.not exactly what you prompted but the tongue is there :d

Fuck Boy (Johnny x Reader)

Rating: M

(A/N) Ayyy it’s ya gorl, Ry, back at it again with those AUs. This time around I introduce you to Fuckboy Johnny, a backward hat wearing frat president on a personal vendetta to get your ass in his hands. viwevopwv jk or am I?? No I’m not lol Have fun kiddies!!!

Originally posted by ohbaibeeitsyou

You don’t really remember how you ended up in the shitty nice frat house, but here you were, pressed against the sticky wall by some boy who you met five minutes ago. You don’t even remember what his face looked like, your eyes are sealed shut and imagining it’s someone else. Maybe it was your subconscious making you forget everything, or all the Jungle Juice you’ve been chugging on top of the pregaming you’d done at a friend’s apartment. At this point your body was ninety percent alcohol and ten percent water, you weren’t even sure how you were still sweating from all the dancing.

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For What It’s Worth

Relationship: Dean x Reader
Rating: Smut. (smut is not my forte. I have no forte.) A bit of fluff.
Warnings: None. 
A/N: This is for @wheresthekillswitch and @emilywritesaboutdean ‘s Do It Like Team Free Will Challenge, wherein you receive a gif and you porn it up as best you can. Thank you, ladies, for putting this together :D
[my gif-prompt is further down]

~1.6k words

Summary: You borrow something of Dean’s and he is not pleased. You are not pleased that he is not pleased. That’s not to say that pleasure isn’t derived from the overall situation.

“Aw hell no, sweetheart. That’s my best FBI shirt.”

You frown at Dean’s exclamation as you cap the milk jug again. This is how he greets you in the morning? “It’s just a shirt, Dean.”

“My best shirt.”

“Whatever. You iron it with beer.”

“That’s not true I only do that with Sam and yo- with Sam’s clothes.”

You roll your eyes and cock a hip against the countertop, leaning into it as you start eating the cereal you just poured yourself.

“Can you change out of it now?”

Your spoon holding hand pauses and your jaw drops in incredulity. “You’re not serious? You’re supposed to find it adorable and, or, sexy that I’m wearing your shirt, you Ass. This response is not acceptable.”

“You’re just not the most graceful so I don’t see you not getting it stained and were leaving for that case later and I want to have it handy. Go put on one of my t-shirts or something if you want,” Dean offers.

You put the bowl back down and throw your hands up, “Unbelievable. And I’m plenty graceful.” You twist to face him, narrowly avoiding toppling over the milk jug. He raises a brow at you. “You’re supposed to want to ravage me. That’s the cliche. I know dating is neither of our fortes but I’m thinking that you should know that at least.”

“Ask nicely.” Dean walks further into the kitchen, finally leaving the doorway.


“If you want to be ravaged all you have to do is ask. Nicely.”

“Bite me, Winchester.”

“I can do that too,” he winks.

“Nuh-huh. Too late. The biting opportunity has come and gone. I’m going to go get out of this,” you say, pinching the collar of the shirt.

Dean stops you midway to the exit. His eyes twinkle with mischief like they do every time before he- “Let me help.”

You walk backwards as Dean stalks towards you until you bump into the stainless steel counter. You’re lifted onto it, then, and dropped unceremoniously. Your hands move up reflexively to clutch at Dean’s arms. The metal is cool against your skin but that’s not why you shudder.

“Look at how quiet you’ve gotten,” Dean says, all predator.

You open your mouth to object but the thing is, you have.

“You’ve got such a smart mouth, babe, but you’re all talk, huh? ‘Cause when I’ve got you like this,” Dean drags you close to the edge of the counter with one sharp tug and your grip on his biceps tightens. “You don’t seem to have any objections.”

The smirk he gives you is gorgeous, of course, but really it pisses you off and you conjure up your best glare. “I-”

Dean kisses you. It’s dirty with lots of tongue and when you moan into it, he smirks against your lips. You’re not even angry about it. You can’t be, not with his hands sliding from your hips to your knees and then back up the inside of your thighs. When they meet fabric, they start undoing the buttons of the dress shirt, working their way further up.

Dean stops after a couple buttons and glides a thumb over your slit, feeling the shape through the now damp fabric of your underwear. He ends the kiss that leaves you breathless and, panting a little himself, raises a brow at you.

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living the dream

Fandom: Skam
Ships: Chris x Eva and Noora x William
Summary: The double date is Chris’s idea.
(Canon compliant if you squint and pretend Chris x Emma never happened.)

Two New Messages from Christoffer Schistad:

Hey bro

You know how we’ve always said it would be cool to go on a double date

William Magnusson:

When has either of us ever said that

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All His - Part 4 (A Kyungsoo Series)

The words in his text message jumped out at you and you couldn’t stop reading them over and over again.

’Come play with me.’

No matter how much you thought about it, absolutely no part of that phrase sounded innocent.

You knew the man found you amusing and you had practically been his source of nonstop entertainment for the past month or more, but to outright request your presence merely because he was bored?

What did he mean by play? You half expected him to be holding a deck of cards in his hands, shuffling them over and over looking for someone to play Go Fish with.

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anonymous asked:

sorry, idk if you take prompts or not! you don't have to answer this immediately! fluffy au where lance and Keith start dating pre-Blades of Marmora, and Lance notices little things about Keith when they cuddle or do stuff together- Keith has sharp teeth, is unnaturally warm, has strangely good intuition, etc. Lance's suspicions of Keith (not exactly being human) grow further when they talk about their pasts with each other.

Hi there! And don’t be sorry! I generally don’t take prompts, since I’m writing way too many things at the moment (all my own fault ;D), but I have been known to jot down a quick blurb here and there …

Lance breathed in and out slowly before he approached Keith, sitting down next to him on the observation deck, turning to cross his legs so he could face him directly. He waited for Keith to look up from his tablet before speaking.

“So, I kinda need to ask you something, and you really don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable, or if you just don’t wanna talk about it, or —”

“You smell a little bit like cow,” Keith said, wrinkling his nose, setting his tablet aside on the armrest behind him. “Have you been hanging out with Kaltenecker?”

“Um, yes, and rude.” Lance stuck a leg out and jabbed at Keith’s thigh with his toes. Keith pinned that leg beneath his, smiling smugly. Lance let him have his moment and then reached out with his other leg, and somehow they ended up tangled; Keith was half on Lance’s thighs, half pinned between Lance and the back of the couch and this was actually pretty perfect. 

Lance stopped laughing long enough to press a quick kiss to Keith’s cheek, and while Keith was blushing — this was all still so new, so tentative — Lance blurted out, “So, um, I was wondering about your parents?”

Keith’s smile fell. Lance reached out with his arms, an embrace that was both loose, so he could escape if he wanted, and warm, because Keith ran pretty hot and that was part of why Lance was doing this.

“What about them?” Keith asked quietly, warily.

“Again, you don’t have to answer, it’s just that … Right, so you’re wicked fast at sparring? Like, way too fast. You’re shifty about that dagger you always have on you, and you have really good night vision? Again, like, way, way good. Also, you’re nice and warm, which is great, but also a tad more warm than …”

“Than …” Keith trailed off, and his expression was now somewhat challenging, and Lance knew that Keith wanted him to be the one to say it.

“A bit more warm than most … humans,” Lance finished, and then he swooped in and stole another kiss. “But, like, you’re pretty hot, so that would be a perfectly valid reason for that, for me, so if you wanna leave it at that …”

“I … don’t.” And Keith actually looked a little … relieved? Scared, frustrated, too, but mostly relieved. “I … my dad, he’s … he was … pretty normal. His family immigrated from Korea to Tennessee — no, Lance, stop, don’t you freaking —”

“But Keith, you’re the only ten I see!” Lance howled, unable to hold back even as Keith jabbed at him with an elbow. “Ow, no, don’t care, can’t stop, won’t stop!

“I hate you sometimes.” But he then leaned in and kissed the side of Lance’s neck, his cheeks glowing pink, and Lance felt his blood rush to his own face; he quieted down, encouraging Keith with a nod. 

“I … my mom had my eyes, I think, or I have hers. And she was fast — a wicked fast runner. She never really cared much about her appearance, except that she wore a ton of make-up, and she said she had a skin condition, and dad backed it up and … She wore hats. All the time. Or scarves or bandanas … And then one day she was gone … A few years later, dad was …”

Lance held his tongue, waited for Keith to finish — he’d known or suspected most of this, but his heart still broke hearing Keith say it aloud. An orphan. Passed around different homes, with people that liked him, people that tolerated him, people that were cruel and indifferent … But no one, no family, that loved him like they should, like he deserved.

“This dagger is … I don’t know much, but what I do know …” Keith managed to pull it out from wherever he hid it, and then he carefully unwrapped the binding. “This symbol was on Ulaz’s weapon.” He revealed the crest. “He said these are ceremonial weapons of the Blade of Marmora, and I’ve always had it, so …”

The dagger trembled a little in his grip. Lance wrapped his hand around Keith’s on the hilt. Those dark indigo eyes stared into his, and Lance smiled back, as openly and affectionately as he could. 

“So maybe you’ve got a Galra grandma or grandpa, huh? I mean, I assume you’re a quarter or less, based on genetics, since you, uh, don’t exactly look Galra. Except for the weird eyes — not yellow, but, ah, not exactly a human colour, either — and all that other stuff I’ve already mentioned, but did I mention that I find all of it cool? And I really appreciate how warm you are, like, wow, this Castle can get —”

“You … you really don’t care?” Keith blinked, those wonderful eyes widening. “You’re … you’re not freaking out or angry or scared or —”

“I’m kinda a little more blown away by the fact that you’re from Tennessee, actually.” Lance laughed when Keith nudged him again. “And I … really, really wanted you to tell me. Because I did sort of get an inkling that something was up, once we started doing this boyfriend thing and bonding and stuff.”

Keith methodically re-wrapped the dagger, put it back in its hidden spot, and then threw his arms around Lance’s shoulders, hugging him tightly enough that Lance felt tears spring into his eyes — because Keith had been scared, and now he wasn’t, and Lance felt like he wanted to spend all of his time making sure Keith was happy. Which was sort of scary in its own way.

“Thank you,” Keith whispered.

They sat like that for a bit, and then Lance pulled away, trying to wipe his tears discreetly. “Okay, but, um, really, I should be thanking you.”

Keith tilted his head in a gesture of curiosity. “Why?”

“Because …” Lance grinned wickedly. “Now that I know for sure, I can cross ‘make out with a hot alien’ off my bucket list.”

Keith tackled him to the floor and then there was yelling and an impromptu sparring match, and a broken Altean relic that they immediately accused each other of breaking and holy crap, Lance had a boyfriend from Tennessee, wasn’t that wild? he asked Keith, who laughed in his face and said, with a near perfect drawl, “Yer right — nothing stranger has ever happened to anyone ever.”

Lance had no idea what he was getting into with Keith, with Voltron, not really, but this kind of revelation only made him excited for what he would learn tomorrow. And the day after. And pretty much any day, all the days ever with Keith, his Tennessee-born, part-Galra space ranger partner.

Notes: And there it is, once again, way more fluffy than I intended … That was pretty fun to write, actually :D Thanks so much for the idea, dear, and for being so kind as to send it my way! *hugs* I hope this was okay :)

Tug and Pull

For Saxxy’s July Writing Challenge! @saxxxology Also included is the prompt: Hair Pulling for this girls B-day challenge @spectaculacular-sammy (Happy belated birthday gorgeous - I hope you like it XO!!)

  • Prompt: Hand job
  • Pairing: Sam x Female Reader, Dean
  • Warnings: NSFW, hand job, hair tugging/pulling,  fingering (female receiving), little bit of swearing, PWP-ish, just a tad bit of plot there
  • Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: During research a head massage can be so relieving. 

