let’s go.”

Hand in hand, the two take their seats as Jin and Jungkook place plates in front of the five sitting men, “I see someone is trying to make up for getting trashed last night.” Taehyung sang.

“Or I just miss having all my boyfriends in the same room.” Jungkook huffed as he took his seat next to Yoongi who gave him a glare, “Oh, come on. You cannot seriously be mad at me?” He flashed his doe eyes to the man and fluttered his lashes.

Jimin clicked his tongue, “That’s not seriously going to work, is it?” He whined, “Yoongi never lets me get away with shit from just looking at him.”

“You get away with plenty.” Jin quipped at the fighter.

Yoongi ignored the commotion as his hands brushed Jungkook’s hair out of the way to look at the stitches, “Who did those, baby?” His voice was soft but with the way the youngest man shrunk, he knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

“Well, I guess I’ll just go ahead and give the report of last night’s events.” Namjoon huffed through a bite of bacon, “You want to start, Kook?” He raised a brow.

The man sighed and nodded, “Well, I finished all my work early, like usual.” He began smugly. Jungkook in general was a skilled person, so he didn’t have just one job, but most often he was digging up dirt on people via his computer skills, “Then, I had my regular neighbor dinner.” He smiled at the thought, and Jin noticed Jimin and Taehyung scowling a bit at this. The two were the most jealous of this elusive neighbor, which was odd since even on the seldom occasions the others sought the company of someone else, it never affected any of them. Nowadays, they don’t really go outside of the relationship, but it’s still interesting to see them so jealous, but they kept silent as Jungkook continued, “We watched Jimin win, so then I decided to go out and… celebrate.” His smile turned guilty.

“This close to the anniversary, Kook?” Jin sighed and Yoongi kept deathly quiet.

“I’ll assume that’s where your memory stops?” Hoseok asked and Jungkook nodded sheepishly.

“Well, I then got a call from one of our guys at around three in the morning that some rookie was running his mouth and pissed Kook off.” Namjoon sighed, “Jungkook won the fight even sloshed out of his mind if that’s any consolation.”

“Nice.” Jimin grunts and Taehyung snickers at the glare Yoongi shoots him.

“Then, I drag him all the way here and he collapses at his neighbor’s door, insisting she’ll fix him up.” The CEO continues the story and notes how Hoseok shifts at the mention of this, “What was even weirder is that she did, like it was super normal.”

“It’s not that normal.” Jungkook argued weakly.

“She said it wasn’t uncommon.” Namjoon snapped and Yoong put his head in his hands, “I will also say it was really eerie the way she could just handle how Jungkook gets when she woke up.”

“She’s a nurse, you guys know that.” The man tried to defend.

“A high school nurse.” Taehyhung corrected, causing the hacker to pout, “I doubt she has to restrain her patients regularly.”

“Did I hurt her when I woke up?” Jungkook asked and this made Namjoon falter.

“That doesn’t matter right now.” The CEO offers, “What I was getting at is I think Yoongi and Jungkook should do a deeper background check than the initial one we did-”

“No.” Jungkook spat, partly shocking Namjoon at the venom in his voice. The youngest’s face was twisted in distaste at the idea, “You all promised-”

“That was before I saw the way-”

“No!” He shouted, shocking everyone at the table as his eyes began to glisten, “I’ve known her for years now, and she’s never been pushy about what’s going on in my life or why I have six boyfriends she’s never even met and in return, I don’t ask her questions.” Namjoon’s jaw clenched at this. Most of the time if an arrangement was too good to be true, it’s because it was. If he didn’t care so much about Jungkook’s love and trust he wouldn’t have even bothered to bring it up. At times like these, being in love was more frustrating than ever as he listened to Jungkook, “She trusts me and I trust her that way, I don’t want to ruin the only friendship I have outside of us.” His voice cracks at the end, making everyone soften a bit. Jungkook was right. It’s been just them for a long time, and you were the only friend he really had. You weren’t a drinking mate or gambling buddy, you were a friend. And yet, he felt like Namjoon was trying to take that away from him.

“Kook, have you considered she might not ask questions because she’s hiding something herself?” Taehyung gently asked, but it didn’t simmer the hacker’s anger.

“I don’t care if she’s hiding anything.” He snapped, making Jin sigh, “I’m hiding plenty and none of that has stopped us from being close so please, just leave it alone.” He pleaded, but Yoongi’s expression was unreadable, “Hoseok did those couple random shadows of her a few years ago and he saw nothing of concern.” He reminded them, and truthfully, how could any of them have forgotten? The act itself caused one of their worst arguments to date. Originally, Taehyung insisted on Jungkook digging up every piece of information he could about her and giving it to them, which made the youngest even more closed off about his friend. Finally, after days of disagreeing, Hoseok was the only one entrusted with your full name, not that it would’ve been all that hard to find.

The man in question nodded, “It was quite boring actually, but it’s true. Even the phone calls she took were a snoozefest.” He sighed just remembering them, “I’d never seen such a killjoy of a college student before, and I’m sure she’s the same as a nurse.” Granted, Hoseok’s specialty was not in surveillance, but Taehyung and Jungkook were too biased in opposite ways to do the shadowing, and the chemist was the only one with the extra time to do it.

Jungkook nodded, “She really does just go to work and home.” He mumbled ruefully, “Plus, even if she’s someone else or whatever, at the end of the day, she saves me a hospital trip and hasn’t said anything to anyone, evidently.” He added and Namjoon looked to Yoongi who sighed in defeat but nodded.

“Fine, we’ll drop it.” Yoongi finally spoke and Namjoon bristled, “She hasn’t caused any trouble, sounds like a good friend, and is smart enough not to ask any questions. There’s no reason not to trust Jungkook’s judgment.” He explained to the more skeptical men, Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jimin, who simply nodded in defeat before turning to the youngest, “Just, be more careful, okay?” He looked to the younger man who nodded before giving him a chaste kiss on the lips, “It was pretty risky bringing Namjoon there, even if accidentally. If she does know anything, she could’ve recognized him as the head of Bangtan Corp and unraveled quite a bit.” He said and Jungkook nodded. Even though he doubted you even knew an underground existed, let alone that Bangtan was running it, he understood Yoongi being weary, “Let’s enjoy our breakfast together, yeah?”

They all nodded before falling into their regular lull. No matter how much time they spent apart for work, it was easy for them to get together like no time had passed. The seven of them had been dating for a couple of years now, and though the relationship was loving, it was by no means perfect, that much was obvious. The organization had risen to its height because of their ability to work through those hardships together, but with the rise of their syndicate came less time for one another. This paired with secrets and disagreements that were littered throughout the relationship made for a good chunk of tension when work was exceptionally stressful, like during the anniversary. This was why the relationship was open, but Jungkook was the only one with a consistent connection outside of them, which was most likely why it ruffled some of their feathers.

