#it’s been a hot minute since I’ve done anything request related but i figured these could be whipped up pretty quickly on a game

[robo-milky]

Passpartout 2 Shenanigans - Requests Open

I need things to sell 😔 (TWST Charas + OCs OK, these are not going to be serious-)

(This game is how I destress)

[the-last-kenobi]

Most of your fics absolutely destroyed me emotionally so, on my own risk, may I request #13 “You shouldn’t be this easy to carry" with Qui-Gon and padawan Obi-Wan? Thank you!

Ohhh I’m happy to write this one! Thank you! (Always pleased to hear I’ve emotionally wrecked innocent people lol)

From this various prompts list.

_

Qui-Gon descended the ramp of his ship with something less than his usual grace, his expression was rather sour. Other than that, he looked his usual self, untidy but comfortable and serene.

He waved to the attendant heading towards the ship, and bowed to a small mechanic droid that squeaked with excitement, ran in circles around him, and then darted off after the attendant.

Qui-Gon chuckled. He paused to take a deep breath, tasting the metallic scent of Coruscant on the air, but also the warm and familiar notes of the Temple, of home. It was good to be back. Tedious diplomatic assignments that ran well overtime were nothing worth dwelling on, especially when it was done alone.

“Master Jinn!” a warm voice called.

He turned his head and saw Shaak Ti walking towards him, a smile on her lovely face with its striking colors.

“Knight Ti,” he greeted her. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” she answered. “I’m just about to depart to Alderaan; it’s a royal wedding and I’m the token Jedi invitee,” she informed him, but there was no offense in her voice. Alderaan was well known to be genuinely welcoming, and had been more than courteous in their dealings with the Order for centuries on end.

“Enjoy it,” Qui-Gon advised her. “Weddings are rarely something you’d like to miss.”

“I will,” she promised. “Oh, is your Padawan around? I was hoping to catch him when he returned, he forgot to sign off on his departure notice and was scheduled for three shifts in the crèche, which he obviously missed.”

Qui-Gon’s head tilted to one side, and he frowned.

It was obvious that Shaak Ti believed that Obi-Wan had accompanied him on his mission, which had in fact been a solo assignment. The twenty-one-year-old Padawan had remained behind for class rotations.

And Obi-Wan had never missed... well, anything. He was notoriously early for everything, beyond punctual. It was almost annoying.

Perhaps he’d finally slipped into a belated teenage fit of laziness, or he’d fallen so behind on class work that he’d forgotten about the crèche. Both would be extremely out of character, but one instance of this in nearly nine years of training could perhaps be excused.

Shaak Ti was waiting for an answer.

“I’ll talk to him,” he promised, revealing nothing. “Thank you for letting me know. I had no idea.”

She waved it off. “These things happen. You have a good student on your hands; he’s easily forgiven.”

Qui-Gon smiled.

~

The door to their quarters opened for him with a casual wave of the hand. Jedi did not lock their doors often; privacy was an understood thing, something not casually breached. No Jedi would enter another’s rooms without first asking permission.

He wasn’t sure what he expected.

Obi-Wan in the common area, reading.

Or Obi-Wan out and about, somewhere off with some of his more trouble making friends. (Quinlan Vos.)

He was not expecting to find Obi-Wan huddled in the corner of their kitchenette, half-hidden in his cloak, knees drawn up under his chin, crying.

Obi-Wan saw him enter and flinched away, shuddering.

Qui-Gon stared.

The entire scene was so unexpected, so wrong, that for a full five seconds he simply stood there, unable to process it. Obi-Wan had buried his face in his knees and was attempting to stifle his tears, seemingly by holding his breath, which was only making him shake harder.

Qui-Gon jolted out of his paralysis and stepped nearer, dropping onto one knee, sensing that looming over his Padawan was not going to help.

“Padawan?” he asked cautiously.

Obi-Wan looked up reluctantly. His face was a sickly grey; his cheeks were bright red and his blue eyes were feverish. They darted around, seeming to fix on nothing.

“Obi-Wan,” the Master tried again, warily reaching out a hand and resting it on top of one of Obi-Wan’s, clenched around his knee.

Obi-Wan took a rattling breath, more tears spilling down his cheeks. “...What... day is it...?” he gasped.

Qui-Gon’s chest tightened with something close to terror. What in all the galaxy was going on here?

“It’s the 29th,” he said gently. “Taungsday. I returned a day late from my solo mission. Do you remember that?”

Obi-Wan’s tears had increased throughout the brief speech. “Y-yes.”

“All right,” said Qui-Gon, struggling to remain as calm and patient as possible. “All right. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, his expression crumbling. Suddenly he very much resembled the boy Qui-Gon had met on Bandomeer, uncertain and frightened, although even then he had not cried. This was different.

“Are you sure?” Qui-Gon pressed.

Obi-Wan nodded, strangling a loud sob by clapping one hand over his mouth. He said something, but of course it was impossible to understand behind his clamped fingers.

“What?” asked his Master.

“...so...stupid,” Obi-Wan burst out angrily through his tears. “I just... don’t feel well.”

“Don’t feel well?” Qui-Gon stared at his apprentice in confusion. “You’re sick? Obi-Wan, why didn’t you just go to the Halls?”

Obi-Wan shuddered. More tears slid down over his flushed cheeks. “I...I...I fell,” he said, sounding deeply uncertain. “I was working, and it was late, and I fell. I think I fell. I can’t walk. I can barely move. I don’t know how long it’s been—”

Qui-Gon was already moving, alarm ringing in his head like sirens. In two seconds he had Obi-Wan in his arms, cradled like a child, his head resting under Qui-Gon’s chin.

“You shouldn’t be this easy to carry,” he said tensely. “You haven’t had anything to eat or drink since you fell?”

“Some... some water,” Obi-Wan murmured. His skin was blazing hot against Qui-Gon’s, a sick and feverish heat. He had stopped crying — his tears seemed to have stemmed from a combination of confusion and shame, not pain — but he seemed on the verge of passing out. “I... I got some water... don’t remember when...”

“Stay awake,” Qui-Gon ordered. He was striding down the hallways, ignoring the few bystanders who watched them pass with bewilderment and concern. He did send a grateful nod to one young woman who raised her comm in her hand at him, asking a silent question, and at his gesture raised it to her lips and murmured ‘Tell the Healers that Master Jinn is bringing in his Padawan. Have someone ready.’

Obi-Wan murmured something vague.

“Stay awake,” insisted Qui-Gon. “Don’t fall asleep.”

Obi-Wan moaned but nodded, forcing his eyes to stay open. “I...I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” The words came out harsh and insincere in Qui-Gon’s urgency, and he realized it, because he dropped a swift kiss to the top of the fevered head in apology. Obi-Wan relaxed ever so slightly.

They arrived in the Halls of Healing and were immediately received by a Healer and his apprentice, who had Obi-Wan safely tucked in a bed and monitored in less than two minutes. Obi-Wan had closed his eyes against the bright light and seemed in danger of falling asleep again.

“Stay awake just a little longer, Padawan Kenobi,” the Healer instructed kindly. “I’m fairly sure of your diagnosis but I have to be more certain before I can administer treatment. Then you can sleep.”

“Yes, Healer,” rasped the young man.

Qui-Gon watched from the wall, his hands tucked deep in his sleeves to hide how they trembled. The shock of the last quarter hour was setting in, and he scrambled to keep his wits about him, worried about what this diagnosis might be. He still remembered Obi-Wan’s confusion about the day, his bewildered tears, and that memory was not going to be going away anytime soon.

He had been far too light in his arms.

Just how long had Obi-Wan been trapped in their rooms, unable to call for help and too confused to figure out a way around that? How long had he gone without eating and sleeping?

He found out.

An hour later, Obi-Wan was fast asleep, hooked up to an IV and blissfully pain-free due to a dose of pills he had managed to swallow. The Healer turned to Qui-Gon with a weary smile.

“You’re all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine. I’ve just returned from a mission, but I wasn’t hurt.”

“That’s good to know. I was asking about shock, however,” the Healer said gently. “I know this can’t have been a pleasant homecoming.”

Qui-Gon’s throat tightened, but he said nothing.

The Healer seemed to understand. “Obi-Wan has contracted a strain of the flu,” he explained, moving past the brief surge of emotion. “As you know, most strains of the flu are easily combated these days and many species have evolved or inoculated to the point where it’s hardly a concern. But sometimes the flu is stronger. In this case, it’s clear that it’s job was made easy. I don’t think Padawan Kenobi was eating or sleeping properly before the sickness began to set in. It would explain the severity of his malnutrition, and his confusion.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes flickered to the bed where Obi-Wan was sleeping, the fever still burning in his cheeks.

“...How long?” he asked.

“A few days at most,” the Healer said. “But I suspect it’s a habit that’s related to stress and overwork. Does Obi-Wan struggle with stress or insomnia?”

The Master hesitated a moment, opening his mouth to deny it, and then stopping to think better of it.

“...Maybe,” he admitted. The hesitation stung. Shouldn’t he know? “He’s very private with his habits when we’re in Temple. He prefers to study alone in his room, and we usually only manage to share one meal a day during his busier semesters, if that.”

The Healer nodded. He didn’t look or sound at all accusatory when he said, “That’s understandable. I’m going to suggest keeping a closer eye on that. Don’t force him out of his comfort zone, at least not right away, but make sure he understands that three square meals — or better yet, a light meal or snack every two or three hours — is expected of him. As is sleep.”

Qui-Gon nodded, his throat tightening again to the point of pain.

“Rest easy, Master Jinn,” said the Healer, briefly laying a supportive hand on the taller Jedi’s shoulder. “He’ll pull through this. The illness, and everything else. I believe it’s nothing more than a bad habit formed from good intentions. There are crueler demons out there.”

“Yes, I know,” said Qui-Gon. And he did know. One didn’t reach Jedi Mastery without learning the galaxy for what it was.

But he didn’t think he would ever quite move past the shock of today, of carrying his adult apprentice in his arms, sick to the point of tears and helplessness, and then discovering that he could possibly have prevented this if he had paid a little more attention to Obi-Wan’s work habits.

Well. They would, as the Healer said, overcome this.

Qui-Gon drew up a chair to the side of the bed, resolving to wait until Obi-Wan woke, and slowly reached out and set his hand next to his Padawan’s. After a moment, Obi-Wan stirred, and even in his sleep he gave a contented sigh and shifted his hand, his fingers searching blindly for his Master’s hand. Qui-Gon took it and held it tightly.

They had overcome so many things in nearly a decade together.

They could handle this.

And besides, Qui-Gon told himself, even after Obi-Wan was Knighted, he would always be here to watch his back.

He would never abandon Obi-Wan.

_

[rreyie]

sheets

summary- you think it’s about time to explore sex in your relationship. but will levi agree?

warnings- smut, unprotected sex, oral sex, dacryphilia, a little usage of pet names at the end

a/n- this fic is just basically canon levi if he was hornier, isayama confirmed he is in fact a sub so i’m doing what i can with that information

*this work is a part of the 500 follower milestone special

bringing up this conversation wasn’t easy.

you had been dating levi for about a year now, since the rumbling had stopped. you two talked about getting married, buying a house, but somehow he had always seemed to avoid the topic of sex.

you knew he went through some stuff during his childhood which made him a little apprehensive to engaging in any physical contact. you were understanding of this and took things slow, which he seemed to appreciate. you’ve only suggested it once, but even then levi seemed oblivious to the fact that you were ready for the next step in your relationship.

you had eventually come to the conclusion that if you wanted this, you needed to be upfront with it and tell him directly what you needed.

you decided to make a move one night when you two were about to settle down for the night. levi was drinking a cup of tea while reading a rather large novel. he licked a finger and turned the page as you came walking into the bedroom.

“hey levi”, you say, climbing into bed next to him. “whatcha readin’?”

his head turned up to you, calm gaze meeting yours as he shut the book. “just something i found on the bookshelf. thought it would be interesting to read something other than documents relating to the war.”

you nodded and pulled the plush grey comforter over your body until it came up to your chest, and snuggled into levi’s body. you could feel him tense up a little bit, but then wrapped an arm around you and pulled you in closer.

gradually, you scooted your backside to the point where you were laying on his lap, head resting on his toned chest. the arm that was once wrapped around you was now resting on your head, fingers gliding though your hair. he placed a soft kiss on your head, and rubbed it.

you returned the favor, peppering small kisses along his jawline and on his cheeks. his face was rather cold, but you had gotten used to the feeling since you started to date him. you took a hand and brushed his raven hair out of the way of his forehead and kissed above his eyebrow and on his forehead. he moved his face so that his lips aligned with yours and pressed the back of your forehead so that lips would crash with his. levi had not always been a good kisser, but he learned once you told him what to do.

the kiss got deeper and deeper until you two were practically making out, something that rarely occurred between you two because he thought that making out was too sloppy for him. his tongue fought with yours, soft lips continuously bashing up against yours.

you pull away from the kiss, a look of discontent on levi’s face as he pulls you in again.

“wait, levi...” you say. “i-i wanted to try something new, only if you’re okay with it.”

his brows furrowed, and he sat himself up so that his back was against the headboard. “what?”

“well, i was thinking that we could take this a step further- only if you’re comfortable. i don’t want to make you scared or anything.” you could feel your cheeks begin to warm, but levi’s face was pale and for the most part emotionless as always.

he raised an eyebrow to this. “what exactly are you suggesting, y/n?”

you sigh, and take a deep breath. you anticipated that he wouldn’t know what you were talking about. but now that the time had finally come to be clear with your request, butterflies erupted in your stomach.

“i want to have sex.”

his silver eyes widened, and he took his hands off of you but still let you remain in the position you were in. that was an indication that he wasn’t too mad.

“well, i uh...” he stammered. “i haven’t really thought about it, actually i’ve never thought about it. it sounds gross-“

“oh okay then. i’ll go to bed then-“

“wait, no.” he interrupted. “i never said i didn’t want to. i just don’t know how...”

“that’s alright”, you say, straddling his hips. “i’ll show you what to do. just sit back and relax.”

you press a kiss to his lips once more before focusing your attention on his crotch covered by his thin pair of pajama pants. you slip a hand down into them just so your fingers grazed upon his cock.

“ah, oh god-“ levi chokes. your hand retreats.

“what’s wrong? did i hurt you..?”

“no...” he says. “i’m just- just not used to being touched like that.. please just keep going.”

you nodded and proceeded to move your curious fingers in between where his groin and boxers met, slipping your hand through his boxers where you could feel him. his cock was hot, throbbing and pulsating though his skin. you could see him wince, but that only made you go further.

you pulled his pants and boxers completely down so he was exposed. taking his length in your hand, you pump him slowly to try and get him hard. his tip began to become more prominent, the head turning a nice shade of red. a bead of white began to leak from his tip. you smeared it around, making him fist the sheets eagerly. he mumbled a few curses under his breath.

“enjoying that?” you ask in a half teasing voice. this made him flash a warning glare at you. you never knew that he would enjoy a handjob this much, being the one who was grossed out by the idea of intercourse.

he wasn’t necessarily a large guy down there, hence being malnourished as a child. but you weren’t going to judge yet, you haven’t even gotten to get him inside of you.

you figured that you had been fisting him long enough that he probably wanted something more that the hand, so you lowered your head down to his groin and put your tongue right on the tip. it was hot underneath the slippery flesh of your tongue, but that was exactly how you liked it. you gently licked him starting from the bottom of his throbbing shaft up, making a groan slip from his mouth. your head shot up instantly, smirking at the sight of levi panting even though you’ve done almost nothing.

you continue and begin to slide your mouth around his cock, and his eyes began to roll into the back of his head. it was almost funny how sensitive he was, seeing how his tongue started to hang out of his mouth as you continued to envelope him.

“f-fuck...” he whined. you chuckled, sending the vibrations through his cock and making him thrust his hips into you, tip hitting the back of your throat. you lifted your head up from him and coughed, levi pouting because you had stopped your ministrations.

“ready to actually get into it?” you ask him, beginning to unbutton your shirt. his eyes were half-lidded, likely as a result of the pleasure he was just immersed in. a little bit of drool hung out of his mouth, cheeks heated and a shade of red. he looked so pretty like this, all fucked out even though you’ve only blown him for all of five minutes.

his gaze focused on your chest as you slid out of your nightshirt. he had seen you naked plenty of times before, but it seemed to just feel different tonight. perhaps less innocent then the past few times.