A/N: Thank you to my beautiful friend @oriona75 for beta-ing for me! And also this other beauty for title assistance! @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid
Tags are at the bottom. If you don’t want to be included I will not be offended, I promise :D
I love all of your comments and reactions I receive when I post. I seriously love you all so much! Thank you! I hope you enjoy this. My Sam smut cherry has been popped ;) Woo!

Originally posted by heytheredeann

“So I’m thinking we have two possibilities here for this case,” Sam started, as his thumb scrolled up through an article he found.

You swung your legs to the floor sitting up from the spot against the back door you were leaning against as you also searched possibilities on your phone. You leaned forward resting your chin on his shoulder to look at what he had found. “I think I found something too.”

He smiled tilting his head to the side, resting it against yours. “Well it looks like Mr. Jenkins either has a heavy kink for things that go bump in the night, or he’s another victim of mind control.”

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23. I’m Never Buying IKEA Furniture Again

Dan X Reader

Word Count: 865

Genre: Smut

Find my prompts here and submit them here   [REQUESTS OPEN] 


You stood there, silent, observing. Nestled against the doorframe of your’s and Dan’s bedroom, grasping a warm mug of hot chocolate in your hands and wearing nothing but your underwear and Dan’s black and grey chequered shirt. You smirked slightly at the endless huffs and puffs coming from Dan as he attempted to sort screws from nails, with his tongue slightly poking out of the side of his mouth. He liked to pull that face when he was concentrating, but on a video game or editing a video, now, his face looked overcome with anger.

“Hey you! Stop laughing at me!” Dan sternly instructed you. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the mess that he had created on the floor.

“Well unless you want to sleep on the floor tonight…” you laughed. “I could help you you know” you said softly as you walked over to him wrapping your arms around his neck. Dan gently shrugged you off, he didn’t want to appear helpless in front of you so you made your way into the lounge of your new apartment and watched some TV, attempting to ignore the frustrated screams of anger coming from the other room.

A few hours had passed and you began to fall sleepy. Sluggishly, you walked back into the bedroom and to your surprise Dan had finally finished building the bed that you had bought precisely 7 hours ago.

“wow, I’m impressed” you whispered in his ear as you yet again pulled him into one of your famous bear hugs. Dan was exhausted; he rested his chin on your head and all you could hear in the moment was his heart beating and his heavy breathing.

“and now, we sleep” Dan said as he pulled away from the hug and collapsed onto the messily-made bed.Yet again, you chuckled at his impulsiveness. “Not so fast mister” you said slowly, “you haven’t got your reward yet.” His face looked confused yet he knew exactly what you meant.

Your naked thighs sat on top of Dan who was sprawled out on the bed. “Damn, you look hot in my shirt” he said breathlessly. “Wow you only just noticed huh?” you questioned as you began to stroke his chest, currently straddling him. Slowly, you moved backwards and forwards, gently yet carefully, making sure that your first night in your apartment together was well remembered. Tiny moans escaped his mouth as he threw his head back, exposing his neck, leaving you to lean forward. You began pecking on his jaw at first before you made your way down to his neck, leaving hickeys on his soft skin.

“Y/N, You know what you do to me” Dan moaned as he gripped onto your hair, weaving his fingers amongst the strands. He moved you towards his lips and you felt his warm breath before they collided with yours.

Breaking the kiss, you look down to see the tent that had formed in Dan’s jeans. You undo his belt and slide off his jeans, tossing them to the other side of the empty room. in this moment, you didn’t care about anything else, all you wanted was to be there with him and feel his warmth. You wanted to be held by him as you moved together amongst passionate sounds of breaths and moaning. Before you knew it, he was inside you. It felt better than ever before and you let out a little cry at the shock of his size. “You okay, love?” he whispered. You could only nod due to the sheer pleasure that you were feeling.

Moments passed, tangled hair, mountains of sheets and heavy breathing. You had been with Dan for a year now but never had you wanted him so bad, his whimpers were turning you on even more as he gripped your waist, straddling on top of him. Your heart was pounding and you could feel the eruption beginning to bubble inside you. “D-Dan” you moaned “I’m close”. He began powerfully thrusting into you as the both of you were creating a mass of noise. “me too” he cried.

Suddenly, a shiver was sent down your whole body and you felt him explode inside you. Dan had never managed to make you come before, this was the first time and it felt amazing. You lay on top of him, burrowed into his neck, intertwined in the white sheets.

Peacefully you lay there with each other until suddenly, you heard a snapping sound beneath you. “Uh.. Dan” you cautiously said before you both fell and collapsed to the ground, surrounded by wooden slats and nails. The bed had broken right beneath you. Despite the pain in your arm from where Dan had landed on it, you couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Well you clearly didn’t build that very well did you?” You chuckled at Dan. “I don’t think it was the bed sweetie..” he replied as he looked up at you with a glimmer of flirtation in his eye.

“I’m never buying IKEA furniture again” You cried as you lay next to Dan on the floor, knowing that your first night in your apartment was one to remember.


An OriginalShipping oneshot 


Prompt: Red gets lost on the ice mountain and Green panics and thinks history is repeating itself.

Warnings: Implied suicide and general darkness 

Green groaned, rubbing his face. Why he and Red had to return to Mt. Silver, he had no idea. Red had made some, even for him, vague hand gestures, stared at him for five minutes straight without blinking (Green was still trying to figure out where Red’s eyedrops were for him to do that), then released Charizard before leaving, probably just expecting Green to follow him to who-knows-where.

Of course, Red had been right. Not even ten minutes had passed before Green had gone right after him. Keeping his eyes on that small orange dot before him, Green had begun to shiver before he realized where exactly Red was heading.

His old haunt.

Though Red didn’t even try and hide, or at least Green didn’t think he was, he still couldn’t find him as he landed near the top of the mountain; in the same place Green used to land all those other times.

Green shivered again, wrapping his arms around himself. This time, not due to the sharp snowflakes sizzling against his skin.

Green held his hand over his eyes, squinting his eyes and peering about outside. All that stretched on for miles and miles and miles was a giant expanse of harsh white, only broken up by the grays of the thick sky and the mountain.

Green blinked hard, snorting. He couldn’t stand being on this damn mountain for five minutes, let alone years like Red.

Rolling his eyes to himself, Green turned to hurry into the small hole in the mountain side. It was warmer without the blistering wind, but puffs of smoke still escaped Green as he trailed up the too familiar pathway to the top of the mountain.

However, as Green emerged from the cave into the too familiar clearing that had been Red’s home for much too long in his opinion, not a single speck of scarlet touched his eye.

Red wasn’t there.

Green ignored how his chest suddenly tightened up. He was probably getting frostbite or something stupid by now. He ignored how hard he began to bite the inside of his cheek. Pain would make the cold easier to ignore. Green ignored how the snow was so cold it burned as he ran out into the disgusting weather, screaming Red’s name.

The howling wind drowned him out, stealing Green’s voice away.

Panic set in Green’s mind.

“Red! Goddamnit, where the fuck are you?!” Green screamed. “Why the fuck did you wanna come back to this shitty place? Where are you?!” Green ran around the perimeter of the clearing multiple times, struggling to stay close to rocks and overhangs to help his reddening skin. “You didn’t even tell me to bring a coat! That’s an assholish thing to do, you know! You don’t just tell someone to not bring a coat when you’re planning on- on taking them to freezing places like this!” Green angrily wiped at his eyes.


Green suddenly froze where he was standing, dread freezing him to his very marrow. “No,” he murmured to himself. “No, no, no.” Green whipped around. In the distance, almost swallowed by the eternal blizzard, Green stared at the thick steps caused by erosion leading to the pinnacle of the mountain.

“No, no, not again.” Green slogged through the thick snow. He couldn’t seem to push himself to go any faster even though he wanted to. Clambering up the steps, nearly falling down several times, Green gasped for air that wasn’t trying to tear his lungs apart. None was there.

“R- Red!” Green screamed once he reached the top.

Green had expected to see Red standing on the edge, his back towards him. Had expected to see him give him one last look before- before-

Disappearing. This time for good.

Green was already poised to reach out, to haul Red back from that dangerous edge, to hug him close to his frozen body and give him a tongue lashing like never before while wiping the tears that leaked from his eyes on Red’s hat.

However, Red was not standing at that edge. In fact, he was a few feet away from it, digging in the snow.

“R- Red? W- What a- a- are you d- doing?” Green stumbled up the rest of the way and towards Red. Thick, hot relief filled his chest.

Red turned to look at him, a flash of shock and worry crossing his face seeing Green. Quickly releasing Charizard again, Red ordered him to curl around Green, warming him up.

Green leaned into the pokemon, a soft groan escaping him as his bones began to ache.

Red sighed in relief before returning to digging through the snow.

Green didn’t even try to ask what he was doing. He continued to stare on, the horror that had pierced in him still taking its time to drain away.

Finding what he was looking for, Red straightened up with a small nod, smiling to himself. Picking his way to Green, he opened his hand to show what he had forgotten.

A note. A note encrusted with ice and snow and dirt. It was unreadable.

“You- you came b- back here f- for a piece of- of paper?!” Green snapped. Before Red could do anything, Green snatched the note up from Red and held it over Charizard’s tail tip, burning it to a crisp.

Charizard snorted and battered Green’s head with his wing.

Green huffed angrily through his nose, glaring at Red hard. Instead of looking angry, or even upset, Red’s face broke out into a large grin. He hugged Green tightly, pressing their chilled cheeks together.

“You- you wanted that to be destroyed? Is that why you came back?”

Instead of answering, Red pulled back to caress Green’s cheek with the back of his hand. Still smiling, Red leaned in and pressed a small kiss to Green’s lips.

Green gasped, but kissed back as best he could. “Next time, can you at least write down why you wanna run off to this dump?”

Red sighed, shaking his head.

However, he wasn’t saying no.

I don’t ever want to come to Mt. Silver again.

Green sighed in relief and pulled Red close. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

Red nodded in agreement.

REQUEST: Being Under (Mamoru’s Smut)

narcolepticroses said:Since Mamoru is my absolute fav in Baddest Bidder, I’d love to see a female reader actually dominate him and make him squirm. Thank you so much for lookin’ at my request! :D I was inspired by the prompt “You heard me. Take. It. OFF.”

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Fandom: Kissed By The Baddest Bidder
Category: Smut
Character: Mamoru Kishi
Notes: I hope Mamoru won’t hate me and any of his fans ;) I swear Mamo, you’re my fav….

Tagging effloresensemn cux it’s Mamo

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

It feels incredibly good, to be on top, to be in control.

Adjusting yourself on his lap with fingers brushing through his hair eagerly as you tease him with a light kiss. A big part of you couldn’t believe it, he never seems to be the type. He’s good looking, desirable, care free and now you’re grinding his manhood. The detective may be a sloth but he’s still a man, an older man. You expect him to take the lead but here you are, your lips sliding against his, your tongue taking over his entire mouth, making sure you are the only thing on his mind.  As you hear his first groan, you break away from the passionate kiss. Gazing into his eyes with lust and desire, you know exactly what he wants but you are not going to give it to him, just yet. Your teeth grazing his neck, marking him as yours only.

Feeling the growing budge from his boxer while you are still fully clothed, you grind harder occasionally on purpose just to make his body shiver and squirm. You wonder just what turns him in more, you want to find his weak spot, his limits. You slide off his lap and stand in front of him with hands resting on your hips, “Awww, all we did was kiss, detective.”

The man clears his throat and a shade of pink appears on his cheeks but he doesn’t say a word, not when his cock twitches beneath the fabric. You notice and grin darkly before unzipping the side of your skirt. His eyes grow wide, watching your every move until your set of pink lingerie is shown. “See something you want?” You ask, tone taunting.

Mamoru stares with intense gazes, the word “you” is just audible through his dry throat. Not that you expect anything else, you walk away from him and slowly bending over to open your drawer. Returning with belts in your hand, the detective gulp nervously as he sees the pink veins and head that’s connected to the straps. You can’t help with a mischievous smirk as you slip the fake cock over your panties, “Take your boxer off.”