“Now, I’m told Taehyung and Jimin have some good news?” Namjoon brings up and the two men in question grin at each other, and he can tell they’re silently deciding who should be the one to say it.

“We found a certain little weasel last night.” Taehyung sang.

“Found and captured.” Jimin added, and the two didn’t need to elaborate for the other men to know what they meant.

Yoongi smirked, sadism written along his features as he caught Namjoon’s eyes, “We’ve got an exciting day ahead of us.”

—

Your eyes cracked open slowly as you hissed when sunlight invaded your pupils. You squinted, not sure how you forgot to fully close the blinds, especially during the anniversary week, but you let it go. Work had been especially a nightmare with the beginning of a new term, and the blinds were just barely cracked, not enough for anyone to peak in much but certainly enough for the sun to wreak havoc on you. You stretched your arms forward, taking in a deep breath before craning your neck to look at the time, 10:24 am, nice. You actually managed to get a good amount of sleep even with the chaos at your door last night.

Your sleepy eyes landed on the shallow cut on your forearm beneath the wrapping you put on it. It looked a lot like a cat scratch, which you were thankful for. The last thing you needed was any nosy colleagues or students asking too many questions. Telling people you got the wound from having to tackle your only friend was less than ideal. You snorted to yourself. Truly, you should have more questions or concerns with Jungkook, but you just didn’t have it in you anymore. You spend the entire first two years of your friendship insanely weary, and you already spend your time like that with everyone else. It was nice to have someone you didn’t need to constantly be on guard from. Your fingertips ran over the bandage, hoping that you had made the right choice, but even then, it was far too late to change anything now.

You liked Jungkook more than you cared to admit, even to yourself, so when you heard his telltale knocking on your door in the middle of your morning cable surfing, you didn’t even bother to turn off the TV before going to the door. You rolled your neck before opening the door with a bored expression when Jungkook’s wide eyes met yours, “Morning, sport.” You drawled, leaning against your door frame.

Crossing your arms over your chest, Jungkook took notice of the bandage on your forearm, “Did I do that?” He asked worriedly.

You shrugged, looking away from him, “If you think about it, the needle is technically the culprit–”

“Y/n, I’m serious.” He pleaded, making you straighten up, but your gaze stayed fixed elsewhere, “Look at me, please.” He spoke, and you cursed yourself for obeying. You were accustomed to following orders, and something about the way Jungkook bothered to say please made it that much easier to listen to him, but you could only hope he didn’t realize this. “Did I hurt you?” His gaze burned you, and it made you hate his need for eye contact at times like these.

You sighed, examining the guilt on his face. The look made you feel like an asshole even though you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t like this part of your friendship. The serious, gravelly talks about what he did last night or about whatever breakdown of yours he happened to witness. The care in his eyes was suffocating, but addicting all the same. It made you feel self-conscious about your lack of clothing, but you were sure not even a parka wouldn’t make you feel any less vulnerable. The honesty in his eyes curled around you like smoke that you had no choice but to inhale and exhale right back to him. Flat-out lying to Jungkook has seldom been an option, especially about things like this, “Fine, when you woke up you were panicked and somehow made my hand slip and caused the needle I was working with to give me a little scratch.” You explained, eyes begging to avoid his again.

“That’s a big bandage for a little scratch.” He observed skeptically and you slipped your arms behind your back. He sighed, “I’m sorr–”

You shook your head. Much like actual birthday gifts, apologies had been foreign to you before Jungkook, and you didn’t like to nor know how to accept them, “I promise, it’s no deeper than a paper cut.” You looked up at him through your lashes, his expression now unreadable, which was somehow worse than the guilt.

He raised a brow, utterly unconvinced, “Let me see.” He wasn’t asking or pleading this time, but you didn’t have it in you to go against him.

You rolled your eyes, “Only because it’s about time to take it off anyway.” You huffed, only partially lying. It was time to let the wound air out a bit, but you both knew it wasn’t the only reason. You had spent most of your life taking in and thriving on the fear, guilt, and despair of others people. You loved the taste of the power you wielded, but nothing was more sour on your tongue than Jungkook’s dim mood. You turned around, peeling off the medical tape and walking to your counter as you heard your door close. Throwing the dressing in the trash, you looked at the wound with a nod before spinning to face the man approaching you, “See? It’s nothing.” You presented the thin line of scabs to him. He studied it, face still unreadable that was, until you flinched when his hand darted out to hold your wrist. The horror in his eyes made you feel physically ill as he went to withdraw, but you panicked and moved to hold his hand there, “Come on, you know it’s not because of you.” You reasoned, voice barely above a whisper.

His jaw clenched, but he nodded solemnly. The question of who it was burned his tongue as he pressed his mouth closed. He’d seen more than enough of your episodes to know that you had plenty of reasons to flinch and he had to swallow the urge to find every single reason and end them with his bare hands. Horrible things happened to you, and he wasn’t sure if not knowing was worse than what would become of him if he ever found out. He diverted his gaze back to the scratch, and you wanted to ask him what he was doing until he leaned down. Your breathing ceased as you watched his lips brush lightly over the wound in the form of the softest kiss he’d ever given you, “There, all better.” His joking tone was strained with his smile when he stood straight again, but you appreciated the effort.

His chest felt a bit lighter when you smiled softly, “What a hero.” You deadpanned.

The reality was that Jungkook wanted to rip the door off its hinges, he was so pissed off at himself. Plus with that door gone, there’d be just a bit less between the two of you, and he needed to ignore why that sounded so sickeningly sweet. Regardless, he knew you hated moments like these, moments where the air was still but heavy with a million unspoken words between you two, so he felt compelled to throw out a light comment since he couldn’t outright comfort you that often, “I’ll be more careful, I promise. I’ve just been so…”

You nodded sympathetically, “Yeah, this week is pretty rough for me too.” You sighed, staring at the way his thumb absent-mindedly rubbed along your skin. The affection created a pit in your stomach that you couldn’t explain, but you promised yourself it was just how friends felt for each other sometimes.

“Hey, I think you’ve been doing pretty good lately.” He chided softly, and a mix of embarrassment and pride filled you at his words, “I haven’t slept with you in weeks now.” He pointed out, and the fake pout on his lips made you chuckle, mind still partially lost in the way his thumb stroked your arm.

You knew he was just trying to lighten the reminder of how your screams would wake him up some nights. On those nights, Jungkook would all but break down your door in an effort to sleep next to you. It was weird for you, even still, sleeping next to someone. It brought out feelings in you that you didn’t want to deal with, so you did your best to make Jungkook’s presence in your bedroom as rare as possible, “Miss me?” You asked sarcastically, still so lost in his ministrations. Affection is something you’d only ever gotten from the man in front of you, so it was hard to tell if it would feel this nice from anyone else.

