#Ignore my ramblings I just need to get it off my chest before I implode

[gutz-radio]

Anytime I see a post about how Izzy hands deserved what happened to him or how it was totally justified for Ed to be a horrible person to him I get so damn angry. I get so angry and I need to just speak my mind at how angry it makes me.

To me, Ed in season two has shown abusive behaviours. Plain and simple. He has shown a pattern to physically assaulting Izzy. One toe is a single instance, but two more is a pattern. He tells Izzy if he doesn't do what he wants he is easily replaceable. And it isn't just abuse to Izzy. It's the whole crew. He's horrible to all of them. They're all scared of him. The scene where Ed is talking about the vibe on the ship shows me no one at all is comfortable around him.

I love Ed as a character don't get me wrong. I relate to him in parts, mostly how he can't handle his feelings and how messy it is and his self hatred. And also the abuse he faced. I love Ed. But to just close your eyes and slap hands over your ears and go lalalalala at all the shit he's done but then put all the blame on Izzy angers me. Yes, I'm not gonna deny Izzy fucked up. He is toxic as hell to Ed as well, and I never justify the stuff he did because it was bad. But never, ever, does that justify being abused. The only person responsible for how Ed has treated everyone is Ed himself. Ed isn't a fucking toddler who doesn't comprehend what he's doing. He's a grown adult man. Izzy cannot force him to do shit. At the end of the day, the only person who has a choice to what to do is Ed himself. Yes, Izzy was horrible to Ed when he was the most vulnerable. He said vile stuff, and kicked him down when he was weak. And that is shitty and the blame for Izzy's own actions is on Izzy. But the same goes for Ed. Ed chose to hurt the crew, and he chose to hurt Izzy. This was all his choice. No one forced him to do anything. Outside factors all contribute to it, yes, and it all worsened his mental state. But it is still his fault. And as far as I'm concerned, Ed owes the crew and izzy a MASSIVE fucking apology and a hell of a lot of change. Izzy realised what he said to Ed was wrong. He knows he fucked up. He tells Stede as much. But Ed is also at fault and I'm pissed how people keep just acting like he had no say in it whatsoever and he was purely at the mercy of his fucking subordinate.

Personally? I hate how serious discourse is in this fandom and this is a fictional show and I don't treat fictional characters like real people. But the victim blaming, and the blatant hypocrisy of how people treat Izzy compared to Ed angers me. Either they all suck and we should hate them both, or we stop giving a damn and stop blaming characters and harassing people over a fucking FICTIONAL CHARACTER.

[goaskbarnes]

Grumpy Sergeant

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Peter x Reader (platonic)

Summary/Request: Ooo we can request???? Maybe reader being best friends with Peter and Bucky getting super jealous because he wants to date reader but thinks Peter is her boyfriend 🤷🏻‍♀️ via anonymous

Warnings: jealous!Bucky, language, fluffy ending

Words: 1399

Authors Notes: Thank you so much for this request! Really hope I did justice and you like it anon! ☺️ the dumb side of me didn’t know if you meant Peter Parker or Peter Quill 🙈

If only that phrase Sam used often ‘if looks could kill they would be dead by now’ was true, then Bucky wouldn’t be here worrying about Peter.

Bucky has been watching the two of you hang out almost everyday for the past couple of days. You’re one of his best friends and knew if something was going on you might have said something, but since you haven’t, Bucky can’t ignore the annoying nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

You look far too comfortable in each other’s presence for anything to be platonic. Peter was constantly touching your arm or you would laugh at his really ridiculous jokes that weren’t even close to funny. Bucky didn’t understand it, and as the days went on, he thought more about it. The more he thought about it, the more moody he became.

Bucky’s had a thing for you for some time now, you’re his ray of sunshine on a rainy day. And since Peter has been in the picture, you’ve kind of disappeared from his routine and he doesn’t like that, he doesn’t like that at all.

“Do you want a drink?” You ask Peter, standing up from the couch and stretching your arms above your head. Your shirt rises up, and Bucky notices Peter’s eyes on your exposed skin.

“Oh! Yes, can I have some ice water?” He licks his dry lips and focuses on something else. You nod and practically skip into the kitchen area.

“Hi Bucky!” You cheerfully say, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek, something you do all too often. Bucky smirks when he sees Peter looking at your interaction.

“Hi Y/N. It feels like it’s been a long, long time since I saw you.” He says, tapping his metal fingers against the marble counter. His eyes follow you around the kitchen, and watches you prepare two glasses of ice water. You’re taken aback by him using your name, usually he would give you one of his infamous pet names - your favourite being ‘sugar’ or ‘sweetheart’.

“We should hang out soon.” You say, dunking some ice into the glasses.

Bucky grunts in response, knowing full well that’s not going to happen any time soon. You don’t think to question the grunt, it wasn’t unusual for Bucky to have off days.

A couple more days pass and Bucky’s moods just deteriorate even further to the point he’s snapping at Steve almost constantly. The recent snap was in the gym, Bucky was getting pissed off with Steve’s orders on what to do.

“I know what to fucking do! Do you think I’m some kind of idiot?” Bucky rages, throwing the dumbbell down on the ground that it echoed off an horrific hang against the four grey walls.

Steve shakes his head, he’s used to his friend’s outbursts by now. But this was something else.

“What is wrong with you? Are you having nightmares again?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and is about to give it to Steve when the sound of your laughter fills his ear as you step into the gym with… surprise… Peter on your tail.

“And that’s what I said!” Peter finishes his story with a laugh. Your hand is on your chest from laughing too much.

Steve quickly connects the door and pats his friend on the shoulder.

“You know, it’s not what it looks like, right?” Steve asks in a hushed voice.

“And how would you know that?” Bucky frowns, his body language suggesting he’s about to implode with rage.

“I just do.” Steve shrugs and Bucky wants to punch the smug grin off his face. You catch his eye as you skip past the super soldiers. The tension is thick in the air that it’s almost suffocating you.

“Everything okay?” You ask, wrapping your earphones around your neck and shifting your focus from one soldier to the other. Steve shrugs while Bucky seems uninterested in your presence. Since that day in the kitchen, he’s been more and more distant with you.

“What’s it to you?” Bucky asks with a grunt. Again, you’re taken aback by his tone, making you step away and downcast your eyes to the floor. “And besides, your boyfriend over there is waiting for you.” He adds with a huff, your eyes widen in surprise but he’s already out of the door before you can correct him. You look back to Steve who offers an apologetic smile for Bucky’s mood, one you don’t accept because he couldn’t have gotten the information more wrong if he had tried.

Peter was your best friend and he was like a brother to you. It was strictly platonic, and you weren't about to lose Bucky because of some misinformation he may have heard.

You look back at Peter who is waiting for you by the treadmills, you smile and throw him your unopened bottle of water. “I’ll be back soon, I’ve got to go and talk to him.” You smile sadly and Steve offers words of encouragement.

Turning on your heels, you sprint after Bucky, unaware of where he could have gone, you grab the attention of Friday.

“Friday, where is Sergeant Barnes?” You head is turning in every direction, peeping through the glass windows of the doors on your way through the hallway.

“Sergeant Barnes is in his room.” Of course he would be. He spends most of his time there hiding away from other people, especially during one of Tony’s extravagant events.

You head straight to his room, not bothering to talk and find him with his head in his hands, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I need to talk to you.” You say breathlessly from the running you just did to get here. Bucky looks up slowly and clasps his hands together before scoffing.

“I’m not the one you need relationship advice from. How come you never told me about him anyway?” You don’t appreciate the tone he’s using, treating you almost like a teenager who kept a relationship secret from their parents.

“Bucky… I’m not sure where you heard or who told you but it’s not what you think. Peter and I are just friends, that’s all we’ve ever been and that’s all we'll ever be. Peter is like my brother, and you’re- you-”

“I’m what?” Bucky asks standing from the bed and in front of you. His blue eyes seeping into yours and for a moment you forget where you are.

“You’re- you’re-.” It suddenly all clicked into place: his moods, his distancing, accusations that you were dating without asking you first. “You’re jealous.” A smile tugs at your lips and Bucky averts his gaze, something he regularly does when he’s been caught or is nervous.

“No I wasn’t.” He argues

“Yess you were. That’s why you were acting like a grumpy old man.” You tease, jabbing his chest and giggling. Your fingers squeeze his cheeks and laugh.

“Stop! Leave my cheeks alone. Anyway, why does it matter if I was jealous which by the way - I wasn’t.” He shifts on the balls of his feet and folds his arm.

“The real question is James, why were you jealous to begin with? Why did it matter to you if I was dating Peter which by the way - I’m not.” You mimic his words and grin.

He sighs in defeat and shakes his head. “Fine, I was jealous okay? But only because I’ve had a crush on you for a real long time and the thought of you in a relationship with someone else made me crazy because he wasn’t me. And it’s really selfish of me to act like that but-”

You cut his rambling off by pressing your lips to his and wrapping your arms around his neck, his folded arms digging into your chest and you smile against his lips when you pull away.

“Then you should have asked me out on a date instead of being so grumpy.”

“I’m not grum-” and each time an excuse flew from his lips, you would cut him off by kissing him until he finally sighed and rested his forehead against yours.

“Fine, will you go on a date with me then?” He rolls his eyes playfully, prompting you to do the same.

“Fine,” you mock with a smile. “Okay yes. If you stop being so jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous.”

“Yes you were.”

Taglist: @writerssblockk @belovedadam

[starshipsofstarlord]

Hey!!! I'm so glad you liked the blurb night idea :) 💞 Can I request a blurb with Peter bumping into the reader while she's kinda lost at times square and he's dressed as spiderman so he tries to flirt with you, but it makes you laugh instead?

I loved the idea hun, thankyou sm for helping me with this idea xxx

“You’re a guy?”

Pairing | Peter Parker x reader

Summary | based on the request

Warnings | mentions of crime, brief mention of death and drugs, mention of sex

2K blurb masterlist

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

“And there was this girl. She was really pretty, but-“ May quirked her head at her nephew, hardly understanding his blabber as he sped through his words like he was racing verbally against a cheetah, though, she was manage to uncover that particular sentence.

“Whoa, slow down kiddo.” His aunt laughed lightly, bracing her shoulders on his arms as he caught his overexcited breath. “How about you start from the beginning, and take a breath?” May had much practice with calming the boy down, she sincerely remembered how that night his parents had dropped him off, how worried he had been for them not to return. And they didn’t.

Peter bobbed his head in a eager nod, doing as he was recommended by his legal guardian, puffing the air in through his cheeks, as he inhaled and exhaled normally through his nose.“I was out patrolling the city, checking out for any bad guys, and then, I saw her...” her, the girl that had captured his attention, and distracted him from his friendly neighbourhood duties. She was much like a magnet, pulling his north face into her axis spinning world, distracting him from the things that he was actually meant to be ensuring did not happen on his watch.

“Weren’t you supposed to be patrolling?” The elder of the two quirked a brow, earning a splutter of a response from the teenager under her roof. She wasn’t a strict guardian concerning his heroic antics, though, she made sure to keep him on track for his own sake. Peter had quite the tendency to become overrun with stress from the amounts of responsibilities that he took on, and him being only young did not help the situation.

“I’m getting to that!” He was fast to defend himself, huffing his chest in as he prepared to tell May his story, from the beginning. It was quite the tale, he’d say, combined with the embarrassment of his own presence entangled in the random and friendly interaction that he had felt promiscuously lulled to create.

Queens, it was new to you. There were so many streets, filled to the brim with people that seemed to know where they were going. Unlike them, you didn’t, in fact, you’d go as far to admit that you were lost. Lost in a place that was known for the chaos that wrapped it off with a tarnished bow, and made the collateral practically fashion within its various newspapers that rounded every corner to divulge their companies’ obscure theories.

A panicked look struck your eyes, as you turned, shaking your head and pressing through the mass of citizens and finding an empty lot, scrolling through your phone, diverting your attention quickly towards google maps. It was the only thing that you could think of, it’d be a shame if you were to disturb one of the many passersby from their clearly packed schedule; you did not need that, nor berating them on your conscience.

“You lost or something?” A voice asked, making your shoulders jump as a figure, twisted in the colours red and blue, with a seam of black fell from the roofs above. Your heart rate imploded, more so when you realised who the mask wearing vigilante was. The wearer, although unknown, was infamous for the successions of saving lives that they had participated in, including defending the galaxy against outside threats.

It was Spiderman, the neighbourhood dubbed avenger, that tried their utmost to return stolen or lost bikes to their rightful owners, and protected banks from armed and overnight robberies. There was known to be something different about this particular hero, they were young and clearly had time to improve their skill set, for they were quite the clutz, and spoke significantly more to those he faced off against than what was necessary.

But this one hero, stood out amongst the rest. Not only was their suit designed by Stark technology, as you had written about in a work article, but it was far more concealing, and not to mention restricting, for the person beneath the red concoction to wear. Yes, you were in town for a new job, specifically to delve into the details that regards the world of heroes, and exploit all possible angles to how they deserved as much recognition for their stunts, as the president received for his noble speeches.

“I-“ you paused, think back over what you were preparing to say. It was without a doubt, that you had not expected the vigilante to appear in your spectacle gaze the first time that you stepped foot on the premises that he roamed, and protected. But here the spider enthusiast was, leaping down to stand beside you, burdening you with more knowledge that you could use, such as the person beneath was not as tall as you had expected, and there was definitely no way you could see their true eyes through the shallow white cases that covered them.

That was something you could write about, and make various descriptive theories about. ‘Seeing in white vision, sparked by the purity that glazed their unknown signature irises, Spider-Man halts all with the sparing of their true self. They may have reasons for shielding their eyes, much like Daredevil, not needing to see when they are overcome with various other senses that convulse their body into attentiveness,” -no, that sounded absolutely terrible.

And not to mention, if you spread that horrid writing about, Murdoc would be ashamed of ever deciding to get your aid in uncovering the route of the villainous underworld, that had take over Hell’s Kitchen and turned it into their own ring for drugs and more. The battle of New York had many repercussions, that being one, another influencing you into the career choice of being said reporter that you now proclaimed yourself as.

“Yeah, I am.” You responded with the company of a smile, and Peter swore he could feel his heart convulse beneath his suit. It’s pace was vaguely rapid, disheartening him from thinking of any more to say, he was practically speechless. “I’m looking for New York Times, you ever heard of it?” Yes, he most definitely had, it was the average run of the mill newspaper company, though, he did not know that you intended to change that into something much more.

“Funnily enough I have.” He scratched the back of his head, his arm subconsciously flexing as he did so, feeling like he had failed as your eyes remained focused on the wideness of his suit’s intense eyes. “It’s about three blocks from here, I could take you there if you want, I have nothing more to do.” From his proclamation you quirked a brow, crossing your arms amusedly.

“Don’t you have a city to watch over?” You asked, watching as Spider-Man’s false eyes widened, and he visibly panicked, realising that you had been right. “I’ll find my way, I’ve been to New York, many a time, Queens is bound to be a piece of cake. Also, a map is always handy.” A shrug rippled off your shoulders, Peter watching and walking closer as he thought of something more to add to the initial acquainting conversation.

“I’m Spider-Man.” Inwardly, and beneath his mask, Peter cringed noting how his voice rose, and it could be perceived as boasting. That though was definitely not his intent in the slightest, but he worried of how it may have come across to you. He wasn’t sure how you may have read it as, but a swarm of relief filled his lungs as he watched the corner of your eyes crinkle up, humoured by the tone of his that had significantly heightened. “Im a guy by the way.”

He felt the need to state that, especially considering people’s perceptions in the past. But instantly after saying it, he was regretful, through, he had to admit, he enjoyed listening to you laugh, it was like a melody that he wanted to listen to until the end of time. “You’re a guy?” You released a dramatic gasp, aiding your phoney response. “Yeah, no. I completely thought that you were a girl.” Sarcasm, he had well gotten used to frequency of it thanks to Mr Stark, who... well, he wasn’t around any more.

“You’re funny.” He smiled, shaking his head whence he realised that you could not see his hidden expression. “I don’t know, maybe, would you like to go to coffee with me, if you have time before you have to get to the news place? I mean, I don’t drink that much coffee, I get told that if I have too much caffeine that I get a little hyper, but I mean, I’m trying to ask you out and I have a really bad track record of-“

“Sure.” You spoke, ignoring the map that had finally loaded onto the screen of your phone. It was to your luck that you weren’t required to make your presence known at the business until tomorrow, and there was always time to kill, so you thought screw it, and decided to find it so that you didn’t get lost the approaching day. “Are you going to be wearing that, or you know, take it off?” You pointed at him, making peter surprised.

“It’s not that kind of date.” He quickly responded. “I meant just for a drink, not to hook up in the back of an a- oh, you meant the suit, didn’t you.” With a roll of your eyes, you nodded, pursing your lips together, as Peter felt the rain of relief once more. “Oh, that’s good, not that I wouldn’t want to, you’re gorgeous, that just wasn’t my intent and I’m rambling again, aren’t I?”