The man looks at you with anticipation and fear, “You heard me. Take it off!” You rise your voice a little as the man obeys before placing your hands on his chest, pushing him down in one swift motion. Climbing over him, you push his knees up and order him no touching allow. The usual lay back detective shivers as your long fingers are pressed against his ass, there is no mistakes that his dick twitches again.

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Too Young, Too Soon

@kepnerssavery wanted fluff!! and all of you who kept me…motivated? :P I’m kidding! Love you girls! Oh and @averysanatomy for answering all my annoying medical questions (sorry!) 


He woke up when the sunlight hit his face, making it slightly uncomfortable for him to continue sleeping. He grumbled, turning his face away from the sun, but peeked at the alarm to check the time just in case. He knew his new job meant waking up with the sunrise, so chances were he had to get up, even if he didn’t want to. He saw the digital alarm on the floor next to him flash 7.00 am. He groaned once more, knowing full well that the alarm would ring any second. He pushed his arm out, and turned off the alarm. He hated waking up to it anyway, but his beautiful wife was convinced that it neither of them would get out of bed in time if it wasn’t there. He didn’t want to, but he had to admit she was right.

Speaking of her, she lay beside him, one arm thrown around his waist, her body turned around to face his. She was pressed up against him, and he sighed at the feeling of her pressed up against his chest, and the way her legs clung on to his. He stroked her back with the arm that she was laying on top of, and she squirmed a bit, pushing on to his body further, although she continued to remain asleep.

He smiled. He was starting to sweat because it was a really hot morning and his wife made no move on releasing him. Not that he wanted to. He’d rather be pressed up against her right now, and feel like he was stuffed inside a furnace, than move away from her. But he had to, because they both had their first shift in about 1.5 hours. They were starting their internship at Mercy West Hospital, and they were both excited. They’d spend a good month since they’d done their interviews, patiently hoping and praying that they’d get into the same programme. It definitely made things easier.

“Sweetheart, wake up.” He nudged her softly, his free hand tickling her hipbone. She mumbled something to his chest.

“What?” He asked, placing his fingers on her chin and lifting it up to face him. She kept her eyes close, but a sleepy voice answered him back.

“Don’t want to.”

He chuckled, as she settled herself against him to fall back asleep.

“Well, you really don’t have a choice there.”

“Why?” She mumbled petulantly.

“Well, for starters, I think it’s a waste of your 4 years in med school. Also, because there’s this contract you signed with Mercy West that says you have to come to work today. But, mostly because I might have to kick you out of the apartment if you don’t pay your rent.” He teased.

“Shut up.” She laughed, the sounds getting muffled by his skin, as she swatted his chest.

“Come on, sleepy pants.” He nudges her once more, and she shifts slightly away from him. He takes the opportunity to softly roll her off the bed and she falls on the floor with a thump and a gasp.

“Did you just push me off the bed ?” April asks, her eyes wide and a mixture of anger and amusement in her eyes.

“Our bed is like an inch off the floor.” He rolls his eyes at her exaggeration.


He laughs, and she shakes her head, biting her lips so as to not give him the satisfaction. It’s true they’ve been here for about a week now. Their new apartment. It felt great being able to live together, having a place of their own, that they bought from their own money. Sure, it was a studio apartment. One tiny bedroom, an even smaller bathroom and a barely there living room. But it was theirs. And it was perfect for the two of them. Although, they really ought to buy a bed, he thought, looking around at the almost fully unfurnished room.

She slowly got up, and walked up to the chair he’d owned since medical college, that he’d made a decision to bring with him. It was old and ratty but he’d reminded a blushing April how it held a lot of good memories. She picked up his Harvard sweater, and popped it on, walking into the bathroom. He chuckled wondering why she kept stealing his sweater, when hers was just next to it.  

He left the bedroom, walking into the kitchen area, which was really a barely there pantry. He pulled coffee beans from the shopping bag they permanently kept on the floor and made a mental note that a fridge was long due. They wouldn’t be getting anything done for the next two days, because of the dreaded 48 hour intern shift, but he would make sure to do all this in the weekend. She had done much of the work, trying to make the place look as hospitable as possible, but he’d been slacking on the one job he had, to purchase furniture. All he had to do was drive her to an IKEA really. But he kept trying to convince her that there were better things to do with their time. It wasn’t entirely his fault, she was easily manipulated.

He puts the machine on brew, and leaves the room. She had insisted he get a coffee machine, chastising him for throwing away his money on lattes when he was perfectly capable of making one at home. He wanted to tell her it’s unlikely he’d go broke for buying coffee, but gave in. He does that a lot with her. Not that he minds one bit.

He walks into the bathroom and finds her standing in front of the mirror, her hair in a messy bun, those weird eye patches she loves under her eyes, brushing her teeth. He gazes lovingly at her reflection, and walks up to her, sliding one arm across her waist and finds his brush on the counter with toothpaste already on it.

“Ready for today?” He asks, as she spits, and looks at him in the mirror.


“That’s the spirit.” He jokes.

“It’s not my fault you’re so charismatic and have great social skills. I am terrified of meeting new people. I make horrible first impressions!” She whines, and starts to remove her clothes to get into the shower.

“What? You made an amazing first impression on me!” He jokes, following her into the shower.

“Um, you hated me the first day. You thought I was really annoying.” She points out, and sticks her tongue out at him.

“And you thought I was an asshole.” He tells her, pouring some shampoo into his hands, and rubbing it on her head.

“Yeah I did. You were a major dick.” She laughs, humming when his hands massage through her hair.

“Well, I make up for it by having a major d-” But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence because she playfully pushes him back, chastising him for his attempt at a double innuendo.

They dry up eventually, and leave the apartment in a mess of nerves on April’s side and a lot of yelling at him for losing his keys and making

“You’re both late. I don’t like it when people are late on their first day.”

They did eventually turn up to the hospital running inside. He had wanted to pull her back for a good luck kiss, but he’d be lucky if she didn’t punch him good luck. He shrugs his shoulders, because frankly they’re only 10 minutes late. He hears April apologizing profusely for their absence, making sure to only include herself in that apology. She makes up a story about the fuse going off, and having to call the landlord in, attempts a feeble joke and stumbles her way through the rest of the lie, that she, including everyone else knows is a terrible lie.

“What episode of Friends is your excuse based off of?” Their resident, with the rather unfortunate name of Dr.Lindsay Lindsay,  asks him.

“The episode where Ross gets stuck in traffic.” He remarks, and they all laugh, earning him an eye roll from his wife who disapproves of his ability to get off of things too easy.

“Alright, come on. Let’s move.” They all file behind her in a pack, and he moves his arm towards April, who swats him away and gives him a pointed look.

They’d decided early on that they weren’t telling anyone about them. They weren’t necessarily denying it either, but unless they were explicitly asked, they would keep mum. It was way easier than the plethora of questions that got shot at them whenever someone found out they were married interns. A phenomena vastly discouraged in the medical world. So, they both preferred keeping at least some things personal for as long as they could.  

He smirks at her and follows behind their resident, while she runs forward to catch up with the front of the pack. He smiles and shakes his head, ever impressed with her ability to be constantly enthusiastic, even with all her nerves.

“Hey man, I’m Charles. Charles Percy.” Jackson looks to his left and spots a big, burly, looking man talking to him.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Jackson.” He purposefully avoids his last name, because it raises some questions about his lineage he has no intention of answering. It wasn’t anything he was proud of, anyway.

“This is a bummer, huh. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m super excited to be here, but the 48 hour shift is going to be a bitch.” Charles says, and Jackson laughs in agreement.

“You know a good tip?” Jackson tells him, and the man shakes his head, prompting him to go on, “It’s to stay as far away from your resident as possible. They’re not going to give you anything good for your first two days. They’ll give you all the horrible cases, like colonoscopies that they had to deal with as an intern. The 48 hour shift is basically revenge.”

Charles keeps his eyes wide, and drops his voice a few octaves, “How do you know this?”

“I’m… observant.” He remarks, vaguely.

“Well, thanks man.” He smiles and Jackson nods his head. He liked this Charles guy, he was pretty sure they’d along just fine.

He looks up ahead to see April befriending the small, pixie haired girl. He watches as she talks animatedly with this girl, her voice that high pitch it got when she was excited, waving her red notebook in front of her face. She looked adorable, and if they weren’t at a hospital right now, he knew just what he had in mind for her.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

Their residents starts her rounds, going from bed to bed, describing symptoms and asking them to make the best guess as to what exactly could be wrong with the patient. It ends up, however, mostly being a competition between him and April. He always loves seeing her competitive side because she gets wildly passionate and fierce, and there’s something about that that turns him on.

“Adenovirus infection”

“Bacterial meningitis”

“Chronic Kidney Disease”


She grunts quietly, and gives him a death stare when he beats her to the answer, and falls back to surreptitiously stick her tongue out at him, when she gets it before he does. He notices some eyebrows raised  from their fellow interns, all stumbling to beat them to the answer but none as fast as them.

But when they come to the last case, and he knows this is the one the resident saves to figure out which intern will scrub into a surgery, he keeps quiet. He’s seen this exact case before when he was 16 and hanging around hospitals because the house got too lonely sometimes. It was epidermolysis bullosa, an extreme rare skin disease. He knows these things because of his family, and even though April kept telling him he needs to stop feeling guilty about the advantages he got from them, it wasn’t the case yet. Also, April deserved this more. She’d spent the entire month since the interview reading journals day and night, prepping for these rounds. He knew she’d get it.

“Epidermolysis bullosa!” She said, her voice triumphant.

“Correct, Doctor?” The resident smiled her way, even though Jackson could see a hint of resentment. It wasn’t the first time people were jealous of how smart his wife was.

“Av-Kepner!” She smiled awkwardly, hoping the almost mistake went unnoticed. The whole, Dr.Kepner, officially, Mrs.Avery otherwise, tends to mess with her.  

“Dr.Kepner, you’ll be observing patients post ops with me, while the rest of you are stuck with colonoscopies.” They all groan, and he regrets it just a little bit, but then she walks up to him and flashes him her smile and he knows he’d be stuck with those for a month just to see that.

“You let me win.” She tells him, and he clears his throat and denies it, because he didn’t think she’d catch on.

“It’s alright.” She tells him after he tries to mumble out a justification, “I’ll forgive you this time, because… colonoscopies.”

He looks around to see if anyone is watching, and lightly smacks her behind, and watches as she tries her hardest not to squeal.


“I better get some sugar for that.” He smirks at her, and she rolls her eyes, but he knows he’s definitely getting some love when they go home.

The day stretches on, it’s a blur of activity and dullness, although there is an exhilaration of the knowledge that this is the first step to the careers they’ve been building for years now.  

They don’t meet each other too much. They’re busy with the simple, yet daunting tasks of your first day at an internship. Add to that the impending long stretch of hours, and it was enough to drive most people out of surgical on day 1. He’s already witnessed 2 of the interns drop off, and now there’s only 5 of them left. It’s intense, this life.

They only see each other once when they run into get a blood test retrieved and she looks around suspiciously before quickly pecking him on the cheek, and running off. He grins, and he feels a little bit more energized than he did.    

He finds her in the ER, flipping through some charts, along with Tyler, the other member of their now 5 man, and woman,  residential group. He attempts to walk up to her, to catch a few seconds with her, before their resident drags him off to another unpleasant task. He stops short, however, when he hears their conversation.

“Can’t wait until we’re done with this. It’s been 10 hours and my body already feels like it’s going to fall apart.” Tyler says, and April smiles politely towards him.

“It’s only going to get harder from here.” She laughs, and he laughs along with her.

Jackson’s never really been the jealous type. This is mostly because he trusted April so much, that he knew no matter how many offers she may get, she’ll never feel any inclination to take anyone up on it. Still, he was human after all, and not privy to small bursts of jealousy every now and again. This guy’s eyes were roaming over her body, and he kept flicking his gaze down to her ass. He wasn’t a fan of men looking at women like that, period, but of course, definitely not his wife.