“All the time.” He responded quickly and with so much sincerity it made your chest seize for a moment. Jungkook cleared his throat, breaking his eye contact with you for just a moment, “I hope Namjoon wasn’t a dick to you.” He spoke, snapping you out of your trance with his touch as you retracted your arm, almost deluding yourself into thinking he tried to hold onto you for a split second.

“He was just being protective of his baby.” You snickered at how Jungkook bristled with the term, “A protective dick, but I get it. I’m a total stranger–”

“Hey, you’re my best friend.” He chided, with a smile that was a bit less strained than before.

You scoffed, “I’m your only friend.”

He shrugged with a more amused grin, “I said what I said.”

You rolled your eyes, “Anyway did you only come to–” You were cut off by your phone buzzing on the table.

Both you and Jungkook knitted your brows at this. It was degradingly rare for anyone other than him or work to call you, “You cheating on me?” He playfully asked and you pushed him by the shoulder before going to answer the call.

You picked up the device cautiously, “It’s a random number.” You said lightly, but something felt wrong. “Don’t tell me I’m about to get a ton of prank calls because I pissed one of your boyfriends off?” You tried to joke as the phone finally went to voicemail.

Jungkook snorted at this, “Yeah, Joonie’s not the prank call type.”

“No way? He seemed like a real court jester.” You sarcastically said, making your friend laugh more.

“A+ on the tone, B+ for the reference.” He chuckled, and you beamed at this. Jungkook spent the first two years of your friendship helping you grasp the ins and outs of day-to-day interactions, so it was nice to see how far you’ve come. “I haven’t heard the term ‘court jester’ so casually, like, ever, but it gets points for creativity.”

“You know me, I’m a real artist- ugh, again?” You looked down at your phone as it buzzed again with the same number.

“Just answer, maybe it’s important.” He reasoned, and you nodded but the idea made you feel sick, “Oh, but put it on speaker I wanna hear if it is a prank call.” He grinned

Pushing the feeling of unease down, you rolled your eyes and answered, putting it on speaker, “Hello–”

“Y/n! Y-You gotta get me out of here, I’m–” Ice water flooded your veins as the man’s voice invaded your senses. Your eyes bulged once you fully realized Jungkook was standing right there, hearing this god-forsaken voice and you gasped before taking it off speaker.

“Who is this?” You seethed, lying to everyone in the room. You’d know that whiny voice anywhere. Goosebumps sprouted along your arms and your stomach churned as your uncle's shaky breathing entered your mind, “How did you get my number?” You demanded quietly as you turned from Jungkook and put some distance between you both.

“Y/n, they found me and I’m–” He coughed and your eye twitched, pathetic.

“Lose my number.” You ordered, moving to hang up.

“I’ll tell them!” He shouted, making you pause. You didn’t even know who “they” were, but you certainly didn’t care to find out, “I’ll tell them who you are, where you are–”

“You don’t know that.” You called his bluff, but fear soaked into your rage, dampening its strengthening effects on your body. You could feel yourself getting smaller with each millisecond of silence that followed.

“I have your number.” He challenged, and you scoffed. That was undoubtedly all he had. Jungyoon had never been built for the mind games, he was the muscle and nothing else, through and through.

“Won’t be mine for much longer, I promise.” You fumed quietly, and the whimper that leaked from him told you that was all the leverage he had, or at least you hoped so, “I’m not the one who was on national fucking TV just so I could watch a stupid fight, so you dug your grave. Don’t pass me the shovel.”

“Wh-How can you even say that I’m–” He tried desperately.

“You must have the wrong number if you’re planning on finishing that sentence.” You forced out before hanging up. You let out a shaky breath before throwing your phone on the couch.

Byungjoo was caught. If he was caught that meant you weren’t safe anymore. Were you ever really safe? Why did you stay in the country? What were you thinking? Did you seriously think Byungyeol would come back from you? Did you seriously stay in the same place he lost you like a child? And now what? You were dead, utterly dead–

No. You were safe. You had to be. You never went anywhere, and your face was never known by the public or that many people in the organization. You were smart, you had–

“Y/n, hey, hey.” Jungkook’s voice cut through the radio static that heightened the panic in your head.

You looked at him, eyes wild but in a state he’s seen before, “I-It…” The words died in your throat as panic held you in a vice grip. Your nails dug into your palm, and the pain did nothing to satiate you as your knees buckled. Jungkook caught you before you could hit the ground, and you almost wished he hadn’t. You’d give anything to feel the pain radiating up your leg, the linoleum against your palms, anything to remind you that you were in your home and not wherever the hell the people who took Byungjoo planned to take you. You steadied yourself, the haze of panic subsiding momentarily, “I’m okay.” You lied, placing your hand on the couch so you could stand on your own.

“Who the hell was that and why–” You cut Jungkook off with a look, a look you’ve both used on each other, a look that begged him not to pry so you don’t have to lie to him, “I just… I’m worried.”

“Don’t be worried.” It came off as more of a plea than reassurance, and you cringed.

Jungkook wet his dry lips as he looked you over. You were talking, but you still had that look in your eyes that promised you wouldn’t be able to for much longer. His chest ached as he watched you try to crush the panic down and put on a brave face for him. More than anything, he wanted to cup your cheeks and promise you it was okay, and if it wasn’t, it will be. He wanted to fix it so badly, do anything to ensure that you weren’t about to break, so against his better judgment, he spoke, “I heard you say something about seeing him on TV, was it that guy from work–”

“Yes.” You said too quickly, and he tensed, “He’s… uh, just unhinged, and it just unsteadied me a bit.” You nodded, the fib burning your tongue, “I guess the principal saw him last night and he got in trouble…” You sighed, it was exhausting to do this, and you didn’t want to have to do this at all, “I don’t know it just…” You simply couldn’t do it. You couldn’t force any more lies out, you didn’t have it in you to do much other than clasp your hands over your ears and squeeze your eyes shut.

Everything you’d built for yourself flashed in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. In an instant, it could be taken away, and there’s nothing you could really do about it. You weren’t nearly as lethal as you used to be, and judging by the little you’ve heard about the heads of Bangtan, you’re training would pale in comparison to their abilities. It took them no more than a year to dethrone your father, and you had no doubt it would take them no more than a second to end your life. Now, it was no longer a matter of if, but when they were going to catch up to you.

—

Disgust infiltrated your sorrow as you watched Byunjoo smile lovingly while his wife, Minji, explained how your deaths would go with a little too much “pep in her step” as she would say to you when you were reporting the gruesome details of a job. She was disgusted with you for several reasons, but she was perfectly fine with your father, so it didn’t make sense when he directed just about everything you did. Nevertheless, you sat straight-faced as you heard the plan. Although you weren’t sure what she or your uncle was so proud of, the plan was quite simple.