“Basically.” You wrinkled your nose, with a laugh, the way you scrunched it up was adorable to Peter. “So I’ll meet you here in two hours, I’ll let you finish up your duties, and change into something that doesn’t make you look you’re wearing a thong, because I can tell you from experience that those things are not comfortable. That good for you Spidey?”

“That works.” He spoke, trying his best to contain his overflowing excitement, biting his lip to do so. “That definitely works.”

“Hi.” The familiar voice of Spider-Man spoke, and you turned around, watching as a young man, not much different in age from yourself rounded the corner. He was clothed in a blue and white chequered flannel, and grey jeans, and you had to say, that whilst the amazing Spider-Man was quite the sight, this was something else.

“Oh, I was waiting for a girl actually.” You informed him, clearly messing with him, as you walked closer, a stretching smile pinning up the corners of your lips. “But I guess you’ll do webslinger.” He could feel his heart racing, but he walked closer, watching as you eyed him, a stranger met with the sight of a vigilante unmasked. “Where to, red and blue?”

“There’s this really good place on main, they sell the best sandwiches. And trust me, once you buy from there, you won’t stop...” the two of you began to walk away together, and towards Peter’s secret destination, where the two of you learnt the others real name.

[pi-cat000]

BNHA: something sad (Anger)

Summary: The last time Katsuki sees Izuku alive the other boy is rushing to save him. A ‘the Sludge Villain incident gone wrong’ AU. 

Katsuki gets the worst sort of wake up call, takes a look at himself, and doesn’t like what he sees. 

Characters:  Katsuki Bakugo

Fandom: My Hero Academia 

WARNINGS: Major Character death (mentioned but not described). Swearing. heavy angst. destructive behaviour.

(Follow up part here)

...

(Anger-  In which  Katsuki does not handle tragedy well  and implodes)

“Katsuki, son, you should come inside.”

Katsuki barely feels the soft touch of a hand on his shoulders as his father attempts to guide him over the threshold. He remains in place, glaring at the older man, unwilling to move. His father sighs and gives up on trying to move him, instead talking over his head, addressing the police officer behind him. 

“Where did you find him this time?”

“The park down the road. We had reports of a kid setting off explosives with multiple noise complaints from the nearby apartments...” The sound of the conversation washes over him, muffled in his growing irritation. He feels that familiar burning anger ignite, fuelling his resentment. “...repeated unlicensed quirk use can lead to time in a juvenile quirk correction facility.”

“We’re sorry for the disruption officer,” his father dips his head, “We’ll keep a better eye on him from now on.”

“See that you do. Next time, he’ll be taking a trip to the station. I would hate to see a kid with so much potential...”

“What fucking potential!” Katsuki snarls, whipping around to glare at the officer behind him. Bitterness curdles in his stomach, exasperated by the expression of disappointment directed his way. What right did this stranger have to look at him like that! He looked at Katsuki like he wasn’t living up to expectations!

“You don’t know a thing about me!” 

“Katsuki,” His father tries to interrupt.

“Why the fuck….

“Katsuki.” This time the interruption is louder, hash, “That’s enough.”

He scowls, shoving past his father, shrugging away from the comforting hand as he goes, “I’ll be in my room, don’t come in.” 

He stomps through the living room and down the hallway, sparks running up and down his arms. If his mum were home she might have yelled at loud his entrance, telling him to stop with the racket. She would probably have had some choice words to say about the police escort as well. She wasn’t home. She wouldn’t be home till later, having spent most of her afternoon with Aunt Inko.  

Before he can get to his room, he catches his father’s tired voice as he continues his conversation with the officer.

 “…still processing the death of a friend. He’s going through a rough patch...thank you for your leniency.”

He slams the door with enough force that it rattles the wall. With his back against the frame, he clenches and unclenches his fist, breathing hard.

Friend?  FRIEND! HA! 

Deku had never been his friend. Or rather, he had never been Deku’s friend. Deku had probably seen him as a friend, always following him around, whinging when he got too rough with other kids. The quirkless idiot had always been trying to help when Katsuki didn’t need help! He had never needed Deku!

He smashes a fist into his desk and the wood creeks, splintering but holding together. There are more sparks and the pop, pop, pop of tiny explosions. The computer barely escapes his next attack which sees the desk cracking, his books and pens crashing to the floor. 

“Damnit.”

If he wasn’t Deku’s friend, then why was he so angry! He couldn’t think. He couldn’t sleep. All he could do was feel angry. Burning directionless anger that ate at him, leaving him hollow. It followed him through his every waking moment. Inescapable and all-consuming. 

“DAMNIT!”

…

School is a chore. It’s boring.  Long. Tiresome. Pointless. The other kids were either idiots, dragging out simple lessons into weeklong ordeals, or so pathetic they never grasped the concepts at all. This is nothing new. School had always been boring and full of pathetic extras. For the longest time, school to Katsuki had been nothing more than a stepping stone on his way to greatness. Now it wasn’t even that.

He taps a single, impatient finger against his desk, glaring at the clock as it slowly ate away at the seconds left in the day. 

“Bakugo.”

He deliberately ignores the teacher’s attempt to get his attention. It wasn’t like he was going to get in trouble for the behaviour. She would simply shake her head, humouring his poor attitude like it wasn’t a huge fucking problem. Sometimes Katsuki wondered if he didn’t have some second quirk that projected an invisible bullshit shield, preventing others from seeing what a failure he was.

Today, the call is followed up by another, more insistent one. 

“Bakugo.” 

He tears his eyes from the clock.

“You’re being called to the principal’s office.”

 “Huh?” he drawls. 

“You must not have heard the announcement,” his teacher explains, her expression apologetic, “It was over the intercom so you better hurry.” By now, every eye in the class is on him, waiting for his reaction. The pathetic extras on either side of him are even leaning ever so slightly to the side like they expect him to blow his top any moment. 

“Whatever.” He stands, ignoring the wave of whispers that run through the class in hissed voices. When he steps through the door the voices get a bit louder, so loud that the teacher needs to call them to order, “Settle down. Now if you would turn your attention to this next question.” 

He shoves his hands into his pockets and stalks down the hall to his destination. When he arrives at the door he lifts a leg and kicks so it jumps open and smacks into the wall with a loud CRACK. The sudden action has both his principal, Mr Fukuhara, and that woman representing the district’s Careers Board-he can’t remember her name- startling. 

“You called?” 

They are both seated on the low couches placed at the front of the room adjacent to the principal’s desk. The only times he has been allowed to sit on these couches were during parent/teacher meetings.

“Ah, yes Bakugo,” Mr Fukuhara straightens his tie, recovering first, “Please take a seat.”

Katsuki slouches onto the closet couch opposite them, listening to the principal ramble his way through a greeting, “Now, we tried to have your parents come in but they were both unfortunately busy. Nevertheless, this is an important conversation to be hand and we want you to understand that the school is dedicated to….”

He exhales, cutting off the diatribe, “Am I in trouble.”

“No. No trouble. Though this does involve your recent behaviour.”

Of course, he wasn’t in trouble. He curls one hand into a fist, familiar anger beginning to bubble up, increasing in intensity.  

“We received your revised high school submission forms,” Ms Career Advice starts, “and we think there has been a mistake. We want to clear it up as quickly as possible.”

So that is what this meeting was about.

“What mistake?” He grunts even when he knows precisely what they’re talking about. 

“It says here that you're applying to Aldera Senior High.”

“Yeah, 80% of the losers in this shit hole are going Aldera Senior High. What’s the problem?”

The two adults exchange a meaningful glance. For a brief second, he thinks he might get told off for swearing. No such luck. Mr Fukuhara simply sighs and continues like Katsuki hadn’t said anything.

 “We were under the impression that you would be applying to U.A.?  You have it written on your original submission forms.”

“So what. I’m not allowed to change my mind? U.A. is a selective school…I’m just being realistic.” The words feel like ash in his mouth. Hadn’t he said something similar to Deku not too long ago?

“Your academic performance is more than high enough to qualify and with your quirk…”

He slams his clenched fist into the arm of the couch, cutting the woman off. There is an audible pop, pop around his hands, made loud in the sudden silence. God, would people shut up about is quirk for one second! Both adults pause, expressions a mix of worried and concerned. He hates it. He hates them. 

“I got a zero on my last test,” he snaps, “My average sucks now. I’m just like the rest of the extras here.”

“Yes, well, there were extenuating circumstances in that case. When looking at your academic history overall you’re dedication is obvious,” another pause, “even in the unlikely event that you did not get into U.A. there are plenty of other, top-rate schools that you can apply to as backups.”

Katsuki doesn’t bother responding, opting instead to stand. They weren’t going to listen so there was no point in him being here. 

“Bakugo  please sit back down.” Fukuhara stands as well, voice now stern, “This is an important conversation. You can’t just walk away.”

“Watch me.” He turns towards the door but before he can move there is the lighter touch of a hand at his elbow. 

“I understand that you have taken recent…events…rather hard,” says Ms Career Advice and her voice is softer, more sympathetic, addressing him like he is some startled child, “but you need to think about your future. Don’t throw away this opportunity out of some misplaced guilt…” 

“I’m not fucking going to U.A.!” 

He jerks his arm away, glaring over his shoulder, trying to force some of the fire burning in his chest into his eyes. It must have worked because the woman immediately stops talking, drawing away. 

“How much shit do I have to pull for you morons to get that through your thick skulls,” he growls as he stalks out of the room, the two adults rushing to follow.

“…see… councillor…talk …. your parents. This sort of self-destructive…” The words wash over him as he continues down the hall. 

Katsuki doesn’t bother returning to class, opting to ditch and leave the idiots and their bullshit behind.  He is too angry to concentrate anyway. Until now he has had a perfect attendance record, always meticulous in his show of dedication. 

And that’s all it really was wasn’t it…a show. None of that shit mattered now.

Hands in his pockets, Katsuki wonders aimlessly down the sidewalk, through side streets, jacket to his uniform thrown over his shoulder so he doesn’t overheat under the hot summer sun. At least out here, he is free to be as angry as he liked without people nagging him. He could glare all he wanted at the cracked pavement and it wouldn’t burst into tears. Maybe, he will go blow up some trees in a local park and the police would finally come through on their threat to take him in to the station. It’s tempting…very tempting.

It would have to be somewhere without people-harder to find on such a nice day- because as much as he wanted, needed, to blow shit up, he didn’t want to injure anyone…

Now you grow conscious… too little too late....the treacherous part of his mind hisses. The thought feeds his anger like gasoline on an open flame.  

(Follow up part here)

[safertokiss]

Don’t Call Me Doctor - Part 2

A/N: Heyo party people! Ok this is part 2 of DCMD and I’m super excited for you guys to read it. I’m so happy I finally decided to give in to my urge to write cause it’s so much fun! Thank you guys for all the support of the first part. Enjoy:)❤️

Pairing : SPENCER x READER

Category: Fluff and Angst and Smut

Word Count: 2.2k

ENJOY!

~~~

MASTERLIST

~~~

The moment she walked through those doors I knew I was a fucking goner.

Her beauty was indescribable. Unmatchable. Unattainable.

Dangerous.

She was dangerous. All she had to do was enter the building and I was already wrapped around her finger. Dangerous.

Even though the bullpen was bustling and filled with chaos at the time, the unmistakable creak of the front door rang clear in my ears. Glancing away from my work momentarily, my eyes were immediately drawn to her. I mean how could they not be? One look in her direction and it was clear she was nervous. She looked flustered, her face was flushed, but strangely enough there was a hint of a smile upon it. Even in her frenzied state, her beauty knocked the wind out of my chest. Who the hell is this girl?

As she surveyed the hectic room, I noticed her head perk up at whatever or whoever it was that she had located. Following her line of sight I was met with Hotch. Oh so she’s here for him, maybe a family member or friend.

Wait. Wait wait wait wait.

Remembering the conversation Hotch had had with us recently about a new recruit to the team, I was able to answer my own question. Oh god she’s the new recruit.

This is bad. This is really, REALLY bad.

I couldn’t go through this again, it simply wasn’t an option for me. My heart could not handle anymore pain, a pain that would surely accompany this girl if I let her in. Too much had happened in my life already at such a young age, from missing my chance with JJ to losing the one somewhat serious relationship I had ever had. Like I said, she’s dangerous. I had only been aware of her existence for a couple of minutes and I already knew that she possessed the key to unlocking my withered heart. However, she also wielded the axe that would run me through in a split second.

I knew in that moment that, as much as it pained me, I couldn’t let her have the chance. I had to take away her power over me before she was even aware she yielded it.

Looking back in the direction of my enchantress, I noticed her and Hotch had moved from their original spot and were now walking towards the center of the room. Towards the rest of the team. Towards me. Quickly, in order to avoid making eye contact I ducked my head down and pretended to work away at the papers sprawled in front of me.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the others shaking from excitement at meeting our newest agent and I didn’t blame them. It wasn’t often we got new blood around here. Certainly none of them had taken my breath away like she did.

I was aware of how rude it was for me to not join in on the welcome party, but I was still struggling to breathe correctly from the brief glance I got of her. From my position at my desk I was close enough to hear the conversations being held, well enough at least to hear her be introduced to the team.

Y/N Y/L/N.

It fit her perfectly. A beautiful name for a gorgeous woman. While the others were busy meeting our newest member, I decided I just had to hear how her name rolled off my tongue, even if just this once. In the most quiet voice I could muster up, I released my own personal curse from my lips.

“Y/N.”

Fuck. It just felt so right. It was as if she had been given that name just so at one point in life I’d be able to shout it out for the entire world to hear. Why did the universe hate me so much?

I had gotten so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I hadn’t noticed the woman plaguing my mind had already taken a seat at the desk next to mine. It wasn’t until she sputtered out an overly enthusiastic greeting directed towards me that I realized she was there.

“Hi I’m Y/N Y/L/N! Nice to meet you Dr. Reid.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Immediately as the words started pouring from her lips I felt my body tense. Suddenly I understood the allure of sirens. How a voice could be so enticing to reel in unsuspecting sailors on the sea. I understood their choice of action. But when she called me Dr. Reid. Fuck. That should simply be illegal. Hearing her use my title awakened something deep inside of me that I had been trying to suppress since the moment she waltzed through the door. It also awakened something below my waist, my body twitching as a result. Stop it Spencer. You can’t let this happen, you need to push through it. Make her stay away.

I must have been sitting there speechless for too long because before I knew it she was at it again.

“Sorry if I scared you! I’m not the most socially adept individual. I couldn’t help but notice that-“

Put a stop to this Spencer. Make her stay away.

“You’re rambling.” Fuck that was rude.

“Pardon me Dr. Reid?”

Holy fuck if I hear her call me that one more time I don’t think there’s anything in the world strong enough to prevent me from ripping her clothes off and taking her right here on my desk. Spencer stop! Make her stay far away from you.

“You were rambling. Thought you’d like to know. And it’s Spencer.” I am such a dick. But I had no choice. Letting her into my heart would only leave the both of us in shambles, longing for the pieces to be put back together. Deciding it wouldn’t hurt, I accompanied my rude remark with a slight glance in her direction. Yeah that was a big mistake. Even if it only lasted a split second, I could clearly see the hurt plaguing her beautiful orbs, a hurt that was caused by yours truly. Wow this fucking sucks.

“Oh...ok”, she replied before turning her attention back to her files in front of her.

I really wish I didn’t have to treat her like that, but it was the only option that left us both unscathed. Returning to the task at hand, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander and imagine a life alongside the enchantress sitting next to me.