“lay down for me, and just relax”, you say to him as he nods and lays himself down on the mattress of your bed. you pushed your panties to the side to reveal your mound, already somewhat wet from the past activity. levi gulped and grabbed your hips to drag them on top of his.

“if anything i do is uncomfortable, please just tell me”, you said as you began to sink down on his length. his grey eyes rolled into the back of his head, grabbing the sheets even harder than before.

“ah-oh fuck-“ he groaned. his words were strained as if someone was choking him. but your hands weren’t on his throat, they were intertwined with his to have something to hold on to. it made it seem more intimate, more close than you two have ever been.

you started to bounce yourself on his lap, feeling him slide between your walls. though he wasn’t necessarily well endowed, he still managed to fit nice and snug inside of you.

“h-how’s it feel, love?” you ask him. but he can’t speak right now, since the new sensations are taking over his body. his balls are starting to tighten, blood rushing to his dick. “i get it baby boy, you’re feeling new things.”

all of a sudden, you see a little tear drop from his left eye and run down the heated flesh of his cheek. a barely audible sob escapes his lips, jet black hair all in his face and splayed out on the pillow.

“oh... you’re crying?” you ask, a soothing tone in your voice, but you don’t stop your bouncing. “it’s alright.” you take your thumb and place it on his cheek, wiping the tear away.

“j-j-just feels... so good...” he stutters, voice cracking with each word.

“i know, i know”, you coo. “i’m taking good care of you. just try- try to relax.”

your pace quickens and his grip around your hands seems to tighten, another moan failing to stifle from his mouth. his moans were so goddamn pretty, they weren’t like most men. they were gentle and quiet, breathy and somewhat high pitched. well fuck, what else did you expect? he’s always pretty.

“think i’m- m’ gonna cum” he gasps. and to be honest, you were about to as well.

“i know baby, but can you wait a moment? just for me?” you ask. “just gotta- oh my god, right there-!” you yelp as you tilt your angle and find out exactly where levi can hit your sweet spot.

the repeated motions are enough to send you over the edge, making you twitch as levi lets out another cry and spills himself into you, not even caring to pull out. his tongue was hanging out of his mouth, a bit of drool at the tip. he was like a dog, completely at your mercy.

after you’ve come down from your high, you take a look at how levi was holding up. a sweet smile forms on your face as you notice how he is, panting with cum littering his abdomen.

laying down next to him, you brush a few strands of hair out of his pale face. his tired, hooded eyes look up to you, an amazed expression painted on his face.

“you did so well. i’m proud, levi”, you say sweetly, placing a kiss on his soft lips.

he kissed you back briefly, but the moment soon was cut short after he realized how much cum was everywhere. he shot up from his position and immediately sprung off the bed.

“levi what are you-“

“fuck, there’s cum absolutely everywhere”, he groaned. “get these sheets in the laundry while i clean up. then hop in with me, we’re gonna sleep on the couch tonight, alright?”

you giggle. though you did like levi when he was all sweet and submissive, you had to admit that you did miss his bossy side.

[theoreticslut]

“You don’t share real well”

pairing: fred weasley x reader x george weasley

requested: no

word count: 2k

warnings: none, fluff maybe

A/N: this is totally just a fluff idea I had based on how I’ve rarely ever shared a bed with anyone and how totally inept I am at leaving the blankets alone. If I don’t rip them off the bed to form myself into a burrito, then they’re kicked off the end of the bed. I hope some people relate to this or at the very least find it funny and enjoyable. Leave me comments and let me know what you think! Xx

Taglist: send me a message/comment if you’d like to be added to a general taglist!!

It had been a long few months since you’ve last seen your two best friends. When Fred and George decided to drop out of school, it became nearly impossible to see them since you couldn’t easily leave the castle. You sent letters back and forth nearly every day, and you had managed to sneak out once or twice, but it wasn’t the same as what you were used to with them.

In one of their last letters they sent you they said that they’d meet you at the burrow before their brother’s wedding.

That was still about two weeks ago though and you were more than excited to see them. You missed the two idiots more than anything, except you couldn’t say anything about them visiting to anyone else as they wanted it to be a surprise.

You had been staying at the burrow pretty much since school let out as your parents weren’t really around. Molly didn’t mind because in all honestly she saw you as a second daughter. She knew how close you and the twins were, as well as how the younger two Weasleys looked up to you as an older sibling

“Y/n, dear. Why don’t you go up to bed? You look exhausted.” Molly suggests after you’ve zoned out for the fourth time in twenty minutes.

You had been helping prepare for the wedding; making sure the house was tidied up from top to bottom, make sure the yard was in top condition, helping prep all the food and bake the desserts. Truthfully you have been busy for the last week.

“Are you sure, Molly? I’d like to help finish up.” You yawn even though it’s only about 9:30 at night.

“I’m sure, dear. Go on to bed, now. Tomorrow will be a bit of relaxation before the big day.”

You nod, smiling sleepily at the woman you’ve come to see as a mum. You were more than grateful for her, but felt guilty for not being able to keep up.

She reassured you again that you were fine to go to bed and nearly had to push you towards the stairs herself.

“Goodnight. Thank you for everything.”

“Thank you for all the help. Now get.” She smiles, shooing you away.

Tiredly, you make your way up the stairs to the twins’ room. It had been sitting empty for months as they had pretty much immediately moved into the apartment above their shop.

Since it had been left empty, Molly was more than happy to let you take it over when you were there. You hadn’t changed much except for pushing the beds together to make one big bed.

You liked both of the twins as more than friends, so it felt wrong to you to choose just one of their beds. Even though it wouldn’t have made a difference to anyone, you just couldn’t bring yourself to choose.

Sighing as you close the door, you make your way to your bags that you hadn’t bothered to unpack even though you’ve been here over a month and a half already. You dig through until you find a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized shirt you were positive you had stolen from one of the twins at some point.

Having changed and brushed through your hair, you throw yourself onto the bed and snuggle into the mass of blankets that were a mix from both the beds. Not even five minutes after laying down you found yourself falling into a deep sleep.

~.~

“Fred, shhh. You’re gonna blow our cover.”

“Oh it’s not like anyone is awake. Everyone around here sleeps like a log.”

You groan softly as the two wake you. You shouldn’t have expected anything different, those two boys wouldn’t know quiet if it hit them in the face.

“Would you both shut up. I was sleeping peacefully.” You grumble, not bothering to look at them instead keeping your eyelids shut to hopefully not lose any of the sleepiness.

“Merlin’s beard, y/n. What are you doing in our room?” Fred asks, not even noticing the beds yet as you startled him.

“It’s become my room while I’m here thank you.”

“Uh huh. Is that why the beds have been pushed together, love?” George asks, setting his stuff down and going to take off his jacket.

“Mmhmm.” You hum, still trying to get back to sleep.

“Where are we supposed to sleep then?” Fred asks, and you just know he has a pout playing on his lips. 

“Take a side and shut up. Please. I’m tired.” You mumble, attempting to bury your head in the pillows.

The twins chuckle at you, shaking their heads as they both find some pajamas to change into. Once changed they climb into the bed either side of you, curling around you, covering themselves with the blankets.

“Good night, love.” George whispers, kissing your shoulder as you’re currently facing Freddie.

“G‘night, Georgie. G’night, Freddie.”

“Good night, princess. He smiles, placing a kiss to the top of your forehead.

Soon enough your back to sleep with the twins following soon after.

~.~

George groans as he wakes up. What for he’s not sure. Not until he realizes that he has no blanket.

He looks over at you, rubbing his sleep-filled eyes to see you seemingly buried in blankets as you apparently stole them from both him and Freddie.

Chuckling he works on yanking them out from under you. Usually whenever you all had fallen asleep together, whether on purpose or not, you each had your own blanket. He honestly can’t recall a time when any of you had shared a blanket.

Finally he gets enough blanket to cover up with again, this time trying to curl up closer to you and tucking the edge of the blanket underneath him to keep it on him. He wonders if he should try covering his twin back up, but decides he really doesn’t care too much about it at this moment. Instead, he’d much rather go back to sleep.

Not even twenty minutes later, Freddie wakes up freezing. He sighs when he sees you’ve taken them, shaking his head but smiling at you nonetheless. You’re too damn cute when your sleeping for him to be mad at.

Same as his brother, Fred starts pulling at the blankets to get some to cover up with. He, too, moves in a bit closer but doesn’t think to tuck the other side underneath him.

~.~

You sigh, waking up from a dream that you already fail to remember. You huff as you feel like you’re in satan’s sauna. Between the blankets, the twins’ body heat, and being squished in the middle you feel like you’re burning alive.

Carefully you try to wiggle yourself out of Fred and George’s hold to pull the blanket down just enough to get some fresh air.

Soon enough you’re falling back asleep at just the right body temperature.

~.~

You groan as you roll over, not yet opening your eyes. You can tell it’s daylight, but not quite time to get up. Maybe another hour or two.

“Merlin, y/n.” You hear George huff. You frown, why is he huffing at you this early in the morning?

“What? Why are you huffing at me?” You mumble, just barely able to open your eyes to look at him.

“You don’t share real well, you know that?” He asks, looking down at you as he reaches for something at the bottom of the bed.

“What do you mean, Georgie?” You still mumble. You really aren’t ready to be up yet.

“You’ve kicked the blankets all the way to the end of the bed. And that’s not even half of what you’ve done throughout the night.” He chuckles, finally grabbing hold of the blanket and pulling it up over the two of you.

You groan, not wanting to be under the blanket. You’re comfortable. You try to push the blanket off you but George just wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him.

“Georgie, it’s too hot.” You huff, pouting at him.

“Just go back to sleep for awhile. It’s still too early.” He sighs, burying his head into the crook of your neck.

“You’re such a pain.” You huff, giving into the younger of the twins.

“Go to sleep, princess. And please stop taking the blankets from us.” You hear Freddie mumble, his face smooshed into the pillows and facing away from you.

You huff, pouting a bit at how rude the twins are being this morning. True you had been the same last night when they snuck in, but they were being loud, you aren’t.

“Quit your pouting, love.” George states, kissing your shoulder and nuzzling his face into your neck, leaving soft kisses along your skin.

“You’re the one who’s had us up all night trying to figure out where the blankets are. If you hadn’t taken them all for yourself, you had kicked ‘em away so no one had them.” Fred grumbles, turning to face you and George.

“Or you had pushed us to the very edge of the bed.” George adds, chuckling slightly as his head in still buried in your neck.

“Oh....I’m sorry, guys.”

“It’s alright, princess. Just let us have a few more hours of sleep, please.” Fred smiles, kissing your nose.

“We’ll be ready to be up, then.” George finishes the thought, kissing your neck.

You nod and smile giving both boys a kiss on their forehead or cheek before cuddling up with them and drifting back to sleep for a bit.

✨ BONUS ✨

“Y/n, dear. I have a question-“ Molly starts to say as she opens the door, waking you and the boys.

“Fred, George! What are you doing here?”

“Mmm, Good morning, Molly.” You hum, a bit groggy from waking up. “Oh! W-we haven’t done anything...” you say, suddenly realizing that you’re wrapped up in both the twins’ arms. You can only imagine what she must be thinking.

“Oh, I know, dear. I’m not worried about that one bit. Honestly, I’m more surprised you haven’t. The way you all are with each other.”

“Mum!” The two boys groan, earning a chuckle from their mother as they blush a bit.

“I’m just saying. Anyways, y/n. I had a question; which do you think would look better with the flowers we already have?” Molly asks, holding up two different filler flowers.

“How about we use some of both? They’re both really pretty and would look great together with the flowers.” You yawn, still trying to wake up fully.

“That they would. Good idea, hon.” She smiles, going to walk out the room.

“I’ll be down soon to help with breakfast.” You call out to her.

“Don’t you worry about it one bit dear. You take your time!” She calls back, already heading down the stairs.

“She loves you.” Fred says, leaning over to you.

“And you’re just realizing this now?” You chuckle, sitting up a bit. “I’m a more tame version of you two, of course she loves me.”

“A bit full of ourselves, aren’t we?” George chuckles as you do a small hair flip.

“You know it’s true.” You smirk, winking at him as he and Freddie break out laughing.

“That’s why we love you.” They say simultaneously, looking at you lovingly.

You smile, blowing each a kiss.

“Now let’s get up boys,” you say, lightly slapping their legs. “I’ve been helping make breakfast the entire time I’ve been here, you can come help me this one time.”

“We can head down in a few minutes. We didn’t get as warm a welcome as we were hoping for last night.” Fred smiles as he pulls you back down by the waist, leaning over you and kissing your nose.

“You were being too loud.” You giggle as he continues placing kisses around your face, George placing light kisses around your neck.

“And?”

“And I was trying to sleep!” You point out.

You giggle as George’s hand trails up your side, tickling your skin as he does.

“Just love us for a bit, darling. We’ve missed you.” George smiles, placing a kiss on your lips.

“You two are unbelievable.” You sigh in exasperation, but giving into both of them. None of you have ever made things official, but it was pretty clear that you were theirs and they were yours. 

“Isn’t that why you love us?” Fred asks, taking his turn kissing your neck and sucking at the spot just behind and below your ear. You gasp at the pleasure of it as he smirks.

“One of the reasons.” You smile, pulling both of them into a hug. You were more than elated to have them here with you again. You’d never say it aloud but you missed the two dorks so much.

[rons-wheezely]

Honey Boy || Cedric

[requested!]

Genre: Fluff!!! Expect your teeth to rot :)

[muggle!reader] [cedric x reader]

Summary: Traditional muggle baking is a favorite past time of yours, although many students are prejudiced against it. A certain boy always liked your baking though, and that’s the only thing that matters. “I had a friend of mine teach me, but I doubt it’s as good as yours.” “It’s absolutely stunning.”

A/N: I’m combining the two requests because sweets + fluff = a recipe for a good Cedric fic lol also I’m so sorry that this fic took me forever!! Once I started writing, it never really stopped so it ended up being kind of long, I hope that is okay!

--x--

When you first came to the Wizarding Academy, it was like a dream come true. In the following weeks, however, it proved to be a little bit less than that. “What are you wearing?”

You stare blankly at a fellow student. “My robes, of course. Why?”

“No, I meant the things on your hands.”

“Oh,” you look at your hands. You’re wearing oven mitts, the ones your parents bought you to take to the academy. You often borrowed the Hogwarts kitchen after hours, so to see you like this is no surprise. Every once in awhile, however, some curious student or the other will waltz by and scrutinize you. “These are oven mitts. It’s a muggle thing.”

The students nods slowly, still trying to understand the reasoning behind it. After a while, the student leaves, mumbling to themselves about “why not use the wand?” but you didn’t pay any mind to it, most kids leave the same response anyways.

You finished up cleaning the countertop area, this time with your wand, reciting an incantation one of the many house elves taught you. They had their own magic, but since you were so keen on using the kitchen, it became a staple rule to clean up after yourself. It swirled around and swept up all of the mixing bowls into the air, letting them dance themselves all the way into the sink. The stainless steel sink bubbled with warm water and soap, busying itself with scrubbing each dish that comes its way. 

You smiled happily to yourself. Someone cleared their throat behind you, and you froze. Everything stop mid-production, like a pause button. Paranoia ate away at you, wondering who it could be this time. Perhaps it was a professor, with a scowl on their face and yelling to the heavens. Or perhaps it was another student, a silent stare creeping on the back of your neck.

You turned around, scared out of your wits, only to be met with a disarming smile and yellow accented robes. “I thought you’d be here.” Cedric Diggory smiled at you, and the anxiety melted away with it.

“Really? How come?”

“Tori said just as much,” he walked closer, looking around the room in wonder. Slowly, you resumed the cleaning process, watching how his eyes lit up at the scenery. “I was going to ask if you wanted to study, but,” he chuckles,” it seems like I’ve come at a bad time?”

The oven beeped, catching the attention of the both of you. You rushed over frantically, throwing the oven mitts back over your fingertips. “Actually–”

You open an oven left somewhere in the far corner, letting the delicious scent of baked goodies fill the empty room. At once, Diggory was enraptured in consuming aroma that drifted by. “You came right on time,” you said as you gently take the tray out.