You were to burn it all. You were to watch the house you grew up in, the house where you took your first steps, said your first words, and had your first kill, crumble to smithereens with the empire you were supposed to inherit. Something, though, was missing. The list of names of the people who would live to watch the ash and smoke was noticeably… short.

“...Now we will have to get rid of everyone who knows your face, y/n-” Minji explained, that sickening smile on her hot pink lips but the disgust she held for you never left her eyes. You weren’t sure what you did to make her hate you so much, but you hardly cared now that you hated her just as fiercely.

“No.” You immediately spoke, and you could see your father stiffen in the corner of your eye, but you only broke your stare with your aunt when you heard Byungjoo sigh.

He and Minji were the only two that didn’t completely crumble under your unwavering stare, and it was times like these that it irritated you. Byungjoo was the right-hand man to your father, and he was a ruthless man. He loved nothing but money and his treacherous wife, even hated everything but money and his equally soulless wife. One exception, however, was your father, and he only claimed to love you because your father did.

“Y/n, it's for your safety.” Byungjoo explained as if you were a child, as if he spoke to you with any kind of decorum when you were a child, as if you were so easy to pacify when it came to the slaughter of the staff in this house that raised you.

“If you do it, I will throw myself into the fire,” You seethed and Byungjoo chuckled, assuming it was a joke. He always did that. Took your defiance of him as a silly comment or you being a rebellious teen, regardless of the fact that you were about to be 19 and never respected him enough to consider your disagreements rebellions, “I swear on the blood of my father, I will die with those people,” Byungjoo ceased his giggles immediately.

Your father, however, took your death threats seriously off the bat. Byungyeol was not stupid enough to take the little words you spoke as anything other than what you meant. He was the one who taught you not to waste your breath, after all. Truthfully, you weren’t sure if your death would make a difference, but there was that glint in your father’s eyes still that told you he just might care. His dying pride remained intact barely and you, his only child, were his only legacy, a legacy that needed to live on.

Byungjoo may have been a bumbling idiot, but he could see the resolve in his brother's eyes. Minji had no such tact as she clicked her tongue in distaste, “Y/n-”

“Let it go.” Your father’s voice sounded, startling the couple silent while maintaining sharp eye contact with you, waiting for your gaze to waver even slightly. When you remained headstrong he sighed, “Make the list of who lives, y/n, and they will.” He spoke with a finality you’ve heard countless times before turning to your aunt and uncle, ��End of discussion.”

—

You should’ve done it. You should’ve opted to burn. Regret pooled into your senses until it was all you could feel, until the only thing you could see was that beckoning flame, calling your name to come home.

Just as you could feel the sting of tears behind your lids, you felt him. Two hands slid over yours and rhythmic tapping reverberated throughout your skull from above your ear. You slowly opened your eyes, and Jungkook occupied your line of sight. He did you the grace of looking away. You weren’t sure if it was because of the shameful sight in front of you or if it was because he knew you were embarrassed, but you liked to pretend it was the latter.

1, 2, 3, 4

Jungkook swallowed thickly as he listened for your breathing to stabilize. He looked above your head at the clock on the wall and sighed. He was going to be late for his meeting with his team on digging up the whereabouts of the most coveted target. He could easily walk away, but he stayed rooted in his spot, tapping in quartets as he waited patiently for you to calm down. Though he didn’t understand your affinity for the number, and you never disclosed it to him, he was thankful to be observant enough to notice it at times like these. So he watched the seconds tick by as he tapped, pausing for a few seconds in between each grouping, because the thought of leaving you alone like this felt like it would kill him. He already has a hard time sleeping knowing you’re just a few steps away, there’s no way he’d be able to work knowing you were in the throes of an episode. Finally, your breathing was becoming consistently normal until–

“No.” You whispered with something utterly sick to his ears laced in the word. It was fear. You were scared, and he had no idea why. Never in your years of friendship had he seen you truly afraid like this. He looked at you, boundaries be damned, and saw you were fixated on the TV.

Turning his head to see what it was, his entire body froze.

You had left the news on, and on it, Namjoon stared back at you as he conducted a press conference… as head of Bangtan Corporation. It was like your world ceased turning. The pressurized cracks on your life here gave in the moment you looked to Jungkook and realized he saw what frightened you, and you could see the wheels turning on why it could be. No poker faces could be had between you as despair reflected in both of your pupils. You were terrified to discover one of his boyfriends was the head, or at least one of the heads of Bangtan, and he was devastated to find out you knew enough to be afraid.

It was over, for both of you.

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

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Masterlist

#bts mafia au #bts fanfic #bts series #bts poly au #ot7 x reader #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #bts x reader #mafia bts #yandere mafia bts

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 1 year ago

Note

*APPERS*

NEW YEAR!

Christmas and new year with the Ror crew!

-The holidays were always a fun time around your home as you had such a big family to share them with.

-The Christmas season was your favorite as you went out and played in the snow, helped your family bake goodies, and decorate, go around to see the lights, and spending time with all of them.

-On Christmas Eve you spent the whole day watching Christmas movies, playing board games, which ended after Zeus flipped the board while Monopoly, claiming Nikola was cheating, which wasn’t the case.

-Then everyone paired up, you were with Kojiro this time, and decorated gingerbread men, having a contest on who’s was the best. Apollo and Jack ended up winning with a beautifully intricate cookie that looked like something someone spent decorating for hours, rather than the half-hour time limit everyone else had been given.

-Loki and you had both gotten into trouble, being chased by Odin after you both ran into his room, jumping on his bed screaming out, “It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!”

-He threw you both out the window, despite being in pjs, out into the snow, but Loki caught you, so you weren’t harmed, just cold as the rest of the house was quickly up.

-The day was then spent opening presents, having fun, taking pictures, and helping in the kitchen making a huge feast for dinner.

-New Years on the other hand was one that you didn’t get to enjoy the full fun of- mainly because you couldn’t drink the fun adult juice everyone else was drinking.

-When you pouted, begging them, they told you that you had to be of age, and since you were only 7- that was quite a while away.

-However, Eve was able to placate you, giving you your own flute of ‘champagne’, which was just fizzy apple cider, but you didn’t realize that, and you felt fancy too!

-You loved the idea staying up past your bedtime, having fun, dancing with Ares, Shiva, and Poseidon, getting to have late night treats and snacks, and you watched other places around the world shooting off fireworks as they hit midnight.

-You couldn’t wait to see the fireworks your family had planned, nearly vibrating with excitement as they all were amused seeing you so happy, as it made them happy.

-You made it to just shortly after 10, you were passed out on the couch, curled up wearing your party hat and several sets of bead necklaces around your neck.