Maybe in a world where I wasn’t so fucked up.

~~~

Ok remember when I said this sucked? Yeah it was worse than I could’ve ever imagined. It had been about three months since Y/N had started working with us and I spent the majority of that time running away from her. She’d walk in, I’d briskly walk out before cracking. She’d wave at me and I’d have to look away before imploding on the spot.

The worst part of this whole ordeal was that it was obvious that she had a thing for me. The amount of times I had caught her staring at my hands or for some reason my hair while she was trying to be subtle, was a number almost too large to keep track of. I’d be trying to mind my own business and block her out of my thoughts, when I’d catch her biting her lip, lost in thought, while her eyes raked my body. It was getting to be too much to handle.

Most of the time while we were at the round table discussing cases she would take the seat next to mine, much to my dismay. Her close proximity always acted as a ticking time bomb to my poor, defenseless body, usually eliciting reactions not suitable for a work environment. Following nearly every meeting I’d hightail it out of the room straight to the bathroom. And while she probably assumed I was just trying to avoid her, the reality was much more humiliating.

What had she turned me into? I felt like a horny teenager all of the time. What would my friends think if they knew I had to run to the bathroom to take care of my arousal almost every other day? It was so embarrassing, but only she could provoke such a reaction from me.

As often as my bathroom escapades took place, I had become a pro at suppressing my true feelings for her. For some reason, however, my attempts to make her stay away triggered the opposite response on her end. I can’t even explain the amount of pain that filled my chest everytime I had to reject her offers to get together and spend time together outside of work. I had even stopped going out with the unit because I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself around her, usually coming up some lame excuse about having work to catch up on.

I had no idea what to do. I wanted her so bad.

I felt like I was in my own personal purgatory that had absolutely no escape in sight. All I had to do to set myself free was reach out and touch the ethereal being in front of me and express the feelings I harbored for her. But I still refused to consider that an option.

Not only was she keeping my mind occupied at work, I couldn’t make it through a single night without seeing her beautiful face. While the dreams had started off pretty neutral and innocent, they quickly progressed into territory that shouldn’t have been accessible. I truly felt like a teenager again with the amount of wet dreams I had been having to deal with. I just couldn’t help myself. Her body was amazing. It was physically impossible for me to not picture myself ramming her into my desk or bending her over the round table, making her scream my name for all of D.C. to hear.

God it was getting harder and harder to ignore her. What was stopping me from grabbing her wrist, pulling her into an empty office and destroying her on every surface available. I had to do something or figure out a way to push those thoughts away.

“Hey pretty boy! Get over here!”

I swiveled in my chair to seek out Morgan, spotting him across the bull pen. Sighing quietly, I made my way over to my friend, trying to mask the internal conflict occurring between my brain and my heart.

“What can I do for you Morgan?”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on between you and Y/L/N?” Shit. Fuck. I thought it wasn’t noticeable. Play it cool Spencer.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me pretty boy.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lies. All lies.

“Reid, come on man. It’s not really hard to notice that something is off between you two. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you interact with her outside of a case and you’re the kid who’s known to ramble to anyone within a five mile radius, nevermind the girl who sits next to you everyday. Did something happen?”

“No...no. Nothing happened and quite frankly I seriously don’t think it’s any of your business to question me about who I do and do not converse with, ok?”

“Geez! Calm down buddy. I’m sorry, ok. I won’t bring it up again.” I once again felt like the biggest dick in the world watching him walk away from where we had been standing. Recognizing that there was nothing I could do about it now, I made my way back to my desk, noticing that Y/N had returned from her lunch break.

After sitting down and working for a bit, I couldn’t help myself. The urge to look at the object of my affections was just too damn insistent. Glancing up at her, I was instantly entranced by the goddess in front of me. She was busy scribbling away at whatever was laid out in front of her, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her face. She was biting her lip in what I would assume was a way to help her concentrate, but all it did was stir things inside of me. Ok this was getting ridiculous.

It was crazy how even the simplest of things, like her eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiled or the way she licked her lips like it was going out of style, would instantly prevent my mind from functioning correctly and make the world around me dissolve until all that existed anymore was her. God those eyes. So intricately designed that even the most beautiful gods and goddesses would be jealous.

WAIT. HER EYES.

Fuck. She was looking at me. She saw me staring directly at her.

As fast as I possibly could, I ducked my head down and cleared my throat, deciding to play it off and pretend like nothing had just happened. Except that that was kind of hard to do when my body decided to say “fuck you” and turned into a goddamn tomato within seconds. Oh god why did I do that? How was I going to get myself out of this already complicated situation? This was bad. This was really bad. Three months of rejections and cold responses down the drain with one stupid, meaningful glance in her direction.

Fuck.

To be continued...

https://safertokiss.tumblr.com/post/623412350001856512/dont-call-me-doctor-part-3

https://safertokiss.tumblr.com/post/623219810962178048/dont-call-me-doctor-part-1

Tag list: @hopebaker @pastathighs @psychedellic-phase @gloryekaterina @sleepysnapesnake

[forthegodsandtheghosts]

The Four Times Virgil Was Sleepy Around The Other Sides and The One Time He Fell Asleep

Link to AO3 version

Post the inspired the concept

Post that helped me with scene 4

Virgil doesn't have a good sleep schedule. That fact absolutely affects him in his everyday life. Just a bunch of Virgil being sleepy and defensive about it.

This is honestly just very self-indulgent because I just absolutely love Virgil Sanders and can't exist without thinking about the Sides for five seconds

It had been a long… day? Week? Month? Interval of time. I had been a long interval of time for the resident mindscape emo who just couldn’t seem to catch a break.

Letting out a long, drawn-out groan of agony, Virgil flopped down onto the couch, fully planning on just being a general nuisance by hogging it. Though, as soon as he stilled, hands resting on his stomach, he noticed just how good laying down felt. Arching his back off the couch, he heard those satisfying clicks before dropping back down with a sigh.

He could almost sleep here. There wasn’t exactly anything stopping him. The other Sides are off doing their own thing and Thomas probably wouldn’t miss a wanna-be vampire hollering in his ears. Besides, he needed the rest. So, slowly he allows his muscles to relax further as his eyes slide shut.

Then he hears footsteps.

Virgil shoots upright, scooting to lean on the arm of the couch his head was previously next to, trying to look natural. His gaze goes to the doorway just as Patton enters the room.

He startles when he notices Virgil’s presence, legs sprawled out, still taking up the couch. “Anxiety! Hi, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Patton’s shocked expression quickly changes to show his typical cheerful smile, confusion about Virgil being there present none the less.

“I could say the same, but we live in the same mindscape and are bound to see each other most of the time, so I can’t.” Virgil’s sass is prominent no matter how deadpan he sounds and Patton’s smile almost wavers.

“Of course, kiddo! I didn’t mean anything bad by you being here, just got a bit surprised. Well I’ve got something to do, I’ll see you around, Anxiety!” he called as he went back down the hall he just entered from.

--

It was about a week later; Virgil had managed to get one (1) almost full night of sleep – he got maybe two hours – and was once again extremely tired and considering just saying fuck it and going back to bed for the rest of forever. So how exactly did he end up dragged into a movie night with the rest of the Sides? Pure dumb lack of luck.

He was placed on the couch, sandwiched between Patton and Logan – Patton who just wants to give the newest member of their little group the most love he can and Logan who would probably implode if he had to sit on the ground – Roman sitting at Patton’s feet on the bean bag he dragged over. Virgil could already feel himself fading, with the lights off and all the warmth and the shockingly comfortable surface that is Patton’s chest he was being pulled into. Honestly, it’s as if the guy was made to be as huggable as possible.

Virgil soon reached the point of having to force his eyes to stay open barely halfway through the first movie. He couldn’t fall asleep. He’s tough and dangerous and they can’t know he sleeps and becomes defenseless sometimes, it’s far too dangerous. Who knows what could happen to him, what they could do–

His own internal ramblings were cut of as he let out a wide yawn, half burying his face into Patton’s chest. Patton released a small sound that definitely caught the other two’s attention if the yawn didn’t. “Are you tired, kiddo?” Patton quietly asked, hand soothing through Virgil’s hair.

Virgil quickly pushed himself off Patton’s chest. “No. I’m just getting bored of sitting here, watching a bunch of singing animals.” He stood from the couch and made his way quickly to the doorway, ignoring the disappointed expression on Patton’s face and relishing in Roman’s offended one. “See you tomorrow maybe.” Then he disappears up the stairs.

--

It’s a quiet day. Not the odd kind of quiet.

Rather, the kind of quiet that is achieved when everyone is relaxing in the common room doing their own thing. It’s not as if a vacuum sealed chamber, there’s still the sounds of Logan flipping pages in his book, of Roman’s pencil scribbling away in his notebook, and of whatever show Patton decided to watch. A good quiet that everyone could enjoy. Everyone that was fully awake that is.

Virgil sits on the couch, between Logan on the armchair and Roman on the middle cushion, staring blankly at his phone's home screen. He considered finding another app to entertain himself on but as soon as he hit the home button the fatigue of a poor sleep schedule hit like a bus. At this point, he might as well be sleeping with his eyes open due to his complete lack of responsiveness to anything around him.

Logan glances at the seemingly spacing Side. Eyelids slightly drooping, the lack of spare eyeshadow particles to suggest usage of makeup – which was concerning on it’s own as it almost looks like he is wearing makeup, the heavy lean on the armrest. Anxiety is not doing okay is the conclusion he comes to.

As most should know, Logan is not one to sugar coat or delay, so it’s easy for him to decide to get the current predicament dealt with as soon as possible. “Anxiety,” he starts, closing his book and causing everyone’s attention to move to him, including, just barely, Virgil’s, “from what I have observed, you seem tired. Have you been having issues sleeping?” Right to the point.

Everyone’s attention is now on Virgil, even as he still seems to be processing what Logan said, a confused expression on his face and half-asleep glaze to his eyes. “Wha’?” He says after a few more moments, blinking dazedly at Logan.

“Alright, that is everything I need to know.” Logan stands and moves towards the closet they keep spare blankets and pillows, A.K.A the Pillow Fort Closet™. He pulls out a soft blanket and pillow and carries them back into the common room, setting them down on the armchair. He quickly shoos Roman and Patton off the couch while Virgil watches, barely processing anything. “Anxiety, can you lay down for me?”

Virgil barely registers when he complies, lifting his head when he’s told to as Logan slips the pillow under it and drapes the blanket over the rest of him. It’s only after Logan sits back down that Virgil realizes what just happened and is sitting, standing, and sinking out in quick succession.

--

Months later, a few days after Virgil revealed his name and everyone got a dandy style change, things had returned to relative normativity except Virgil was marginally more included in many things the other Sides choose to do than before.

It’s currently night, a particular night in which Roman has been up even into the morning so late he decides there’s no point in sleeping. Roman decides to head downstairs and get a cup of coffee with the promise he’ll actually sleep tomorrow. What he finds isn’t not normal, but definitely not expected.

When he rounds the doorway into the kitchen, he catches sight of a large mass around counter level. He’s immediately flicks on the light, earning a startled hiss from the mass, now revealed to be Virgil sitting in the sink, the Side seemingly just woken up by Roman’s entrance.

“Virgil?” Roman asks. “What are you doing in the sink?”

“Sleeping. What are you doing up?” He rubs harshly at his eyes with a wide yawn.

“I got… busy and came to get some coffee. Why are you sleeping in the sink?”

Virgil only responds with a shrug, slumping further into the sink though his gaze doesn’t leave Roman.

Roman only nods and gets to work on making his coffee. “Well, it’s not my back that’s gonna feel like a dragon hit me with a tail whip later.”

“Whatever.” Virgil, still annoyed and tired from being so abruptly woken, continues to watch Roman with a slightly dazed stare until he finally leaves the room, turning the lights off as he went.

As soon as he's gone up the stairs, Virgil falls right back to sleep.

--

It was yet another, apparently mandatory now, movie night, and Virgil isn’t complaining. He is, once again, being cuddled by Patton and is happy to cuddle back with the easy bribe of hair petting being offered. Logan sits on his other side holding one of his hands as it had soon after his acceptance been revealed that Logan was actually very lenient about – if not openly welcoming – of physical contact. Roman sitting at their feet as per usual in regard to movie nights.

Virgil’s relationship with the other Sides had quickly developed into one of relative familial comfort.

Leading to a very similar predicament to earlier that year.

Sitting for more than an hour in a dark room, surrounded by warm bodies, with plenty of comfortable pillows and blankets surrounding them – a requirement set by Roman and Patton – the perfect movie night and napping environment. So, it’s simple to say that, while Virgil had been getting better sleep as of late, he is pretty sleepy.

There is one difference though. Instead of running out of the room the second his eyes start closing, he relaxes more against Patton’s chest. With a sigh he tries to bury his face further into the body, causing Patton to let out a low, small laugh.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart. You’re safe.” He whispers to Virgil.

Virgil hums in contentedness as Logan slowly rubs the back of his hand and Roman wordlessly lowers the volume of the movie. As he slowly drifts into sleep, he can’t help but think one final conscious thought.

Man, I love my family.

------

@sleepyvirgilprompts

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

hey if it's not too much difficulty you're the only person i trust with this so would you mind writing me a super angsty fic based on 15x09 Dean burying MOC!Cas in a Ma'lak box?

Of course I don’t mind. It came out angsty, alright. Tell me what you think, Dean. Here you go:

***

Dean remembers how it used to be.

He remembers the warmth enveloping all of him, and the room imploding with such power that glass shatters, and the wind roars. The sky gets dark, but the seraph brings forth his wings and lights up the world, for a second right there - like a star in its death; a star breathing its last.

Squinting, cowering and incredibly alive, Dean’s been a witness to the all-powerful grace of the angel of the lord, before.

All of those times, he’s been terrified - yes, but never afraid. When Castiel had declared he could throw Dean back to Hell, that night, Dean didn’t doubt it. Of course he could. But he wouldn’t. For some strange reason, still undeciphered, he’d never meant to hurt Dean.

There was something in the air, whenever they were together. Respect, and a sliver of misplaced faith. Reassurance. A tug at his chest which just screamed Safe. Strength, from Cas’s end - and love.

He remembers how Castiel used to make him feel.

*

“There’s no other way.” Sam lets out, head bowed, in a voice more miserable than his stare focused on the book suggests. The lights in the bunker are dim; it’s just a little past midnight, and Dean has his head in his hands.

“Sam, we can’t -”

“I know.” He sounds like he’s trying to scrape the bottom of his soul-shaped barrel for the courage to say it out loud - hoping that’ll make it easier. “But we have to do something, Dean.”

There’s silence.

“I don’t care.” Dean mutters, but everything except his words claims that he does.

Sam knows he does.

“Nobody else’s around.” He says, instead. “No God, or hell, gods. No angel or reaper will help us with this.” He breathes in shakily. “They’re all afraid of him.”

He’s a Seraph of Heaven carrying the Mark of Cain. An Angel of the Lord, now claimed by Hell. Of course, everybody’s terrified, and rightly so.

There’s probably no one in their world right now, who’s stronger.

“But the Ma'lak box?” Dean cries out, lifting his head. Sam meets his eyes, looking pained. “Locked away in a living grave, for eternity?” Neither of them blink. “It’s Cas, Sammy! We can’t just -” His voice breaks mid-sentence, lips pursed and twisted to a side, eyes screwed shut. He takes in a breath, with some effort.

Sam waits. His brother clearly isn’t done yet.

Finally, Dean exhales - with a shudder. “Why does it have to be me?”

Sam’s face contorts in sympathy, and anguish. In a hoarse, earnest whisper, he answers Dean’s question as truthfully as he could ever.

“Because it’s him.”

*

Dean remembers the first time he saw Castiel, after he ran away from home.

They hadn’t needed a tip, so much as a peek at the internet to come to know of a pissed-off-looking middle-aged man was singlehandedly finishing off the members of a now-uncovered human-sacrificial cult.

And he wore a trenchcoat.

Sam and he were on the road, in minutes. All through the drive, his heart thudded in his chest - hoping, begging, praying that it wasn’t as bad as it sounded.

It had turned out worse.

When Sam set off for the police station, hurrying into a disguise, Dean started scoping out churches and barns. And sure enough, he found Castiel - and the twelve dead men, with their eyes scorched out of gaping, black sockets.

The air was still seething with remnants of a smiting - but the heat wasn’t the kind which used to gloved him whole, and render awestruck. Instead, it wanted to melt the skin off of his bones, and make him want to tear out his insides.

“Hello Dean.” Castiel slowly turned towards him. The wind howled, and the barn was slowly falling to pieces. Dean’s world, and his heart with it, was falling apart. This wasn’t the Cas he knew - not with the empty blue eyes, and a blank thin-lipped smile.

When Castiel’s eyes met his - it was nothing like before. Fear thrummed in his veins - and his neck felt constricted. Dean wondered if that had something to do with Cas, as he involuntarily backed a step.