He eyes the tray curiously, watching you fan them to cool down quicker. You only wanted it to cool down faster so that he could have a bite, but just seeing you dramatically fan the goodies brought a smile on his face. “–I wouldn’t say right on time, it’s probably more like a few minutes early, but if you’d like I have–”

“Of course, y/n.” He looks at you,” I’d be more than happy to try them.”

It’s not until hours roll by and an empty tray of goodies gone did you realize how late it became. You sat upright and stiff, a shocking revelation dawning on you. “We never studied.”

“Oh y/n,” Cedric’s nose nose scrunched up as he tried desperately to hid his smile. He failed miserably, letting his lips curl up in delight. “It’s a bit late now, isn’t it?”

“It’s no use, I suppose...” You tapped on your chin as you thought of a solution. “Maybe we can study together tomorrow? The exam isn’t until Friday, right?”

“I’d like that.”

That night you lay awake, the comfy sheets tangled between your legs. You can’t sleep, and thoughts drifted in and out of your head restlessly. As far as you knew, Cedric was a pureblood. But he never judged you, not once, about anything muggle related. It’s kind of liberating; to feel so welcomed in Cedric’s presence. 

Your body grew too warm for the bed, tossing and turning as you did so. Your cheeks were hot to the touch, embarrassment leaking out of your pores. It was only a fleeting thought, but then it lingered and then oh, how it wouldn’t go away. Cedric is kind hearted, so much so, that it had touched the very depths of your heart. The little inkling thought that made your breath catch in your throat was the fact that maybe, just a little bit, it would be nice to love a boy like him. 

A couple of days later, you found a new recipe that reminded you of Cedric. You busied yourself in the kitchen, letting the joy of baking for another fill you to the brim. After a battle of wits against the mixing machine, there was finally a moment to pause. The sweet scent of chocolate muffins consumed you and left an itch to share the funny butterflies in your stomach. Fresh out of the oven, you wrap one of the muffins up. You neatly tuck the sweet treats into your bag and flurry down the hallway.

If you want him to try it at its peak performance, you need to deliver it while the muffins are still warm. The hallway doesn’t have many students, but you spot your friends, Fred and George.

“Hey Fred,” you smile, half out of breath. “–and George too.” 

They smirk when they see you, already lining up a flurry of tricks to play. The Weasley on the left spoke up saying,”What’s the hurry?”

“Yeah, what’s the rush?” The twin on the right said.

“Would you happen to know where,” you pause. Breathing seemed to take its time coming to you. “..where Diggory might be?”

A unified “ooohhh,” sung out from their mouths. Regretfully, you could see it in their eyes that they knew. You liked the boy, didn’t you? With a whistle, George says,” Last I checked it was the Quidditch field.”

You murmur a small thanks and rush off towards the fields. Your footsteps thundered down the corridors, an aching feeling settling in your toes. Baking is one thing, but running across campus? No thanks. And the butterflies. There were so many of them fluttering around, sputtering things that warmed up your cheeks. You wonder how so many butterflies could fit into one stomach, but you digress.

When you reach the fields, Cedric was coming out of one of the tents. Your eyes meet, and his smile practically sweeps you off of the ground. “Hey,” he says as he walks up to you.

Cedric pat his face with a towel, a sheen of shiny sweat rubbing away with the soft fabric.

Immediately you can feel the heat rush from your body to your face. The comfort of his presence juxtaposing your uncomfortable stance was very foreign, but it helped to ease your nerves. “I... I made you some muffins. It’s good luck for the upcoming game, you see.”

His eyes widen just a bit, watching as you frantically pull out the muffin from your satchel. You reach out to hand it to him. Thankfully, it’s still fresh and warm, and the tingling feeling is hot on your fingertips. A gentle,”Thank you,” reaches you ears as he softly takes the baked item into his palms. 

You see a teammate call out to him. You want to talk to him more, having only spoken about two sentences, but to your dismay, the better part of you knew better than to keep him to yourself. He turns back to you, the same look on his face.

“I know I’ll love it y/n, don’t worry. I’ll tell you how it tastes later, yeah?”

You nod and watch as he jogs off, hurrying to grab his broomstick. The next week flew in quickly, and the flurry of wizarding homework drowned out all of your free time. As silly as it was, you didn’t have any time to bake now that exams are around the corner. 

Light leaks in from the castle window, pouring in to fill the room. Dust basks in the warm sunlight, the particles bothersome to your occasional sneezes. Why does the Hogwarts’ library have to be simultaneously the best and worst place to study? 

Hours tick by, and the fatigue is starting to kick in. You’ve been staring at your textbooks for hours. “Ah,” a voice chimes in. “There you are.”

Your droopy eyes immediately shoot open, and you look up to see Cedric. “Oh! Hey, Diggory.” A smile creeps on to your face, unable to hide the relief and joy you found in his presence. “What are you doing here? I thought you were studying with Cho this afternoon?”

He looks down at the ground while his robes silently swayed with his movements. He’s grown awfully quiet, so you thought there was something on the ground. You glance at where he is looking, but there’s nothing to be found. “Cedric?”

Your words snap him back to reality. Red starts to flood his cheeks, and his eyes widen at the sudden jolt. “Ah–– s...sorry!” He stutters. He sounds nervous, but the way he carries himself and moves so fluidly, it looks effortless. His fingers have a mind of their own as they kindly closed the heavy textbook and find a way to your hand. “Come with me, will you?”

And of course, how could you say no to that? 

He leads you somewhere quiet. It’s one of those outdoor hallways, but the scene is empty with nothing but stone and the sunset sky. Your heart beats a little faster when he stops. His figure stands tall, but it takes him a minute to look you in the eyes. Warily, he pulls out container. 

“I’m not the best at baking, I know,” he chuckles,” but I wanted you to know how much I appreciate the things you’ve done for me.”

He holds out the package, and when you open it there is a miniature cake inside. Despite the concept of a mini cake being delicate, wonky handwriting is scrawled and piped on top. It’s barely legible, so you squint.

“It’s supposed to be honey cake, but uh... don’t be surprised if it doesn’t taste quite right.” He says. “I had a friend of mine teach me, but I doubt it’s as good as yours.”

You two stand there in awkward silence until finally, you understand the words on the cake. “i like you” is what it says. Suddenly not only did the butterflies come back, frogs were also caught in your throat. The boy you liked.... likes you back? 

“You... you like me?” The statement that leaves your mouth comes out as more of a question, the shock and confusion stunning your senses. 

He nods. “Do you... like the cake?”

“It’s absolutely stunning,” you breathe out. Of course you would like it, Cedric Diggory made it for you. 

He hands you a fork and motions you to sit on the stone ledge. You do so numbly, eager to taste. You take a bite and let fluffy texture fill your heart and soul. “Cedric, it’s delicious! I love everything about it.”

You glance at him, and maybe it’s just you, but his face is a breath away from yours. Warmth radiates between you two before he breaks the silence.

“..Can I kiss you?”

It was sweet like honey –– sweet like him.

--x--

A/N: oh boy that was a long one...... Definitely inspired by some honey cake I had lol

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//caution: contents are hot and dangerous. kuroo tetsurou//

Request: Could I request a Vampire!Kuroo x Reader?

Warnings: one (1) swear.  Mentions of blood, but no actual blood-spillage.

Word Count: 2.6K (i’m so sorry. i got carried away ;-;)

Notes: Leave it to my dumbass to turn a vamp au into a coffee shop au smh

(Vampire!Kuroo x Human!reader)

It seemed like something straight out of a coffee shop fanfiction AU.  The dorky barista who now knew your coffee order by heart, always asking about your day as he brewed your latte.  He would write you little notes on your cup, usually some lame science joke that would bring you back up to the counter, asking him to explain it to you.  You would watch his face fill with a smile, eyes shining as you take interest in what he’s saying, the setting sun casting long shadows throughout the quiet cafe. 

Wednesday evenings had become Kuroo’s favorite shifts as it was the one time a week when you would indulge him with your presence.  Once 6:30 would hit, every jingle of the bell above the door would cause his heart to thump a little harder, in hopes to see your bright smile.  Your school bag always sat heavily on your shoulders, tired eyes from a long day at university, but the happiness that spread over your face when you saw him leaning his long form over the counter, that lazy smile plastered on his lips, it made the whole atmosphere feel ten times lighter.

Today was no different.  You pushed open the door, clutching your wallet, looking over the menu as if you were going to try something new, just like you always did.  Standing in line behind the other customers, Kuroo couldn’t help but try to rush through taking orders and making beverages, just wanting to get you to the front of the line, just wanting to see you smile up at him.  

“Vanilla latte with soy milk and an extra half shot of espresso,” Kuroo said, already punching the drink order he knew better than the periodic table into the cash register as you stepped up to the counter.

“$4.26,” you answer, handing him your card to swipe, but rather he pushed it back towards you, that staple lazy smile dancing across his face.

“It’s on the house today.  Consider it a thank you for being such a loyal customer.”

“I can pay, really.  It’s no problem.”  You try to hand him your debit card once more, but he just shakes his head, laughing lightly as he pushes it back once again.

“No, seriously.  Don’t worry about it,” he says, scribbling your name and a little joke onto your cup.  “So, how was class?  It was psych and- hang on, don’t tell me,” he pauses, tapping the pen against his chin in thought.  “French!”

You tilt your head in confusion, but yet a small laugh still escapes you.  “How’d you know?”

“Easy.  You always sit at the table by the window and copy notes from your psychology book and your French book.”

“Very observant of you, but I’m just going to work on French today.  I have a test tomorrow,” you explain, watching him attempt to make a cool design on the top of your drink, but inevitably failing and just creating a blob in the foam.

“I’m going to figure out how to do latte art one of these days, just you wait.”  He smiles teasingly as he places the lid on your cup, handing it to you.  A small pink tinge dusts over his cheeks as his fingers brush over yours in the exchange.  “Careful, it’s- it’s still hot,” Kuroo mutters, moving his eyes down towards the counter, letting his bangs fall into his face in a desperate attempt to hide the heat that had risen to his cheeks.

But, if you did notice, you didn’t say anything, instead you examine the cup, just like always.  This week, under your name was a circle, a few ‘Fe’s scattered around the perimeter.  It appeared to be standing on some stilts, but you could’ve stared at it for hours and still not know what the hell you were looking at.  “Kuroo, these are just getting harder, you know?”  There’s a small hint of laughter in your words, the playfulness evident in every syllable.

“It’s a ferrous wheel!  Get it?”  The look on your face was all the answer he needed.  No. “Okay, so, Fe is the atomic symbol for iron, right?  But, like, why?”  Any ounce of embarrassment or awkwardness that had once clouded the barista’s brain had since flown out the window.  You had him talking chemistry, the one area in which he was completely comfortable.  His thoughts were now so jumbled with the thoughts of atoms that your hypnotizing scent escaped him, even if for only a moment.

You watched him blabber on about science, explaining the joke, taking a million and seven detours to explain something else that was barely related, but you couldn’t just stop him.  He looked so excited, hands flying in every direction as he spoke, practically buzzing as he broke down the history of iron and why it was displayed on the table the way it was.  The dorky barista who had stolen your heart with science jokes and his lazy smile only stopped talking long enough to make orders as they came in, but he would jump back in immediately the minute he was done.  This was always your favorite part about coming here, seeing him get so passionate about this field that he loved so dearly.  

“I’ve probably bored you, haven’t I?”  He interrupts your thoughts with an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.  “I just took up some of your precious study time, I’m sorry,” Kuroo apologizes.

“No, don’t worry about it.  I don’t mind, really.”

“Hey!  I could help you, I mean, only if you want, of course.  It’s gotten pretty slow, so I’m sure no one would notice if I stepped away for a little while.”

You smile warmly at him and nod.  “I’d like that, Kuroo.  Thank you.”

It all seemed so innocent.  The awkward barista nestled into a booth with his favorite customer as she tried to teach him the correct pronunciations of the words on the page.  The orange glow had settled into a much deeper purple as the hours ticked by, quiet laughter being exchanged as the foreign words stumbled clumsily off his tongue.  His arm had settled on the back of the booth seat, letting it hang around your shoulders, but at the same time, not overstepping any boundaries.  But, the way that your body was slowly inching closer to his led him to believe that most of the lines had been erased.  To anyone with an outside view, it was a beautiful image of a newly blossoming romance.

But, Kuroo’s head was fogging at the close proximity.  It was one thing when he had a counter separating you from him, but now, with your head leaning on his shoulder and his arm that had just naturally sank down to rest against your form, it was hard to shake.  You smelled so good.  Your body absolutely dripped that delectable scent that made his skin prickle.  Every time that you entered the shop, he could feel his fangs trying to push through, trying to just get some sort of taste of your blood.  With that counter between the two of you, it was easy for him to shake the desire, but now?  Your neck was so exposed.  It would be so easy.  He found himself absently tracing patterns up your shoulder towards your collarbone, fingers seeking out that soft spot that would feel so nice to simply sink his fangs into.  

“I should probably be getting home.”

His eyes snapped away from the soft curve of your neck to look at the time on your phone.  It was nearly nine, nearly time for him to close.  Kuroo let out a small sigh, pulling his arm away.  “You know, it’s really not smart for you to walk home by yourself at this hour,” he says, sliding out of his seat.

You just shrugged, putting your books back into your bag.  “I’ll be okay.”

“If you want, I could walk you home.  I just have to do some cleaning, but it shouldn’t take too long.”

“I’d like that, Kuroo.  Thank you.”  There’s a smile behind your words as you sit back in your seat.  

It should’ve been as sweet and simple as that.  But, you weren’t living in a fanfiction, were you?  Everything would have been too easy and too beautiful if this was just your typical coffee shop love story.  You should’ve gathered that something wasn’t quite right about the situation from his shift in demeanor.  That lazy smile that always seemed to be evident on his features melted away, settling into a thoughtful expression.  He wasn’t talking as much, preferring to simply hum and nod in agreement with what you were saying.  If he was forced to talk?  Well, his answers were short, nothing like the extensive rambling that you had become used to from the barista.  

It’s not like he wanted to be passive with you, it’s just that the soft poking on the inside of his lip told him that he better keep his mouth shut.  Kuroo was usually so good about keeping his fangs hidden, but for some reason, you ruined his resolve and before the two of you even left the shop, those two sharp teeth had emerged and he just couldn’t seem to will them away.  Especially when you were holding onto his hand, pushing your body up against his side.  You were so tantalizingly close and so naive to what dangers this situation really held.

It wasn’t safe for young ladies to walk home by themselves at this hour, but it wasn’t exactly safe for them to be escorted by one of his kind either.  God, to drain you right then and there- The thought of your mouth falling open in the mixture of shock and discomfort, hands pawing defenselessly at his chest as that sweet red liquid dripped from your neck, the mental image of you being so vulnerable had his amber eyes shifting a few shades darker.  

You were still smiling, so caught up in whatever you were telling him that you didn’t even notice how heavy the mood had become.  You were so caught up in this little fantasy that everything was perfectly normal and that you were just getting to spend a little extra quality time with the man that had caught your eye all those months ago.  But, he couldn’t help himself, really.  This wasn’t how he expected his first long evening with you to go, but it had been awhile since he had had anything to fill his stomach and there was just something about the way your blood smelled that made his resolve collapse and his mouth water.  

Imagine your surprise when the usually sweet barista pushed your back against a wall, standing over you, eyes glazed over in hunger, hooded by desire.  Kuroo’s fingers gripped your chin, tilting it so that your eyes would meet his.  And he smiled.

Except it wasn’t that cool grin that made him seem so laid-back, this one had an air of menace to it,  those white fangs catching the rays of the moonlight.  The little squeak that had left you as your back had hit that hard surface only made a low chuckle rise in his chest.

“What’s the problem, kitten?”  The pet name dripped teasingly from his tongue, the tone only making you sink further into yourself, but his breath fanned so nicely over your skin, that part of you didn’t even care that he was potentially going to kill you.  He tilted your head to the side, exposing your neck to him.  The sharp points of his fangs graced teasingly over the skin as if trying to decide the best place to finally make their mark.  “I bet you never thought that I could be dangerous.  You were always so sweet and innocent, never once thinking that I should be the one that you needed to be afraid of.”