“So, uh, I might need to get some booze the moment I get out of here. Wanna come with?” He asks, and Jackson rolls his eyes.

“You mean, all the residents or?” April asks, her face noting confusion.

“Oh, eh, no I meant… just us. Like, could I buy a drink after-”


Jackson chuckles slightly, noting how flustered his wife was every time she figured out someone was hitting on her.  He never intervened, always let her handle things, unless some bastard didn’t know the meaning of the word “no.”

“Um, Tyler, I appreciate the offer,” She blushes, and he knows it’s not because she’s even slightly interested, but because she hates being put in situations like this, “But, I’m married.”

“Oh. Uh, you are? I didn’t see the-the ring.” He says, coughing slightly. The guy looked so embarrassed, Jackson felt bad for him.

“Yeah, well, I left it at home. Didn’t want to lose it.” She comments, shrugging her shoulders.

“You know you could pin it to your top? Or put it on a necklace?” Tyler offers, and April beams at him.

“Yes! That’s a great idea. Thanks, Tyler.” She says, clearly contemplating how she couldn’t think of this on her own.

Jackson grins, and starts to walk towards April and a very dejected looking Tyler, before Reed walks up to him and informs him that they were assigned scut duty for the next hour or so. He groans, but follows her.

It’s about 3 hours later than he has some time to see April, when he walks down a rather isolated looking hallway and finds her tucked into a corner, attacking a salad.

“Hey Dr.Kepner.” He calls out to her, and she grins up at him, clearly thrilled to see him.

“I can’t believe that’s what I’m going to be called from now on,” She says, shaking her head.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you’re going to be called other names besides that from time to time, particularly in the bedroom.” He winks at her, indicating that his thoughts weren’t at all innocent.

“Jackson!” She pushes him roughly as he slides down the wall next to her, “You’re the worst.”  

“You’re mean, I prefer Mrs.Jackson Avery, can she come back now?” He teases her attitude, placing her legs over his, pulling her closer to him by her waist.

“She’ll be back when we go home.” She says, and he loves how she can act completely innocent to everyone else, but be an absolute tease around him.

“I look forward to this.” He says, pecking her on the lips, and holding her there for a second longer.

She feeds him bites of her salad, and chastises him when she realizes he’s bought fries for his lunch, although she spends a good amount of time, eating all his fries.

“Um, Jackson, I have to tell you something.” She says, and the hesitance in her voice let’s him know exactly what she wants to talk about. Tyler.

“What is it, babe?” He asks.

“Um, so I was in charge of checking on some charts, with… Tyler-”

“The guy who you’re sure is called Tyler because he looks exactly like Tyler Perry?” He interjects, causing April to laugh loudly.

“Oh my god, he does, doesn’t he?” She says, still laughing incredulously.

“Gave me so crazy A Madea Christmas flashbacks,” He pulls on a curl that’s fallen out of the high bun she’s pulled her in, “Go on.”

“Okay, so… when we were there, charting… he asked me to go have drink with him? As in-as in a date?” She looks at him, almost guiltily. Leave it to April to feel bad about getting hit on, “I said no, obviously. I told him I was married.”

“I know you did, baby. I trust you.” He smiles warmly at her, and she kisses him.

“I mean, I wish you’d wear the ring though, because part of the reason I spent so much money on it was to be a very clear to guys who hit on you, that you were taken.” He tells her, running his nose along her cheeks, and placing kisses now and again. She giggles at the feeling, but soon the frown lines settle on her face.

“How much did you spend on it, anyway?” She asks.

“Uh-” He hadn’t meant to let that part slip. He was pretty sure she’d stab him with the plastic fork if he told her it was close to $50K.

“Wait, he’s your husband?”

They both whip their heads in the direction of the voice, and find Tyler, glancing between the two of them, looking stunned.


“You’re married?”

They look behind Tyler to see Reed and Charles looking equally astonished.

“Um, yes we are married.” He nods, giving into the fact that they’re apparent attempt at keeping their private lives to themselves, was a fail.

“Wow, Red, and I thought you were a virgin.” Charles pipes in, sitting opposite them, legs stretched out.

April stutters gibberish, her eyes falling to the ground, a steady blush on creeping up on her neck.

“Charlie, shut up,” Reed hits him over the head, before sitting down next to him, “I apologize for my idiot of a friend. He’s clearly forgotten social norms after all those colonoscopies.”

“Do you blame me? I’ve seen enough asses to last me a lifetime.” Charles says, biting into his burger.

“Can we not talk about asses while we’re eating?” Jackson asks, screwing up his face.

“I just can’t believe you guys are married!” Tyler exclaims again, and Jackson feels bad for the guy. He really seems to have taken a liking towards his wife. Sucks to be him.

“Well, we are. Have been for about 4 years now.” He tells them, smiling down at her. He’s always filled with pride when he talks about their marriage.

“I can’t imagine marrying so young, though,” Reed remarks, and then shrugs her shoulders, “Then again, I can’t imagine getting married ever, so there’s that.”

“Don’t you guys miss the single life? The freedom, the ability to date other people, the carelessness?” Charles asks.

“Yeah, I mean, how do you know this is the person you want to spend forever with when you’re 23!” Tyler tries, once more.

They’re both used to these questions by now. When Jackson, had met a petite redhead on his first day of med school, and gone on to find her tirelessly annoying, while she found him to be an egoistical jerk, even then, he’d known he’d never want another woman the way he wanted her. It was hard to explain to anyone outside of their relationship why it only took them a week to get over their initial impressions of one another and less than one year to decide that they wanted use their winter break to elope and get married. Why they both risked their families complete disapproval to get hitched so young. It was hard to explain to someone who’d never been in love they way they were, that sometimes, you meet someone, and you just know.

“You just know.” They say in unison, and giggle.

“Ew, you two are disgusting.” Reed comments, although she says it in a way that makes him realize it’s her way of giving a compliment.

“So you don’t miss being single… at all?” Tyler inquires, and Jackson is ready to beat his ass this time.

“No, Tyler,” April smiles politely at him, even though Jackson can tell even she’s on her last nerve, “I can’t imagine not being married to this guy.”

She pets him lovingly on the cheek.

“Dating is the worst. You’re confused, and trying your best, and hoping you like someone enough to want to give them the time of the day. I hate that. I get to go home with my wife, chill on the couch watching Netflix in old sweats and still know she loves me. It’s the best, man.” He says, and watches Charles contemplate this.

“Plus, I’ve never been into meaningless sex.” Jackson shrugs.

“You don’t miss it, at all?” Charles asks, and April looks up at him curiously.

“Yeah ask that in front of his wife, wise ass.” Reed rolls her eyes.

He ignores all of them, and stares at April, “It’s sad, dull and you almost always regret it in the morning.”

“He’s got a point!” Reed chimes in.

“Well I see we’ve got ourselves a little congregation here. Off to work, all of you. Lunch break is done,” They all mumble protests and quickly get up, “Dr.Kepner since you’ve impressed Dr.Logan today during your individual rounds with me, he wants you to scrub in on my appendectomy. Nothing fancy, just some suctioning.”

He doesn’t appreciate her monotone, but is wildly happy for April that she gets to scrub in. He can feel the excitement radiating from her.

“Okay, go scrub in, I’ll join you momentarily. Rest of you, off to the ER.” They all scramble off, and he sees everyone congratulating April, although they’re all clearly envious.  

“Dr.Avery! Hold up for a second will you?” Dr.Lindsay says with a smile, and he waits back. He wanted congratulate April but he didn’t think that was happening. “You didn’t tell me you were Harper Avery’s grandson.”

He hated the way she was grinning at him. He could smell ass kissing from a mile away. He wanted to tell her that there really is no point sucking up to him because he was on the outs with his family anyway. Sure, he was still a board member and had access to his funds that he never touched, except to buy April the ring he wanted. But, he wasn’t in his grandfather’s good graces. The reason he was still next in line to the foundation seat was merely because his family would rather have him take over the foundation, than let it venture outside the Avery name.  

“I didn’t think it would be important.” He says, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice. She was still his superior.

“It is very important, Dr.Ave-Jackson,” She earns an eyebrow raise from him for her switch to his first name. She’s trying to establish a closer connection, he can tell. “I mean, I wouldn’t have put you on the colonoscopies and taken… Kepner on rounds if I knew.”

He tries his hardest not to frown at her. He hears the dislike she empahsizes on his wife’s name and he’s not a fan of anyone who chooses to treat his wife any less than she deserves.

“Well, Dr.Kepner is far more capable than I am, so I’m pretty sure you made the right choice there.” He shoots her the best fake smile he’s curated since he was a teenager forced to sit in on board meetings, and walks off.

Unfortunately, she decides to follow.

“You know, Jackson, I am actually participating in a new medical trial with Dr.Gashner, our renowned urologist. I’m sure your mother’s worked with him. She’s an astounding-”

Jackson wanted to push her into an empty room, and lock her in as she continued to ramble on about his mother. It was endearing when April did it, because she wasn’t looking to gain by idolizing his mother to him. The first time she’d done it, she hadn’t even known Catherine Avery was his mother. It had been about 3 months into their relationship, when he’d had to let the secret slip. She’d merely been recommending he read his mother’s journals, deeming them to be ‘brilliant.’

“Yeah, she’s great.” Jackson responded, having completely blocked her out and offering vague responses until now.

“Jackson, do you think you could rearrange this supply closet?” She asks, smiling gracefully at him.

“I thought you wanted us at the ER?” He says, although arranging the supply closet seems like a vacation from getting puked on every 5 seconds.

“Oh, well, the others have got that under control,” She says, opening the door for him.

Jackson’s not too sure about that but he was sure he was going to get assigned the stomach flus with Percy, so he shrugs his acquiescence. He didn’t want to smell like vomit, if he could help it. Mostly because he had every intent to take a nap with April once he’s done with this.


He steps in and goes towards the first shelf, picking up packets of gauze in his hand.

“Is there a particular list I could use for reference or-” He turns around to hopefully catch Dr.Lindsay before she’s left.

Well, he certainly didn’t have to have worried about her leaving. His shock causes him to drop the gauze from his hand, as his eyes quickly divert away from the image before him. Dr.Lindsay has managed to completely strip off all her clothes, leaving her in only her underwear, standing before him, wearing a smirk.

He was still reeling in, “Um, Dr.Lindsay what-”

“Sh, Jackson, it’s okay. You know, I knew I wanted to screw you senseless from the moment I saw you, but then to figure out you’re an Avery. That’s a double bonus, right there.” She says, voice low, walking towards him. He quickly dodges out of her touch when she reaches for him, side stepping around her.

“Yeah, uh-listen, I’m really not interested. At all.” He hopes he’s clear enough because there is so much truth to that statement. He could look at a woman, and completely platonically deem her attractive, even after his marriage. It was normal, and well within human nature. April got all hot and bothered every time she watched Magic Mike. But finding someone attractive and being attracted to them was wholly different. His wife was the only woman in the world, he found attractive and attracted to.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll make sure you won’t get in trouble.” She practically purrs and he feels so incredibly uncomfortable, and worse, violated.

“No, it’s not that,” He laughs nervously, once more ducking as she claws at him. He wishes April would come in and fight this woman off for him, but also is happy she isn’t here to witness this, because he didn’t want her to misinterpret the situation.

“Then what is it?” She asks, her hands on her hips. Her lips curl from a frown to a grin in mere seconds, “Should I get more naked?”

She tugs at a bra strap and he realizes there is so much in this situation he can be polite about before snapping. Superior or not, he didn’t have to deal with this.

“Lindsay, please stop!” He’s stern when he wants to be and he’s heard from April that he can get frightening when he’s angry, “Could you put some clothes on?”

He could tell she was surprised you tone of disdain, but the surprise led her to slowly redress while he turned his back on her. After a while, he turned back.

“Look, um, I’m married. I have a wife.” He clarifies for good measure.

“I know.” She shrugs, pulling on her lab coat.