Every fibre of his being had begged him to run.

*

“What if the box can’t contain him?”

Dean drags himself to Sam, doubt weighing on his shoulders, and lands in the kitchen chair opposite his brother’s.

“I did think about that.” Sam confesses, frowning. “But do you really think he’ll try to get out?”

Dean stops.

Cas might not try to get out.

Maybe he won’t fight it. Maybe he won’t even try to get back to Dean -

He scrubs his face with a hand. After all the hours Dean’s spent, beating himself up over it, there’s a real chance that Cas wouldn’t be against the idea of being locked away by eternity as much as he’s being.

It’s a sadder thought than many.

“Dean?” Sam calls, uncertainly.

“Y-yeah.” Dean gathers himself in his head, returning to the present. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“I was saying,” Sam restarts, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes concerned. Dean hates that look on his brother’s face. “That’s half of the reason that the plan’s to drop the box in the Pacific.” Sam rambles on, not realizing the change of colors on Dean’s face. “I mean, Cas is an angel too; we know for sure he won’t drown, but I’m guessing it’ll hold his powers back -”

“The box isn’t going anywhere.” Dean declares, cutting him off. The glare in his eyes is definite. “No oceans, no nothing.”

“You want it to stay here?” Sam straightens, clearly taken aback.

Dean has no idea why. “I want him to stay here.” Sam opens his mouth in protest, albeit it’s a decidedly weak attempt, but Dean interrupts again. “This isn’t open for debate, Sammy.”

Sam shifts in his seat, not resigned to the idea of arguing, but trying to convince himself. “I suppose we could construct a permanent ring of holy oil in the dungeon, or -”

“Okay.” Dean lets out a breath he doesn’t know when he started to hold. “Yeah, good. See? We’ll figure something out. We’ll do that.”

An uncomfortable silence ensues, which irritates him because Sam still seems to be deep in thought. He doesn’t blame him - the underwater-forever idea had been his own, but that was Michael - and Dean. This is Cas.

He tries to speed up Sam’s processing of the new plan. “I’ll put up containment sigils. I’ll even read the containment-sigil book, Sam, I -”

“Dean.” Sam blinks at him. “Aside from that, how can we be sure that we won’t go get him out if he calls? Will you be able to ignore it if he cries out for help, since he’s right here?”

Dean knows Sam’s trying to go for a general ‘you’, but that feels extremely pointed at him.

If he calls out for help - if he as much as says my name, I’ll go to him.

Sam’s patient, as a rule, when it comes to Dean these days - but even his cool is running thin. His point makes more and more sense, as seconds pass, and before it can get too final, Dean knows he has to interject.

“If that happens?” Dean clenches his jaw, stubbornly. “Then so be it.”

Sam leans back in his chair, rolling his eyes. But under his breath, just barely loud enough, he says, “Fine. So be it.”

*

Dean remembers the last time he saw Castiel’s wings.

They were looking for him, and it wasn’t hard. When the aliases couldn’t help any further, the atrocious skies led the way to him.

Dean had guessed that the Mark would have been replenishing his grace, but bringing back his wings? He’d had no idea - right up until he and Sam stumbled onto a scene of impending crime and witnessed it themselves - for the grand display always preceded the blast of grace; Castiel’s apparent go-to move.

“Down!” Sam yelled, pushing Dean down with a hand on his back, as he too fell to the ground. “Close your eyes!”

Dean did - but before that, he looked.

They were huge, no longer sparse - and nothing less than magnificent. When Castiel glowered at the evildoers, the shadowed feathers flexed, and threatened as well. When he pulled himself to his full height, they arched, glorious and full of life - creating a perfect sight. Castiel was the embodiment of powerful, and his black wings, overpowering devices of conquer. In that moment, it felt ridiculous to ever have doubted Castiel could fly - his wings mighty, boundless and free.

And Dean Winchester was set out to convince him, to trap himself in a box.

*

Dean doesn’t know where he finds the courage to step ahead - but he associates it mostly with Sam moving forwards, because he’s immediately pushing him back and walking himself.

Castiel looks at him, just fucking looks at him. “Dean.”

“Hey Cas,” Dean clears his throat, and keeps on walking until his feet carry him - ending up inches away from the angel. “Uh -”

He hesitates.

“The last time,” Castiel fills the silence, speaking in a disappointed tone. “You left, Dean. I wondered for ages why you didn’t talk to me.”

“Well, we need to talk, alright.” Dean swallows, trying to avoid Castiel’s eyes. “Cas, uh. Can we talk?”

“Of course.”

That’s all the warning he gets, before he feels his eyes close like he’s feeling himself blink and when he opens his eyes, they’re no longer in the abandoned shack with his brother on the sidelines, or the bodies.

The first thought that comes to Dean’s head isn’t fear, since now he’s just by himself - and he’s grateful for that. But it is concern for his own stomach, though he thinks he feel alright despite the being zapped.

Castiel is sitting, with his arms folded on the table, on a red seat. In front of him is an unimportant Biggerson’s menu. Dean’s still standing in the same stance as before.

“Sit down.” Castiel suggests, and he does.

“Cas.” Dean lets out, putting his own elbows on the table as well. “I need to -” He stops, and exhales frustratedly.

He’s planned this out. He knows what he’s going to say; he’s practised this in front of the mirror - Hell, he’s practised this with Sam. He should at least be saying words that aren’t Cas.

“What is it?” The angel frowns - and he still doesn’t feel like himself to Dean, but at least now he looks like it. The squint, the pursed lips, the jutted out chin.

He looks so much like Cas, that it hurts even as Dean forces the words - any words he finds in himself, to come out.

“There’s no other way,” Dean blurts, in his brother’s words, and as the words sink in, Castiel’s brow clears. As Dean’s head hurts - Castiel smiles smally at him.

“I was wondering when you’d ask.” The smile spreads on the angel’s face, divine.

“You what?”

“I knew this would happen, Dean. You have something that’ll rid the World of me - it was only a matter of time before you gave in to the fact that there’s nothing else you can do, but use it.” Castiel answers, and there’s a tinge of sadness in his voice Dean hates. But his tone is detached.

Dean clears his throat again. “There isn’t.”

Tell me you want us to keep looking.

“Tell me.” As Dean’s tongue battles to get the truth out with his mind, Castiel takes off on a tangent. “How many have I killed?”

“Low hundreds.”

“And that’s just the people.” Castiel shakes his head sadly, looking so dejected that Dean wishes he can put an arm around him. Of course, he’s too far away, and probably doesn’t want that.

“Cas -” Dean tries, but Castiel cuts him off.

“Does it help that they’d all done very wrong things?” Castiel asks, a little hope in his eyes.

Dean hates himself. “It always starts off like that, buddy. I wasn’t killing innocent people either, but -”

“I know.”

There’s a pause - a heavy one, and at least the words were in his mouth before. Now they don’t make it out of his heart. And Castiel’s painfully quiet - looking thoughtful.

“I’m sorry I let you take the Mark.” Dean crumbles, finally, putting his hand on Castiel’s - because it’s right there, just right there.

“There wasn’t a choice.” Castiel sighs, and looks down at their hands. Dean wonders if he wants him to undo that reckless, impatient move - he’s already regretting it. Castiel’s hand is warm under his, and only serves to remind him of his wrath from before, and the searing heat.

This looks like Cas and sounds like Cas, but he’s not completely Cas.

Or even if he were now - sated, after the killings, as Dean remembers being - he isn’t always going to remain like his pensive, understanding friend. Dean knows he should make use of this window, but he just can’t do it.

So Castiel, like all the other times, sprinkled across their life together, helps. “And just so, there isn’t a choice now.”

Dean stares at him.

“So, alright.” Castiel declares, steady of manner. “You win. I’ll go into the Ma'lak box, Dean.”

Dean’s never lost more.

Fight this, Cas! We won’t push you if you resist this - we’d never force you in the box, so tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you wouldn’t leave me.

Tell me to go away - fuck off and leave you alone.

“Take me with you.” Cas stands up, blankly, and decides to proclaim. And all of Dean’s most obscure hopes drift away, as he struggles to even plaster the false grin on his face.

“After you, feathers.”

*

Dean remembers the day Castiel got into the goddamn box.

Nothing mattered, as he stared at a wooden-faced Castiel hug Sam, except for the fact that he was next, and this was it. This was the last time he’d get to be this close to Castiel - ever.

When he pulled away from Sam, Dean noticed he sported a twitchy, nervous smile. Kid was trying not to break down - and that was brave, because Dean had given up.

“I - fuck, Cas. I’m sorry.” Tears pricked his eyes, as Castiel draped himself over him, arms crossed around Dean’s shoulders. Dean’s hands lay still on his back - holding him there. “Sorry.” He choked, closing his eyes and holding on.

Castiel clung on too, though not uttering a word. For him, this was the last touch he’d get - from Dean, from anyone, until the end of time. The thought seemed to strike him hard, and he held on tighter.

Dean, in return, pulled him closer.

He could feel Castiel’s heart beat - and he could feel his grace right there. He couldn’t feel a trace of the darkness of the Mark, and for the millionth time, he argued in his head that they were making a mistake.

“It’s risky keeping me out.” Cas muttered, pulling away, somehow knowing exactly what Dean needed to hear. He always did.

“You’re going in willingly, for the good of the world. For it’s safety or whatever.” Dean threw back. “The Mark’s clearly not gotten to you that bad. Maybe it never -”

“No, Dean.” Castiel shook his head, and a tear fell from his left eye. Dean’s brain stuttered into the realization that Cas, in spite of all his pretense, wasn’t doing this willingly. And then he made it even clearer.

He stared into Dean’s eyes - and for the last time, Dean fixed his own stare on those unbelievably blue eyes, blinking through the tears. And then, not looking away for a single moment, Cas confessed.

“I’m doing this for you.”

Don’t.

Please.

Dean’s mouth fell open, but he had no words.

Castiel didn’t wait for any, either. He stepped back from Dean, for good - for he’d never be in Dean’s personal space like that, crowding up against him like he always did - and glanced at Sam. And then again at Dean.

“It’s been a privilege to be family, Winchesters.” He utters, slowly, grandly - and Sam lets out an injured sound. Tears are streaming down Dean’s face now.

And with that, he turned to his eternal prison. Sam shuffled forward to give him a hand - now crying silent tears as well - and Castiel lay down inside.

Dean scrambled ahead, gripping the edges of the box. There was so much left to say. There was so much left to clear, and clarify, and reason through and object to - but Castiel would not return.

Cas would never return.

“Goodbye Sam. Goodbye, Dean.”

The lid fell.

*

The first few days were the hardest. Dean would wander around the bunker, feeling nothing but loss, grieving into expensive bottles of Men-Of-Letters whiskey and cheap glasses of rundown beer.

Then, one evening, there’s a knock on his door. Dean alerts immediately - eyes darting around, before he realizes where the sound came from. Instantly, his heart sings in a harsh, disdainful key of hope, and he pays attention.

“Dean?”

It’s Sam.

“Uh-huh?” He grunts back, failing to keep the unjustified disappointment out of his voice.

“I’m coming in.” Sam declares, and he does. He finds his brother buried on the right side of the bed, bottle in hand, and more of them around. Sam scrunches his nose in disapproval. “Dude.” He starts, only a hint of humor in his tone. “Your room stinks.”

“Your face stinks.” Dean returns, eloquently, and Sam lets out a breath shortly.

“No, I meant it like - your room smells.”

“Your face -”

“Shut up, jerk.” Sam chastises, cutting him off. “I, uh.” The impatience fades to worry, within moments. “I’ve been thinking, Dean.”

Dean keeps quiet, though he could easily have pointed out that his face has been thinking.

“We should start hunting again.” Sam finishes, sounding like he’s run these words over in his head a lot.

“What?” Dean sits up.

“You know, like we always did. Salt and burns at the start, maybe. We work our way to full-fledged hubs or nests again.” Sam explains, earnestly. “We’re hunters, Dean. And it’ll only do us good.”

Dean wonders how long he can hold in the prize question, but then gives up. “And you just want to leave Cas here?”

“Hey, it was your idea to keep him in the bunker.” Sam defends. “And I’m all for it now, but did you assume we’d never go out again?”

“Hunting’s different, Sammy.” Dean sighs, because of course Sam doesn’t get it. “What if - I mean, what if we don’t make it? Who tells Cas?”

Sam nets his eyebrows together in a frown. “Worst case scenario, he understands when we stop showing up.” He suggests, looking a little unconvinced himself, but Dean swears out loud, startling him mid-sentence.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He glares, standing up - or trying to. He feels a rush of dizziness hit him, and falls back to sitting position.

“So,” Sam frowns. “You haven’t been talking to him?” He looks genuinely confused, and Dean doesn’t know if he wants to clock him one, or hug him.

“I -” Dean’s positively aghast, and completely speechless.

Sam waits for his senses to return, arms folded across his chest.

“No!”

*

Dean remembers the day he moved a kitchen chair to the dungeon.

Longer talks, he reasoned.

It had been hard for him to listen to Cas’s replies from outside the ring of oil, so now he sits right next to him. Every night, he drags the chair past the ring, and settles next to where Cas’s head must be.

And every morning, he returns it to where it was.

They talk about useless things, in the beginning. It’s easier. Dean describes dinner once, and proceeds to thoughtlessly tell Cas that he’d be proud of Dean if he just tasted the burger. There’s a pause, and then Castiel answers that he’s sure he would, he doesn’t even need to taste it - and everything returns to normal.

Then, unspeakably, they move towards heavier topics. Dean tells Cas about hunts. In a reassuring way, it feels like the past. Cas asks questions and manages to make him feel heard, even through a wooden box with a breathe-hole in it - but Dean tries not to think about that bit.

There’s always a lot to think about, when Cas is involved, so it works out.

One time, after a particularly long hunt, Dean returns home to Cas. Even though he calls for him, loud, Cas doesn’t respond. With each passing moment, Dean worries more.

Finally, in a whim of panic, he raps his knuckles on the lid.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice rumbles through then, deep as always, but roughened with what Dean’s first guess is, sleep. “Sam?”

“You got it right in one.” Dean relaxes a little, but remains mostly tensed because Cas isn’t even supposed to sleep. “What have you been doing, Cas?”

“I’ve been asleep.” His voice sounds heavy. “I’m tired, Dean.”

“Tired?” Dean repeats, surprised.

“I can’t come up with more words for this feeling, so yeah. I’m tired.” Cas lets out, breathy and broken - and Dean wants to unlatch the box and wrap his arms around Cas and tell him it’s okay.

But he can’t, so instead he listens to Cas telling him about his life - all of those billions of years he’s lived, and never gotten to talk about.

Cas talks about his garrison, and their battles, and his brothers and sisters. He talks about archangels and demons and Hell and the Cage and Lucifer and God.

When he talks about the Mark, there’s a shiver down Dean’s spine. He talks about the exhausting thirst for violence, and unsuppressible hunger for killing - and he talks like he’s scared of it, and Dean hangs onto every word.

“Sometimes it gets so overpowering,” Castiel admits, quietly. “And this box so ridiculously limiting, that I must claw at my own hands so my fingertips at least touch blood.”

“Cas!” Dean cries out, shocked. Cas hurts himself in there? The thought’s so disturbing, Dean’s head reels. “You can’t -”

“It’s the only way I can keep myself under control.” Cas states, complacently. And his detached tone just further provokes the bile rising in Dean’s gut - at the idea of Castiel making himself bleed so he doesn’t try to break out of the box. “Don’t forget, I can heal myself too.”

Dean puts his hand on the box, still shivering.

“Since I’ll never have any use for it again,” Cas adds, dryly. “I might as well use up my grace doing this.”

He puts his forehead on it too.

“Maybe then I could die.”

He knows Cas can hear him breathe like this - which is the only way he can tell that Dean’s there, because he doesn’t have anything else in himself that night. He feels empty and awful and guilty.

When he sleeps, he sees Castiel inside the Ma'lak Box, burying his fingernails in his sides and tearing himself apart, to quench the horrific bloodlust the Mark causes.

He wakes up to Castiel snoring softly, and almost loses it all over again.

*

To be fair, things are better than what he’d imagined, because he gets to actually speak with Cas. Be it about Jack, from before, or Claire - Cas thinks about the kids a lot these days - or about millenia-old battles he lead, or week-old skirmishes Dean was involved in, at least they’re talking.

But ironically, it’s still too good to be true.

As the nights pass by, Cas gets more withdrawn. It’s not just the sleep in his voice - it’s the way he speaks. Like it hurts him to. Like everything hurts, and Dean knows how that feels, because he’s been there; he knows how it feels when the Mark takes over, slow but unpreventable, despite your better judgement - which dulls too, by the day.

Dean can feel Cas go through it all - try to suppress the constant anger, the need for action, and urges to harm. He wants to believe that his being there helps, his checking-in matters, but he knows he had had people who’d have listened to him too.

Because he hadn’t been in a goddamn box, in the first place.

One night, Dean tells Sam to get his overworked ass to bed because it’s been a long fucking hunt, and trudges along to the dungeon.

There’s an eerie kind of quiet, but Dean forgets his worries when he’s coming to Cas. He just carries them on his back when he’s going back.

At the scrape of the legs of Dean’s chair against the floor, Cas breaks down.

“I’m lonely.”

It’s a couple of fairly simple, untwisted words - but Cas sounds so pathetic and frightened and devastated, that Dean’s stomach falls to the ground.

“I’m so lonely, Dean.” Cas repeats, and he sounds like he’s crying silently.

Dean’s heart breaks in a million pieces and he hopes they seep in through the horrible fucking lid of his own creation, this Ma'lak box, so that Cas knows.

In a wrecked voice, he pushes out. “Cas, I’m right here.”

There’s a sound - a thud of something falling inside the box, and it feels like Castiel’s hand. Which means he’d been trying to push the lid before, and Dean has no idea what that means.

Get me out.

“You won’t always be,” Cas cries out.

They’ve talked about this before.

“I know you think that cause I’m a hunter - and cause I’ve always been, I’m going to keep running after these monsters forever. But I’m not.” Dean forces out, closing his eyes because this is hard enough without him having to address the angel’s grave. “I swear, I’m going to take this up with Sammy soon - it’s just been a lot of hunts lately. I just want to be done, for fuck’s sake. I want it all to stop. Cas, I want to be here.”