There’s a soft whimper and a shake in your bottom lip.  Kuroo can feel your slight shake and it almost makes him pull away from you, apologizing for saying such things, but this- this was an opportunity that he couldn’t just pass up.  After this night, there would be no guarantees that you would come to see him again and then he would never have the opportunity to just get that little taste that he so desperately craved.  But, even so, the grip on your chin softened and the malice in his smile seemed to disappear.

“If you’re going to kill me, please- please just do it already,” you whimper, the tremble in your voice echoing through his ears as you closed your eyes tightly.

That was all it took for him to fully pull away from you, that fear that had crept up within you brought him back to his senses.  The ominous creature that had loomed over you only moments before, fangs threatening to pierce your skin, had been replaced by the boy from the coffee shop who got overly excited about chemistry and talked feverishly with his hands.  He could feel his fangs shrinking away and Kuroo leaned away from you, sadness being the only emotion on his features.

This wasn’t what he wanted.  He never wanted to scare you, to make you shake beneath his touch, but that’s exactly what he had done.  To be frank, he hated it.  He hated that after months of getting to know you and building a meaningful friendship with you, he let it all waste away as he was driven by an urge of hunger.  Kuroo hadn’t offered to walk you home just so he could get a little late night snack.  He had genuinely been concerned for your safety and yet, here he was, being more of a danger to you than anyone else.

His mouth stuttered absently for anything that could be an explanation or even an apology, but there was nothing.  But when your eyes opened cautiously, surprised that you were still alive, Kuroo could see the soft glisten of tears on your cheeks.  Someone could’ve hit him over the head with a brick and it still wouldn’t have hurt anywhere near as much as the knowledge that those tears had fallen because of him, because he had made you fear for your life and for your well-being.

So, when you flung yourself into his chest, clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt, letting your quiet sniffles dampen the material?  Kuroo was shocked to say the least, but nonetheless, he wrapped his arms tenderly around your form, mumbling soft words of remorse against your scalp, planting sweet kisses on your temple.  

“Please,” you whisper, your words getting caught in your throat in a choked sob.  You tighten your grip, pulling him closer to you as if you were trying to completely disappear from the world.  “I don’t care what you are, just please- please don't do that to me again, Kuroo.  I like you a lot, but I-” You looked up at him, fresh tears shimmering down your cheeks.  “But, you scared me and I-”

He shushed you, petting your hair softly before running his thumb over your face, ridding your skin of any remaining tears.  “I know, and I’m sorry, Y/N.  I guess I just like you too much to pose any real danger to you, huh?”

[drawlfoy]

The Wonders of Ohio P.5

masterlist (check here for parts 1-4!) request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: from 14 year old me babey

warnings: cringe, mentions of drug use, mentions of sex, language, and just bad writing

summary: y/n is in her senior year of high school when she is asked to take on an exchange student from britain that’s a little...different. this is NOT a nonmagic AU. draco is still a wizard and this will become and integral part of the story shortly.

a/n: heyyyy everyone. i graduated from high school this week and i’m posting this as my happy-one-year-to-me. as some of you may know, i posted my very first fic on this day a year ago. i’m really happy to see how i’ve grown since and i’m so lucky to have shared this with all of you. anyways, nittygritty--

this part is really the last slow exposition chapter. chapters 6 on will be a whole whirlwind beginning with homecoming and i hope that you guys are willing to stick around. i promise itll be worth the wait. y/n is going to get the story arc of a lifetime and also please do not hate heather she is just going through it ok 

anywayssssssss

tags tags tags  @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @erisdogwood @loveissupernatural

word count: 4.6k (;))

song recs: 

strawberry blonde -- mitski 

in your neighbors garden -- mimi bay

wishes -- beach house

ode to artifice -- samia 

pink in the night -- mitski

enjoy <3

The seatbelt buckle scorched the side of Y/N’s exposed neck as she turned to face the disheveled blonde in the passenger seat.

“Do I need to teach you to set an alarm?” 

Draco let out a huff. “Stop. Do you have a….a comb, or a brush, or something here?” His hands looked abnormally fidgety. Their actions were shaky, varying from patting his pockets to running through his hair. He seemed more and more frustrated each time his hands left his pockets empty. 

How curious Y/N thought as she racked her brain for any remembrance of putting a brush in her car. It was always a mess, and she honestly couldn’t blame Draco for assuming that anything could be in there.

“I don’t think there’s one here,” said Y/N, trying to sound at least a little sympathetic despite the fact that his tardiness had them 10 minutes late. “You can look around if you want, king.”

“What’d you call me?” His voice was suddenly sharp and awake.

Y/N rolled her eyes so hard that she thought they’d get stuck in the back of her head. “You don’t--ok. It’s a joke. You can call guys here that.”

“And it means that I’m…?”

“It means I’m acknowledging that you exist, I guess. It’s not like it has a strict negative or positive connotation. Like, I can say ‘Ok king’ to any man telling me something and it can either be sarcastic, or it can be because I don’t know what else to say and just want to let him know I heard him.”

Draco’s eyes looked a tad glazed over when Y/N dared a glance in his direction.

“I know it’s confusing. I’m sorry. I’ll try and ease you into the world of American slang.” 

He granted her a little “uh-huh” before opening up the glovebox with great difficulty and rummaging through the mess. Y/N would’ve felt more embarrassed about the tampon that fell on the ground in the process if he seemed like he actually knew what it was. 

Her attention turned back to the road as Draco continued to sift through things. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything embarrassing hidden away in the corners of her car--after all, it hadn’t been organized since the beginning of summer--and decided that it was better to pretend it wasn’t happening.

It wasn’t the eerie silence that eventually prompted her to turn to look his direction--no, it was the weird energy in the car, like the feeling right before a thunderstorm. All the hair raised on her arms, and she shivered...but it was stifling hot in the car.

“Oh, did you find a brush?” she asked. His hair laid as perfectly as always, but his hands were lying shaking in his lap, palms to the sky. No hairbrush was in sight.

“Er... “ He was paler than usual, which was quite the feat for someone who looked like a ream of paper. “No. Just remembered a trick my father taught me.”

She tensed at the mention of his father--the very first time Draco had done so. “Oh. Okay. Glad you got it figured out, king.”

Her voice lightened on the last word, hoping she could coax a little smile out of him. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“Ok.”

oOo

 There were many things Y/N thought she understood, but Draco Malfoy being in her Physics C class was not one of them. She took pity and sat next to him as he fumbled his way through the first lecture. His notes, while neat, were littered with crossed out portions and question marks. 

You do know there’s an eraser on your pencil, right? she jotted on a note that she sent his way. His brow furrowed and he seemed to tap at the end of the eraser for just a few moments before deciding otherwise and xing out another practice problem he’d done incorrectly. Symbols that she’d never seen before were scattered all throughout his notes. 

Maybe the UK kids just learn stuff differently.

By the time that Physics came to an end, Y/N was eager to get away from the storm cloud that was brewing over Draco’s perfectly smoothed and infuriatingly pretty moonbeam colored hair. The amount of attention he was getting from all the other girls made Y/N want to jump off a cliff--suddenly everyone was her “best friend” “just wanting to check up on what happened over summer”. She was grateful to see the face of Lizzy, grinning and looking mischievous during their break period.

“You must be Draco,” said the redhead, a glint in her eyes. He looked a little scared.

“Er...yeah.”

“Mind giving us some privacy? Y/N and I have some urgent matters to discuss,” she continued, looking him up and down. Y/N attempted to ignore the twist in her gut as she watched him swallow and nod, turning away to go brood elsewhere. Once he was out of sight, Lizzy grabbed her arm and yanked her into the girl’s bathroom.

“It’s so funny how he’s following you around like a lost puppy,” Lizzy said. “Also, he’s gorgeous. If you don’t at least try to get some of that, then I’m never trusting your judgement again.”

“But, Li-”

“The boy’s a fucking walking Wattpad story cover. Dark, tragic past, unbelievably sharp jawline, rich parents, exotic accent....honestly, Y/N, I don’t know what else you could want.” 

“Mom literally called him my host brother,” said Y/N. The bathroom was starting to smell suspiciously like cotton candy. “That’s wrong. On so many levels.” 

“But you’re not related!”

“But it’s gross! And predatory! The kid doesn’t even know how to do basic algebra! I’m all he has!” 

Lizzy’s eyebrow found its new home in the middle of her forehead. “You’ve gone absolutely batty if you think that every girl cursed with attraction to men in Cincinnati wouldn’t jump his skin at the chance. Use your head, queenie. He’s not alone. Shoot your shot.”

Y/N opened her mouth to serve back a retort--that was definitely there, thank you very much--but decided against it once she realized that the bathroom had become dead silent. “Um...maybe we can go over this later.” She flickered her eyes over to the line behind them that was now intently hanging on their every word. “I forgot I had to talk to the counselor.”

Lizzy was smirking as they exited the bathroom and began the search for Draco. It didn’t take long--the circle comprised of Heather and her friends was more than enough of a giveaway that he was about. 

“Draco, sorry to make you wait,” Y/N called out. It took all her effort to abstain from cringing as her voice rang out across the group. Heather turned to send her a big smile.

“Hey Y/N! You didn’t tell me that Draco was from London!” 

“He’s not,” she responded. “He’s from Wiltshire.” 

“Wiltshire. Of course. That’s what I meant.”

Draco’s smile was tense as he looked down at Heather--who stood roughly 4 inches below him--but he was smiling, and that wasn’t something that Y/N was on the receiving end of frequently. She didn’t know whether to be offended or relieved.

“I’m sure. Break’s almost over, Draco. I can show you where the English department is before the time is up.” 

 He paused, looking down at the blonde grinning up at him. “Er, actually, Heather already offered to show me around for the rest of the day.”

“Yeah, for sure. I’ll see you in French.”

Y/N was shocked at the sheer amount of jealousy that rose up in her throat as she turned away and made her way to Art History---the only class Y/N and Draco didn’t share. The walk was strange. Being in solitude after having a gloomy British boy attached to her hip was understandably eerie. Because that’s all it was. Adjustment. Nothing else.

She settled in at a table full of her friends, namely Sylvia. The tall girl was always a bit whimsical, but Y/N found that she was a breath of fresh air compared to everyone else. It made sense that Sylvia would take Art History--her dark academic inspired aura and the perpetually hot mug of black coffee just screamed history nut. 

“How’s your new brother?” she asked after the teacher had taken attendance. “I say that because I haven’t heard his name yet.”

“Ick, it’s gross to think of him as my brother,” Y/N responded. “And I know! We need to catch up. I’m sorry about not talking to you for a bit. The time difference was a bit weird during your trip.”

“It’s ok, I get it. I was away on family business, anyways. I didn’t expect you to spend your days staying up until the wee hours of the night to tell me all about your exchange student. Anyways. His name?”

“You’re gonna scream when you hear it, Vie,” she said. “Draco Malfoy. It’s so posh. You have no idea. It definitely suits him, though. He’s very...You good?” 

Sylvia’s olive toned face looked a bit paler than usual. “Yeah. Yeah, I just remembered that I forgot to take the trash out this morning. I’ll have to text my mom about it.” She adjusted the wool cardigan that hung around her shoulders and came up looking composed. “Draco, huh? His parents must hate him.”

“At the very least! He’s so rude. And uptight. I can’t tell if it���s just a Brit thing or if it’s because he’s an asshole.” 

Sylvia laughed. “I mean, when I was there over the summer, it was a different culture for sure. We’re by far louder. But I didn’t meet many mean ones. You must’ve just got a bad apple, then.”

“I guess so. He is pret--”

“Ladies, is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?”

“No, Mrs. Jensen,” Sylvia and Y/N said in unison. 

oOo

“Thoughts, king?” 

“I told you not to call me that.” Draco glared at her as he tried to open the passenger side door to find that it was locked tight. “Unlock? Please?”

“And I told you not to get cozy with ASB kids, yet here we are,” said Y/N as she slotted the key into the lock and turned. 

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing. I’m just looking out for you.” She slammed the door shut and threw her bag in the bag. The line of traffic to get out of the school was long and stuffy, and she was eager to just get it over with.

The wait was so hot that Draco peeled off his stupid formalish jacket that was on thin ice of being called a blazer and probably worth more than her car. Y/N tried to look away as his hair became slightly ruffled, but she couldn’t pry her eyes away. It was endearing, almost, how someone who could look so posh and serious could have ruffly hair--and hair that naturally light, too. She had asked him one night if it was dyed, and he scowled at her and told her the grammatically correct term was dead, and that his hair was alive, just like the rest of him, thank you very much. She dropped it. 

Y/N finally rolled down her window after the AC simply refused to satisfy her, and the wind was a nice reminder to keep in her own lane. Draco was beautiful. There was no other way to put it. He had a feel of power to him, like he was capable of anything but just held it back. But he was just as inaccessible as he was pretty, and there was nothing she could do about that.

“Y/N?” He asked after a few moments of sitting in silence. “What’s Homecoming?” 

“Who told you about that?” 

“Heather. She asked if I had a date. Is that like a ball here?”

“She asked you if you had a date on the first day?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck. ASB kids never do sleep, huh.” 

“What?”

“Homecoming isn’t a ball. It’s like a...an…” Y/N paused as she saw Draco raise his eyebrows. “It’s, like, uh….Well I guess it is like a ball. An American one, though. Way less extravagant. It’s an excuse to get dressed up and run around the city. There technically is a dance, and all the ASB kids have to go, but literally no one else does but the underclassmen. Normally I go out with my friends and a date to somewhere fun and take pictures. And then get trashed afterwards.”

“Classy,” said Draco. “I think you can go now.”

A honk behind her emphasized his point as the space in between her and the car in front widened substantially. 

“Thanks. Anyways, it’s not really a big deal. I’d suggest not going with Heather so you can skip out on the dance portion. Or if you want to go with her, get her to come with us into Cincinnati because I am not going to spend my last homecoming watching a grind circle.” 

“A...what circle? And I don’t want to go with her.”

The relief Y/N felt was embarrassing. “Um...better if you don’t worry about it. You have a long time to figure it out anyways.”

He seemed satisfied with that answer, propping his elbow up on the center console. The pristine button up he was wearing had ridden up, exposing the pale skin and the bottom of the tattoo she had seen a hint of earlier. “Do you have a date?”

“Um. No, not yet. I don’t think anyone except for couples do yet. We have until the end of this month to figure it out, so I’m not too worried about it.”

He nodded as Y/N’s car finally left the school parking lot and began picking up speed. 

“I’m assuming you had balls? At your posh boarding school?” 

“Er…” Draco ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it further. “We only had one. It was when I was 14. We called it the Yule Ball.”

“Why only one?”

“It was for a special occasion. We had two other schools join us as well. It was quite a good time.”

“So every student only has one ball in their lifetime?”

“Of course not. Some of us--the ones from old families--have events like that regularly.”

“I’m sorry if this is overstepping my bounds,” began Y/N, noticing how he tensed up, “So you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But, I’m just wondering, what is your family like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like are they nice?”

“Oh.” The line in his forehead relaxed. “No. They wouldn’t like you.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said. “Do you like them?”

She heard the breath hitch in his throat. “I don’t know anymore.”

“I’m sure it’s hard to think about it when you feel like they’ve just shipped you off without anyone,” she added. “I’m really sorry, Draco. I know I’ve been a bit mean to you. I know that I’ll never be able to understand what you’re going through right now.”

The slight smile that spread across his face would’ve knocked her to her knees if she wasn’t already sitting down. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

The silence that awaited them for the rest of the journey was comfortable.

oOo

School began to pick up the pace after the first few days. Y/N got into the swing of homework and her extracurricular workload. Draco was having a bit more difficulty, she presumed, but he’d never admit to it. She took pity one evening and gave him her laptop opened to a Khan Academy tab for Physics and was pleased to see that he showed up to class the next day with completed homework. He asked to borrow her laptop on a much more frequent basis after that. 