-Your family couldn’t help but laugh, but did so after Hades put you to bed, after you got a little fussy from being so tired, almost being woken up.

-You pouted the next morning while many of your family was nursing hangovers, as you had wanted to see the fireworks, but Qin Shi Huang surprised you, showing that they had kept some so you could enjoy them that evening, at a more reasonable time.

-You swore to yourself that next year you would stay up to see the fireworks!

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror eve #ror kojiro sasaki #ror zeus #ror jack the ripper #ror apollo #ror shiva #ror ares #ror poseidon #ror hades

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edens-trinkets · 4 months ago

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i think the saddest part of burnt 2015 that i see almost no one talk about is that the paris gang weren’t just a kitchen staff. they were friends, guys. they’ve worked with eachother for YEARS. that sort of bonding doesn’t just go away.

like, we all know they worked terrible hours and then went to drink afterwards. but what about the softer moments? testing new recipes and tossing banter? celebrating birthdays with fancy cake and wine? helping nurse each other’s hangovers, taking care of eachother when one is sick, hazing new members of the staff, and just generally supporting eachother through tough times?

and i’m not just talking about tony and adam. i’m talking about reese and max and yes, even michel. they pushed eachother to be better and regarded eachother as (almost) equals. adam refers to them as his brigade thru out the entire movie. they all spent every single hour of the day with eachother for YEARS.

and it hurts when u think about it. adam loved working with them. he imagined that every single one of them would be by his side. he wanted michel and max and his old kitchen staff to work for him because they aren’t just the best of the best, they are his friends from paris!!!! they are the closest thing adam has ever gotten to a family!!!

and yeah everyone always hates michel for doing what he did—and rightfully so—but michel doesn’t have to be this one-dimensional character guys. like adam really did see michel as a friend. throughout the movie the entire kitchen staff DEPENDS on michel; they’re constantly asking him to handle the pass and shit like that. they TRUSTED michel guys. which makes his betrayal hit so much harder when u view michel as someone adam trusted wholeheartedly and genuinely considered as a close friend.

and also!! think about how tony must have felt!! when adam left jean luc’s restaurant had to be shut down. max was in jail and reese and michel left and adam was gone and tony didn’t know where he was. he thought adam was dead. legit tony lost EVERYONE HE EVER LOVED. he spent YEARS bonding with this kitchen staff and then they were gone JUST LIKE THAT. and even when adam came back, tony knows it isn’t the same, and he is desperately trying to piece together what the paris years were like before, even though that chapter of his life is over.

like. imagine u have nothing in ur life but then meet this group of ppl that push u to be better. and u spend years and years bonding with them. and then in a blink of an eye it is all just GONE. JUST LIKE THAT. LIKE HELLO?? THAT IS SO SAD

#i need ppl to expand on this?? WHERE ARE THE PARIS YEARS FICS #burnt 2015 #ed’s tangents #like if i were tony or adam i would go batshjt crazy if this happened to me #like they were a legit FAMILY GUYS LIKE WTF!!#ed's tangents

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sharkboyandlavalieb · 1 year ago

Text

(I'm currently nursing a nasty hangover and am feeling emotional so please accept this and remember me as I was in my better days)

I have so many thanks...too many thanks actually for everyone that follows this sideblog. I've had it for YEARS, but never spent much time socializing with the fandom until the recent boom. I was immediately welcomed from so many people and it means a lot. ❤️

A huge thank you to my unhinged discord buds who listen to my ramblings, give advice/critique on graphics and gave rise to my ultimate 'ron is a grower' headcanon (we have pics for proof). you're all amazing @basilone @almost-a-class-act @cody-helix02 @currahee @latibvles @gorgeousundertow & so many others that I'm blanking on your urls 💗

Biggest appreciation to @snarkyliebgott for always sifting through my nonsense and responding with kindness and equal nonsense (i.e.: what would put easy company in a coma first). They're the first person I felt truly connected to in the fandom. I feel like I could write gibberish and they'd completely understand. I'll always support my georgian sugar plum peach!! ✨

@ronald-speirs - I think you were the first person to interact with my red cross graphic (the first thing I've made for this fandom since 2019) and you've been a wonderful friend ever since. Our convos (no matter how short) make me laugh every single time. You, your edits and screencaps are A GIFT!

@saturnwisteria - for always being on my dash and in my notes on both this account and my personal! I hope we can have more interactions in the new year!!

@mutantmanifesto - not only is your artwork breathtaking and amazing, but you yourself are amazing and so friendly to talk to. I get so excited when I see a new mention cause it means you've fed us another masterpiece we are not worthy of.

@ewipandora - I couldn't forget you on here!!! We just became mutuals this month but I already feel like we've been following each other all year! (your webgott kink post had me weak, thanks again for that bread)

@historyl3sbian - I really thought I was already following you and realized a few days ago I WAS A FOOL! Your text posts make me laugh every. single. time I never get tired of seeing them. Thank you again for letting me use them as inspo for my own unhinged creations. Keep being groovy ;)

also @mercurygray for creating this holiday positivity train and giving me the idea to make this post. It's what jolly ol' saint luz would of wanted.

xoxo - sharkboyandlavalieb

#I have so many mutuals I want to thank but I couldn't fit it all here #happy new years!!!!!#if anyone remembers that vine of the girl crying in the sand needing to take a nap #that's me right now #sharkboytext #mutuals tag

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anamelessfool · 1 year ago

Text

[Instrumental]

Copia x Cardinal Marian, Copia & Terzo Domestic Fluff sponsored by @comp-lady's Domestic December

Link to Challenge Here

Words: 1426 AO3 Link Here

Tags: Duet, Singing, Being Silly, Holiday Doldrums

Dedicated to @delullu and @thew0man <3

Ficlet Below the Cut!

After the Solstice Holidays and before the New Year, it was rough around the Ministry compound. Not much to do except nurse a hangover and wait for the calendar to refresh you, to wash away the old year. Next year will be different. But right now, I got to lie the fuck down.

Papa Emeritus III would make it everyone's problem and start wandering the halls looking for some last minute pick-me-up from a sibling who was already either exhausted with him or disgusted by him thanks in part to his traditionally ridiculous behavior at the Solstice party. Sister would have nothing to do with him, which of course meant he would resort to the only two people whose job description required mandatory interaction: Sister's Personal Assistant Marian and his protegee Papa Elect Copia.

Which is why during this time Marian and Copia preferred to hunker down somewhere. And when Marian would get so sick of puzzles or hearing Copia crow about The Life and Times of JP Morgan she would demand a field trip.

Luckily at this time of year Copia’s beige LaSabre would have the snow chains on and they could go into town without careening off of a snowy cliff on the way there.

And in the nearest town there was a bar that, for a discreet twenty dollar bill it would be Karaoke Night any night Marian wanted.