Cas doesn’t say a thing.

Dean braves on, his voice shaking shamefully with promises. “And after I’ve quit, trust me, I’ll be around so much more - don’t you dare tell me to get a life after, because -”

You’re it.

You’re my life.

“I wasn’t talking about that.” Cas says, painfully, and Dean freezes. “I’m immortal - every day should be a blink of an eye for me, though it isn’t because I’m weak and too attached.” Dean wants to protest, but Cas doesn’t give him a chance. “But you’re human, Dean. You won’t live, with me or without, forever.”

Time stops.

And it’s a goddamn good thing it does, because Cas just reminded him he’s dying, and it feels like it’s happening already.

It’s happening right here.

“Cas, I -”

There’s a thudding sound again, accompanied by a breathless sob from within which pierces through Dean, impaling him with guilt. His own tears start to fall.

“No, Dean. What will I do?” Cas keeps going. “What about me after you’re gone?”

*

Dean wakes up, sweating.

It’s three am.

He grunts, getting out of bed, and travels to the door on socked feet. The cold seems to completely disregard the woollen socks, and shoots straight to his head - weirder still, because he basically sweated himself awake, a minute ago.

Dean slowly moves to the kitchen, and pulls a beer from the fridge. His mind lands inevitably on Castiel.

He’d started visiting less after that night - for it’d more or less been an instruction for him, to stop. Didn’t Cas call it getting attached? And it makes sense too. If he spends the next - what, twenty years or so, next to Cas, he’d just be getting him up before the fall.

Because of course he’d be gone, and of course Cas would not, and of course it made perfect sense to visit Cas less until it started feeling off and they didn’t have things to talk about and then he visited even less, and now of course it’s been weeks that he’s not been there, with him, at the one place it all felt okay, and of course -

Dean’s crying into a bottle, at three in the night.

Everything hurts - every angle of this mishappening, but what’s overpowering most of the time is how much he misses his best friend, and his angel, and the love of his life, and Cas. All of him.

There’s too many tears clouding his vision, so he closes his eyes.

He’s lost Cas before - but it’s never been like this. He’s never felt so directly causatory, and fuck that feeling which shatters him inside - he’s the reason Cas took on the Mark, and he’s the reason Cas got in the box.

He’s the entire fucking reason Cas suffers, every time, and he’s the reason Cas was crying that day.

And yet - Dean can’t hold back the loud gasp, as he inhales forcefully - yet, more than guilty, as be should, he feels lost.

Because he’s not just lost somebody. He’s lost something he believes in, and the destination of all his prayers.

He’s lost his faith.

And for the first time in a very long time, Dean feels utterly, terrifyingly alone.

*

Sam’s woken by the sounds in the kitchen, and a foreboding of something awful tugging at his soul - and he dashes out of bed to see what’s wrong.

Immediately, when he sees Dean on the floor, shivering and breathing erratically through uncontrollable sobs, he wraps his his shirt around him and pulls him up on the first stool he finds.

“He’s not okay, Sammy!” Dean whimpers, clutching onto the shirt. Sam’s trying not to freak out himself, because it’s been a while since Dean’s had such a bad panic attack. “I can feel it - Cas is hurting -”

“Dean,” Sam pleads. “Stop thinking about him for a moment. Stop thinking about -”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Dean lets out, anguished. “When I had the Mark, Cas promised that after all that I’d do, after everyone that I’d kill, he’d still be there. He swore he’d always be there - but I cannot even say the same, and -”

“Calm down, Dean!” Sam repeats, anxiously. His brother doesn’t seem to be doing any better. “Just, please, don’t think -”

“You know I can’t stop thinking about him!” Dean throws back, frustratedly. “I need to - fuck, I need him, and I -”

Sam takes Dean’s hand in his, to stop Dean from rambling, and stares him straight in his eyes. “Do you want me to remind you that he can probably hear you right now?”

Dean shortcircuits for a second time.

Of course, Cas was an angel. Was Dean thinking about this, and thinking out loud, all going to make Cas hurt more? Was Dean adding to his pain and suffering again by -

“No.” Sam interjects, sounding sure. He’s always somehow been able to know exactly where Dean’s head’s at, in situations like this. “But I guarantee, he wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself like this.”

“Sam, I -”

“It’s okay.” Sam cuts him off, and helps hoist Dean up to his feet. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. You’re putting the beer away right now, and going back to sleep.”

Once he’s steadier, Dean immediately pulls his brother in for a hug, grabbing the back of his neck. There’s no words for how grateful he is for him. But even more so, he needs to confess something - for both their sakes.

“I want to start hunting again, Sammy.”

Because if he’s not ending up next to Cas, if he isn’t getting his happy ending or peace, why would he hang the gloves up? Screw tired - he’s going to hunt to his last breath.

Fuck quitting.

And Sam smiles back - knowing it’s probably going to take more convincing in the morning, but Dean’s in again. Like Sam, he’ll keep on hunting until he can’t - take down every monster before it, even though God’s gone and it keeps feeling like they can’t win.

They have to keep trying - because now there’s nothing for either of them to come back to.

“Well, so be it.”

[sweetbyte]

Title: Patronus pt.1 

Pairing(s): TodoMomo | BakuMomo (Friendship)

Rating: T 

Summary: Apart of the Lessons in Magic Series/HP AU. Yaoyorozu finds a way to deal with failure, Bakugou tries to help, Todoroki is exceedingly distracting and he doesn't even know..... 

He expects her patronus to be regal and elegant like her.

He’s vaguely aware of others in the room shouting out ‘expecto patronum’ while others, like him, are waiting for Yaoyorozu to succeed, as she usually does. Yaoyorozu has always been far ahead in every class and has been since first year so this will probably be no feat for her. She’ll summon her patronus, the professor will billow “10 points to Ravenclaw!” and everyone will be in awe of her magical prowess.

With a graceful but practiced swish of her wand, she clearly chants the incantation and suddenly silence falls upon the room as nothing happens.

Shouto hears snickers coming from a group of Slytherin girls who have always had it in for the girl as soon as she was sorted into Ravenclaw. Being from the most powerful pureblood house, it was quite the scandal to have broken the generations of Slytherin heirs. They are quickly silenced by an irate Bakugo, whose jaw is clenched at the sight of Yaoyorozu visibly getting distraught. The action is enough to snap most students from the sight and continue their own attempts at the spell.

As she continues to try, her want movements become shaky and her voice is almost desperate. When Midoriya successfully produces what looks to be a phoenix, her eyes widen and her wand falls to the ground. He takes a step towards her, but Bakugo has already let out a stream of profanity quickly picking up her wand and is escorting her, or rather dragging her out of the class. The professor says nothing, as he’s fascinated by the other boy’s patronus. They were only practicing, no one actually expected a corporal patronus.

The Slytherin girls resume their snickering and Shouto ignores the pang of jealousy and truly hopes that the abrasive blond can console Yaoyorozu.

Bakugou gives her space. He doesn’t ask her how she feels. He doesn’t lecture her. He doesn’t try console her with soothing words or gestures. He giver her space to get through her embarrassing episode of anxiety and she’s grateful.

Once she’s calmed down, she apologizes. He naturally scoffs.

“You don’t have to an overachieving swot at everything, you know.” He’s leaning against a castle wall and she resists the urge to nag him for he’s dirtying his robes. Instead she allows a small meek smile and moves to lean next to him, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder. “You should heed your own advice.”

“I am sorry you missed the class babysitting me.” She starts again causing him to nudge her head. “Stop bloody apologizing.” His tone is warning but she ignores it. “You didn’t get to-“

“It wouldn’t have mattered. I know I wouldn’t have been able to produce one anyway.”

“How are you so sure?” Momo moves her head to glance at him in question, but he stares off into the distance with a blank expression. “We are on the same sodding boat, are we not? No happy memories or overwhelming feelings of love to conjure up…”

She lets out a deep sigh and contemplates how what he said was true. The pure hearted, compassionate Yaoyorozu could not conjure up a patronus because she truly had no precious memory she held close to her heart.

“How utterly depressing” She blurts, almost cynically that it surprises her, and she feels him grunt in agreement.

“Truly fucked up, indeed.”

The rest of week was spent practicing summoning their patronus. The rest of the week was also absent of Yaoyorozu’s presence. He tried not to think about how it bothered him. The head girl is the embodiment of academic perfection so a couple of absent days are not all common for her.

Despite practicing, less than half of the class could summon a patronus, and he was not included in that small group. It surprised him that, that didn’t bother him much at all.

He ran into her, literally, on the morning of their break day. She had just rounded the corner of the grounds outside, where the air was chilly, when they collided. She let out a squeak as she fell before him, in slow motion it seemed, and he did his best to catch her mid-air to no avail. She landed in a somehow graceful heap, and laughed sheepishly, not yet looking at him or his outstretched hand.

“Ouch. My apologies! I did not mean to de so unaware of my surroundings! You see there was a cat, and I was trying to see if the poor thing was a stray. Though that is probably highly unlikely, I felt the need to check. It’s rather cold out here for a cat to be wondering around- “

“Yaoyorozu.” He interrupts the girls rambling and her eyes fly open as she jumps in surprise.

“Todoroki! What brings you around here? Oh, do pardon me, that came out incredibly rude! Also pardon me again for being so reckless, you see there was a cat and- “He allows himself to smile at her antics before cutting in again.

“Yaoyorozu, I’ll tell you after you let me help you up. I doubt the cold cement is all that comfortable.”

“Oh, right!” Her laugh is light and melodic, and he notes that her hands are soft despite the cold as he helps her up.

“I am truly sorry” Momo begins again, and he waves her off. “If anyone should be sorry, I think its me. I scared off your cat.”

“No worries, my only concern was for it not to be caught in the harsh weathers.”  

“I was on my way to the library to study charms.” He answers her first question as he watches her pat down her robes.

“I never pegged you as an early riser.” She blurts out.

“Truth be told, I wasn’t. I rather found I now enjoy the peaceful solitude the morning brings. Additionally, the books I needed where usually already booked out by midday.” He nods his head to the direction of the library and she joins him on his trek.

“It appears I owe you another apology.” His eyebrow arches, asking for elaboration and she laughs lightly. “I may have been the one monopolizing the books.”

Nothing can stop the jump in his chest at the sound of her laugh, and nothing can stop the twitch of his lips. “Well, I can’t say I’m all that shocked.” He is not, it makes perfect sense.

“I’ll be mindful in the future” She promises. “Truthfully, most of them are rereads for me.” She admits guiltily, and he relishes the color that graces her cheeks.

He smiles as they come to the split, finally in the corridors of the castle. “No need to apologize. If anything, now I know who to hunt down in the future.” Her eyes widen and he allows himself to smirk at the sight. “That is, if you can manage to get them before me.

Content with himself, he gives her a final nod. “I’ll see you around, Yaoyorozu.”

His blood is warm as he turns to continue down to the library, willing himself to ignore the thunderous heartbeat that is embarrassingly his.

Momo is still frozen when he disappears from her sight around the corner. She’s frozen, but her body is on fire. Her treacherous heart is surely about to implode.

Momo has spent a good amount of her 7 years at Hogwarts fancying this boy, and in her experience of fawning from afar, she cannot say she’s ever seen him smirk. Well, correction, he has smirked but only a handful of times when dueling in DADA.

What’s worse is that it was directed towards her and she doesn’t know what to do. She remembers the muggle saying she learned earlier in the week and pinches herself. Not dreaming, but definitely dazed, and that’s how Bakugou finds her.

“What’s got you looking stupid?”

“Huh?” His face twists and concern paints his face so quickly that its comical and he puts a hand on her forehead.  ‘Huh’ is not and has never been in her vocabulary.

“What the actual fuck? You’re burning up! Don’t tell me you’re sick.” He grimaces, taking a step back in precaution while swiftly retracting his hand. She ends up choking on air, which further deepens his scowl. “You should probably go to the infirmary, you’ll end up worse if you try occlumency today.”

“No! I am not sick!” She argues. They had gotten special permission after some stings where pulled to allow Bakugou to teach her occlumency in efforts to control her emotions after her anxiety episode. Occlumency is mainly used to protect the mind and thoughts, but they concluded that it might assist her in controlling her nerves. Bakugou might not be the most patient person, but what he had been teaching her was helpful.

“I don’t want to hear it. I ain’t taking any chances.” Her nose scrunches up at his comment. His mother would truly be sent to the grave if she heard him talking like that. “I trust you can make it to the infirmary on your own...?”

“What a gentleman, truly. I must insist, I am not- “

“I told you I ain’t-” He rolls his eyes at her obvious distaste “I am not taking any chances, we are done here.”

Again, she’s stuck watching the retreating from of yet another male and sighs. Boys

Bakugou eyes her skeptically when they resume her occlumency lessons in the room of requirement. Momo huffs in response and starts warming up with breathing exercises. Now that he has been teaching her for about a week, he has become rather ruthless when pushing into her mind.

‘You’re not going to get a proper warning if someone wants to bust in, Yaoyorozu! They are not gonna ask for your bloody permission.’

As soon as she’s done, she takes her position in front of him and nods, signaling she’s ready. He only glares before immediately starting his assault.

‘Build a wall’ She remembers him demanding, but the walls are barely holding up. She vaguely recalls the muggle tale of the wolf and the three little pigs before she feels Bakugou push again. She feels a crack in her barrier and that’s all he needs to bust in. Suddenly she’s on her knees gasping as her thoughts and memories she’s tried to hide flash by her leaving her exposed.

Momo is still trying to catch her breath when Bakugou’s shoes come into her line of sight. She manages to look up and catches the grimace on his face while he extends a hand to help her up.

“Am I getting better?” She asks, breathless, as she lets him pull her up to her feet and he snorts.

“I mean, you are lasting longer, but its still fucking easy to read you. I told you to build-“

“Walls. Yes, that is precisely what I have been doing!” She interrupts him, agitated causing him to snicker. “Sure, it is, princess.”

“You doubt me?”

“Its just really bloody hard to believe when the first thing I see is you hot and bothered over that halfie.” Momo squeaks, mortified.

“Your father is one of the best legilimens, is he not? That annoying prick would be dead if your father saw what I did.”

She knows he’s right, so she can only nod with determination. “Again.”

AN// Thank you for reading. I feel like I’m finally getting my mojo back. Just took a year or two, I know. Excuse any error, this is unbeta’d and non proof-read. 

[lastbluetardis]

Chemical Potential (1/11)

Summary: Slightly homesick and stressed about her abysmal chemistry grade, Rose Tyler meets quirky James Smith, the boy who sits in front of her in their chemistry class. They become fast friends as James makes it his personal mission to help Rose get through the semester.

Ten x Rose University AU

This chapter: ~2100 words, all ages

Notes: This was written for the lovely @thegreenfairy13 as part of the @dwsecretsanta gift exchange. I’m so sorry this is so late, but the holidays were a little more insane than I’d anticipated. I hope you enjoy chapter one of your gift! I’m not sure how long this will be, but I’m hoping to write a little bit of it per week and share that week’s progress with you.

AO3 | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | epilogue

Rose shoved the graded exam into her school bag, not caring about crumpling it, before she slung her bag over her shoulder and half-ran out of the lecture hall. The circled red 47% on the exam was still burned into her eyes, making her chest constrict and her stomach bottom out.

47%. Failing. She’d just failed the first exam of the semester, just like she’d failed the first quiz of the semester.

Hot tears stung at her eyes and she blindly pushed past all of the students in the corridor until she reached the ladies’ room. There were a few other people in the loo—upperclassmen, it looked like—and they all looked at her sympathetically before she entered one of the stalls and slammed the door shut.

Her head pounded with her anger and frustration. She’d tried so hard—so hard—and it still hadn’t been enough. Chemistry simply did not make a lick of sense to her, and she hated herself for signing up for the stupid class in the first place.

But she needed a science credit, and she figured she would get it out of the way before she had progressed through her program and into the more difficult classes. After all, she’d thought, how difficult could a general chemistry class be?

Very, it turned out. She wished she could drop the class, but if she did, she no longer had enough credits to be considered a full-time student, and without that status, she would lose all of her financial aid. She couldn’t stay at the university without her scholarships. And she was beyond the add/drop period, meaning she couldn’t replace her general chemistry class with something else.

So, unless she wanted to completely drop out of school, she was stuck.

Unbidden, her ex-boyfriend’s words cropped into her mind, telling her she never should have tried to go to uni in the first place. That she should have stuck to what she was good at (which wasn’t school—hence her dropping out when she was seventeen) and not reached above her station. That she should have stayed with him, stayed working in that little London shop, stayed his. His trophy that he paraded around when it suited him, and leaving her alone in their tiny one-bedroom flat when it didn’t.

She knew she was lucky to be shot of him—the lying, cheating bastard—but maybe she had reached too far. Been too lofty in her goals. Her mother had certainly thought so.

After Rose had moved back home with Jackie when her relationship with Jimmy had utterly imploded, she’d worked at the department store, Henrik’s, for three years, saving up her money and finishing her A-levels. When she’d begun applying to universities, she’d applied to a few in the United States on a whim. Her childhood mate had moved there the year before when his job had relocated him, and he loved it.