The routine they settled into had her heart leaping into her chest almost constantly--they’d eat breakfast together at the table, Y/N would try to ignore how pretty he looked across the table as they shared a pot of black tea (earl grey, which Y/N was thrilled to learn was his favorite as well), they’d get in the car, she’d write him notes in physics to help him (even though he never asked, he always smile and give a little shake of his head before unfolding them and intently staring at her writing), they’d drive home together and bitch about their French teacher, he’d retire to his room and do whatever pretty blonde Brits do in the afternoon, they’d meet unexpectedly at the same time in the late evening to have a final cup of tea, and then they’d go to bed and do it all over again. 

It was difficult for her to admit, but Y/N was falling very quickly for Draco. It was gross, and wrong, and manipulative, and completely against the code of conduct for exchange families, but she couldn’t help but spend her days fantasizing about how his gold-spun hair would feel as she ran her fingers through it or how gently she’d trace her fingers around the tattoo on the soft flesh of his forearm…

But Y/N knew those thoughts weren’t right. And they would go away. Eventually. 

“How’s it going?” Sylvia asked, effectively snapping her out of her thoughts. The Art History sub told them to go into independent study, whatever that meant. Y/N was not very good at either of those words.

“Pretty good. I can’t believe it’s been 3 weeks already,” she said. “It’s gonna be Halloween before we know it.”

“I can’t fucking waitttt,” said Sylvia. “I’m gonna be Wednesday Addams.”

“Again?”

“What else would I be? I get a new high collared black dress every year. It’d be a shame if it were going to go to waste. What are you gonna be?”

“One of the thousands of students finishing their UChicago ED app hours before the deadline.”

“You’re kidding. Can’t you just finish it the day before?”

“Where’s the fun in that? And, plus, I don’t have an idea as cool as Wednesday.”

Sylvia smirked as she opened up her planner and began to jot down something. “How’s Draco doing? I haven’t seen much of him lately. It seems like he never hangs out with us at break anymore.”

“Yeah, I ended up getting him connected with the Physics teacher. He’s getting tutored now. He thinks it’s all bullshit, but I don’t want to be the reason he doesn’t get into a good school.”

“Is that all you care about?” She smiled at Y/N. “Lizzy was telling me that you’re interested in him.”

“First of all, keep your voice down. Second of all, I’m not supposed to be, so I’m not.” Y/N hoped that the edge in her voice was convincing enough.

Her friend raised her eyebrows so dramatically that her glasses nearly slipped off her nose. “Y/N, who’s gonna hear about it. You guys are both going away at the end of the year anyways, and I’m sure he’s not going to be writing to his dear mum about his love life. If it’s consensual, there’s nothing wrong with it. I think it’d be good for both of you.”

“I see that, but let’s put me in his shoes right now.” Y/N shuffled in her seat and clasped her hands. “I’m rich. I’m British. I’m very hot. My parents throw extravagant balls for me and I kiss pretty girls that say water like ‘wota’. I’ve spent my life in silk and I only drink the finest teas. My family is so important that I had to be shipped off halfway across the world just to be safe. And now my incredibly expensive life has reached a peak because I’m sleeping with a random girl in Ohio that has run approximately 4 stop signs since I’ve met her.”

“You’re sleeping with Draco?” 

Y/N turned to see Lauren, a wide-eyed, obnoxious, but well meaning girl staring at her. She heard Sylvia stifle a laugh behind her. “No. I was kidding.” The smile that she followed with was awkward and showed way too many teeth. 

“Oh, okay,” said Lauren. “Do you know if he likes anyone?”

Sylvia’s smirk widened.

“No, actually, he’s a pretty private guy.” Y/N sent her another tense smile, and Lauren finally turned away.

“Jealous, huh?”

“Shut up, Vie. You know I wouldn’t go for him. Even if I had the chance.”

She just raised an eyebrow and smiled. 

The afternoon brought its own set of struggles. Their French teacher had blown up at another student who had been caught cheating on their last test, and it was all Y/N could do but hold back her snickers until they were out in the parking lot.

“I can’t believe they still managed to conjugate their cheat sheet wrong.” Y/N was gasping for breath as she unlocked the car door and threw her stuff inside. Draco was watching from the passenger seat, his lips in a soft upturn. “Can you imagine? Oh my god.”

He just shook his head and turned to look out the window, but she could see the smile slowly stretching across his face. “Ridiculous. You could totally tell Monsieur enjoyed it, too. I bet he gets off on making kids like Joey cry.”

“I had a teacher like that,” he started. “He was a Poti-a chemistry teacher.”

“Oh? Did he ever attack you?”

“No. He liked me. Family friends and all.”

“Ah. I almost forgot that your family was rich and influential. Thanks for the reminder.” She reached across and lightly punched his shoulder. His smile, though still remaining, seemed to shrink. “Hey, what’s that in your bag?” 

Y/N motioned to the cardstock peeking out of his nondescript black backpack that always seemed to fit more than it was meant to. She could make out a few words written in what looked like a bright red sharpie--something that did not exactly scream Draco Malfoy aesthetic.

He froze up. “Er. It’s from Heather. I think she called it a Homecoming ask?”

Y/N’s throat dried up to the point that no words would willingly make the climb from her diaphragm to her tongue; instead, she settled for giving him a little nod and what she hoped was a convincing smile.

“I told her I’d think about it,” he continued. “I remember you saying that the school dances sucked. So I let her know that I wasn’t sure yet.”

She nodded again. “Super cool. You can do whatever you want, though. You can come with my group if you’d like, but you’re welcome to go with Heather’s.”

“What? So you aren’t coming with me if I go with Heather?”

“Fuck no, dude. I don’t hate her, but I would way prefer to spend a night with my friends than some girl from my French class that only talks to me because she thinks you’re hot.” 

The expression Draco made reminded Y/N that he would never get comfortable with American girls calling him hot. “Ok. Have you found a date yet?”

“Chad from Econ asked me yesterday.”

“Is that why my seat was covered in glitter?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going with him?” Draco’s hand was clenched tight in a fist in his lap.

“I think so,” said Y/N, steeling herself and deciding to just go for it. “But, of course, if you asked me I would say no to Chad. Just out of principle. I am supposed to be your tour guide, after all.”

The only parts of him moving were the few stray wisps of his hair being pushed around by the AC going. 

“But that’d be weird. I’d only expect you to take that up if you really didn’t want to go to the dance itself.” She swallowed and pulled out onto the main street, putting distance between them and the school. He was silent for a few moments. The quiet, normally comfortable between them, was stifling and strange. She pretended to ignore the way he was fiddling with his cuffs. 

“Yeah, it could be,” was all he said before slumping against the window and closing his eyes.

Mrs. Y/L/N was sitting at the head of the coffee table when the two arrived home, carding between a stack of letters in front of her. The mug of something--probably that new decaf blend she hadn’t stopped raving about--was sitting lopsided on a coaster, just barely about to topple off the edge. She looked like she hadn’t moved for hours, the novel she had been previously reading sat face down to preserve the spot next to her no doubt lukewarm drink.

“Hey Mom,” Y/N said as she set her keys down. “Anything good?”

She looked up, her expression morphing from startled to happy. “Other than the college brochures? Nothing, except...hm, what’s this?”

Her well manicured hand pulled at a crimson envelope, with sloping writing that seemed to shimmer in the light. 

To the Y/L/N Family, it read. The loopiness of the writing looked like it wiggled at the ends, but that had to be a trick of the light. It was dim in the kitchen during afternoons, after all. 

“It looks cool, open it u--”

“No!”

Draco’s voice had never sounded so loud as it did then as he lunged across the kitchen, snatching it out of her mother’s hand and clutching it to his chest. “Er, it’s for me. I recognize the handwriting.”

 “Cool, see you later,” said Y/N. She was up the stairs and slamming her door before either of her housemates could say another word. After the horrible embarrassment that was technically Draco’s rejection, she needed to be alone. 

Even burying her face into her pillow and squeezing her eyes shut didn’t keep the scenes from their car ride at bay. She had been so stupid, so stupid. Why did she even think he wanted that? He was her brother, after all. Oh god, does he think we’re all from Alabama or something?

She wallowed for a few more mournful minutes before deciding that she had to pick herself up and handle it like an adult. After all, she was going to be 18 in just a few months. There was no excuse for her to act like a child anymore. And, plus, it wasn’t like she couldn’t just play this off as a pity invite. Yes,that’s what she’d frame this as if he ever asked her about it again. She felt bad for him was all it was. 

Once satisfied with her internal dialogue, she rolled out of bed and made for the foyer where her bag was still on the table. She’d first walk on Legos barefoot before she had to let a stupid boy--especially one that didn’t know how to turn on their shower and had to ask for her help every time--come between her and her 4.0. Never.

Her thoughts were cut short, however, when she heard a new sound from his side of the hallway. She froze, listening closely. 

Draco was crying.

[softboywriting]

Christmas Together | Shawn Mendes

Summary: When you and Shawn head home for Christmas, you end up stuck in a snowstorm in a small town in the middle of the united states. With all flights grounded until further notice, the two of you will have to spend Christmas together at a bed and breakfast. This blizzard may just be the push that brings the two of you together with the help of a little Christmas magic. [fluff] [Christmas themed] [personal assistant to lovers au] [non au shawn]

Word Count: 6k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Traveling with Shawn for the holidays is never easy. He is possibly the busiest man you've ever worked for but you don’t mind because being with Shawn is just like being with someone you love, because, well, you do love him. Thanksgiving came and went, yours in the states not his, you don't go home for that holiday anyways. It's not a big deal for your family back home. Christmas is though and traveling three days before Christmas is a nightmare.

Things were going smoothly, you had a plan to get home before christmas. Things were going perfectly until the last minute. You had somehow gotten two tickets on a fully booked flight from Brazil to Canada. The plan is for you to fly straight to the Toronto airport, no layovers and from there you'll catch a cab home to New York. You're about an hour into the flight and you can feel some turbulence coming on. No big deal. Until the pilot announced an emergency landing somewhere in Iowa.

"Oh no...no no shit." You look out the window and see nothing but clouds. No doubt about it, you’ve flown directly into a storm system.

"What? It's fine, we're just going to be a little delayed." Shawn rubs your shoulder. "It's no big deal."

"No, it is." You lean your head back against the headrest. "My sister is having a baby today and I promised I'd be there. My whole family is going to be there for Christmas. She's the first of us to have a kid."

"Oh. You didn't tell me that."

You look over and Shawn looks concerned. He always has such a big heart for everyone, it’s one of the many reasons why you love him so much. "I didn't think you needed to know. It's not work related."

"Well yeah but I still care about you. I know I'm your job but like, I'm still a person who cares about you."

"I know...I know I usually tell you everything it's just been...I've been-"

Shawn lays his hand on yours and you look down at it, heart racing. "I've been difficult lately. I know and I'm sorry. Traveling and shows have been hectic the last few weeks. It's totally my fault you’re overwhelmed."

"No, Shawn it's fine. My job is to take care of all that stuff. I'm not- I shouldn't complain about it."

"So what's stressing you out if it's not me?"

"Everything about the christmas season. My sister having a kid, obviously but...mostly it’s that christmas sucks when you're single okay?"

Shawn's eyebrows shoot up. "Why?"

"Because every year I go home and my siblings all have their girlfriends and boyfriends or fiance's and shit and I'm the odd one out. Every year I become the center of attention at dinner, the butt of the joke during gift opening. It's just a pain in the ass being branded as the forever alone child in the family."

"Why is your family so mean?"

"They aren't. They don't mean their comments venmously, it's just little things that bug me. Little indirect jabs that remind everyone I'm single and I have been for a long time."

"Why are you single?"

You give him a blank stare. He couldn't be serious. He doesn't understand that he's the reason you can't be in a relationship? That your job of tailing him everywhere and managing his schedule and life is just as stressful on a relationship with someone for you as it is for him. "Shawn, I'm constantly traveling. When am I supposed to date? When am I supposed to meet someone?"

"Fuck." He groans and scrubs a hand over his face. "You're in the same boat as me. I didn’t even think of it like that."

"Yeah except I can't fly somewhere every time I have a few days off to see someone and make an attempt at one."

He shakes his head. "I've doomed you to be single. I'm putting you through the same stress I put myself through and it's not fair."

"It's not. But it's my job, and you have yours."

Shawn grabs your arm as the plan drops and shakes. "I'll make it up to you, I swear." His voice falters as the plane jerks violently.

You squeeze your eyes shut and he threads his fingers between yours, palm a little sweaty. "I don't see how but okay."

"If we make it through this I will do everything I can to get you a date."

"You're crazy Mendes."

"Yeah but you already knew that."

_____________________

The plane lands in one piece despite feeling like it was going to tear in half at any moment. As soon as you get to the airline club lounge you find out the flight is not just delayed but all flights are grounded for the next forty eight hours at least. Two days. You are definitely going to miss your sister's baby and you're possibly going to miss Christmas. As much as you don't want to deal with your family for the holiday, you're still going to miss them and you’re upset you might not be there.

"What're we going to do?" You ask as you slump into a chair beside Shawn. He looks over from his phone and you raise your eyebrows. "What are you doing?"

"I got a place to stay until we can get another flight."

"What? How? That's my job."

He chuckles and pockets his phone. "I can book a place. I know how to use the internet."

"Well yeah but- how? There was a hotel with rooms free this close to Christmas and during a storm?"

"Kind of. Every hotel I looked at was full but there is a bed and breakfast about half an hour from the airport that had a room."

You stand up and grab your bag and suitcase. "I'll call a car or taxi or something for us and-"

Shawn lays his hand on your shoulder. "I did that too. I got an Uber."

"Oh."

"You do absolutely everything for me. I figured I could return the favor since right now is really stressful for you."

"But it's my job...it's not a favor."

Shawn shakes his head and grabs his bags. "Come on, you need to relax. I read that this b'nb is super nice and the rooms have huge tubs. I know you like baths."

"What? How do you know that?"

"You travel with mini bath bombs in your shower bag and you always seek out the hot tub when we book a really nice hotel on tour." Shawn looks back and you jog to catch up to him. "I guess I’m a little observant?"

"What else have you observed?" You ask nervously, hoping he hasn’t caught on to the fact you have very real feelings for him. You’ve done your best to hide them for a long time.

Shawn holds open the door to the pick up lanes for you as you step out into the icy wind blowing snow everywhere. "Your favorite color is red."

"Why's that?"

"You rarely wear it but when you do, you are always more confident and you seem more comfortable. You always pick red when given a choice of things and your eyes always light up whenever I wear my red button down, so I know you must like the color at least."

"Maybe that's because it looks so good on you."

He smirks. "Oh yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

"Good to know." Shawn steps out into the snow and approaches a black car. "Come on, this is our ride."

_____________________

The bed and breakfast looks like a winter wonderland. It's decked out in decorated trees, wreaths, lights, the whole nine yards when the Uber driver pulls up. It has a little sign in the front that says Dover Inn. How Shawn found this place you have no idea. A short walk up to the front and you and Shawn are pushing your way through a heavy door into a small foyer that's been converted into a check in area.

"Hello!" An older woman with long dark hair says as she comes out of a back area. Her name tag says Judy. "Do you have reservations?"

"Yes, Mendes. We booked online." Shawn shakes snow off his hat by the door. "The first name is Peter."

"Ah, yes, here you are." Judy says, squinting at her laptop on the old wood countertop. "Let me go see that the room is ready. I'll be right back."

"Peter?" You ask, dusting your coat off. "Why'd you use your middle name?"

"I didn't want to draw attention to myself. You know how fans are, they always somehow find out where I'm staying."

"True. Smart, actually. But we're in the middle of nowhere Iowa in a town of probably a few thousand people during a snowstorm. I'm pretty sure that no fans are going to bum rush you out here."

"I wasn't taking the risk." Shawn pulls his hat back on and you shake your head at him.

"Mr. Mendes?" Judy says from the stairs behind the check in desk.

"Yes?"

"You booked a double room correct?"

"Yes."

The woman walks forward to the desk and types something into her laptop, chewing on her lower lip. "There is an error with room numbers on the site, the room you booked is a single room suite with a queen bed. We can refund you if you like. I'm so sorry."

"No," you lay your hand on Shawn's arm before he can say anything. "It's fine. We will take it."

Shawn gives you a look, silently asking if you're sure.