“You know?” He’s baffled she’d do this even after knowing his relationship status.

“I read your file. How else do you think I know you’re Harper Avery’s grandson?”

“I-You did this even after you knew I was someone’s husband? That is just-” He shakes his head in disgust.

“To Dr.Kepner of all people.” She scoffs, and he narrows his eyes, “What do you even see in her?”

“Well, for starters, she would never do what you’re doing right now.” He crosses his arms in front of him.  

“Oh spare me the moral conscience. Look, I can make yours, and hers, intern years some of the best or worst years of your lives. Your choice.” She leans against the door, clearly attempting to be intimidating. He almost laughs to himself, because this is what he’s been trained for his entire life. Don’t let people take advantage of you, don’t let them intimidate you. You’re an Avery.

“See, I don’t think that’s true,” Calm, cool, collected. It’s scarier than yelling, “This right here, is sexual harassment. Why don’t I pop by the HR department today and fill in some paperwork, hm? Oh and while I’m making my way to HR, maybe I should pop by the Chief’s office and let him know that my resident just offered to trade sex for surgeries.”


“No, Dr.Lindsay, it’s your time to listen. If you ever mistreat my wife because of this incident, I will make sure that you come nowhere near a Harper Avery for the rest of your life. Understand?”

She looked back at him wide eyed, mouth open, but after a second gathering her thoughts, nodded solemnly. He nodded back once, and made his way towards the door. He held the knob in his hand, and turned his body back towards her.

“You’re an intelligent and attractive woman, Dr.Lindsay. Have some class.”

He walked straight out of the supply closet, happy he’d gotten that out of the way. He knew she wouldn’t be trouble. No one in the medical community would dare have an Avery in their bad side. He walked straight to the ER, to help Charles.

2 hours later, he’s gotten a break from an agitated Dr.Lindsay, and he finds an on call room hoping to catch some sleep.  

On his third try he finds an on call room that’s not locked and stumbles in, surprised to find his wife curled up on the bed. She was probably feeling the high, and he knew how much she loved to share every little detail.

“So, badass surgeon, how was-” He doesn’t finish the sentence because he notices that not only is she curled up in the bed, but that her body sporadically moves up and down, small sounds resembling sobs falling from her lips.

“Baby, hey, what’s wrong?” He walks up quickly to her, grabbing hold of her and pulling her into his lap. She rests her face on his neck and cries loudly.

She tells him that someone had misdiagnosed appendectomy, and the patient had already been septic by the time he’d arrived at the ER that morning. All in all, it hasn’t been a successful surgery, to the say the least.  It was her first day, her first surgery, and her first patient death. It was too many firsts to take in all at once.

“He was married, Jackson. Just-just 32. He was someone’s husband.” She shakes with the intensity of her tears, and he holds her closer rocking her. He can tell this one must hit closer to home for her.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. It’s always hard. The first one is always hard.” He rubs her back.

“I’m such an emotional wreck. I just-maybe I’m not cut out for this. I don’t know how I can deal with all this grief.” She wipes her eyes and stares into his.

“You will, in due time. My mom used to cry for some patients. It’s surprising, I know. The great Catherine Avery, crying over a patient. It didn’t happen all the time, but there were rare times, when she’d get very emotionally attached to a patient she can’t save. It’s tough, even on the toughest women I know, like my mom… and you. You don’t have to be stoic to be a good doctor, April. You can be emotional, as long as you don’t let it consume you.” He tells her, and feels her nodding against his shoulders, where she’d kept her head jack down.

“You need to wait it out. Wanna know why?” He asks her.


“Because you haven’t experienced the thrill of saving your first life, yet. I hear it’s a pretty darn amazing feeling.” He says, and she smiles, kissing him softly.

“Thank you,” She smiles and her tears turn to giggles when he bites her nose, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They don’t get a chance the fall asleep until later, and when they do it’s on a gurney in the middle of the hallway. The rest of the little over 24 hours go fast, their bone tired by the time it’s done.

He carries her to their apartment because she’s fallen asleep in the cab. She struggles to stay awake as he strips her of her clothes and pulls her into the shower with him, and is completely asleep when he slathers her body in soap. He smiles lazily at her, as he she holds up her arms, eyes still shut, for him to pull one of his shirts over.

She falls back down to the bed, and when he’s done redressing, he crawls up the bed towards her. She holds her arms out to accommodate him, and he keeps his head on her chest, an arm and leg tossed over her body. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, and sleepily runs a hand over his head.



He can hear the steady thrum of her heartbeat, and the magic her fingers are doing to his scalp is lulling him to a deep sleep.

“We’re doctors now.” She mumbles, and he moves his head slowly against her body in agreement.

“It feels strange.” He admits, “It feels… right.”

There’s a beat, and he’s falling deep into the land of darkness, when he faintly hears her voice, “We feel right.”

He sure as hell wasn’t going to disagree.


Four Seasons | Zen/Hyun Ryu x Reader

RATING: Teen | WORD COUNT: 2,027 | GENRE: Fluff/Romance/Angst
SUMMARY: It was a short-lived romance, but those four seasons held such fond memories.

You first met him in Spring.

Nowadays, people know him as Zen, but you knew him from before he picked up that name. You met him when his name was still Hyun, and he was still nothing more than a ragged runaway struggling to get by.

The rain was heavy when you first met him. The roads were dangerous, but you figured nothing bad would happen. You were walking back home after visiting a friend when a speeding car had slid off the road and was heading straight for you on the sidewalk. Like a deer in headlights, your entire mind shut down, and you couldn’t bring yourself to move away from the oncoming danger.

Suddenly, you were pushed to the side, your body making contact with the rough concrete as another body crashed on top of you and sending your umbrella flying in the air. You gasped for air, your entire figure trembling as fiery red eyes stared down at you with concern. “Are you okay?” The young man who saved you asked, his own voice wavering as well.

Keep reading

Looking Up

Pairing: Bones x Reader

Word Count: 1160

Warnings: Angsty, swearing

A/N: Requested by @brooke-taylor0323 for my 300 followers AU Celebration! :D In doing this I’ve figured out that meet messy AUs are my fave. Prompt was:  i’ve had a really awful day so i started kicking a car out of frustration and it turned out to be your car i’m so sorry.”  Hope you enjoy!!

The air was too thick in the office, choking you as you swallowed back tears. The once gentle hum of the air conditioner sounded like a wordless scream falling on the deaf ears of your supervisor as he sat across the desk from you, looking awkwardly at his hands.

“Fired,” you whispered again. You thought repeating the word would make it sound less foreign, but it felt just as strange on your tongue.

“Not fired,” he said, voice oozing the faux happiness you’d only experienced directed at customers, “Let go.” You were still trying to process what he said when he was ushering you back to your office, which had already been packed up. Four years of college, five years of work, and one fading dream all stuffed into two cardboard boxes propped on top of your now empty desk.

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buttercupmistymoon  asked:

43., Spones :) Only if it inspires you!


“I informed Jim of our intention to pursue—”

“Yeah I heard you Spock! Just—” McCoy tried to calm his voice, aware that he was maybe overreacting, and that his office was not as soundproof as he would have liked, “—don’t you think we should figure this out first?”

“Leonard last night you kissed me, and insinuated that this is something you desire to repeat. I merely followed regulations to ensure that we do not break any rules.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit early to be making this official to Starfleet? I mean—”

“I apologise Leonard, my understanding of human relationships is clearly still lacking. I incorrectly assumed that this was something you wished to pursue.”

“No Spock, it’s just—”

Spock stood up, clearly not interested in the rest of McCoy’s attempts to explain. “I need to report for my shift.”

“Spock wait…” McCoy pleaded, but Spock had already opened the door leading into medbay and any further discussions would only cause a public scene.

McCoy sank back down into his chair as soon as the door closed behind Spock.

And to think the day had started so well. He woke up thinking about how soft and willing Spock’s mouth had been against his own, smiling when he realised it wasn’t just something he imagined this time. Fuck.

Spock busied himself even more than usual during his shift, making sure he didn’t have a moment spare in which to dwell on his embarrassment earlier. And the embarrassment still to come when he would have to approach Jim and explain his misunderstanding.

Fortunately Jim was sympathetic, albeit confused, and didn’t pry or ask for further explanation. Spock headed to the labs after his shift, intent on leaving just enough personal time to meditate before bed.

It seemed his meditation would be cut short though, because upon arriving at his quarters he found Leonard sitting outside his door, attracting puzzled looks from passing crewmembers.

“Leonard what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“It was unnecessary to sit outside my quarters, there are other ways of contacting me.”

“Can I come in?”

“If it is brief, I must meditate and sleep.”

Leonard got up and followed him inside. Spock walked a respectable distance away before turning around, hands firmly clasped behind his back.

“If you are concerned about my earlier admission to Jim, rest assured that it has been rectified.”

“No Spock, that’s not what I wanted.”

“What did you want?”

“Spock, I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Spock wanted to tell him that it seemed that was exactly what he wanted to do, but he bit his tongue.

“I don’t exactly have a good track record with these things,” Leonard said, taking a few steps forward. Spock stood in place, allowing the distance between them to close. “I just wanted to make sure this is what you wanted, and that you were serious.”

Seeing Leonard so earnest made Spock soften his voice. “I though you would have inferred that from my actions this morning, I would not have made a declaration to Jim if I was not serious about it.”

“I freaked out Spock. I haven’t had a relationship—” Leonard took another step forward, “—or much of anything for a really long time. I just wanted some time for us to take it slow and figure it out, you know… without anyone prying.”

“I understand. I should have consulted you first, I apologise.”

“Don’t, I shouldn’t have overreacted.” Leonard stepped right up to Spock, hands cautiously finding his waist. “Are we okay?”

“Yes,” Spock smiled before leaning forward. And when they kissed Leonard’s lips were just as sure as they’d been the previous night, and just as breath-taking as Spock had imagined long before then.

100 Quote Prompts: Part 7- Introducing Google, Google, Oliver, and Google

“Wait, wait, how many did you say there were?“


Mark groaned, putting his head in his hands. Four more Egos, because of a two and a half minute video. 

“Technically,” Dr. Iplier said, looking uncomfortable, “there are only three new ones. The blue Google has existed since 2014.”

“That sure does make me feel better, Doc.” Mark stood up, pushing in his desk chair and taking off his headphones. “I guess… I might as well meet them, right?”

Dr. Iplier held his clipboard defensively across his chest. “I-I mean, yes, but–”

“Then let’s go.” Mark set off briskly for Google’s– no, the Googles’– room, the Doctor stumbling behind. 

“Mark, I h-have to warn you–”

They made it into the hallway before Mark stopped and turned. “What is it?”

“The other Googles, they’re… they’re exactly the same as the original. Th-that is to say,” he stuttered under Mark’s raised-eyebrow glare, “that their primary and secondary objectives are the same.”

“You’re telling me that we’re about to walk into a room with four killer robots?”

“…and Warfstache, Dark, and Bim.”

Mark shook his head. “May as well face the music.” He turned to walk towards the Googles’ room, but Dr. Iplier stopped him with a hand on his arm. “D-Doc?”

“Just… be careful, okay?”

Mark nodded wordlessly, watching the Doctor’s face carefully. Dr. Iplier dropped his hand and walked away, down the hall towards his office, fidgeting nervously with his clipboard. Mark could only run a hand through his hair, lost in thought. He turned walking towards the Googles’ door, but stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

From inside, he could hear the excited murmur of voices. His voice, technically speaking, but coming from seven different copies of himself. Turning the handle, he felt a familiar shiver pass over him. The Egos were such a strange, scary concept, and yet, here they were.

He opened the door, and each of his clones, standing in a circle, turned to face him.

Four Googles, each in a different colored shirt, stood in a row. When Mark entered, they looked him up and down in unison. “Hello, Markiplier.” Their voices were eerily synced, and Mark flinched a little. 

“Look who decided to show,” Dark said, smiling, taking a step towards Mark. He bowed mockingly. “Welcome to our humble abode, O Creator. Why have you decided to grace us with your presence?”