“Here we stand…Worlds apart, hearts broken in two! Two! Twooo….” Marian scream-sang the words as they lit up across the video screen. From his place at a nearby table, Copia sighed wistfully. She was a terrible singer, he had to admit. Not a musical bone in her body. But her heart was into it. Always, fully.

Also watching her plush hips sway in time to the music was a bonus.

“Some day, love will find you! Break those chains that bind you! You know, I still love you—” Marian held out her hand to him, flashing a winning smile. Copia’s heart soared. “Even when we go our separate ways!”

A man wandered up to the stage and threw a dollar into the empty plastic pitcher for her. She blew him a kiss. Copia felt a little tinge of jealously bubble up in his throat but it was followed by another thought, this one much more thrilling. Doesn’t matter, she’s coming home with me….

“Closer to the heart! Closer to the HEAAAAAART! YEA-YUH!” And Marian jumped off the small stage, drink in hand, to wander back to Copia’s table and his nest of empty glasses with lemon slices.

“The song’s over?” Copia asked. Watching her sidle over to him, a smirk across her face put him in a certain way. He pretended for a moment she had eyed him from across the bar, a mysterious temptress. He a debonair scoundrel. His heart fluttered.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine….

“No there's like a five minute instrumental section, get with the program,” she said. “Here, drink this.”

Copia did what he always did—immediately what was told. He took a sip from the tiny straw. His whole mouth was awash with acrid flames as the liquid scraped down his throat. He nearly arched and hissed like a cat. “W-what was in that?!”

“Long Island Ice Tea—I thought you'd like it. The most alcohol for the least amount of money.” Marian cackled. “Enough with that unsweetened shit. You're up next.”

Copia clutched one of his empty glasses of unsweetened shit. “No thank you. I enjoy just watching you.”

“Why not?” Marian scanned the room. There were a half dozen people besides them on this impromptu Tuesday night karaoke.

“I just….prefer…”

“There's like five other people here.” She gestured towards the bar. “Four now, because I think that guy over there is asleep.”

Copia idly tapped the glass, blinking.

“You know you're going to perform in front of thousands of people soon, yeah?”

“That's different. So many, and they're ah…they're a wall at that scale, really.”

The little [INSTRUMENTAL] blocks started filling across the screen. She’d have to start singing again soon. Marian threw him a determined look. A hungry look. Her eyebrows raised and her mouth quirked. “Drink the rest of that. I'll get you up here.”

Marian turned back to the stage and Copia watched her ass in her tight jeans cross the floor. Imagined his hands across the nipped in part of her waist. He knocked back the rest of the burning concoction and dealt with the pain.

Marian’s solo ended and someone in the darkness actually clapped. She did an ironic curtsy and the next song title appeared across the screen.

Copia bit his lip and gripped the empty glass.

He heard the song. The fake organ refrain. The plinks and chirps of the most perfect arrangement of notes he'd ever heard since Bach felt inclined to start writing.

It was his ringtone for years, when custom ring tones were a thing.

Are they still a thing?

The intro ended, and the lyrics flashed across the screen, unsung. The midi karaoke track blared without any singer. Without anyone to help push the song along and give it life.

Marian stood there, staring into his eyes. Her smirk transformed into a wild, toothy grin.

How dare she.

How dare she let this song run down.

This perfect song.

Copia blinked again, this time keenly aware of how heavy his eyelids had become. He got up and his vision swam a little.

Marian was right. That was a lot of alcohol for a sensible price. And maybe chugging it wasn't the best idea Copia ever had.

The eight inch step up onto the little stage brought with it a surge of emotion. He was already singing the song in his head, trying to keep time. He wanted his intro to be completely on time.

Copia touched her arm with one hand, then grabbed under her chin. Marian laughed, dropping the mic in his other hand. She winked.

The horrible rinky-dink light set up was still unnaturally bright and he shut his eyes tight, leaning into the mic. He had to recover. He owed it to the song. “Don't go wasting your emotion! Lay all your love on me!”

Marian pulled another mic from the plastic pitcher nearby and joined in, trying to mimic the dulcet tones of Agnetha Fältskog the best a mere mortal could. “It was like shooting a sitting duck! A little small talk, a smile, and baby I was stuck!”

Copia made a little pleased grunt, a nod, then swept his arms out theatrically, continuing, “I still don't know what you've done with me! A grown-up woman should never fall so easily…”

Something pressed play in Copia's heart. The program ran without any doubt, dismay—there was definitely something beyond the buzz of a drink mixed with a heavy hand. For some reason he wanted nothing more than to give the performance of a lifetime. He put a foot up on the stool, leaning into the bridge. “I feel a kind of fear when I don't have you near… Unsatisfied, I skip my pride, I beg you, dear!”

Copia glanced over to Marian. She was red faced and giggling, the mic forgotten in her arms. He threw her his own smirk, pointing at her with an accusing finger. “Don't go wasting your emotion! Lay all your love on me! Don't go sharing your devotion…”

Marian stepped forward into him, and his hands automatically wrapped around her. Her fingers brushed the back of his neck and her lips connected with his. He tasted something tropical, warming him on this dreary winter December evening. The empty song continued, abandoned, but her kiss was consolation enough.

Marian couldn't resist a little bite as she pulled away. “Told you,” she said.

“Eh er-well..I was going to pick that one next anyway,” Copia huffed. He shifted his weight and through the bright lights he saw a curious gleam of metal in the far corner. A figure had slipped into the bar and settled behind a table, a large square-shouldered rectangle. With horns. With a metal mask.

“Omega?” Marian stammered. “What—”

There was a theatrically wicked laugh from behind them. Terzo was standing by the stage, leafing through the giant binder of songs and typing in numbers.

“You think you could keep this place a secret forever, fratellino,” Terzo sneered. The Infernal Eye gleamed in its socket. “We’re singing Super Trooper next.”

Bonus Organ Cover Of the Greatest Song Since Bach Decided to Dabble (Copia's words)

youtube

#domestic december #ghost fandom #the band ghost #ao3 author #ghost scenes from the void #ghost band fic #cardinal copia #ao3 fanfic #anamelessfool writes #copia x oc #copia x marian #papa emeritus iii #terzo emeritus #Youtube

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intubatedangel · 2 years ago

Text

Code Red : Chapter 4

I’d planned to have this chapter ready for New Years Day. Then i got the flu. Pretty badly. Close to hospital stay badly. It certainly put paid all my plans for New Years at any rate. Instead of a 5 course meal and a few drinks, I had some dry toast and a shot of Night Nurse. It’s still lingering a bit, like a hangover, but the worst is past and I can function again, so here I am with chapter 4. Hope you enjoy.