"You're sure?" The host asks, looking between you and Shawn. "I can at least give you a discount for the mistake."

"That will be fine, thank you." Shawn says softly and the host grabs your room keys.

On the way up the stairs you notice how beautiful this place really is. It's old, a historic building if you were to guess. A large manor like house of sorts at some time, but now converted to a bed and breakfast. Everything is decked out in Christmas, literally everything. Judy leads you to your room at the end of the hall and opens the door.

"We have pillows and blankets in the closet. There are heated blankets available on request. Breakfast is served at eight until nine every morning. If you need anything you can call the front desk by dialing star five five. Feel free to explore the inn, we have a large living room and the kitchen open to guests after ten in the morning. Can I get you anything right now?"

"No, thank you." You smile as you look around the gorgeous room. It's huge and spacious. There is a fireplace in the center of the far wall, lounge chairs flanking it with a small tree decorated in the corner. A large queen-size bed with a huge bed frame and two dark wood dressers sit against the opposite wall. There is a door on the left of the entrance for the bathroom and the right for the closet. It's incredible.

Shawn drops his bag on the floor by the closet and pushes his suitcase and guitar case up against it. "You're fine with sharing a bed?"

"Yeah? Should I not be?"

"Well I mean isn’t it a little...intimate?"

You laugh. "Shawn, I've been your assistant for almost two years now. I'm pretty sure that I can survive sharing a bed for two nights with you. It's just like sharing your bed with your best friend when they sleep over." You drop your own bag by the closet. "Don't worry about it." You say this, but honestly you’re not sure how you’re going to fare. Being close to Shawn is one thing, but sharing a bed is a special kind of intimate, whether sexual or not, you worry about how you’ll be able to keep your cool.

Shawn takes off his coat and flops down on the bed. "I'm sorry you're missing your sister's baby."

You hang your own coat and flop down beside him. "There's nothing that can be done now."

"What if we can't get home for Christmas?"

You look over and he turns his head to look at you. "We have each other?"

"Yeah, we do." Shawn smiles softly. "I'm glad I'm stuck here with you."

"I'm glad it's you too."

____________________

Sleeping with Shawn is better than you expected. To start, you thought he would be a bed hog like he is on the tour bus, sprawled out all over his bed at the back of the bus, but he isn't. The two of you put on pajamas and crawled in on your respective sides. It was a little awkward at first, both of you unsure if it was okay to move or curl up or anything really. You decided to break that barrier though, push the button and make a move because the tension was absolutely eating you alive.

You scoot over from the very edge of the bed where you are laying uncomfortably still. You turn on your side and face Shawn who looks uncomfortable as hell too. "Hey, you look like you're petrified."

"I don't know what to do."

"How do you usually sleep with other people in your bed?"

Shawn rolls onto his side and props his head up on his hand. "Well, usually I spoon them because it's someone I'm very interested in and have usually just been intimate with. Other than that I usually sleep alone."

"Uh huh. So is it the lack of intimacy before hand that's stopping you?"

His cheeks turn dark pink in the soft glow of the white lights on the tree in the corner. "I-I don't know. Maybe?"

"If you need to spoon me so you can sleep, you can. I don't mind." You lay on your back and roll so your back is to him. You pat your side, inviting him to cuddle up. It’s the worst idea you’ve ever had and your heart is threatening to burst out of your chest at the sheer thought of Shawn being pressed against you. But how else will you ever get to experience a Shawn cuddle? You would rather know and live with that knowledge for the rest of your life while you pine in silence until you find someone to settle down with, than never know and always wonder just what you may have missed. "I trust you Shawn."

The bed shifts and you can feel the heat from his body as he scoots closer, but not quite touching. "You don't think it's weird?"

"We've been in much more intimate situations I’m sure. I've seen you naked a few dozen times. This isn't a big deal. I sleep better with someone close and you do too it seems. Just cuddle me and stop being so nervous about it."

Shawn's hand rests tentatively on your hip. "You're sure you don’t mind?"

"Shawn. I swear, it's fine." You chew on your lip, voice surprisingly convincing despite your nerves.

Finally Shawn takes the plunge, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you back against his warm body. Instantly you melt, body completely turning to mush. It’s everything you imagined it would be and more. He’s just right, bigger than you, warmer, soft but not too soft. You let out a sigh and he presses his nose to your hair.

"You smell really good,” Shawn says quietly.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, and thank you for letting me cuddle you. I hope you don't think I'm weird."

You put your hand over his against your chest. "I always think you're weird, but not because of this."

"I miss it."

"Hmm? Miss what?"

"Being affectionate like this." He adjusts himself so he is fully pressed against the length of your body, feet covering yours between the blankets.. "It's been a long time."

You close your eyes, nervous to say what you really want to. Worried he will know you're falling for him. Well...that you’ve already fallen for him. You did that a long time ago. "I don't mind if you want to do this. I mean...like, again?"

Shawn presses his hand against your chest gently, holding you back against him as if giving you a hug. "I just might have to take you up on that offer sometime."

_____________________

Morning finds you warm and cozy. There is a fire in the fireplace when you sit up and look around the otherwise empty room. Shawn isn't there, but the smell of his body wash wafts in from the bathroom that's open but dark. You look to the clock over the fireplace and it's just after eight thirty. You check your phone and you have no signal, of course.  

You stretch as you get up and go to the big windows on the far wall. It's snowing still. You doubt it has ever stopped. You grab the complimentary robe from the dresser on your side of the room and wrap up in it before heading downstairs.

In the dining area that's set up like a small restaurant would be with it's tables and chairs scattered around with families and couples sat in eating, you find Shawn alone by the fireplace sipping coffee and reading something on his phone.

"Morning," you say softly as you take a seat with your back to the fireplace. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like a baby. You?"

"Same."

Shawn puts his phone down and offers you his cup. "Coffee?"

"That's yours though?"

"Yeah but you can have some while we wait for the hostess to come by again." Shawn scoots the mug toward you. "I know you aren't sick or something."

You wrap your hands around the mug and lift it up to take a sip. Straight black coffee with a hint of sweetener. It's strong as hell and you swear you can feel it wake your senses up immediately. "This is horrible. How do you enjoy this?"

He laughs. "It's good?"

"No cream or something? It's like engine oil."

"Nuh uh." Shawn plucks his mug from your hands and takes a drink. "It's great. Oh, here comes the hostess."

You order some eggs, bacon and orange juice. Shawn asks for just some bacon and toast. You look out the window to see the snow reaching the bottom of it, drifted up from the wind no doubt. It has snowed so much you're seriously worried you may not get home for a while.

"What's wrong?"

"The snow. It keeps falling."

"Yep." Shawn turns and looks outside. "I told my parents I would be spending Christmas here. If I'm wrong, it'll be a surprise when I get home. If I'm right, they're not worried about me."

"You have signal?"

"Yeah. You don't?"

"No. Can I call my parents?"

Shawn hands you his phone and you excuse yourself to the living room where it's a little quieter. You dial your dad's cell number and lean against the wall near a tree.

"Dad? Hey it's me."

"Kiddo! Where are you? We thought you were coming home last night?"

"We had to land in Iowa. We're grounded for at least two days, but it might be longer. It's hasn't stopped snowing since last night. Did Penny have her baby?"

"Not yet. They said it could be any day now, I guess she wasn't ready."

"That's great! Well, not for Penny but I didn't miss it. Is she worried about me? Did she think I forgot?"

"No no, we figured you might have been delayed. Whose number are you calling from by the way? I didn't recognize it."

"It's Sh- the hotel's number. I'm using a landline."

"It's an out of country number? I thought you were in Iowa?"

You scrub a hand over your face and mentally kick yourself. You don't want to tell your dad it's Shawn's cell number but your lie doesn't make sense. "It's Shawn's phone. Promise me you won't give this number out."

"Shawn? You're traveling home with him?"

"Yeah, well, no."

"Honey!" You dad calls for your mom and you hear her respond in the background. "Our daughter is bringing home a guest for Christmas!"

"Dad! No! We aren't going to make it!"

"What's that dear? You're breaking up, I can barely make out your voice."

"Dad, we probably aren't going to make it for Christmas and I'm not bringing Shawn home. Dad, can you hear me?"

"You're bringing Shawn? That's okay! We'll see you soon!"

"Dad no! We aren't-" The line goes dead and you pull the phone away from your ear. The signal bars drop from three to none and you groan. Perfect...just perfect.

______________________

After breakfast you find Shawn in the living room with his guitar sitting with a little girl who has a cat piano that meows instead of playing regular piano notes. The girl is maybe five or six and you're pretty sure her grandma is the woman sitting a few feet away on her iPad. You lean against the archway that leads to the dining area and smile as Shawn let's the girl pluck a few strings on the guitar.

"You like music huh? What's your favorite?"

"I like the music from Frozen and Moana." The girl says and presses a key on her piano that makes a deep cat meowing sound. "I like Moana the best."

"Me too." Shawn smiles, playing a few chords. "I know the song How Far I’ll Go pretty well."

You shake your head as he smiles to himself. Of course he knows the song, it's one of Alessia's. Shawn looks up and sees you. He says something to the girl really quick and gets up, leaving his guitar on the floor.

"Hey, did you get to call your parents back after it dropped?"

"No, the signal keeps fading. I sent a few texts, hopefully they'll get them."

"Ah. Well...did you know you're standing under the mistletoe?"

"Huh?" You look up and sure enough there is a little sprig of green with holly berries attached to the archway. "No, I think you're under the mistletoe."

"No, it's definitely you and you know what that means."

"You're gonna kiss me?"

"Yep." Shawn leans in and kisses your cheek gently as you back up. "You're free to go now."

You roll your eyes and giggle as he steps forward and leans against the archway. "Oh no, looks like you're definitely under it now."

"Ah crap."

You stand on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek. "Looks like I was right all along."

Shawn laughs and turns away to go back into the living room. "I'll get you back for that, you lured me in."

"Uh huh. Sure you will." You head upstairs to find a movie on tv to kill time. May as well get used to it. You're going to be here a while longer.

_____________________

A little after noon Shawn finds you in the room curled up on the bed watching TV. You just got a text back from your dad saying that Penny had her baby. A boy named Lucas, eight pounds. You couldn't help but cry, disappointed you weren't there but happy that Penny had her baby okay. It sucks.

"What's wrong?" Shawn asks, sitting beside you on the bed. "Your eyes are red like you were upset."

"Penny had her baby."

"Oh! That's great, is she okay? Is the baby okay?"

You nod. "I'm just sad I couldn't be there for her. She's the first of my siblings and I to have a kid and I guess...I guess I sort of live vicariously through her."

"Oh."

"It's fine." You wipe your eyes. "Everyone is healthy. I'll get to meet the baby a little later. It's alright."

Shawn opens his arms and motions for you to come to him. You do, leaning forward until you're crawling into his arms. He holds you tight, rubbing up and down your back with his big soft hands. "Its okay to be upset. I understand if you're emotional about missing something clearly important to you."

You rub your nose on his shoulder. "Thank you. I'm sorry I'm crying so much."

"No, shh, you don't have to be sorry."

"But-"

Shawn squeezes you. "No buts, let it all out. You're always there for me on my bad days, I'm gonna be here for you."

_____________________

"Can I take you to dinner?"

You look up from your laptop. The inn has WiFi but it's not the best. You've just been updating schedules and trying to get any flight out of Iowa. So far everything is still grounded until the storms blow over. "Dinner?"

"Yeah. I was talking with some people in the living room earlier and they said that there is a place not too far from here that serves dinner through Christmas Eve. I thought maybe it'd get your mind off of everything."

"Sure." You close your laptop and get up to put on your coat. "Are we walking?"

"Yes. Wear your boots."

"Mmm and what are you going to wear?" You glance at his well loved chelsea boots in the corner. They're the only shoes he has with him aside from some tennis shoes made of breathable mesh.

Shawn grabs his boots and looks down at his feet, wiggling his toes in his socks. "I'll wear extra socks?"

"Mmhmm." You sit down and pull on your black leather boots that are possibly the best shoes you own. "Y'know you're a millionaire right? You can afford new boots just like those that aren't worn thin."

"I know. But these are comfortable, they're my boots."

"Right."

He groans as he sinks into the bed beside you to put on an extra pair of socks. "I promise I'll get new boots okay? But I won't get rid of these."

"Shawn, they're old."

"They're my favorite." He zips the side and stomps his foot down to adjust to the extra socks bulk. "Don't judge me."

"Alright, alright," you giggle. "I'll stop bullying you into getting new shoes. If they make you happy, that's what matters."

"They do." Shawn gets up and grabs his coat, tossing you his sweater he wore yesterday. "You might want that."

"I have a sweater?"

"The thin one that you wore yesterday? That's hardly a sweater."

"I didn't plan on being trapped in a snowglobe after leaving Brazil, a very non sweater climate. So sorry I didn't pack for a blizzard."

Shawn narrows his eyes and you narrow yours back. "I'm not going to take a human popsicle to dinner."

"Oh whatever." You snatch his sweater off the bed laughing as you pull it on. It's a little big and it smells like cinnamon and his cologne. So basically, Shawn. You used to wonder why he smelled like cinnamon, then you found out one of his primary vitamin supplements has cinnamon in it. It's supposed to help with metabolism or something. All you know is it makes him smell slightly spicy when he gets warm.

The walk to the restaurant is fairly short. It's just two blocks up from the inn. The snow is a pain to walk through and it's easier to walk in the street than it is to try and use the sidewalk. There are absolutely no cars out and about so you're pretty safe. There are a few other people in the restaurant when you step in, grateful to get out of the cold wind. You're glad you wore Shawn's sweater.

"So, if we are stuck here for Christmas, what do you want to do?" Shawn asks as soon as you're seated by the waitress.

"We're going to find a way home."

"I know you're trying but-"

You shake your head. "No, I'm going to find a way home. I missed Penny's baby. I'm not missing Christmas."

Shawn sighs softly. "Alright. We're going to find a way home. I'll get you home one way or another."

"We'll get us both home."

"Right. Enough about that though, we're supposed to be enjoying dinner and not thinking about all that." Shawn says, lifting his menu. "Look, they have a Christmas dinner option. Ham, potatoes and all the fixings. Sounds good."

You nod and try to focus on the menu. It's hard. You can't help but feel nervous as the day comes to a close. One day until Christmas. At least you're not alone.

_____________________

Just after two in the morning you wake up to a severe weather alert on your phone. The signal must have connected enough for you to get one. Shawn's phone goes off too, loudly buzzing on his dresser.

"What's going on?" Shawn asks sleepily, arm falling to your waist as you sit up.

"It's a severe weather alert." You read the message on your phone. "Blizzard warning. High winds may cause power outages across the state. Below freezing temperatures are in effect, be advised if going outdoors."

"Shit." Shawn mumbles.

"Shit is right. We're not leaving this place."

He pushes you back down and you curl up facing the windows away from him. "We'll be alright."

"This sucks."

"Mmm. I promise I'll make it up to you. It's my fault we're out here because I didn't want to leave Brazil until the last minute. I ruined Christmas." He sighs.

"Shawn, stop. You didn't ruin anything."

He cuddles you against him and presses his nose into your hair. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything."

"I still feel guilty."

You grab his hand and he threads his fingers between yours. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, but I'm not very awake."

"Do you think we were meant to be here, together for Christmas?"

"Hmm?"

"Like...never mind."

Shawn yawns and doesn't press the subject. He relaxes into you, his weight comfortable against your back. You close your eyes, really enjoying this moment despite the impending knowledge of being stuck here for the holiday. You and Shawn fit together perfectly, maybe a little too perfectly.

_____________________

Shawn is gone again when you wake up in the morning. It's after eight and you know you should get up and go get breakfast, but you aren't hungry. It's Christmas Eve. You don't want to get up.

The bedroom door opens and Shawn walks in, bundled up and carrying a bag full of wrapped gifts. "Good morning."

"Morning. What's that?" You point to the gifts and Shawn grins sheepishly.

"Presents."

"For?"

"You?"

You raise your eyebrows. "Why do you have presents for me?"

Shawn sets the bag down by the tree and unwraps his scarf from around his face. "Everyone deserves gifts on Christmas day. And since we're going to be stuck here, I figured we should make our own Christmas."