Rose hadn’t told her mother about the American schools she’d applied to, figuring nothing would come of it. But when she’d received not only an acceptance letter but a full academic scholarship to a school in southeastern Pennsylvania, she knew her decision had been made for her.

Jackie had not been as thrilled as Rose. Rose knew her mother wished she would just be happy with her job and settle down to start looking to make a family, but that wasn’t what Rose wanted. Even though three years had passed since the Jimmy fiasco, Rose had sworn off relationships until she was happy with where her life was headed.

Rose mostly ignored her mother’s diatribe about airs and graces and moving too far away and how Jackie wouldn’t be there to bail her out again should everything fall apart. Instead, she’d mailed in her acceptance to the Pennsylvanian university, and had begun the preparations for moving across the Atlantic.

Now, though, as she stifled her sobs into the palms of her hands, Rose thought she may have made a huge mistake by going to a university in America. She hardly knew anybody, apart from the few acquaintances she’d made in her classes. She didn’t live in the dormitories on campus, so she didn’t even have the typical friendships that came with living in close proximity.

And if she failed out of university, not only would her student visa be revoked, but she wasn’t currently able to afford a plane ticket back to the UK, and would be stuck in a foreign country until she saved up enough from her part-time job.

Though her mother frustrated her beyond belief, Rose found herself more homesick than she’d ever been before, and she wished she could teleport to her mum’s flat and cry that she regretted leaving home.

She was about to prove everybody right that she wasn’t cut out for a life of academia, just because she couldn’t pass a bloody general science course.

Rose’s eyes ached, but finally her tears stopped. She sniffed hard through her clogged nose and was glad that the girls in the loo had departed by the time Rose finally stepped out of the stall. She didn’t need that added embarrassment to her already fragile state of mind.

Her face was a wreck, with her mascara bleeding down her red, blotchy cheeks. Rose turned on the faucet and washed her hands, then cupped cold water in her palms and splashed her face. The water stung her skin, but it made Rose feel a little more invigorated than before.

She spent the next several minutes scrubbing off her ruined makeup and giving her eyes a minute to look less red and puffy. Finally, when she was satisfied that it wasn’t overly obvious she’d been crying for the past five minutes, Rose took a deep breath and stepped out of the loo.

Someone was standing just outside the door. A tall, lanky boy with a messy shock of brown hair was leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom. He must be waiting for someone… but the loo had been empty, apart from her. Perhaps she should tell him?

She looked into his face, and furrowed her brow. It was the boy who sat in the row in front of her in her chemistry class.

“Er… hi,” he said a little awkwardly. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked up onto his toes, then back onto his heels. “I’m James. James Smith.”

Rose’s heart squeezed as she recognized his accent: soft Estuary. It reminded her so much of home that she had to clench her teeth to stop more tears from welling into her eyes.

“Hi,” she said, her voice a little raspy. “I’m Rose Tyler.”

His face lit up into the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen. Sheer delight radiated out of every inch of his face, from the too-wide, too-white flash of teeth, to the way the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled. His eyes sparkled, looking so warm and inviting that Rose desperately wished she had her sketch pad with her. No matter. She tried to commit every shade of brown in his eyes to memory so she could try to draw it later that evening when she got back to her flat. 

“You’re a Londoner!” he crowed, beaming. Rose felt her own lips twitching in a responding smile as his voice went high and squeaky in excitement. “Oh, brilliant! I haven’t met a Londoner yet! I met a woman from France in my French class—though that’s cheating, in my opinion. Why can she take French for credit when she’s literally French? And I’ve met loads of people from all over the United States, including someone from Alaska! But you’re the first human I’ve met from the good ole UK! I love it!”

Rose’s smile widened and became more genuine the longer James rambled. He made her feel as though they’d known each other for years and were best mates reconnecting after a time apart. The ache of sadness began to fade from her chest and belly, and she wished she could thank him, even if he didn’t realize he’d done anything.

“Nice to meet you, Rose!” James yanked his right hand from his pocket and extended it towards her. Rose saw the red crease from where the top of his pocket had pressed into his skin.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” she said, wishing she could tell him just how nice it was.

She reached out and took his offered hand. His palm was warm and soft against hers as she wrapped her hand around his.

“Ooh, your hands are cold,” he said.

Her cheeks flushed, but before she could withdraw her hand from his grip, his other hand cupped hers, trapping it between his palms. He rubbed her hand vigorously, warming her skin. If it had been any other person, Rose would have been deeply uncomfortable. Hell, she probably should have been deeply uncomfortably anyway. But there was just… there was something about James. Something she couldn’t put her finger on that made her feel so safe and at ease with him, despite having met him only two minutes ago.

“Can’t neglect the other one.”

Rose bit her lip against a laugh as James dropped her right hand to scoop up her left one. He warmed that one, too, then released it. Rose let it fall limply to her side, then looked up at James.

“If you’re waiting for someone, I’m afraid the loo was empty ‘cept for me,” Rose said gently.

James furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side. Then his eyes widened slightly and he said, “Oh! No, thanks, but I, er… I was actually waiting for you.”

Rose raised an eyebrow at him, suddenly more suspicious of James than she’d been in the last few minutes. His cheeks went pink and he gave her a shy, sheepish smile as his hand went up to rake through his hair.

Well, at least that answered her question as to whether he’d intentionally styled his hair to look as though he just rolled out of bed. Or as though he’d just had the most fantastic snog of his life.

“Er, you see… I’m in your chemistry class. With Professor Young,” he said. His hand moved from his hair to scratch at the back of his head, before he rubbed his fingers against the nape of his neck.

Bit twitchy, ain’t he? He ought to lay off the caffeine, Rose thought to herself.

But instead, she said, “Yeah, I know. You sit in the row in front of me.”

His face lit up in a surprised albeit pleased smile. It disappeared slowly until his face was serious again.

“I, er, I couldn’t help but notice you seemed a little upset,” he said quietly.

Rose pursed her lips, trying to push down her embarrassment. “I’m fine. Exam didn’t go as well as I’d hoped, is all.”

James nodded, a short jerky bob of his head, and seemed to be entranced with watching the toe of his trainer scuff against the shiny tile floor. It made a sharp squealing sound every time he kicked his foot; the noise grated against Rose’s frayed nerves.

“Would you stop that?” she snapped. His body stiffened, and he planted his foot firmly on the floor. Rose sighed and pressed her fingertips into her closed eyes. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I’m not in the best mood right now.”

“That’s all right,” he said immediately. They were silent for a few uncomfortable seconds in which Rose debated just running away from him when he asked, “Have you had breakfast?”

Rose snapped her gaze back up to his face. He didn’t seem bothered by her rapid changes in mood, and he’d begun rocking on his feet again in lieu of scuffing his Chucks against the floor.

“Well, it’s already ten,” Rose said. James’s cheeks went pink again, much to her amusement. She’d never seen someone blush so easily. “But no, I haven’t.”

James grinned. “C’mon! Let’s go to the dining hall. It’s pancake day and they stop serving breakfast at ten-thirty.”

He held out his hand for her, wiggling his fingers in invitation, but his face looked solemn and vulnerable, as though he wasn’t sure whether she would accept his invitation. Rose wondered what he would do or say if she declined, but a small voice in the back of her mind was confident he would let her go and leave her alone.

But she didn’t want to be alone. Not when she finally seemed to make a new friend, one that could maybe relate to her homesickness, and one that made her feel as though everything would always be okay in the world.

“Yeah, all right,” she said, and she slapped her palm down into his awaiting hand.

His eyes widened, as though he hadn’t really expected her to agree, but his mouth slowly morphed into a wide, manic grin.

“Brilliant!”

He threaded their fingers together. The feel of his hand in hers felt so right, so perfect, and she gave his hand a squeeze of thanks. He giggled from high in his throat and returned the action before he guided her to the door.

[tessdl]

@mcntydcluca @downstvged @cvssndra

tess, peyton, and monty were walking back from what most would call work but with the three of them together, there wasn't much work going on. fnally they were free and they made their way back to the house. as they walked they passed a playground. tess grinned mischievously. "mon i bet you the next round of laundry that i can beat you to the top of that jungle gym."

monty was covered in tomato paste, and if that gave any inclination of how much work they'd done, he didn't know what would. nevertheless, he walked home, his best friends by his side and the fading scent of spaghetti fading behind him. his eyes snapped up, mischief glowing. " you're on, t. " instantly, he was off, daunting to the jungle gym.

six uncooked spaghetti rods made their home behind peyton’s right ear, like a cigarette, but way cooler. bunched together and bound with a bit of cooking string, they promoted a kitchen bad boy aesthetic: something his two best friends bagged him about for a solid half-hour at the close of their kitchen shift. “ you two are children! “ peyton called as monty and tess careened toward the playground. but his legs screeched into motion, too, and soon he hoisted himself up on top of the monkey bars. he was sure to steady his pasta accessory upon landing. “ it’s the de luca showdown of the century, and monty’s in the lead — but oh heck! tess is coming up strong behind him! “  peyton cupped his hands on either side of his lips, emulating a big league announcer. he swung his feet as he watched. “ who’s it gonna be, folks? who’s gonna take the cake ?! “

“listen you cheating sack of shit!” tess yelled, speeding after him. he was a fair fight against her abilities. she debated tackling him but then she pulled ahead and stuck her tongue out as she went. “me! i want cake!” she called to peyton.

the one thing monty could say about his sister was that in everything but charm, she was his equal. same routines, same workouts. it was hard to believe they shared no genetics. “ hey!” he groaned, kicking his legs faster, but he was only barely behind her. “ that’s my cake!” he screeches, jumping and lifting himself over the side of the jungle gym.

peyton watched his favorite morons with pure admiration. only the de luca siblings could spin a day spent cooking vats of spaghetti into one so amusing, his sides now ached with each laugh. " they're beginning the climb –– who's it gonna be?! it's the final countdown !!" peyton raised his hands in a trumpet mockery, humming the melody to the sporting world's most overplayed-yet-equally-as-badass tune.

monty could’ve had her beat if this was just a race on two legs, but climbing? climbing was tess’ specialty. she used to rock climb, she still hiked, and she had a lot of experience climbing in and out of second story windows. getting up a jungle gym was nothing. she reached the top in seconds, throwing her hands up in victory. “sucks to suck, sucker!” she teased, offering her hand down to pull monty the rest of the way up.

he knew his chance at winning was gone once tess hiked up her leg and got to work. she was always a better climber, monty's noodle arms being no help in keeping himself safe. that, and his fear of heights kept him from ever getting into it. nevertheless, he stuck it out til the end. de lucas don't quit. " ah, shove it. " and yet, he still took her hand. " y’know if we were on flat land i would've smoked your ass. "

" if i were involved in this race i would've smoked both your asses, " peyton amended with a grin. he hopped down from his spot on the monkey bars and trotted over to the jungle gym. " facts. " it was almost like this wasn't new ham any more, and they weren't on the cusp of no longer being kids. peyton hoisted himself up onto the jungle gym with ease, swinging his legs over to dangle off the silly rooftop covering the entrance to the slide. " think we'd make it onto the next season of american ninja warrior? "

“sure you would,” tess snorted as peyton climbed to join them. american ninja warrior was intriguing, maybe she’d have them try something like that next, if only to keep their minds off the shit show that was now their lives. “monty would be automatically disqualified for being too ugly,” she teased, ruffling his hair. it was then that tess saw her. cassandra pressman looking cute. even if she had a stick up her ass, there was no denying she was beautiful. it took her all of 3 seconds to hatch a plan. she gave monty a discrete nod and made a few hand gestures to relay the plan. she’d yell, he’d shove. simple yet effective. “hey cassandra!” tess yelled from atop the jungle gym, moving around so monty could sneak past her and shove peyton down toward her. “peyton has a question for you about prom!”

monty swatted at his sister, elbowing her in the side. “ you’re just mean, you know that ? people think we’re twins and you’re calling me ugly. “ monty couldn’t say it out loud, but he knew his best friends were gorgeous, like super model type, but he knew he had his own charm himself. the puppy dog eyes were his trade mark. immediately, monty caught on to his sisters plan, a smirk growing on his lips as they set it in motion. once she called out, monty’s hands flew to send peyton flying down the slide, a chuckle falling from his lips as he moved to offer a high five to his partner in crime.

peyton laughed at tess's dig. " aw, c'mon, this guy's adorable: he'd be a fan fave for sure. " he nudged monty with the toe of his sneaker and turned back to look at tess, but her entire disposition had shifted. " what're you–– " his focus swiveled to hone in on what she'd been looking at, but he was already slipping down the slide, accelerating toward: cassandra. ohshitohshitohshitohshit. wide-eyed, peyton reached the bottom of the slide and stuck the landing. if the definition of stuck was officially changed to nearly tripping over his own feet. " oh, hey! hey, cassandra uh –– " he rubbed the back of his neck and cast her a sheepish smile. his heart was gonna friggin' implode. " what's good? "  smooth.

cassandra was confused to say the least but she couldn’t help but grin at the sight of peyton tumbling toward her. what’s good? that was some slang she hadn’t heard in awhile and realized his friends had caught him off guard so she figured she’d help him out. “i’m doing well, thanks for asking. i heard tess mention prom, did you want to sign up for something?” she happened to already know he was signed up for decorating committee, but kept that bit of information to herself.

did he want to sign up for something? peyton's breath caught in his throat. his expression blanked for a moment as his mind screeched to a halt. " uh..." you idiot. he offered a near-apologetic chuckle, eyes darting to his feet. her feet. the mulch. the swingset. " yeah, actually, i– " fuck, did she know he was already signed up? he couldn't do this. he could feel her eyes burning into him, and his hands felt buzzy, like they might start shaking. he pushed them into the back pockets of his jeans and did the only thing he could do: he smiled through it. " i... was wondering." breathe " if there was still a slot open. for prom.  " jesus christ. " for like... your date? " oh, god. ohgodhe'sdoingthis. ohgodhe'sdonethis. " could i... sign up... for that? " peyton dared to catch her eye again with a hopeful smile, and fought to keep his nerves from tacking on more words.

this was a side of peyton cassandra had never seen before. he was usually so chill, something she wasn't very good at. but now it felt like they switched roles or at the very least like they were sharing one. a slot open for prom. her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. your date. the scrunched eyebrows raised. she pressed her lips together to hide her smile and pulled out her phone. "hmm, let me see." she pretended to check the list. "no one's signed up for that yet so-" she looked up at him, " you can definitely have that spot if you want."

peyton forgot how to breathe. his lungs nearly collapsed in on themselves as his lips fell agape. she said yes. she said yes. " wh- are you- " a bright grin lit his entire face, practically ear to ear, and if it weren't for the fluttering in his chest, he might have found time to be embarrassed. " really? "  cassandra pressman. said yes. to going to prom. to being his date. " wow, that's, i. wow. thanks. " thanks? peyton brushed a hand through his hair and shifted his weight, attempting to reinstate his natural state of chill. maybe she'd ignore that stupid response. not likely. " so like. i could... i could pick you up.  before? before prom, yeah. if you want? maybe around... i don't know, what time works for you? " holy shit. this was happening. holy. fucking. shit.

cassandra could no longer contain her grin, especially as he rambled. it made her feel better because this was usually how their conversations went, but usually the rambling came from her. she nodded and pretended not to notice the thanks tacked on at the end. “i was hoping before prom, after might be a little... inconvenient?” she did her best not to look straight at him for too long in fear that she’d get distracted and say something stupid. “prom starts at eight, so any time around then is fine. we don’t need to be early or anything.”

peyton ducked his head and laughed. " after's inconvenient, noted. " when he looked up at cassandra again, his eyes sparkled. this was real. he was going to prom with cassandra pressman.  albeit, this prom was... not what west ham high typically put on. but it'd still be awesome. he'd have to recruit tess and monty to find something to wear. " okay, cool. 8ish. you're p– " peyton stopped himself and let out a light chuckle. get it together, man. " that's perfect. "

"perfect," she repeated. she'd managed to get this entire conversation without sounding like an absolute moron and she was trying to keep it that way lest he change his mind. "i'm um- wearing gold if, if that helps?" she semi shrugged. "we don't have to match or anything, i just thought i'd let you know in case you... needed to know that." 

“ gold, “ peyton echoed with a nod. “ that’s cool. “  cool? eugh, dude. really? his eyes darted across her features as she rambled on, smile only growing as the words accrued. yeah, he thought, gold’s a good fit. “ i like knowing that. knowledge is always appreciated. “ jeez. “ is it chill if i match my tie? or, like — is that too much? not enough? “  he’s never taken a real date to a prom before. let alone cassandra. and he’d be damned if he fucked this one up.

"you're welcome to match... that's what people usually do for prom, right? match their date?" date. was she his date or had he asked her as a friend? did he just need someone to go with? she thought about tess. if he needed someone to go with he could've asked tess? did that mean he wanted to go with her or was tess already snagged up by someone?