Story Index

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

* * *

Trish's mind was still a blur from the last few minutes. Recognising the locket that had struck her back. Falling behind Carl as they both dashed up the stairs. Seeing him cradling her best friend, then realising Anna was covered in blood. She'd followed Carl's orders more out of trained instinct than any conscious decision, rushing back down the stairs, only just avoiding tripping at one point. She'd burst out of the stairwell into the trauma wing, shouting for help, but those nearby were too pre-occupied with their chaotic work in Trauma 2. They'd also taken the drop kit that hung on the wall.

She had crashed through the double doors into the main foyer of the trauma centre, barking at the nurse’s station to call the code red and alert the blood bank. She was still running to the front entrance, for the grab bag that was positioned there. Sarah intercepted her. "Trish, Dr Stelling already put a blood order in?" The younger nurse said, the question in her voice.

Trish stumbled to a halt. "It's not for..." She couldn't bring herself to say his name, "him. He...He stabbed Anna!" She cried aloud.

Everyone paused for an eternal moment, staff gasping in shock, patients confused and concerned. Trish took a shuddering breath, on the edge of breaking down completely, when a steady, authoritative voice joined a hand on her shoulder.

"Where?" Jones' single calm word grounded her.

"The top of the stairwell, by the helipad." Trish said. Jones looked to Sarah, who nodded, knowing where she meant.

"Lucy!" He shouted in the direction of the front door. Trish looked over seeing the paramedic already grabbing the kit from its alcove.

"Jessica, get a gurney!" Sarah shouted in another direction. "Mark, call that Code Red to Trauma 3 then get there yourself!" He was senior to her, but he didn't argue, reaching for the phone.

Trish was barely following their actions, trying to process everything. Jones pushed her through into the trauma wing, to the elevators, hammering the call button. "Focus." His solid tone got through to her. "She needs you." Trish blinked a few times, then nodded. The others had caught up just as the elevator arrived and they piled in, Trish claiming the grab bag from Lucy.

The elevator took an agonising eternity to lift them to the top floor. As the door opened and they stepped out, Trish could tell it was as bad as she had seen from the stairs. Worse even. But the limited time she'd had to process the situation was enough for her to act while the others froze behind her. She stepped forward and threw the bag down to cause a loud thump. It had its desired effect.

Hearing Carl describe Anna's situation and seeing her friend's pale blood-stained chest shook her, but she clung onto Jones' words as best she could, even when she pressed the gauze against Anna's abdomen and got no response to what would have been agonising pain.

While the others got ready to lift Anna onto the waiting gurney, Trish kept her hands pressed tightly to the wounds. On Carl's order they lifted their colleague, her sheared scrubs still hooked around her arms, onto the gurney, raising it up a moment later. They gathered the equipment and began to move towards the elevator. Trish glanced back.

She wished she hadn't. The pool of blood was big. Mortally big.

* * *

As they pushed the gurney towards the elevator Carl was keeping one eye on the monitor, and one hand on hers, but his gaze shot to Anna's face when he heard a tiny whimper. For a moment he thought he had imagined it, but then he saw the mildest flutter of her eyelids.

"It's ok Anna, I'm just helping you breath." Sarah told her, leaning close over her head as she closely followed the gurney, squeezing the ambu bag smoothly.

Carl felt a flutter of relief. She was still responsive. Once they got the rapid infuser connected they could stabilise her and get the surgeons to fix the damage. It was wishful thinking. As the elevator doors closed, the monitor let out a warning tone, that switched to a full-on alarm before Carl could even read the screen. The ecg was still flickering away with a rapid rhythm, but the pulse reading had flattened.

"Pulse check!" He shouted, as he grabbed her hand, reseating the finger sensor in the vain hope that he had accidently dislodged it. The screen didn't change. He looked at the others, the pained expressions on their faces telling him before they could even shake their heads. Anna's heart was no longer pumping blood.

"PEA arrest! Get on her chest!" He commanded Jessica, trying not to scream as he reached for the shears in the bag.

Lucy steadied the tall nurse as she climbed up to kneel beside Anna, weaving her hands together, waiting just a moment for Carl to snip the centre of Anna's bra the bottom edge lined with wet red. The cups popped apart, clearing her sternum, replaced an instant later by Jessica's hands, which immediately thrusted down, bending Anna's ribs inwards and compressing her heart.

Carl was again reminded of their play session the prior weekend. His half compressions making Anna's belly pop in a counter rhythm. These compressions were real. Each 2-inch pump forced Anna's entire slim abdomen to bulge. They came at such a rapid rate that it produced an effect akin to rolling waves across her ghostly flesh, with enough force to pop Trish's hands as they held the bandage tight to Anna's wounds. Carl tore his gaze away from his love's distending stomach, looking instead to the monitor.

The ecg waveforms were becoming unstable, the lack of a true pulse and the savagery of Jessica's compressions turning the electrical rhythm into a chaotic storm of spikes. The reading from the pulse ox was marginally more encouraging, the compressions producing waves on the line. They were small, but at least they were there.

"Tell me the rapid infuser is waiting for her." Carl said, looking at Trish.

Before she could respond, Sarah spoke from Anna's head. "Mark is on it, Trauma 3. It'll be fully loaded with O-neg." She said. The detached medical professional inside Carl was impressed by her confidence. The emotional part merely prayed that she was right, concerned only for the beautiful woman that was in cardiac arrest before them all. He lowered his head, gripping the rail of the gurney, the alarming noise of the monitor that filled the compartment cutting through his soul. He took a breath, unintentionally synchronising with the woosh of the ambu bag as Sarah squeezed it firmly, grasping for the professional side that Anna needed right now.

"As soon as the door opens we move. Jessica get a more stable position." He said as he looked at the display above the elevators control panel. Jessica finished 30 compressions, using the brief interruption of another bagged breath to loop a knee over Anna's hips, straddling the dying nurse.

The display ticked over. The elevator rumbled to a stop, letting out a ding as the doors started to slide open.

* * *

Geoff, a member of the facilities team at Riverside hospital, kept himself to himself. He was good at cleaning. Meticulous even. He should take pride in it, others would say. It seemed a strange response to him. Everything had a proper state. He just got things back to how they should be. He had just finished cleaning up Trauma 1 and was moving down the corridor. Apparently there was an incident in the stairwell that needed cleaning. It didn't bother him. Better to be doing something than sitting around. A lot of the others, especially his boss, complained when the medics called for something. Geoff didn't. It gave Geoff a good reason to not sit around with the complainers. He was playing a tune in his head, his fingers tapping the handle of his cart, he didn't know what it was called, he'd only caught a snippet on the radio in the office, but it was catchy. He turned, about to push the stairwell door open with his hip, dragging the cart behind him, when there was a ding from the elevator just a few yards away.