“Cut it, Dark.” Mark scowled at Dark as he smiled, all teeth, never quite reaching his eyes. Dark was the worst, by far, of all the Egos, and Mark never felt quite safe around him. Wilford, on the other hand…

“Heya, Markimoo!” Wilford practically ran at him, brushing Dark aside. “Have you thought about that video yet?” With a wiggle of his eyebrows, Wilford slung an arm casually over Mark’s shoulders.

Mark recoiled, pushing him away. “Will, that’s not what I’m here for.” He brushed his hair out of his face and turned to Bim. “Hey, Bim, how’re you?”

Bim looked at Mark with wide eyes. “Uh, hey. We’re j-just getting to know the new Googles!” He practically beamed up at Mark, looking from him to the Googles.

“Well,” Mark said, heavily, “that’s what I’m here for too.” He looked around at them all: Dark still smiling poisonously from the corner; Wilford surveying him, flipping his usual butterfly knife between his fingers; Bim still looking at him hopefully; and the Googles, scrutinizing him impassively.

Mark swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “Um, hey Goog- Googles.”

“Hello, Markiplier.” They spoke again, mouths moving at the same time. Mark suddenly felt as though he had to sit down. 

“How are you… all?”

“We are fine.”

Again with the speaking-in-unison thing. Mark furrowed his brow for a moment. “Um, do you have different names? We can’t call you all ‘Google.’”

The Googles seemed confused, looking to each other. The blue-shirted Google, who Mark assumed was the leader because of his age, stepped forward with something approaching familiarity. “I know this must be a shock to you,” he said, resting a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “However, you did not give us names, nor is there any reason to differentiate between us at the moment. The Doctor has doubtless, mentioned that we are all identical, which is objectively true.”

Mark looked blankly back at the blue Google before glancing at the others. They, in red, green, and yellow shirts, seemed suddenly more awkward without their blue-shirted counterpart. Suddenly seeming more human, more real. Less like killer robots. 

Mark relaxed his shoulders a bit. “I suppose we can differentiate by your shirt colors, if need be? Would that, uh, offend you?”

Google_B opened his mouth to respond, but Mark stopped him. “No, I’m asking them.”

All three of the other Googles stared at Mark, almost terrified. Finally, Google_R spoke up. 

“I believe that would be satisfactory, Markiplier.” The others nodded in agreement.

“Wait, what?” Wilford spoke up, indignant. “You’re just gonna call them ‘Google Yellow’?!” He strode over to the the yellow-shirted Google, draping an arm across his back. The robot stood stock-still, staring straight ahead. 


“Nuh-uh-uh.” Tongue-in-cheek, he waggled his knife at Mark and Dark, looking equally annoyed. “Nah, we gotta name them!”

“Wilford,” Dark began before Mark could speak up, folding his arms heavily. “This is not a game, and you would do well to remember that the Googles are not pets.” He pinched the bridge of his nose in chagrin, and Mark felt a surge of revulsion at such a familiar gesture. 

Google_G scowled as Google_R folded his arms disapprovingly. “I do not believe that being named is in any way productive.”

“‘Yellow’, what d’you think?” Bim was eyeing Wilford with far too much interest for Mark’s liking.

“I-I do not feel strongly about names,” the droid stuttered, looking between the two in surprise. 

“How cute,” Wilford smirked, folding his knife and finally stowing it. “I think,” he continued, jabbing a finger at the Google’s yellow shirt, “that he looks like a Dorian.”

The room erupted in protest from Mark, Dark, and Bim. Dark spoke over the rest, his voice magnified, echoing, until they quieted.

“You’re waxing very Oscar Wilde there, aren’t you, Will?” Dark smoothed his suit and smirked at Wilford, suddenly staring daggers at him. 

“Do you have a better idea, Darky?”

Mark flinched at the pet name, sure that heads were about to roll. Two serial killers, glaring at each other in a room full of killer robots, could not be good.

“In fact,” Dark said smoothly, stepping close to the yellow Google, “I do.”

The room suddenly tensed as Dark leaned towards the android, cupping his chin, staring into his eyes. Even Wilford went still, fingers reaching for his waistband–

“I’m in a very Dickens mood,” laughed Dark, moving away. “Oliver.”

“Oliver.” Wilford repeated, staring at Dark with an unreadable expression. “Oliver!” He clapped his hands, and Bim jumped. “It’s perfect!”

Dark stood back, looking amused, and Mark shook his head, bewildered. Darkiplier had just named a robot, a robot that looked exactly like him, after Oliver Twist. 

Bim, behind Mark, laughed a little nervously. “Is– is that okay with you, Google Oliver?”

Yellow Google– now Oliver, blinked at them all, processing. The other Googles watched him carefully, awkwardly. “I am indifferent– however,” he said, suddenly forcing his face into a smile, “I will agree that ‘Oliver’ is an excellent name.”

Google_R scowled at Oliver. “I, on the other hand, would prefer not to be made into a pet. You may call me and, doubtless, the other Googles, by our, ah, colors.” Google_G and _B nodded in agreement, and Oliver looked a little put out.

Wilford, still uncomfortably close to Oliver, smiled proudly. “The Googles and Oliver, then.”

Mark could only shake his head and smile. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Googles and O-Oliver.” 

“We feel the same, Markiplier.”

“Call me ‘Mark’, goddammit.” His tone was teasing, but the Googles looked confused. 

“Would ‘Markimoo’ suffice?”

Mark glared between Wilford and Dark, each feigning innocence. He could hear Bim struggling not to laugh besides him. “Just, ‘Mark.’”

“What about–”

Mark shut the door in mock anger, stalking out into the hallway amid a gale of laughter. 

The Egos… were a little much. Between Dark trying to take over the channel and Wilford being, well, Wilford, Mark had a lot on his plate. Google had never been and issue, until now. Now… they were like kids, in a way. Knife-wielding, robotic, murderous kids. Bim, the Doctor, and the Host were never such handful.

Thinking of the Host, Mark smiled and crossed the hallway to the Host’s closed door. The Host had made it quite clear in the beginning that he wanted little to do with the others. Now, with a little coaxing, he’d take a break from writing every so often to come check up on the others. 

Mark had barely lifted his hand to knock on the door when a voice sounded clearly from within. 

“The Host encourages Mark to enter, if he would only close the door behind him.”

With a smile, Mark entered the Host’s room. It was a room like all the others at the office, but the Host had covered the walls in bookshelves, slouching under the weight of hundreds of novels. The Host himself sat at his desk with his back to the door, his microphone pushed to the side. As Mark drew closer, he saw that the Host was typing hurriedly at his typewriter.

“What’re you up to, Host? You didn’t want to meet the Googles?”

“The Host would prefer to introduce himself at a later time.” The Host nodded to himself, knowing that Mark was standing over his shoulder, looking at the Braille typewriter in curiosity. “There are far too many Egos in the Googles room at the moment.”

“I agree, Host.” Mark sighed a little, looking around.

“The Host invites Mark to shift the stack of papers on the nearby chair if he would like to sit down.”

Mark dropped into the chair with a puff of dust, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

“If Mark would like to talk about what is bothering him, the Host will gladly pause his work,” the Host said quietly, reaching the end of the line he was typing with a small ding.

“Ah, it’s okay…”

The Host had already set aside the paper, clipping it to a stack of other papers, all covered in raised dots. “The Host…” he paused, brow suddenly furrowing. “The Host is not sure how to help, but he is willing to listen.”

“It means a lot, Host,” Mark said. He wondered where to start, but took a breath to begin. “It’s just… with the Googles appearing, and all of you living in the office… It’s a lot.”

“The Host understands.”

“It’s a little scary, to see like–” he paused, counting, “–a hundred and fifty seconds or so, an idea, become a person that lives here.”

“The Host is aware of the power of ideas. It is a power that much lesser men than Mark have feared.”

“Uh, thanks, I guess, Host.” Mark rubbed his neck, looking at the floor. He wanted to bring up Dark, but he knew the Host wasn’t the most appreciative of–”

“If Mark wished to talk about D-Darkiplier,” the Host said, voice hinting at a tremor, “the Host w-would gladly listen, especially if it would relieve some of Mark’s stress.”

“I don’t want to–”


Mark fell silent, looking at the Host’s pained face. The bandages did little to conceal the Host’s concern, and he leaned forward. The single lamp on his desk sent a low light over the room, glinting off the blond locks in his hair, and for a moment, Mark could imagine that it was just the two of them in the world. 

“I’m scared of him.” Mark’s voice was suddenly small, like a child seeking comfort. “He’s growing more powerful, and I’m just– I’m just–”

“You are just a man.”

Mark fell silent again, worries beginning to swirl around his head again. Dark was a real-life villain whose only purpose for existing was destroying him. He lived in fear, slept in cold sweats. This wasn’t the fun of his fans anymore, but a living nightmare. 

“Perhaps it is best that you are only a man,” the Host said, breaking through Mark’s thoughts.

“Wh-what d’you mean?”

“The Host–” he cleared his throat, a little shyly. “I would think that it is your greatest strength.”

Mark sat, dumbfounded by the Host’s use of first person. 

The Host continued, voice growing stronger. “D-Darkiplier is conjured by hate, and is fixated solely on M– on your channel. You, on the other hand, are multi-dimensional, capable of love, enjoyment… even forgiveness.”

The Host fell silent, fidgeting with the buttons on his coat. He turned quietly back to his desk, putting a new piece of paper into the typewriter. 

The clack-clack of buttons filled the silence as Mark sat, confused, lost in thought. 

He was only a man. He was, at least, a man. And that, he assured himself, was more than Dark or any other Ego could ever be. 

The Host looked at him a little sadly as he stood to leave. “The Host hopes you will visit again.”

“Thank you, Host.” Mark’s voice was full of emotion, and the Host felt the warmth of it. 

“Thank you, Mark,” he whispered, as Mark walked away.

Mark was nervous enough around the rest of the Egos, but the Host’s words had soothed him. They were all copies of him, after all, and were respectable enough. Mark made for the main office, where he could hear the murmur of conversation. 

Poking his head in, he found Ethan and Tyler face to face with the four Googles.

“I can explain.”

“This was… the upgrade video?” Tyler raised an eyebrow, looking doubtful. 


“Do they have names?” Ethan’s eyes were alight with ideas, and Mark, vividly, imagined him with a pink mustache.

“I have been named Oliver,” Oliver said, raising a hand, and Tyler locked eyes with Mark. Ethan bounced over to shake his hand.


“My apologies,” Oliver mumbled, withdrawing his hand, staring at Ethan clutching at his groin. 

“The rest of them,” Mark said, ignoring Tyler’s snort of laughter, “are Googles Read, Green, and Blue.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tyler said, inclining his head. He made no move to shake their hands, and the droids stood awkwardly, staring from one man to the other.

“Uh, why are you out here, Googles?” Mark stepped farther into the room, joining Tyler and Ethan, who was still gasping from Oliver’s attack. 

“Dark mentioned that we should attempt to make introductions with the remainder of the building,” Google_R spoke up. “Have we committed a faux pas?”

“Mark,” Tyler whispered, tightly. “I think–”

Mark was already gone, sprinting down the hallway towards the Googles’ room. He passed Bim on the stairs, turning to him for a fraction of a second. “Where are Dark and Will?”

“T-they said they wanted to talk, they should still be in the Googles’ lab…”

Before Bim could finish, Mark was running again, as fast as he could. He’d barely reached the door before the sound of the building powering down filled the suddenly dark corridor. The only light came from inside the room, a steady magenta glow.

Swallowing his fear, Mark turned the handle and stepped inside.

The first thing that was obvious was that the darkness in the room was unnatural. Smoke stung at his eyes, and Mark blinked furiously. Wilford was standing at Google’s computer, tapping idly at the buttons. 

“Wilford, where’s–”

The door slammed shut behind him. 