" oh, they do? "  peyton's hands dipped into his pockets before surfacing less than a second later. his fingers intermingled and broke apart before he finally, finally managed to get them to rest at his sides. " ha. yeah, right, they do. "  did she want this to be a date? he'd asked with that intent, but–– " i mean, that would make sense, right? for us to match? as dates? " he cursed his mouth for running miles ahead of his mind. " i-i... if you... if that's what you... "  he trailed off, hands opening and closing at his sides. god, he's bad at this. " ...envisioned. " a beat. peyton thought he was done speaking, but more words spilled out anyway. " because, that's–– that's what i envisioned. the date. the, uh... date thing. "

she grinned and nodded afraid of what would stumble out of her mouth if she opened it, especially since what he'd said was very much what she wanted. she tried to gather her thoughts and weave them into a coherent sentence but it ended up as more of a list. "prom, eight pm, gold, dates."

peyton beamed. " prom, eight pm, gold, " he echoed back with a definitive nod and a snap. " dates. "  his fingertips buzzed. he wondered if she could hear his pulse from just a few inches away. and then realized, hell, he didn't care –– he'd do a fricken happy dance right now, if he could.  " i'm looking forward to it. "

"great," she beamed. "i'll see you then. unless i see you before then, which is possible. i'm basically everywhere." stop talking cassandra. "okay i'm going to go make sure grizz hasn't already broken everything." she gave him one last smile before rushing off.

" okay. okay, yeah. "  peyton chuckled. did she even know how amazing she was? cassandra was the only person who could manage to run this whole entire town and still find time to be adorable. " i'll see you. "  peyton raised a hand in a tiny wave. as soon as cassandra turned her back, his hands rose to his head and he all but gaped, spinning on his heels. holy shit, he mouthed to himself. holy shit. 

his grin was sinfully bright as he turned toward the jungle gym, where his two best friends still sat, overlooking the whole scene. ten minutes ago, he'd wanted to kill them. now? he wanted to practically kiss their feet. ( except not literally; that'd be... gross. )  with a look of elated disbelief, he spun around once more, as if trying to get re-oriented to real friggin life. " holy shit, " he said aloud this time, smile growing even wider.

monty sat in wonder as he watched the whole thing go down. he couldn't help the grin stretching across his face as his best friend finally turned back towards the de lucas. monty shoved his sister's arm, rattling her in a wave of shock. " tess, he got it. he got it! " he sprung off the jungle gym, arms already wide open. " my man! "

"yes i can see that, i have eyes you lunatic," she huffed, shoving him. she jumped down after him, watching monty practically tackle peyton. "he probably can't breathe yet monty, try not to strangle him before his date."

peyton met monty in a colossal hug, smiling so hard his cheeks ached.  “ dude! dude!! “ he jumped in their embrace and patted monty’s back before breaking away. he felt like he could leap to the freaking moon.  tess teased monty about strangling him before his date and the word drew a breath from his lips. peyton let out a loud laugh in disbelief. “ she said yes — how — how the heck did she say yes ?! “ 

monty ignored his sisters comments, instead continuing to crush the life out of the boy— he just achieved his fucking dream. and he was so proud. “dude!!!” he yelled back, a smile wide on his lips as he relished in the excitement of his friend. “i told you, man. you just had to ask.”

[undercoverwatermoon]

“Surprise” (Jalton/Future Fic)

This started as a completely different story, but here's where it ended up. This occurs in the same verse as "Stars", so they're a series now.

Series on AO3 here: Future Moments I'll continue adding related one-shots to this series as I am inspired to write them. All will be future Jalton.

Definitely a wedding one (as promised to #TheFab5) will be added at some point, and of course Jalton babies and Daddy!Adam.

This story happens an appropriate amount of time prior to "Stars”

Endless thank you's to the #TheFab5 who are always willing to talk me off the ledge when I get lost in my feelings (see evidence below), and to @stupid-jeans (who IS one of #TheFab5 lol) for the always wonderful beta!

Enjoy everyone!

It’s only been five days since they touched down on American soil, and an entire three days since she last saw Adam. Saying goodbye at the airport had been a brand new experience, barely hours since they’d given in to the long-standing tension between them, finally deciding their chance at happiness was worth the risk.

Jaz. We are practically together, in every sense of the word, except...physically

Adam had been so convinced. So sure that it was their time. It gives her goosebumps remembering the look in his eyes as he’d patiently argued his point. Preach’s words from a few deployments ago, about not ignoring connections, echo in her mind, and she makes a mental note to ask Adam how many wisdom interventions Preach had subjected him to in the recent past. Comparing stories might be fun.  

Walking aimlessly along the supermarket aisles, looking at everything and deciding on nothing, Jaz finds herself daydreaming. It’s strange to her, how the most mundane things remind her of him. That healthy, cardboard-like cereal he likes is on aisle nine, and she stops there for what seems like hours, smiling like a fool until she finally throws it in the shopping cart. Then come the bagels -Adam likes carbs- the blueberry ones for some reason, so she grabs those too, chastising herself for feeling like a giddy teenager, buying her boyfriend’s favorite things.  

A couple dozen more items end up in the cart, but her mind is distracted, a thousand miles away where Adam is, visiting his sister’s family for a few days. She knows he’ll be back, logically, so it feels ridiculous to her how much she misses his scent, his voice, his smile....how much a cereal box in her hand makes her feel like he’s closer somehow.

Right now, in the middle of an empty supermarket, at two o’clock in the afternoon, this tough, badass, special operations sniper wants nothing more than to have her boyfriend home. How is she supposed to wait two more days?

“Sorry,” she mumbles to the polite old man she almost runs over moving towards the checkout line, and minutes later she’s on the road with a hodgepodge of groceries in the trunk.

The minute she walks through the garage door she knows he’s home.

“Adam?” Calling his name, she rounds the corner from the kitchen and finds him standing there, smiling at her.

“Surprise.”

Adam catches her easily when she rushes toward him and jumps, long smooth legs wrapping around his waist. Laughing as she peppers kisses all over his face, he turns and leans their entwined bodies against the nearest wall, savoring the feel of her pressed against him, in all the right places. God, he missed her so much, and he will tell her that and lots more, as soon as his brain can manage a coherent thought.

They make out like teenagers for a few minutes, soft noises, sighs and moans mixing together, amplifying the pleasure slowly building as their hands roam.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, and she smiles against his mouth. “I might leave more often though, if this is the reception I get.”

“Who says you’re ever leaving again?” Adam chuckles at that. Jaz looks him in the eye, a hand coming up to cup his cheek. “I’m serious. Not sharing you with the world. They can get their own Adam.”

The attempt at levity falls a bit flat. It’s not the words themselves, but what lurks beneath them that has Adam immediately shifting from amusement to mild concern.

“Hey. What’s wrong?”

That soft, intimate tone laces his voice, and Jaz is mildly afraid of the power it holds over her now. Closing her eyes with a shake of her head, she tries to refocus on the way his hard body is still pressing her against the wall. Rolling her hips against him, she moves to kiss him, but Adam is on alert now, and he’s not going to let this go. He shifts his his hips back slightly, and her legs drop to the floor. So, they’re doing this. Now.

“It’s nothing, really. I’m fine.” At his skeptical look she sighs. “It’s just…” Trailing off, she looks down for a second before ducking under his arm and moving towards the kitchen. Adam follows her, a few steps behind, giving her the space her body language is begging for.

Finding the right words proves harder than expected. The wave of frustration begins to rise within her, and having no clue where it even comes from makes it so much worse. The past three days replay in her mind. What is she suppose to say here? That she missed him? That she spent every waking minute daydreaming about his arms around her? That being away from him for three measly days almost drove her mad? That now that they’re here, officially together, she’s afraid she won’t ever survive without him? Isn’t it too soon for all of that?

They’ve grown as close as two people can be without actually being together these past five years, but in all that time, they’ve never done this. Talking openly about their feelings, giving voice to their fears, hopes, and expectations. Five days ago, she thought they were simply taking the next logical step. Giving in to the overwhelming need to explore their relationship - and each other- with nothing holding them back. Right now though, she wonders if they’re right back at square one.

“Talk to me.”

Jaz can’t help but turn towards him at that. She wants to tell him everything, so badly, if only to erase the worry etched on his face. But she’s never done this before….intimacy, opening up. Never cared enough to stick around and do this instead of run.

Even so, she knows none of her past experiences could ever compare to now. Because this is Adam, who is everything she never dreamed she’d find in a man. So, regardless of the past, she will do her best to muddle through this, for him. And it will be messy and uncomfortable, but there’s no other option in her mind. If things between them fail, it won’t be because she didn’t try. Those clear blue eyes she loves are growing more troubled now, and hating that her silence is the cause, she takes a deep breath and jumps in feet first.

“I think it’s just...everything.” She begins with a helpless shrug. “In the last five days, we came back from Turkey, debriefed at the DIA, talked about us- you and me, as a couple- then spent the best night ever together, like... I didn’t know that was even possible...and then you left and--”

Adam frowns at that. “We agreed. You said you were fi--”

“I know what I said, okay?”

The outburst takes them both by surprise, but Adam instantly takes a step closer, cupping her face in his hands before she can retreat. So much is swirling around them, a cloud of questions and future decisions and sensitive conversations about the past- which Xander would say they absolutely need to have. Adam knows they’ll need time to wade through it, and he wonders how much of what’s still to come is driving the frustration pouring out now. Still, amongst all the heavy thoughts floating in his mind, one stands out, and it surprises him that it’s not serious at all.

“The best night ever?” Adam asks, with raised eyebrows and lips curved in a teasing smile.

Jaz huffs out a surprised laugh. “Seriously? That’s what you got from all that?” she asks, and attempts unsuccessfully to squeeze out of his grasp.

Adam sobers, readjusts his strong but tender hold around her neck, thumbs stroking her cheeks. Opening his legs wide, he lowers so they’re at eye level now.

“Jaz, baby. Listen to me.” The pet name draws an almost imperceptible whimper from her, and she brings her hands up, wraps them around his wrists. “I know it’s a lot to take in...us. But I promise you, we’ll figure all this out. I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”  

The words sink in, and the raw, fearless emotion in his gaze catches her off guard. It’s too much, and she knows it’s a bit spineless to want to hide from it now, but she’ll implode if she doesn’t clear her head.

Reaching with her right hand, she runs her fingers over his beard, offering a smile that doesn’t entirely reach her eyes. He leans into her touch, wanting to draw her out, but she turns her body away from him toward the counter instead, one hand closing around the nearest grocery bag as the other drops away from his face.

Once again, Adam lets her go, watching as random food items emerge from the striped reusable totes.

“Well….that’s good to know,” she says, trying to sound nonchalant. “That you’re staying, I mean.” With her back to him, she holds up the cereal box for him to see. “Because, I’ve already bought this awful bird food you like. And those blueberry bagels, which are carb-loaded monstrosities really, and it’d be so rude of you to--”

Large, strong hands on her waist halt her nervous rambling, and when he folds his warm, solid body around her, the tension just oozes out of her with a long, deep exhale. Turning in his arms, she buries her face in his chest and just breathes him in.

Adam stands there, arms wrapped tightly around Jaz, and his mind flashes to the few seconds before, as he’d watched her stiff and shaking lightly, emptying out grocery bags. Her words about cereal and bagels flood his ears now- and the underlying fear in them, the possibility that he may not stick around- hits him like a sucker punch to the gut.

He’d gotten on that plane, because his nieces were waiting and Jaz had been adamant she’d meet them another time. Thinking it was her way of carving out “me” time for herself, he’d acquiesced. But as he’d stood hugging her goodbye outside the TSA line, nose buried in her apple-scented hair, he’d wanted nothing more than to haul her with him through security and never let her go.

With stark clarity, he can now feel this abyss between them, this notion of impermanence and ambiguity hovering around their relationship status, their future. He’d thought they’d have time for all that. His words as he’d explained his reasoning five days ago float through his mind...Jaz. We’re practically together, in every sense of the word…

Now though, he can see that statement wasn’t entirely true. By holding back those three words that mattered the most, he unknowingly allowed doubt to seep in through the cracks. Adam knows that nothing but brutal honesty will do now. It’s the one thing that has always worked to stop her from spiraling, so he decides that’s the way this will go. There is no room for more misunderstandings now. They’re not starting this journey on uneven emotional ground.

Jaz’s muffled voice interrupts his epiphany, and he rubs his cheek against her hair as he feels her mouth moving against his chest.  

“I just missed you. It’s stupid. You were only gone three days, and I know we’ve only been--”

“I love you, Jaz.” The way she freezes against him tugs at his heart. After a second, she inches back, staring at her finger as it toys with a button on his checkered dress shirt. He watches as she takes a deep breath before her brown eyes drift up to his, shining with unshed tears.

“You do?” Uncertainty and hope mingle in her voice.  

“Of course I--” Adam swallows, eyes closing against the flood of remorse.

“I’m such an idiot. I convinced you that we could do this, that the time was right for us... and then I….” Shaking his head, he brings his forehead down against hers with a regretful sigh. “I’m sorry. I love you, okay? I have loved you, for years. I’ll say it as many times as you want. Just, please, don’t cry.”

Unable to find her voice after that, she swallows and moves her head up and down in a nod. Adam opens his eyes in time to see her radiant smile, and can’t help kissing the now pinkish tip of her nose. When she blinks, and the tears finally fall, he wipes them away with his thumbs. He’s desperate now to make her understand, and the words just tumble out.

“I was waiting to tell you, when we had more time. I’ve been...planning it for a while.” That self-deprecating Adam smile, the one he reserves just for her, makes her chuckle through the tears. “I even asked my sister for advice. I was gonna take you out. Our official first date. That’s why I came back early, to surprise you and...God, it doesn’t even matter--”

“Adam.” Jaz’s voice is strong now, sure and steady, and he lets out the proverbial breath he’s been holding. Slowly, she fans her hands on his chest, tracing lazy patterns with her fingers and following them with her eyes.

“You know, our first night together?” She looks up through her lashes now. “It really was the best night ever.”

Adam grins, fast and bright. “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah.”

[prettieparker86]

Too Young || Clay Jensen x Reader

A/N: Part four of "Good Enough" is still coming. This just popped in my head and wouldn't leave until I spit it out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

No.

It’s impossible.

This doesn’t happen to girls like you.

You’re a straight A student, a cheerleader, a member of the honor board.

This happens to careless girls, from broken homes, who take remedial math.

So why are you staring down the very real possibility of a cheap plastic stick holding all the cards to your future?

That’s a stupid question. You know exactly why. Two words, one name… Clay Jensen.

Your best friend since first grade. The only boy you were convinced you could give it up to.

Because everyone was doing it and you felt the pressure.

Sure, Zach, Monty, and Bryce all showed interest, but there was only one boy you trusted to be that intimate and exposed with. The only boy who had been there for you through everything else. Your best friend.

You had taken different routes in high school, but you never lost your closeness. He was there when you were scrawny with braces. You watched Star Wars and Lord of the Rings together. Rode on his bike and listen to music for hours. He saw you when you were no one.

Before the braces came off. Before you filled out. Before you became a cheerleader. Before the other boys suddenly realized you exist.

That’s where the trouble began.

Clay’s been impossible to connect with all week. In fact, you haven’t seen much of him outside of school since the last time you hooked up, because Jeff died the following night. Then Hannah killed herself. The last six weeks have been one big loss after another.

So when you text Clay and ask him to come over, you’re surprised he actually agrees.

When Clay arrives you can’t help, but notice the way your dad doesn’t even bat an eye as you lead him upstairs to your bedroom. Any other boy and your dad would have made a stink about leaving your door open, maybe even insisted you guys stay downstairs, but he’s been convinced Clay is gay for years now.

Maybe he should have worried more…

Your eyes zero in on your bed as you both enter your room. The memories flash through your mind like snapshots in a photo album, of the last time you and Clay were on your bed. The smell of his skin, the taste of his lips, the feel of your hands running through his hair.

You glance over your shoulder and find Clay’s eyes are glued on your bed too before sheepishly shooting up to your own and you know he’s thinking the same thing.

You’re not sure if you guys should sit there or not, but there’s not really anywhere else to sit and the floor would be problematic for the same reasons.

So you settle for your bed, scooting your back against the wall before drawing your knees up to your chest. You feel Clay’s shoulder brush your own as his legs spread out across the mattress, following suit.

You can’t look at him as your hands rest on your knees and you fidget nervously with your fingernails. Your heart picking up its pace as anxiety sweeps over you.

Sitting beside him, you don’t know how you’re going to do this. How you’re supposed to say it.