"You're not sad you can't get home?"

"I was, but I talked to my dad this morning. He said that Christmas is what you make it, whether that be with family, friends or your pets. He said that they will miss me, but he doesn't want me to fret over it. We can do Christmas whenever I get home." Shawn hangs his coat and kicks off his boots. "I'm lucky, because I have you and I'm not alone."

"I guess you're right. We are together in the same boat."

"Yep. So let's make the best of it."

"I suppose I should get up and go shop for you now huh?"

"You could. But let's have some breakfast first." Shawn holds his hand out for you. "Come on, there is cinnamon roll pancakes with your name on them."

"There is?"

"Mmm. I talked to the kitchen staff this morning. They said they would make them special since we're some of the few guests left at the inn." Shawn bites his lip. "I know they're your favorite."

"You're sweet." You curl your fingers around his hand and he lifts you up out of bed. "Too sweet."

Shawn hugs you tight. "You deserve it."

_____________________

Breakfast is amazing. The kitchen crew out did themselves with the cinnamon pancakes with sweet icing for you. Shawn ordered just eggs and bacon but they're also super good. Even the coffee is better than before.

Shawn reaches out and swipes some icing off your lip with his thumb. "Do you like me?"

"What? Of course." Your heart sinks, stomach churning. You know he doesn’t mean in a general way. "Why?"

"I mean, as more than your friend or job...whatever. I've just been thinking. The last few days have been some of the best I've had and-" He looks away, flushed. "And you and I have been kind of flirting a lot? Unless I've been reading this completely wrong."

"You like me?"

"Of course I like you." He looks back and fidgets with his fork. "You and I have had a vibe since you joined the team. I think I've been too nervous to admit it before now. I was too scared to shoot my shot."

You grab Shawn's hand and make him stop tapping his fork on the table. "Calm down. I like you a lot. A whole lot."

"Yeah?" He grins, chewing on his lip.

"Yes."

"Good, because I don't want to stop sharing a bed with you any time soon. You’ve spoiled me the last few days. I don't think I've slept this well since before the tour started." He chuckles to himself. "Remember when I promised you on the plane that as soon as we landed I'd find you a date?"

You giggle and he lines his hand up with yours on the table, palms together, his fingers curling over the top of yours slightly. "Yes?"

"Do you want to go out with me tonight?"

"But there is a blizzard warning."

Shawn looks around the dining room. "We can stay here, I can get hot cocoa and cookies from the kitchen. We can watch a movie or something." His fingers slot between yours and you squeeze his hand. "We can stay up until midnight like kids on Christmas."

"Alright." You smile softly and he looks back just as soft. "Let's do it."

_____________________

At midnight you and Shawn exchange gifts, not all of them, just one each. You had gone out and shopped at a small store in town that had all sorts of things for the holidays. You picked out a few things for Shawn, just little memorable trinkets. One is a keychain so you never forget this holiday and it says first Christmas, Iowa. It's cheesy but you don't care. The next gift you grabbed was a paracord bracelet the store had by the registers. It's black with a red stripe down the middle. You couldn't pass it up. Shawn loves his accessories and especially if they mean something or are a gift.

Shawn hands you a small box wrapped in brown paper first. "Merry Christmas."

You turn it over and give him a look. "What is this?"

"Open it and see."

You tear off the brown paper and open up the box. Inside is a little sparkly rose charm on a gold chain. "This is so cute." You lift it out and it is so ornate and delicate. "Where did you get this?"

"It's a secret." He smirks.

"Mmhmm. You did not buy this here.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“Oh yeah? I have access to your bank account remember? I swore I wouldn’t use it for ill intent but...and you told me you’d never lie to me when we first met.”

“Fine, I did promise you that. I got it before we left Brazil. I was going to give it to you at the airport.”

“Thank you.” You curl your hand around it and smile. “Your turn." You hand him a tiny bag with the bracelet in it.

Shawn opens it and slips it on. "I love it."

"I thought you might. I didn’t get you something cool in Brazil....and I know it's not much but-"

Shawn leans forward and kisses you, hand resting against your neck. Your eyes go wide and he pulls back.

"W-what was that about?"

"Look up."

You tilt your head back and see there is mistletoe hanging over the area in front of the fireplace where you're sat with Shawn. It was definitely not there earlier. "When did that happen?"

"I told you I'd get you back." He smirks and it dawns on you. The other day in the living room, the mistletoe.  

"You put that there." You laugh and he cups your cheek. "You...you put that there?"

"I did." He leans in and you take a deep breath. "And I did it because I needed some Christmas magic to give me the courage to do this." He presses his lips to yours once more and you slide your hand into his hair.

"Merry Christmas Shawn."

"Merry Christmas."

End

______________________

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed this and reblog to support and encourage myself and fellow writers. - A

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

[backtothestart02]

Hot to the Touch - 7/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Fake dating trope, anyone? Here it comes! (Only one chap left of this story!)

Commissioned by @andie1223

Also for @izzyllewis for our fics-for-icons arrangement.

...

Chapter 7 -

Another couple months passed, and with the change in season came a shift in Barry and Iris’ relationship. Barry never initiated these changes, because he was afraid he might lose her if he tried to change anything that might solidify them as more of a couple than an ongoing booty call. It was hard not to get excited though when she made changes.

He was quiet about his reaction to her suggestions every time, just taking it in stride as what she wanted to do. He was a complete doormat when it came to her, and maybe that was a bad thing, but so far he couldn’t see any downside to the way their dynamic was progressing.

First, it was little things. Like, Iris would suggest meeting up earlier in the day too on occasion. She’d say it was because she was extra horny that day, but in truth it wasn’t just that. She missed him. Barry was immediately okay with that, as she suspected he might be, and when he didn’t press for a relationship, she started bringing lunch with her to their afternoon trysts. They’d usually start getting it on halfway through the meal, but that was fine with both of them. They seemed stuck in the honeymoon phase of whatever relationship this was, and they found no problem with that.

Next, and this was kind of a big one, Iris started talking to Barry about his day. At first it was just to see if Becky had made another appearance, and if she should be doing something to combat whatever she was throwing at Barry. But after it became clear that Barry hadn’t had that many more interactions with his ex – all which were flops on Becky’s end – Iris found she genuinely liked knowing what the rest of his life was about other than just how good he could fuck her. Eventually, Barry returned the favor and started asking Iris about her days too. She found she liked the attention and fully opened herself up to gushing and venting about any and everything going on with her.

By the time Thanksgiving break arrived, they were so close and connected, it felt agonizing to be apart for even a weekend.

“So, what are your Thanksgiving plans?” Barry asked her, as she watched her button up her blouse from his recent face dive between her breasts.

Iris shrugged, smiling as she sensed his stare, almost tempted to unbutton her top again just to see the look on his face.

“Strained,” she admitted, to which Barry frowned.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, my mom and dad split up when I was 13. I told you that. My mom took my little brother, and my dad kept me. Things are tense between them when we see each other on the holidays already, but a few months ago my dad started dating again.”

“Ah. Let me guess. She’s coming to Thanksgiving.”

“Yep.”

“So, both your mom and your dad’s girlfriend will be in the same room?”

“Uh-huh. And my brother is very much a mama’s boy, so he probably won’t be on his best behavior. He’s had some anger issues in school due to the split. The fact that our dad chose to stay divorced and start dating again instead of trying to work things out with our mom hit him hard. And he takes it out on me because he’s afraid to take it out on our dad, afraid of what he’ll do.”

Barry frowned. “What might he do?”

“Well, my dad wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s been reaching out to Wally for years in fact, but my brother rejects him every time. I don’t know what he expects at this point.”

“Hmm. Sounds like you need a buffer.”

She smiled, swooning at his implied suggestion.

“Thanks, but I am the buffer.”

His brows furrowed in confusion.

“There’s a possibility Cecile, my dad’s girlfriend, will bring her daughter, Joanie. She’s about Wally’s age and obviously very protective of her mother. I don’t know what the situation is with the dad in their family, but if she brings her…” She shook her head, overwhelmed.

“Chaos.”

She laughed. “Yes, chaos, exactly.”

“Sounds like you need a distraction at the dinner table.”

Iris gnawed at her bottom lip.

“Well, I was thinking of asking Linda to join me, but then…her family goes up north for the holidays, and I don’t think she has a good excuse to not join them this year. Especially after she’s done so well academically this semester.”

“And where does your family have their holiday get-togethers?”

“At my dad’s house in Central City.” She paused, debating, then asked. “You?”

“My parents’ place in Central City.”

“Anyone difficult coming to yours?”

“Just my granddad probably. He adores my mother and loves that my dad is a doctor, but I don’t think he’s real impressed with my accomplishments so far. He thinks I can do so much more than be a CSI with the brain I’ve got, but I don’t really care. It’s what I want to do.”

Iris was immediately turned on by his confidence.

“You really don’t care?”

“Well, of course it’d be great to get his stamp of approval and have him be proud of me, but I don’t need it. My friends Cisco and Caitlin support me and so do my parents.”

“And so do I,” Iris chimed in, smiling brightly and warming Barry’s tummy.

“Iris West,” he propositioned, looking at her gravely. She was still smiling as if all was right in the world. “Will you be my fake girlfriend for Thanksgiving dinner?”

She thought she’d be mortified. She truly believed it would feel like he was pushing her into something she was not ready for and maybe never would be. But this was fake dating, and only for one night. Surely she could manage that. And it would make their prospective dinners easier to endure by far.

“Barry Allen, I would love to.”

That got her a kiss full on the lips, and she giggled helplessly.

The words I love you floated onto her tongue, but she stopped them before they pushed past her lips. It made her still though, and she fought to come up with an excuse so Barry wouldn’t find her sudden tension too odd or related to his recent request.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Uh…nothing. I just remembered something.”

His furrowed brows told her she better come up with something good, and fast.

“I…have to bake a pie.” She paused. “For Thanksgiving.” She paused again. “Sweet potato pie.”

“Sounds yummy. Can I help?”

She smiled, and they both relaxed again.

“And get a free taste before everyone else?” She shook her head. “Uh-uh. I don’t think so.”

He grinned and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“The only thing I want a free taste of is you.”

He lowered his head and nuzzled her face before swooping in for another kiss. Iris wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, moaning against the sweet pressure of his lips.

“You can have that any time,” she mumbled, and deepened the kiss, losing herself in him for a long while until they had to come up for air and go their separate ways.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, boyfriend.”

He grinned like an excited schoolboy caught in a candy store.

“See you tomorrow, girlfriend.”

She laughed at that, waved, and let herself out of the bookstore. A few minutes later, once she was out of sight, he left too.

Iris West was going to be his girlfriend - even if only for one night.

He liked the sound of that.

…

Barry and Iris didn’t meet that night at the bookstore, because they both needed to pack up and drive to their perspective families’ homes. A light snow started to fall within an hour, so the drive to the West and Allen houses took even longer.

Iris was grateful when she finally arrived at her dad’s. She parked in the driveway next to his car, gathered her purse and overnight bags and headed towards the house. She was proud of herself for wearing her fall boots, since the snow was starting to accumulate on the ground. She slipped on her gloves and hat before approaching the house and then knocked lightly on the wooden door. She had to do it a second time and started to worry because of it, but then the door swung open and a bright smile spread across the man before her.

“Baby girl.”

“Hey, Dad.”

She smiled, stepped up into the house and hugged him tightly.

“Oh, I haven’t seen you in ages.” He pulled back to take her in and then stepped aside. “You must be freezing. Come on in. I’ve started a fire in the fireplace. We’ll have you warmed up in no time.”

Shrugging out of her light jacket and other snow-covered items, Iris set her bags at the foot of the stairs and followed her dad into the living room. The place was usually a mess with the man was left there all by himself, but there was not a single speck in sight. The house was immaculate. It had been cleaned with vacuum, broom, and mop, dusted and organized. Iris hadn’t seen it so nice since before her mom moved out.

“Wow, Dad, this looks nice.”

“Thanks.”

He stopped and looked around, as if he hadn’t been responsible for the entire thing.

“I had some extra time on my hands and figured it would be nice for the holidays if my belongings were actually put away and not just stacked in the corner of every room.”

He chuckled lightly, and Iris joined him.

“You thought correct.”

“So, you want to get into something warm and we’ll watch a movie? I’m all set up for tomorrow, so we can just relax tonight.”

“Sounds good…”

“Why do I get the feeling you have something you’re not telling me?”

She laughed a little nervously.

“It’s not much, really. I just, um, I have a boyfriend now?”

His jaw dropped.

“And I was kinda hoping it’d be okay to bring him to dinner tomorrow?”

“When did this happen?” he asked, astonished. “I mean, of course putting one more seat at the table is no big deal, but I thought you would’ve told me you met someone. Especially after what happened with…”

She nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“I just thought you swore off all relationships for the indefinite future.”

She laughed. “I did, but…”

“This one got under your skin?” He smirked.

She felt herself gasp and realized just how true her dad’s words were.

“Something like that.”

He smiled. “Well, I can’t wait to meet him. What’s his name?”

“Barry,” she said. “Barry Allen.”

“And what’s his five-year plan?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Dad.” She rolled her eyes, and he chuckled.

“I’m kidding of course.” He paused for a moment before asking, “But what’s his major?”

She laughed. “Dad!”

“I can’t help it. Your dad wants to know! Will you tell him?”

She shook her head, her eyes alight with laughter.

“Fine, fine… Well, actually…” She frowned. “I don’t even know what his major is.” She laughed. “Something sciencey though. He wants to be a CSI.”

“Oh…very interesting. We don’t have enough of those around. He’d fit in real nicely at CCPD after he graduates.”

“Daaad.” She rolled her eyes again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He held up his hands in surrender. “No more future talk. Why don’t you get in some comfy clothes and I’ll put in a feel-good movie for us for when you get down. Dinner’s almost ready. We can eat that while we’re watching.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She got up and walked towards the stairs, then stopped and faced her dad who was busily searching for a specific movie in the cubby beneath the TV. “Thanks, Dad,” she said, and he lifted his head to look at her.

“For what?”

She shrugged. “For being you.”

He smiled, and she returned it, then headed up the stairs with her bags and put on something warm and comfy for the night ahead.

…

Barry yawned when he woke up in his childhood bed the next morning. He’d had a nice evening with his parents, watching home movies and finishing up some last-minute cleaning in the house. His parents were ecstatic to see him, and even more surprised about his announcement that he was bringing a girlfriend to the house for Thanksgiving dinner. They didn’t mind, of course, and they were excited to see who he was bringing, but he decided to keep it a secret until she showed up. He said he’d be going to her family’s Thanksgiving dinner first and would introduce her properly after that.

As the day waned on, Barry started to feel nervous about his “date” at Iris’. He’d waited months to be on an official date with her. And even if this was just pretend and her whole family would be present with them, it still felt very real.

He wondered then if they should’ve discussed how they met and decided to start dating, what they liked about each other, etc. They most definitely should not include sex as part of the story. On Thanksgiving of all times with other controversial things in play, especially at her dinner, that was simply out of the question.

He needed to call her and sort this out.

He pulled out his phone, selected her name in his contacts list and waited for her to pick up.

“Hello?” came a man’s deep voice, and suddenly he worried that she had a boyfriend back home who wanted to know who this ‘Barry’ was calling his girlfriend.

Chills erupted over him, as well as some slight anger. At himself and borderline at Iris. Why would she have a boyfriend and secretly be sneaking around with him for the past three months? It didn’t make sense. Of course it didn’t. What was he thinking? Why would he jump to that conclusion immediately?

“Dad!” He heard in the background on the phone. “Give it to me.”

The deep voice sounded fainter when Barry heard it again.

“I just want to talk to the young man. Find out his intentions!”

“Dad, no! Give it to me! Not on our- Daaaad!”

And that’s when Barry breathed a sigh of relief. It was her dad.

He smiled.

“Barry?” Iris’ voice came on. “Barry, are you still there?”

“I’m here.” He chuckled, smiling brightly.

“It’s not funny,” she said.

“Eh…it’s a little funny,” he said.

She rolled her eyes and smiled.

“So, what’s up?” she asked, walking into another room. “You aren’t cancelling on me, are you?”

“No, not at all!” he was quick to say. “I was just thinking….um…”

“What?”