"Move! Move! Move!" Geoff heard the shouting first. Then the screeching alarm. It was a lot of noise. He didn't like noise but working here he was used to it. He did what he was always did. Get out of the way, and let the noise move away from him. He pulled the cleaning cart parallel to the wall, giving them as much space as possible. A gurney was pulled out of the elevator, making an impressively quick turn to head down the hall. Someone was riding on top of it.

That was odd. Not unknown, but odd. It made Geoff pay extra attention. The gurney was big, hard to accelerate. Geoff rarely paid attention to patients, their problems were their own, not his. But that gurney spent so long in his view, that he couldn't help but see the person on it. He would have just let it slide beyond him, gazing past it, except he saw a particular shade of blue. A very familiar shade of blue. He was surrounded by it every day, nurses coming and going. Asking him to do x, y or z. They were usually beside a gurney though. Not on it.

It piqued his attention even more, in that brief time. He noticed the blue giving way to black. Again, that black was common enough, as spots and splashes. That much though. That wasn't normal. Especially next to bright vibrant red. Something was very wrong. The gurney built up speed as it passed him, and he got a momentary look at the face of the person on it. Even with the rubbery mask over her mouth and nose, he knew those eyebrows. That hairline. It was one of the nurses. One he liked. One of the kind ones. She didn't treat him as something less. She never shouted or snapped her fingers, but she also didn't assume he was stupid. He was different. He knew that. But she treated him like he was at least close to normal. She told him what she wanted him to do, clearly, but without being condescending. He enjoyed doing those jobs for her. It would be nice if she was his boss instead.

And yet now she was on a gurney, with another nurse on top of her, hands pressing on her chest. The annoying alarm coming from a machine that had a group of wires connected to her. It was a bad sound. He knew that much. Something bad had happened. To her. Geoff hesitated. He wasn't sure what to do. He froze, watching the gurney as it rushed down the corridor toward the other trauma rooms.

Geoff didn't know what to do. Obviously he couldn't go and help. He'd just be in the way. He should be doing as asked but couldn't seem to open the door. Someone stepped up close to him, dressed in a lot of black. Or was it dark blue? He said something, a stony expression on his face, like a gargoyle, but everything had happened so quickly, Geoff was still confused. The man in black looked at him for a moment, then his face became human.

"Can you stop anyone from using the stairs, until I get some tape?" The man in black asked him.

"I was meant to clean something." Geoff stated. That was what he'd been asked to do.

"I know." The man in black nodded. "Can you stop anyone going in until I tell you though? It's important."

Geoff considered it for just a moment. The man in black seemed distracted. Geoff felt distracted too. He wondered if they were distracted by the same thing. "I can do that." Geoff told him, nodding in reply to the nod of the man in black. It seemed weird to him, bobbing your head to say yes, but he'd learnt what it meant, and it seemed to help when talking to other people.

"Is er...Is she going to be ok?" Geoff was surprised at himself. He didn't usually ask questions, but she was nice. He liked her. She should be ok, right? Being nice was a good thing and more good things happened if you were good. Right?

"I don't know. I really don't know." Officer Stone replied, his voice strained and weary, watching the gurney pivot and crash through the doors into trauma 3.

* * *

The double doors clattered open as the gurney slammed against them, swinging back easily as hands reached out to push them further. The team lined the gurney up next to the trauma bed, dropping the rail.

"Get ready to move her over." Carl ordered, watching the team take up position around the beds. Sarah dropped the bag, uncovering Anna's slack, pale lips. Trish maintained pressure on the bandage and Jessica continued compressions from on top of Anna's lifeless body. Everyone else reached under her, supporting her shoulders, waist and legs. "Ready Jess." Carl said, the young nurse nodding.

"27...28...29...30!" Jessica counted out, before un-straddling Anna, getting out of the way of the others.

The team half lifted, half slid Anna across to the wider trauma bed, her blood-stained clothes dragging along with her. Trish was leaning across the gurney, keeping her hands on Anna's belly until Lucy, stood on the other side, reached over and replaced her. Jessica shuffled across to kneel beside Anna, resuming compressions just a few seconds after she had stopped. Carl disconnected the monitor, grabbing the wires and leads to plug them into the bigger monitor that hung over the trauma bed as Jones removed the unneeded gurney.

"Cut the rest of her clothes off!" Carl commanded. "I want full peripheral IV's, both arms, both legs. Is that infuser ready?" He asked, looking at Mark. The nurse shut the last container and nodded. 4 bags of O-negative blood ready to be forced into Anna's body, to replenish what she had lost. "Rush a sample for cross matching." Carl told him.

Trish ran some shears down Anna's black pants, reducing them to ribbons. Her shoes were pulled off along with her socks, baring Anna's feet. A couple of snips took care of her underwear. Carl fought his own shears through the looped fabric over Anna's shoulders. Within a minute of giving the order, Carl was looking down at Anna, the love of his life, lying totally naked before the team. She'd always been pale, long hours and night shifts precluding any sort of decent tan, especially at the tail end of the winter months. Now she was beyond pale, her body effectively drained of colour. Because it was drained of blood the bright crimson trails on her skin the only thing that wasn't a ghostly grey.

"Use the IO gun." Carl told Trish, as he grabbed Anna's limp arm and an IV kit, poking the needle in quickly. He grabbed the lines from the infuser, hooking up the first two, looking down at Anna's legs as the IO gun punched a wide bore access into her thigh bone. Trish reloaded the device as Mark secured the cannula taking another line from Carl to connect it. The second IO port was done in 30 seconds, the rapid infuser switched on to pump blood down all four lines into Anna's body.

"Pulse check after this cycle." Carl said, as he stepped back to grab a pair of purple gloves, sliding his hands into them.

Jessica beat down her hands, crushing Anna's sternum five more times before pulling back slightly. Hand pressed into pulse points at Anna's neck, wrist and inner leg, as every head looked up at the large monitor. The waves of the compressions disappeared from the pulse line, the chaos of the ecg trace also reducing. It still squiggled randomly.

"V-fib on the monitor. Charge to 200 and hand me the gel pads! Continue compressions and get a round of epi ready!" Carl said, taking a slim packet from Trish as she turned a dial on the defibrillator that sat upon the crash cart. Carl ripped the sterile packaging, peeling a shiny orange gel pad from the backing, placing it next to the electrode on Anna's right shoulder. The other he nestled on her side, just beneath her left breast. Pads in place, he turned and grabbed the large black paddles from the machine that was letting out a rising tone as its capacitors charged.

"Charged at 200!" Trish announced as the defib let out a double beep.

"Everyone clear!" Carl looked across Anna's body. Jessica had slid off the bed, Sarah held the ambu bag in the air, and Lucy raised her hands.

"Shocking!"

#Medical Drama #Anna Swift #CPR #Defib #Vfib #Resus Writing #dark cardiophilia

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