When you invited him over you knew it was the right thing, you had to tell him, but sitting next to him now, you don’t know what the hell to say.

“Are you alright?” Clay gently asks when you remain silent. You catch his eyes on you from your periphery. He knows you so well. Better than anyone. He can read you like a book.

You want to speak, but you can’t. Your tongue is paralyzed as you shake your head no.

How are you supposed to implode his world? His future is even more set than yours. How are you supposed to send a wrecking ball through that? How are you supposed to say it and make the possibility real?

“I’m sorry about the past few weeks. It’s just that everything with Jeff and then Hannah. I’ve been dealing this thing, I can’t get into yet, but I promise…” He starts to explain on a guilty breath, because he thinks your upset he’s been ignoring you. And you are.

You had thought he was just grieving, but after you saw him hanging around kids at school, especially Tony and cruising all over town with those damn headphones on, you started to think it was personal.

You started to think he was mad at you or regretted what happened, but none of that mattered now. That was the least of your problems.

“I’m late,” You blurt out on a shaky breath before he can explain any further. Before you lose your nerve.

Clay instantly stops rambling. “Late for what exactly?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowing in question as his eyes narrowed upon you.

He doesn’t get it and you can’t say it.

Finally turning to him, your eyes drill into his gentle baby blues. Imploring him to understand. Begging your best friend to get the words you can’t say.

And he does, as an unnerved “Oh…” slips past his lips before he swallows hard.

Twice, it had only happened twice, because the first time was quick and hurt, it had only made sense to give it a second try. Because secretly you couldn’t stop thinking about him and it after the first time. Because you could see in his eyes he was thinking the same thing.

Clay was terrified the first time. His fear comforted you. Matched your own and reminded you why it had to be him and not some jock who had gone to this rodeo more than once.

But the second time… Clay was nervous, but his kisses were gentle and sure as he settled between your thighs. Despite what everyone thought about Clay, he could be very passionate and driven when he set his mind to something. When he set his mind to you…

That was your downfall.

Why did you have to tempt fate? Why did you have to fall for your best friend?

“We were careful.” He finally speaks as his throat bobs with another deep swallow.

“I know.” You plea, your breath desperate off your throat. “I- I bought a test, but I couldn’t…”

You watch as the blood slowly drains from Clay’s face. As your already pale best friend turns ill. As the realization slowly sinks deeper in. The sight of him makes this painfully real for you too, makes it hard for you to catch your breath. Your heart starts to pound hard as your stomach twist into suffocating knots.

“I’m gonna be sick.” You blurt out as you push off your bed and race for your bathroom.

You dry heave. Nothing comes out. You haven’t been able to eat all day. Your nerves are shot.

As you walk slowly back into your bedroom, you shut your door and stall.

Clay’s standing next to your bed waiting for you. He’s gaze is heavy upon you. Fear of god in his eyes.

In all the years you’ve known Clay, all the blunders you’ve been through, all the scary moments, all the firsts, you’ve never seen him look as terrified as he does right now.

You can’t move. Your feet don’t work as your slowly wrap your arms around yourself.

“It’s just nerves. It doesn’t mean anything.” You explain, trying desperately to convince yourself and him.

“It’s just the stress of losing Jeff and Hannah. I’m ok… I’m ok.” Your voice cracks and breaks as tears slip and fall down your face. Fear so heavy inside your chest you feel yourself shaking from the power of it.

This can’t be happening. It can’t.

You’re a good kid. You have a future ahead of you. You’re going to college back east. You’re going to have an amazing career at your dream job. Meet a nice guy. Settle down. Get married. Then you’ll become a mom.

Not now. Not like this.

You were kids. Just stupid kids who did something other kids do all the time. Why were you going to have to pay for it with the rest of your life?

“Hey,” Clay’s weary breath calls as he goes to you. Wrapping you so tightly in his arms you almost feel like you can’t breathe, but you need this. Need to feel him as close as possible right now.

“I’m here.” Clay whispers, his breath warm against the crown of your head that’s tucked under his chin as you bury your face against his chest.

“I’m really scared, Clay.” You finally admit as you burrow in deep against his chest and your tears soak into his shirt.

You feel him clutch you tighter as he nuzzles the side of your face.

“Me too, but for what it’s worth, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” He promises against the shell of your ear.

[insertimaginativenamehere]

14 for Em and Hwan

Excuse me getting long and rambly and not going in the direction I planned to this got very, very out of hand. These guys are so, so unhealthy. Appallingly unhealthy. The worst. I meant this to be happier anyway and it being an impulse thing of joy and then it got really fucking angsty so just...ignore me I’m bad.

14. ‘I don’t have the words right now, so here’s a kiss’

-

Em’s leg was bouncing uncontrollably in the car. It was one reason he was a terrible driver, though he didn’t like people knowing that. The other reason was driving involved being moderately sober and he sucked major dick at that. He sucked at a lot of basic life skills.

“Will you cut that out, asshole?” Yas muttered, hands clenched on the wheel like they were constricting around his throat. “If you’re going to be this jumpy, you can get out and walk.”

“Yas, it’s pissing it down.”

Yas smiled darkly. “You can get out and fucking walk.”

Em sighed, pulling his legs up to his chest to stop them twitching. “I’ll have you know I’ve not had a fucking drink today. Or yesterday. Or this whole fucking week. Except water. Yas, I’m drinking water. What kind of bullshit is this? The only clear liquid I like to ingest is vodka and I’m not even allowed that on this goddamn medication. Hey Yas, I hate being crazy, you know?”

“You’re not-” Yas cut off. “I hate you too, Em. You’re a total prick. I’m only giving you a ride now because you and Hwan have both been utter wrecks since you went on a break. Especially him.” She sighed. “He doesn’t cope well without you. The pair of you are so unhealthy, I’d say it’s for the best you’ve separated but it isn’t. You’re not the same when you aren’t together.”

“Can we focus on me not drinking? Because I feel like that’s noteworthy.”

“Fine, I’ll stroke your ego. Well done, Emmanuel. You didn’t go off the rails. Meanwhile, you were letting Hwan fall apart.”

“I wasn’t-” Em hesitated. “I didn’t want to hurt him. I just wanted him to maybe break out of my orbit. I thought it was the best thing to do. We could get back when he was doing better. All I want is him to be okay. All I want...is him.” Em choked, wiping away fog from his eyes. “I love him so much. Jaya’s been missing him like hell. She doesn’t stop talking ‘Papa when is Appa coming home’ ‘Papa do you not love Appa anymore’, she doesn’t ever let up. God.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Was I ever that relentless?”

Yas chuckled. “It’s your goddamn defining trait. It always has been. Hwan’s been there her entire life. As far as she’s concerned, he’s her dad too. She’s a good kid.”

“She’s the best kid,” Em corrected. “My bundle of hell. Mine, Ani’s and Hwan’s.” They were pulling up outside Hwan’s place and panic hit him. “Yas, what do I even say? I fucked up, he thinks this is how it’ll always go. What do I say that’ll tell him how wrong I was and that I made a mistake and I need him. I always need him but like...really need him.”

“Tell him that?”

“He’s heard that song and dance a thousand times before,” Em muttered. “He won’t buy it. We’re awful, Yas. We’re never gonna be an a-okay all-star couple. We’ll just be two disasters, imploding together.”

“Alright Mr Pretentious Hipster, get out the fucking car and go actually talk.”

“Fuck you, Yas,” he said boldly, mustering up a smile and darting out into the downpour, rushing up toward Hwan’s house. It was always raining in dramatic reunion scenes, he thought. The rain could fuck off, along with Yas. But Yas stuck around, waiting to see how things went, and so did the rain, albeit for less convenient reasons.

He knocked on the door.

There was silence. He knocked again, then gave up any hope of dignity.

“Hwan? It’s me. Em fucking Asshole King of the Ass Empire full of Shit. Shit, was that too self-deprecating? This isn’t like a...take me back out of pity thing this is a-”

The door opened.

Hwan peered out at him dubiously. His eyes were ringed with heavy bags and red from crying, undoubtedly. His clothes were grubby and he smelt of cheap booze.

“Goddammit, Hwan,” Em murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Hwan scowled. “Don’t go blaming yourself. I’m the fuck-up here. You just like feelin’ guilty, don’t you, makes you feel like a martyr, woe is me.”

“Hwan,” Em said, sharply. “I didn’t come here to argue.”

Hwan snorted. “What did you come here for? To apologise and say you want me back? So you can ditch me again when it next gets difficult?”

Em didn’t know what to say. Because it was true, wasn’t it, that had happened? “I thought you’d be better offer trying to live without me so that we could live together again.”

“Yeah?” Hwan scoffed. “Well, look at me. Doing so much better. Almost like I need you to get by, and you don’t.” He waved a hand. “Look at you, all neat and tidy and life in order for once and you don’t need me.”

“I need you,” Em managed. “Hwan, I need you. I’m medicated to hell right now, that’s how I’m doing okay. I’ve been skipping visits with Jaya because I don’t want her to see me down. My life is fucking shit right now. You’re not in it. And that’s not the kind of life I want. I don’t know what to say to convince you I’m serious, that this won’t happen again. I don’t...I don’t have enough words in any language. Nothing covers how sorry I am and how much I regret letting you go. So...uh...” He moved closer, praying Hwan wouldn’t flinch away. “This works best if I pick you up. Can I pick you up?”

Was that light in his eyes tears or hope? Hwan nodded wordlessly and before he could say anything, put himself down, devalue his own worth, Em scooped him up.

“I hope this says all I need to right now.” He kissed Hwan softly.

He felt Hwan holding onto him, clinging tighter. “Don’t ever do that to me again, Emmanuel.”

Em cracked a jackassed smile despite feeling like a total bastard. He held up his pinky finger. “Pinky swear?”

And Hwan smiled too, interlacing their fingers together. “Pinky swear.”

From the car, Yas honked the horn. “Get a fucking room!”

“Piss off already, Yas,” Em fired back. She did.

The clouds cleared.

Sun.

[withlovebangtan-blog]

Seasons Change (Chapter 1)

Genre: fluff (Yoongi x OC feat. Jimin)

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: You seem like a complete mess compared to the composed stranger you meet on the bus one morning, but after years of aimlessly drifting through life, he might be the one bit of inspiration you need to stay grounded.

Summer

You step onto the bus just as the doors are about to close, out of breath and probably looking like a frazzled mess. You grimace after receiving a few glares from the others for holding up the bus and possibly making them late to whatever event they’re off to.

Mumbling an apology, you search for an open seat, but most of them are full, the others shared with one of the disgruntled looking passengers. You’re about to give up and take a chance on a snobby businesswoman when you see a glimmer of hope at the very back of the bus. He’s slumped against the window, gazing out and paying no mind to the disheveled weirdo at the front of the bus.

You quickly make your way to the empty spot beside him, trying your best not to be too much of a disturbance to any other people who are already irritated with you. Of course, you fail, nearly tripping over someone’s foot and dropping your bag in your haste. But even after the commotion, he never so much as glances in your direction. Eventually, you collapse into the seat and toss the bag onto the floor in front of you with a relieved sigh. You try to smooth down some pieces of hair that flew astray from your short trek.

“Thanks,” you whisper gratefully.

At that moment, the man finally looks at you. He squints like he’s only just now realized that you‘re there next to him and then nods. You smile politely and get halfway through a greeting before seeing the earphones hidden under his hair. The dark brown locks are flattened beneath a black cap.

You mouth “sorry” and turn back to the bag at your feet, pulling out your own pair of earphones. You gaze longingly out the window the stranger is leaning on.

Honestly, you’re slightly jealous that he got to a window seat before you. It usually helps you think when you can stare at the beautiful scenery around you. You contemplate asking to switch but quickly decide against it. He’s already kind enough to let you sit here, even after delaying everyone, and anything more could cause him to change his mind.

Besides, you have to admit that the view right next to you isn’t so bad either.

The stranger has a look about him that you can only describe as a soft elegance. Some features are rounded like his nose while others have a bit of an edge like his jaw, but they all work together perfectly. He isn’t the conventional standard of handsome that you see every day, but that’s what makes him so refreshing.

Slowly, cautiously, you reach into your bag and pull out the notebook you keep just in case. It had gone untouched for so long that you had forgotten how the smooth surface felt on your fingertips. Not wanting to waste the first spark of inspiration in years, you immediately get to work.

You start with the easiest part for you and trace the jaw, allowing your pencil to move freely with every line. The point dips into the paper delicately as it follows the path along his jaw and moves onto the neck, nose, ears.

The outline is there, meant to be a rough sketch instead of a fully detailed art piece, but you’re still bothered by not being able to picture the way his eyes are set. His face is towards the window in such a way that shields them from view. You lean over in your seat, pretending to grab something from your bag, but you still can’t see them well enough. You sit back up with a defeated sigh, closing the cover of your notebook, when a quiet clearing of a throat grabs your attention. Turning your head to the sound, you meet those same eyes that were such a mystery before.

Uh oh. Busted.

You expect to see the usual hint of irritation under a polite façade that you’re so used to getting from people, but you don’t. Rather, his dark irises are lit with a small spark of curiosity.

“You would probably be better off taking a picture,” he mumbles, but his tone isn’t malicious. “I was trying to stay still, but I think my neck started cramping up.” He rubs the back of his neck, as if for emphasis.

“Oh. No no, it’s okay. I was just…just…” You were prepared to fire off an explanation, a regular occurrence after being caught so many times before, but this was definitely not what you expected.

A nearly microscopic lift at the corners of his mouth has you smiling like an idiot, which you quickly try to hide with a forced cough.

“Actually, I don’t really like taking pictures. Never as good as drawing the real thing. Which doesn’t make any sense does it? Because drawing is kind of the same thing as a picture. I don’t know. Besides, the camera in my phone isn’t very good anyways and…” you ramble off, realizing how ridiculous you must sound. But he gives you an understanding nod like he knows exactly what you mean and looks away.

“Sorry for bothering you,” you say, embarrassed. You definitely seem like a crazy person.

The bus reaches your stop in the city half an hour later. You gather your stuff together, the awkward situation from before almost completely forgotten. Almost.

You jump up before the bus can even come to a complete stop, practically fleeing from the stranger. You can’t risk another humiliating encounter this morning or you might actually implode. In your haste to get off, you miss the last step and lose your footing. Before you are able to tumble to your death, two hands grip your sides firmly, stabilizing you.

“Be careful,” a voice grumbles in your ear. The hands are immediately pulled back again, leaving you to clumsily step off.

You whip around to thank whoever helped you, but he’s already walking in the other direction down the street, that same brown hair peaking beneath a black cap.

“____! ____! A little help over here please?” Jimin shouts to you, knocking you out of your reverie. The man is glancing around frantically to get someone’s attention. He’s carrying a large pile of dirty dishes on the verge of crashing to the floor.

“Sorry! Sorry!” you yell back, feeling like the millionth time you’ve had to say that today. You snap into action, rushing from your spot behind the counter to take on a few plates. You trail after Jimin into the kitchen area behind a swinging door and place the plates in the sink, rinsing them off with the large hose beside it.

You can feel him casting worried glances to the side at you, a worried expression wrinkling his brow, but you ignore him, determined on getting an especially sticky substance to come off. Eventually, after every cup and piece of silverware is scrubbed clean, Jimin dries his hands on his apron and turns to you.

“So are you going to tell me what’s up or do I have to beg you?” he asks, hands on his hips.

You sigh, knowing that there’s no way to escape the interrogation. Of course, it’s absurd to still be stuck on the bus incident, but you can’t ignore the warmth you get in your chest when you recall the feeling from drawing again. A feeling you thought you’d lost a long time ago.

“I met this guy-“

“I knew it! It’s always a guy.” Jimin smiles triumphantly, thinking he’s cracked the code.

“No, Jimin. Not like that.” When he waves his hand for more details, you groan and hang your head. “I completely humiliated myself.”

“What? How?”

“Because he…” you trail off, afraid to even say the next words. “He caught me trying to draw him.”

“Wait-what?” his voice raises, and you have to shush him so none of the customers at the front hear. You’re thankful for the loud banging of pots and pans from other workers and chefs. “You’re drawing again? But I thought you couldn’t-“

“Yeah so did I. But I don’t know…I saw that guy and I guess something just happened ya know? It was weird but…”

“But what?”

“But good. Really good.” You smile to yourself.

“Hey! What are you two doing in there? We still have customers!” you both jump at the owner’s booming voice and bump into each other trying to hurry out of the kitchen.

After yet another long day of taking orders and busting tables, you want nothing more than to take a hot shower and curl up in bed until noon. Unfortunately, you have to suffer through another bus ride before you can do either.

You stand at the bus stop, rocking back and forth in your sneakers while you wait. It finally pulls up, and you get on, suddenly receiving an odd rush of anticipation as you peer over everyone’s heads, seeking out the person from earlier in the day. Surprisingly, you spot him and begin walking up the aisle, a smile forming on your lips.

But as you approach closer, you notice the bag resting on the seat next to him. The seat you were sitting just hours before. The smile instantly drops from your face.

Just then the man looks up at you, and wordlessly slides the bag off the seat to sit at his own feet. “My name is Yoongi by the way.”

A/N: okay i guess i lied…this probably wont be a miniseries. why cant i just write a oneshot like everyone else ughhh