Wilford turned from the computer, the glowing screen the only light in the room. Mark felt a chill go down his spine as Wilford smiled, a silhouette with a knife. 

“Why so afraid, Markimoo?”

The voice that spoke was Wilford’s, but another, closer voice chuckled. Mark whipped around to find Dark between him and the door. He backed into the room. Away from Dark, closer to Wilford. He stopped. There was nowhere to go. 

The darkness was swirling around him, vague shapes in the smoke, faces, screams– his ears were ringing, whispers cutting through the white noise, distant shouts–

There was a banging at the door, and Mark dimly registered Tyler shouting for him before the darkness seemed to snuff out all sound, even the glow of the computer. They were left in blackness.

Dark’s eyes were pinpoints of light glaring down at him, and he felt Wilford’s hand dig into his shoulder. There was nowhere to go.

Mark tensed, daring Dark to come any closer, daring Will to make a move behind him, ready to fight for his life. 

With a crash, the door caved in. A blinding light filled the room, and Mark could hear screaming. He didn’t know if it was him or Dark or even Wilford, but ear-splitting shouts filled the air. The darkness was dissapating, and Mark sank to his knees, stumbling.

A hand touched his shoulder, and Mark swung his fist blindly in its direction. He made contact with something, but barely had time to register it before something hit his skull and everything went black.

Mark woke with a start, someplace unfamiliar. For a heart-stopping moment, the sheets thrown over him were constricting, the darkness once again alive. He sat up straight, gasping, and felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.

“Mark, it’s me. Breathe.”

A light flicked on, and Tyler was looking down at him, looking concerned.

Mark groaned, putting a hand to the dull ache in his head. “Wh-what happened?”



“Everyone’s okay. The Googles got you out, and they’re keeping Dark and Will in their rooms, for now.”

“What,” Mark said, rubbing his eyes, “the fuck am I supposed to do about them?”

“You should really rest–”

“No. Fuck it, no.” Mark whipped the sheets off of him and stood up. His knees wobbled, the whole room spinning for a moment before Tyler’s arm steadied him. Mark looked up to see Tyler, disapproving but resigned, supporting him.

“If you want to go talk to them, I won’t stop you,” he said gruffly. “but I sure as hell am coming with you.”

One step at a time, they staggered to the hallway, where Google_G stood watch. 

“Hey, Google,” Mark said, pausing by him. “Th- thank you.” 

Google_G only nodded, but Mark could have sworn that he seemed to blush. 

They reached Wilford’s door first, Google_B standing outside, arms folded. 

“Is it safe to go in?” Tyler said, concerned.

Google_B nodded, stepping aside. He looked carefully over Mark, still leaning into Tyler.

“‘M okay, Google,” Mark mumbled, a little embarrassed. “I just… I just have to do this.” With a grateful look, Mark and Tyler shuffled in.

The room was dim, the light from the hallway outlining recording equipment and a makeshift green screen propped against one wall. On the other wall, in the shadows, came the unmistakable sound of Wilford flipping his butterfly knife. 

“W-Will?” Mark let go of Tyler’s arm, pulling himself up. He shook with the strain, moving farther into the room. 

The flipping paused. Mark, eyes growing accustomed to the dark, could see Wilford sitting against the wall, knife clenched in this hand, head down. 

He mumbled something, quiet, guilty.

Mark stepped closer. “What did you say, Wilford?” He was forcing himself forward now, trying to be brave, trying to be assertive. 

“I said ‘I’m sorry.’“ Wilford said again, lifting his head. His face was impassive, and Mark almost felt pity. 

There was something broken there, something unfeeling, and he never wanted to see an expression like that on his own face again. Mark grasped at straws, trying to find a response. Of all things, he hadn’t expected an outright apology. 

The Host’s voice echoed through his head. “You, on the other hand, are multi-dimensional.”

Mark swallowed, hard. “I-I just want to know– why?”

“Ask Dark,” Wilford growled. He looked Mark in the eye, bloodshot, hiding tremors. Mark stumbled backwards, only stopped from falling by Tyler’s hands. 

Google_B appeared in the doorway, chest light glowing. Together, they helped Mark out of the room, Mark glancing back at Will apologetically.

“We don’t have to go talk to Dark,” Tyler said, frowning. 

Google_B nodded in agreement. “I would strongly suggest that you rest.

Mark sat against the wall, catching his breath, shaking his head. “I-I have to.”

Tyler and Google_b made eye contact above him, knowing. 

“I’m still coming with you.”

“I know. Now shut up and help me downstairs.”

Google_B watched them go, Tyler holding most of Mark’s weight. He was admirable, no doubt, but perhaps stubborn to a fault… Even now, he was still going. Google_B could only sigh to himself.

Google_R and Oliver stood outside Dark’s door, looking grim. When Mark and Tyler hobbled up, they looked at each other in surprise. 

“You cannot possibly mean to enter Darkiplier’s room,” Oliver protested. 

Mark glared at them both, blocking the entrance. “I appreciate the concern, Googles, but you don’t understand that this is something I have to do.”

“We are perfectly capable of understanding–”

“Please.” Mark cut Google_R’s protest off with a pleading look. “Let us in.”

Oliver began to protest again, but Google_R stopped him with a look. Turning back to Mark and Tyler, he nodded and unlocked the door.

Ignoring Oliver’s indignant gasps, Tyler and Mark moved into the room.

If Wilford’s room had been dim, Dark’s room was pitch black. There were no moving shadows here– the darkness was flat, like pools of undisturbed water in the recesses of the room. Mark again withdrew himself from Tyler’s shoulder. This was something he had to face, alone. The outlines of a desk, a chair, a figure looking out the window, began to take shape.


“Mark.” Dark’s voice was cloying, frustrated, detesting, and Mark could feel the contained power in his name. 

Mark stepped closer, pulling himself upright. This was no time for fear, or pain. “Dark, why are you doing this?”

“You’re stupider than I thought.” Dark snapped, emerging fully from the blackness, eyes glowing in anger. “Why am I doing this, genius?”

“You want my channel. My influence.”

“If you know the answer, then why do you ask?”

Tyler stepped closer to Mark, protective. The gesture wasn’t lost on Dark, who sneered, folding his hands behind his back. 

“I’m not self-destructive, boys. Even I know that those two robots standing outside would run in to rip me to pieces before I could touch a hair on your pretty head. I’m not going to do anything.” His words dripped contempt.

“Why Will?”

Dark smiled. “Warfstache is one of your finer creations, Mark. A performer, a narcissist with an affinity for murder. I must congratulate you. His need for the spotlight has proved quite…” he licked his lips, “…useful.”

“Don’t act as though you hold any power over him,” Tyler glowered from behind Mark. “Wilford is his own person, just as powerful as you. If not more.”

Dark’s expression soured for a moment before returning to an impassive facade. “Be that as it may, I am the threat you fear.” He shot a smile, poisonous, at Mark. “Aren’t I?”

“I’m not afraid of you, Dark.”

“Ah, but you should be. The Host has doubtlessly told you that you hold some kind of power over me. That you’re safe because–” he bared fangs, “–you’re human.”

Mark straightened up, more angry than afraid. “You’re right. I am human.”

“You, on the other hand, are multi-dimensional, capable of love, enjoyment… even forgiveness.”

He stuck his hand out, and Dark eyed it, shock barely showing on his face.

“I’m human, and you’re tied to my goddamn mortality. Whether you like it or not, Dark, I’m not afraid of you, I won’t be afraid of you, and you’re stuck with me. Stop trying to kill me, and I’ll sneak you in a video every so often.” Mark stopped, voice breaking with the strain, but still standing. He locked eyes with Dark and raised an eyebrow. “Deal?”

Tyler shook his head. He was witnessing a deal with the devil. But, as Mark and Dark shook hands, the darkness seemed to recede. Suddenly, the light from the hallway cast shadows farther into the room. 

Dark looked at Mark with a glimmer of respect, before folding his face into a sneer. “I’ll settle for that, for now.” He turned his back and stalked back into the office, a clear dismissal.

Tyler moved to take Mark’s arm and lead him out of the office, their steps shuffling in silence.

“I’d watch your back if I were you,” Oliver scolded, locking the door behind them. Google_R was silent, observing.

“I-I know,” Mark said, leaning heavily on Tyler’s arm. He waved off further questions, looking down. “I’m exhausted,” he admitted. 

With a barely contained smug look, Tyler excused them and swept Mark down the hallway, upstairs, back to the spare room to rest. 

Oliver, once they were alone, looked at Google_R, who was avoiding his eye. “Why? That was categorically dangerous and against our directive. Why did you stop me and allow him in?”

Google_R glanced over to meet his eyes, then glanced down, guiltily. “It was something that had to be done.”

“That statement is subjective and illogical,” Olive snapped.

Google_R glared at him, folding his arms. “And being named Oliver, of all things, is illogical.”

Oliver fell silent, confused. 

From the other side of the door came a sneering, mocking voice. “Aww, are the ‘killer robots’ developing feelings?”

anonymous asked:

So, uh, I was looking at those Softer World AU prompts and all I can see is beautiful, beautiful stancest. BUT. Heheh, how about #30, stancest? (I love your fics, you're amazing <3)

Ahhhh no YOU’RE amazing! <333 And I am the worst, sorry this took ages, work’s been busy T__T

Anyway, have some filthier than anticipated teen Stans. 

In a dark, dark wood there was a dark, dark house and in that dark, dark house I think we should get drunk and fool around. (I want dirt under my fingernails.)

~600w, vaguely d/s

Ford is still nursing his second bottle of beer, but already he can feel himself getting a little lightheaded. He’d refused Stan at first—they could’ve gotten caught, and sent back home, and then where would they be—but Stan had wheedled and cajoled, and then, when Ford continued to deny him, shrugged his shoulders and started on his own. His lips had glistened as they wrapped around the narrow rim of the bottle, lingering perhaps longer than needed, and the slow grin that spread over his face as he offered it up to Ford said that he knew exactly what he was doing. Damn him.

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Prompt:  A very awkward Daryl trying to surprise me with something for Valentines Day could possibly end up smutty

Requested by @cherieann-2001

Originally posted by theultimatewalker

Fluff, Awkward Daryl, (809 words)

Daryl had been pacing along your porch for the past forty five minutes. You hadn’t let him know you’d spotted him, you’d just sat quietly reading your book until you could no longer take the heavy sound of his footfalls or the anticipation that swelled in your chest every time he hovered in front of the door.

Folding down your page and resting your book on the coffee table you decide to take matters into your own hands. He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t even notice you standing at the open door until you began to speak. “Are you coming in or just wearing down my porch?”

“Huh?” his ears are burning red as he glances your way while trying to take a casual lean on the porch railing and almost falling over it instead.

You bite back your laugh at the way he tries to recover his fall, after all you don’t want him to run away and with the way his eyes are darting about he’s obviously considering it. “Well are you coming in or not?” you say with authority. You’re realising that waiting for Daryl to make all the moves would take you a hundred years and you don’t have the years or the patience.

With a shrug of his shoulders and his eyes firmly fixed on his boots he mumbles, “if thats what ya want…”

He’s hopeless! He might be able to track a wild boar, build a fire with nothing but a stick and shoot a target further than you could spot one but when it comes to taking the big hints you’ve been laying in front of his face ever since you’ve known him he’s like a blind man with his hands tied behind his back.

You turn back into the house smiling to yourself, leaving the door open and praying he follows you inside. He does. He follows you to the kitchen where you place the kettle on the stove, making you both a cup of sweet tea as Daryl fidgets with his fingers and shifts on his stool like he’s taken a seat on an ants nest.

“Are you okay?” you say, sliding his mug of tea in front of him, desperate to know exactly why he’s been hovering outside your house half the morning.

He looks right at you, his blue eyes wary, his adam’s apple bobbing in one hard swallow as he thrust his hand in his pocket rummaging around. For a heartbeat you think he’s going to give the heart of a squirrel or something equally barbaric but what he pulls out is gold, at least it looks gold from what you can see all scrunched up in his fist.

You smile, excited butterflies dancing in your stomach, for you? He’s got something for you?

Daryl clears his throat, “ya said.. Ya know… you like uh… here.” Clumsy fingers thrust your present into your hand and the feel of his skin on yours enough to make your heart skip a beat.

It’s a necklace, a dainty pink butterfly pendant on a chain so fine it’s barely visible against your skin. It’s perfect. A wave of warmth fills you from top to toe as you imagine him seeing this somewhere out in the world and thinking of you, bringing it back for you.

“I love it!” you smile, pulling your hair over you shoulder and fastening it around your neck all the while imagining Daryl having the finesse to do it for you instead. Maybe next time. “What do you think?” you say, elongating your neck.

“You’re real pretty,” he blurts, his ears turning even redder as he panics, knocking his cup of tea all over the counter and scrambling off his stool like he’s going to bolt straight out the door.

You hook your hand around his bicep, with any other man you’d make him do the chasing but with Daryl you do what you’re sure he never will no matter how many signs you give him. You kiss him, right on the lips, your hands sliding behind his neck with a sigh.

Daryl’s hands rest awkwardly on your shoulders, his tongue barely escaping his mouth like he still isn’t sure.

“Relax,” you tell him and it’s now or never. If you want this man then you can’t be subtle so you say it plain, “I want you Daryl. I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

The way he looks at you changes, you can almost see the shyness floating from his eyes like a butterfly on the wind. He doesn’t say anything, he’s not a man of words and you don’t need him to be, he grabs you like you belong to him and kisses you like you’ve been wanting him to. Hard and rough, taking control like you’re the wilderness waiting to be explored.

Thank you for reading!


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anonymous asked:

magical au where sabo and/or marco become gravely ill or something like that, and ace ends up trading his life for theirs(with a witch maybe(. except it turns out that sabo and marco and everyone else forget ace, and thats what the deal meant:He lost his life among those people. So he sets out trying to recover their memories, all the while wondering if thats the right decision

ahaha this went off prompt but I’m not sorry because it’s so cool thank you thank you and also I hope you like angst? If this is too far gone, just let me know and I’ll try again.

“Ho the cottage,” he says, tilting his hat back, and nothing happens.

That’s fine; he’s got a bit of time, so he waits, and sure enough an older woman comes bustling around the corner, trowel in one hand and bucket in the other. She comes to a stop a fair ways from the gate and looks him over. “Can I help you?”

“I sure hope so,” he says, pushing his hat right back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am; would you be Miz Matilda, by chance?”

She sighs and sets the bucket down, dropping the trowel in and wiping dirty hands along her apron. “I am,” she says. “You’re one of those, then? You’d best come in.”

He bobs his head a bit and takes a deep breath before he pushes open the small gate and steps in. If there was ever a time for his best manners, this is it. “Thank you,” he says, and makes sure the gate shuts behind him.

She motions him up to the porch and sits in the rocking chair there. He perches on the bench running sideways along the wall, hands gripping the edge and leaning a bit forward, and waits for her to speak.

“So what is it, then?” she says, looking off into her yard. “Some pretty lass jilt you? Broken heart? Looking to be strong?”

He swallows and inhales and keeps his voice quiet and steady. “No, ma’am,” he says. “My friend–”

She glances over at him, hand raised and eyes sharp. “If you’re using some of that doubletalk and mean yourself, at least have the bravery to say it, and if it’s really for a friend, know that I don’t deal with people I haven’t met.”

His fingers tighten on the bench, but it’s fair enough of her, really. He fixes his eyes at a point slightly to her left and starts again. “My friend died.”

There’s a moment of quiet, where the breeze rustles the bushes and the rocking chair creaks and the birds sing. Then she sighs and says, “You’re one of those, then.”

He supposes he probably is. “I was told–”

“Yes, yes, never mind all that, boy. Let me have a look at you.”

He drags his eyes over to hers. It’s awkward for a moment, but her eyes are a warm kind of brown; pretty enough, and kind, and then the awkward passes into that moment of intimacy prolonged eye contact brings and there’s a rush of cold against his soul and brown is all he can see.

And then he blinks and the world comes back, like taking off sunglasses. He ducks his head. It wasn’t–he’d promised himself whatever was necessary–

He straightens his spine and looks back up, and there’s pity in her face. “You value his life more than yours,” she says, and he nods; of course he does. “No,” she says, so gentle, “you value his life more.”

He nods again. Thatch is–was worth more than him, objectively speaking, and that’s before the fact that it was his own division–

“What do you know about my fruit?” She asks instead, and he looks back down and shrugs. He’d heard rumors about fate changing and undoing mistakes and hadn’t asked further, but he’s not gonna admit to that.

She sighs. “I deal with balance. I don’t grant wishes, whatever trite nonsense the townsfolk told you; it’s all about worth and trade. If given enough surplus, I can nudge the balance into rearrangement, but it’s all got to be equal in the end.

“And you, boy–I could take your heart or your soul or your life or your time, but there’s nothing of yourself you can offer to equal the value you yourself have put on your friend.”

Because of course it’s his fault. His low self value and tendency to love truly and deeply has got him here, and there’s nothing he can bargain with because she’s not wrong.

Well, maybe he’s just asking for the wrong thing. “If I can’t buy his life,” he says slowly, “can I buy a chance?”

And the pity is gone, replaced by approval in the corners of her mouth and the set of her eyes. “You’re a smart lad,” she says. “Ask your questions.”

“What would a change cost?” he asks, desperately. “It was so close–so close. How much would it cost to make a wave wet the deck so Teach slipped, or maybe missed, or for Thatch to have a second’s more warning? How much would it cost to change a wind current just enough to make him have turned in time?”

Her mouth is firm but her eyes are soft. “That takes power as well, you know, but of a different sort. That’s the power of change, of time, of fickleness and words, and to guide it takes confidence and pain. Time magic and healing, it doesn’t come free. Magic like that is fueled by sacrifice, not power. What would you sacrifice?”

What does he even have of value? Not his life or his heart, apparently; never his brothers. But sacrifice isn’t always giving something up–it can be accepting something, too. “How about my name?”

She squints at him. “Your bounty is high,” she says, “but not high enough. If you were famous as say, Whitebeard, your name would maybe work. I could rebalance time for you, if you burn up every memory of yourself in order to change one tiny thing.”

“As famous as Whitebeard,” he says, and then his arms wrap around himself but his chin comes up. “How about as famous as Gold Roger?”

“That would do it,” she agrees. “If your name was on every lip in the Grand Line, you could burn it all away in a single instant and have maybe enough power. Just enough. But no one will thank you for it, boy. No one will be able to. You’ll be forgotten and lost, living in greys and unrecognizable.”

And he laughs, sharp and bitter, because, “What do I care about that? I can put my name in everyone’s mouth, I can make my face so well known that the whole world curses me, but I’d never live through it. I don’t care about the consequences.”

There’s sorrow in her eyes, but she nods. “Come, then,” she says, “There’s lemonade inside, and we’ll see how much your legacy is worth.”

So he sets off to find himself a slow kind of suicide at the hands of a proven killer, and he goes after Teach. It’s a battle he can’t afford to win, and he gives up his freedom and his life and his name, and he does it quietly and willingly.

Teach captures him, gloating the whole way, and Ace spits at his feet and bites his tongue and doesn’t smile, because it’s exactly to plan. And it doesn’t matter what happens now at all, because soon enough it’ll never have happened at all.

And then Oars Jr. dies, but it’ll never have happened. Whitebeard dies, but it’ll never have happened. Luffy cries but it’ll never have happened, and they’re all probably better without him anyway. So when it’s his turn, he dies with his brother in his arms and his name on everyone’s lips, just as planned.

It’s exactly right, and his last bit of flame is spark enough to burn down his own legacy. His name and life will be forgotten, fuel for a single second of chance to change everything, and he doesn’t regret it, not in the least.

He smiles, then, and thanks them for their love. He doesn’t ask to be remembered, because he really hopes he won’t be.

((based on this au bc i literally cannot stop screaming abt it, nsfw under the cut))

“Nice ass,” Levi blurts out without really even thinking, his eyes glued on to the ample curve of Eren’s ass. He just so happens to be laying on his stomach in such a position that causes his boxers to hitch up a little, exposing the lovely crease where his round buttocks meet the softness of his thighs. Honestly, he’s just lazing around in his sleepwear with a serious case of bedhead, definitely not trying to be so alluring on purpose, yet here Levi is, so entranced that all he can do is stare.

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Whiskey Tango Smile

bowtotheglowcloud: okay for prompts, how about the team get’s used to not needing to figure stuff out on their own since tango always asks the questions for them. except whiskey was caught with a hickey and now everyone is trying to Sherlock Holmes who gave it to him and Tango is nowhere to be found.Turns out that the team’s natural state is oblivious.

“Yo, not to be rude, but what is this, exactly?” Ransom says as the entire team looks down at the slices of pie in front of them. Bitty’s been trying new recipes lately, and though most of them have been delicious, none of them can figure out what this filling is for the life of them.

“It’s like mystery meat in the cafeteria all over again,” Holster grumbles as he pokes at his pie with his fork.

“Shut up, he’s coming back from the kitchen,” Nursey hisses.

“For real, I’m not eating this until I know what it is,” Dex says.

“Oh, I’ll ask Bitty what it is!” Tango volunteers happily, and Whiskey allows himself a small smile. 

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funkzpiel  asked:

DRAGON!GRAVES, YES PLZ. Actually, Graves hoarding plants has thus inspired me to start hoarding plants. And I must say, they really do add a relieving and wonderful sort of life to my apartment - so I can see how it could quickly become addicting, hahaa. BUT YES! Give me "just turned and coping with this new aspect of my nature" Graves! Graves who is surprised that he can suddenly speak tongues. Graves whose magic grows a penchant for fire (or ice?!). GIMME GIMME GIMME :D


Frankly, Graves thinks he should be used to this sort of thing by now. He’s switched species enough times that the entire situation is distinctly reminiscent of a game of musical chairs. Going from a giant wolf-monster to a giant lizard-monster is - far less of an adjustment then his original transformation, actually. Plus, there’s less shed hair (the stuff got everywhere). The whole speaking in tongues bit isn’t really any different then wearing a really good all-purpose translation charm, even though it’s weird sometimes to read menus and realize that he actually understands the meal names. And his suddenly greatly expanded tolerance to temperature extremes is distinctly useful.

(Newt, for one, almost misses the wolf - his lovely wolf, who snuggled with him beneath the full moon and who really appreciated belly-rubs. But Percy is free of the curse of the moon, free of the pain of transformation, and Newt quietly resolves to coax Percy into animagus training - with time and patience, he might yet have his wolf back).

This time around, Percival Graves has Newt, and that makes all the difference. Newt, who can explain to him exactly what these instincts are prompting him towards; Newt, who is encouraging him, Newt who he loves - and if he’s the same as Newt, now, well. Newt’s not a monster. Newt could never be a monster. So Graves is forced to grudgingly accept the fact that he’s not a monster either.

The time, the transition is almost - almost enjoyable. He has Newt’s undivided attention, for one, and while Percival isn’t petty enough to resent how much time Newt spends with his creatures, it’s still nice to have that unrelenting focus fixed squarely on him. Newt carefully, gently, introduces him to what it means to be a dragon - there are foods that make his tongue almost explode with flavor, there’s the almost debauched pleasure of near-boiling bath water against his skin, and don’t get him started on his own involuntary reaction the first time Newt shyly handed him a piece of what the human Graves would have dismissed as a particularly gaudy piece of jewelry. The odd little habits Newt has make sense now, and he feels - closer to his lover then he ever has before.

He could do without Newt’s constant attempts to trick him into flight, though.

And the hoarding instincts. HIS PLANTS ARE NOT A HOARD. (Newt: Yes, they are. This denial isn’t good for you, love.)

Frankly, most of the time he’s a bit surprised by how much he’s not really all that surprised about any of this.