“Maybe we should discuss our backstory?”

“Our backstory?” She sounded confused.

“You know, how we met, why we decided to start dating, some cute story the family will want to hear…”

“Oh. Right.”

By the sound of her voice, Barry sensed she hadn’t even thought of it.

“I just thought of it now.”

“Well, I think it’s simple enough.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. I mean, just take the sex out of the equation.”

His laugh was strained. “Meaning?”

She sighed. “Meaning, we met at a bookstore and hit it off at a party.”

“And for a cute story?”

She licked her lips. “Um… I sent a cute text to you in the middle of the open house?”

“A ‘cute’ text, huh?” He smirked.

“Stop!” She laughed. “They don’t need to know the details.”

He laughed harder.

“Barry Allen, I swear, if you don’t-”

But he couldn’t stop laughing. She waited until he was under control.

“Okay, okay, sorry.”

“It’s all right.” There was a smile in her voice. “So, see you later?”

“Five o’clock, sharp.”

“See you then.”

“Goodbye, Iris.”

“Bye, Barry.”

Click.

…

Iris sent Barry the address to her dad’s place half an hour before dinner started. She didn’t know what she expected, but Barry showing up fifteen minutes later with a golden-yellow bouquet of flowers for her certainly hadn’t been it.

“Barry, I take it?” Her dad asked, coming up behind Iris at the front door.

Barry’s eyes bulged at the size of the man, even though they were roughly the same height. He nodded and held out his hand to shake it.

“Mr. West.”

They shook hands.

“Call me Joe,” Iris’ dad said. “I like to keep things casual in this house, especially during the holidays.”

Barry grinned. “Joe.”

“Oh, come on in,” Iris said, grabbing Barry’s arm and pulling him into the house.

She showed him where to take off his shoes, and she took his coat to hang up in the closet at the end of the hall. She gave him a short tour of their home, and as politely as she could, introduced him to her mother, brother, her dad’s girlfriend, and her dad’s girlfriend’s daughter. There were a few other relatives too, but Barry wouldn’t remember their names or their significance later, so Iris only very quickly introduced them before circling back to the fireplace and standing there with Barry until dinner was ready.

“Is that everybody?” Barry joked.

“Everybody here,” Iris said, reaching for his hands to play with his fingers.

Barry lowered his voice and started to lean in.

“I’ve missed you, Iris.”

She caught her breath in her throat.

“It’s only been a day.”

“Still missed you,” he said, and pressed a kiss to her cheek to avoid being scolded.

Apparently it was too far even at that.

“Eww, Gross. PDA,” Wally said in a monotone voice. “Mom, Iris is making out with her boyfriend.”

Barry lifted his head and raised his eyebrows. Wally was playing his Gameboy in his hands, only faintly aware of how close they were and what had actually transpired.

Francine walked over and gave the two of them a look but seemed to understand that her son had exaggerated.

“Put the game away, Wally. We’re with family today.”

“Some family.” He rolled his eyes. But he got up and stuffed his game into his coat pocket in the hallway closet and proceeded to linger in the kitchen, looking for something to eat.

“Iris,” Francine started, but Iris cut in.

“It was a kiss on the cheek, mom. Brief and insignificant,” she said, even though her heart was still racing from the brush of his lips.

Francine nodded, pretty much convinced.

“And what are you majoring in, Barry?”

He smiled lazily, expecting the question.

“I want to be a CSI,” he said. “I like forensics.”

“Oh, very interesting.” She paused, and Barry knew it wasn’t as interesting to her as she had said. Still, it hardly mattered. Iris was beside him holding his hand. “How did you two meet?”

“At a bookstore,” Iris smoothly said. “We bumped into each other in the same section.”

“And what section was that?”

“Mystery-”

“Romance-”

Francine turned with curiosity to her daughter’s boyfriend who had offered up the latter genre.

“Romance, Barry?”

He blushed fiercely.

“Who doesn’t love a good love story?”

She smiled slowly. “Good answer.” Then she walked away.

Iris was on the verge of laughter when Barry finally looked back at her.

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

She looped her arm through his and led him into the dining room. Dinner was just about ready.

…

The rest of the West Thanksgiving dinner went relatively smoothly. Barry and Iris shared the rest of their ‘couple story’ better than they had with Francine, and despite the obvious tension between other members of the family, it appeared that with a non-related member there, they were less inclined to start a full-out brawl in the middle of the dining room table.

Everyone approved of Iris’ last-minute sweet potato pie, and Barry in particular praised it highly.

When it was time for them to go in order to make it for at least part of Barry’s family’s Thanksgiving dinner, everyone was pleasant enough and wished them well as they headed out the door.

“Very good to meet you, Barry,” Joe said, and Barry reached out his hand for him to shake again, but Joe brought him in for a big bear hug instead. “Mind if I call you Bear, for short?”

Barry’s jaw dropped. It was the same name Iris herself had casually called him a time or two.

“Sure,” he said, a lazy smile on his face.

Joe’s grin stretched wide across his face.

“Bye, you two. I’ll see you later, Iris?”

“I’ll bring her back, I promise,” Barry confided, and Iris was just a tiny bit put out. She wanted some time with just the two of them together, but of course she understood. Barry probably wanted time with his family too.

They waved and got in Barry’s car. Within 15 minutes they were at his parents’ house. Only two other cars were in the driveway, one belonging to Barry’s parents and the other to his granddad. There was another vehicle parked across the street, but Barry and Iris didn’t pay it any mind until they walked into the house and found a familiar blonde chatting it up with Barry’s relatives.

“Becky.”

“Oh, Barry, you’re-”

Becky’s voice abruptly stopped. Immediately, Barry knew what had happened. Becky had invited herself over, claiming that she and Barry had gotten back together and had just decided to arrive separately. His parents hadn’t known any differently since he hadn’t given specifics.

Now he really wished he had.

“Who is this?” Barry’s dad asked when he saw Iris standing beside his son.

“This is Iris,” Barry forced himself to say. “My girlfriend.”

Barry’s whole family frowned and then turned to Becky, who was not pulling off being shocked as well as she was trying to.

“But Becky here said-” His granddad started.

“I haven’t seen Becky in two months,” Barry said, deciding to be frank. He was livid over what Becky had been trying to do. “At which point I made it clear to her I was with someone else and not interested in getting back together.”

Iris looked up at him and smiled softly. She’d been so upset at that initial meeting because she didn’t think she could envision herself dating him when that was exactly what Becky was offering. But now she realized her jealousy had been completely unwarranted. Barry really didn’t like Becky, and he really liked her.

Maybe she should consider…

“I think I better go,” Becky mumbled. The rest of the family said nothing as she gathered her things and headed out.

Barry was on the verge of confirming what a great idea that was, but he knew his mom would give him hell for being so bluntly mean, so he kept it to himself.

Once she was gone, the tension increased tenfold. That was until Iris approached the table and took a seat.

“You know, I thought I was stuffed from eating at my dad’s, but this food looks too delicious not to taste. May I have some?”

Barry’s mother brightened immediately.

“Yes, of course, dear. Let me get you a plate.”

Barry came and sat beside her. They held hands under the table and smiled at each other briefly before consuming some of his mother’s food.

To Barry’s great surprise, his granddad seemed more interested in Iris than in belittling his choice of a future career, which made the whole night much more enjoyable than any of them could’ve expected.

As his granddad was leaving about an hour later, he turned to Iris.

“Iris is a much prettier name than Becky,” he said, and lifted her hand to kiss the back of it. “It was good to meet you, Iris.”

Iris felt heat flood her cheeks.

“Th-Thank you, Sir.”

He smiled, nodded, then waved to the rest of the family and was on his way out.

Barry and Iris sat with his parents by their fireplace for a while longer before Iris mentioned that she should probably be heading back. Barry’s parents shared how much they enjoyed her company and how they hoped to see her again, and how sorry they were for Becky’s deceit in their absence.

Iris brushed it aside, smiled and hugged them both before heading out the door with Barry and riding with him back to her dad’s place.

“Well, tonight went well,” Barry said, once he had parked in the driveway.

“I thought so,” Iris chimed in. “Better than expected anyway.”

“Both our families like us.”

“Which is an important thing.” She chuckled.

He leaned his head back on his headrest.

“I’m so glad you were with me tonight, Iris – at my parents’ place. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten Becky to leave if I hadn’t had you with me as proof that she wasn’t actually my girlfriend.”

“Happy to be of service.” She smiled prettily. “And, you know, if you ever need me to fake being your girlfriend again for the sake of getting rid of Becky, I am at your disposal.”

He chuckled. “Thanks. Same for you…if you need a boyfriend at a family function for whatever reason.”

She grinned. “’Kay. Thanks.”

He stared deep into her eyes and cupped her face. Just as he started to lean in, Iris interjected.

“My dad-”

Barry lifted his head, but he couldn’t see Joe West in any window on the front of the house.

“I think we’re in the clear,” he said, grinning as he looked down at her.

Relieved that there’d been confirmation of no onlookers, Iris grabbed a hold of her fake boyfriend’s face and pulled it down to her, kissing him soundly.

“Oh, thank God.”

Barry moaned. “You can say that again.”

“It feels like ages since I’ve kissed you.”

“And to think we’ll have to wait any longer until-”

“It’ll just make the reunion all the more special.”

“Or you could sneak away and we could hook up at my parents’ house tomorrow.”

She pulled back, her eyes wide.

“Barry Allen!” She smacked his chest.

“What? They’ll both be away!”

Iris opened the door and stepped onto the pavement.

“I cannot believe you. In your parents’ house?”

“Unless you want to do it here?” he offered. “Your dad works tomorrow, doesn’t he?”

She laughed. “You are…unbelievable.”

“So…see you tomorrow?” he asked, stepping out of the car to get her answer.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Iris!”

She spun around.

“Maybe.”

He grinned wide.

“But not at our parents’ houses!”

He laughed.

“Okay, okay, you choose.”

She rolled her eyes again.

“Goodnight, Barry.”

His laugh lessened into a smile.

“Goodnight, Iris,” he said softly, then watched her walk into her dad’s house before getting back into the car and driving himself home.

...

*will be posted on AO3 and FFnet when beta’d.

[chevrolangels]

When My Time Comes

death!cas,  3.3k

Continuing my tradition of posting ~spooky~ fics for Halloween, here’s a little thing with Death!Cas. I know we’re all freaking out with spn ending and a possible looming end for our fave so I hope this is a nice little au reprieve. The title is from 'Work Song' by Hozier, bc I needed to use one of his lyrics for a title eventually.

Enjoy.

read on ao3

The first time Castiel met him, he was crying.

 He beat out with his tiny fists, and his father dragged him away, but not before he managed to swipe at Castiel. His hand passed through him like mist, and Castiel felt a shock, like he had been plunged in icy water. 

 Castiel extended a hand, and he and Mary Winchester walked into the afterlife together.

 “Your son is a feisty one,” he told her.

“Good,” Mary replied. “He'll have to be without his mama.”

◆

“I know what you are.”

A man—boy, really—his hands clenched. He stared at Castiel, anger staining his soul. 

Castiel knew those eyes.

“You’re a reaper,” the man accused.

Castiel did not deny it.

 He simply stood, withdrawing his hands from the body in the alley. 

“That’s one word for what I am.”

The words dragged like rust in Castiel’s throat. It had been some time since he last spoke.

 “I've been searching for you. For years.” 

Castiel looked away, and said nothing. 

 The boy eyed him for several silent moments.

“Why can I see you?” 

 Castiel told him honestly. 

“I don't know.”

 Some of the tension bled from the boy’s shoulders.

“You got a name?” He asked gruffly.

 Castiel nodded.

“My name is Castiel.”

The boy took an abortive step forward, his fingers outstretched. Castiel did not move. 

He reached the outline of where Castiel’s shoulder should be, but touched nothing but air.

His hand dropped. 

“I’m Dean,” he said finally. “Dean Winchester.”

 “I know,” Castiel answered softly. “Hello, Dean.”

◇

“Why can't I touch you?” He asked, the next time they met.

 “Would you like to?”

 Dean thought for a moment, his brow furrowed.

“Yes.”

 Castiel stepped past Dean’s grandfather, lying sick in his bed. Castiel had never done it before, but he saw no reason why it wouldn’t be possible. He extended his arm and thought very hard.

He felt himself solidify, and Dean reached out tentatively, as if Castiel were poisonous. He touched the back of his hand.

His fingers were hot, searing flame, burning brighter than anything Castiel had ever known.

 Until, that is, Dean punched him in the face.

“That was for my ma,” he said.

◆

“I do not cause death,” Castiel said, many months later. “I am merely the link between worlds.”

 Dean lifted his head, shock crossing his pale face. 

“You again.”

His voice was hoarse, weakened through many nights of grief. Tragedy had once again come to their small community, and Castiel could feel Dean’s soul still aching from it.

Castiel stepped forward, looking at the cold form lying before Dean, life now burnt out.

“You were not related to this man,” he said, almost a question.

“No,” Dean answered shortly. 

“Ah.” 

 Castiel looked away. Even after all this time, the nuances of humanity still escaped him.

The silence between them stretched. Castiel furrowed his brow, searching for the appropriate words to use. 

“I’m sorry.”

 Dean said nothing, but his eyes widened, betraying his surprise.

“Dean.” 

Another entered the room, long hair skimming over reddened eyes.

“They want us outside,” the newcomer said, thin, tall, even younger than Dean. “You know. To say a few words.”

 His request was thick, choked. Castiel looked back from his face to Dean’s. Their pain was great, and shared. 

“Yeah, be there soon, Sammy,” Dean answered in a low voice, never taking his eyes off Castiel.

 The boy waited for a moment, eyes sliding towards the spot where Castiel stood, where to him was only empty space.

“You’re not still seeing ghosts, are you?” He asked, smiling wanly. 

His soul flickered, strangely dim. 

“Nah,” Dean answered quietly.

They did not speak after that, even after the boy left the room. Some time later, Dean left too, with a quick nod toward Castiel, so brief he might have missed it.

Castiel watched him go.

Robert Singer sighed, a wistful smile on his face.

“Well,” he said, turning to Castiel. “We’d better get goin’, huh?”

 Castiel nodded.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Let’s.”

◇

Revolution came. Blood ran through the streets and voices cried out in the dawn, the sound of shouts and guns being fired. 

 Dean lay slumped against a building, bleeding in the dirt—a wound in his thigh that desperately needed a doctor. Castiel waited by the dying body of Dean’s compatriot, watching soldiers run past.

Dean saw him and his face went pale.

 “Well, Castiel,” he murmured. “You comin’ to finish me off?”

 He knew. He knew if Castiel was there, it was already too late.

 He passed out soon after from the blood loss. Dean was not to die yet, but soon. Thirty minutes maybe, a stray bullet to the head. He would feel nothing. 

Castiel thought for a moment. Then he did something he was not allowed to do. 

 He picked up the dead comrade’s helmet and slipped it over Dean’s head, brushing the hair back from his glassy green eyes. Then Castiel gently laid him back against the building.

 “Not yet, Dean Winchester,” he whispered.

◆

Castiel was not sure why he did it. But nothing happened. No fire, no brimstone, no splitting of the fabric of time. Whatever cosmic consequences he had incurred lay quiet.

In the hospital, many died. Castiel checked on him frequently. By the seventh death, he was awake.

"Castiel," he whispered. “Cas.”

 The nurse hushed him and quickly turned up his medicine. Dean slipped back under—but not before he grabbed Castiel’s hand.

In sleep, he burns cooler, the swirling ocean during a storm.

◇

Dean sat there, sunken eyes, in a wheelchair. 

War brings out the demons inside.

"Y'know, I'm startin' to think you're following me."

 Castiel frowned. 

"You do not know this man. I believe you are the one following me."

"Yeah, well." Dean turned his head away, scratching at a cheek covered in rough stubble. "I had to thank you, didn't I?"

 Castiel hesitated.

"I did nothing."

"Sure."

 Dean picked at the edge of his bandage. A couple weeks and he'd be able to walk again. 

 "All I'm saying is, it's pretty nice I got the angel of death as my friend."

Castiel let out a small derisive sound.

"I am not an angel."

"Then what are you?"

Castiel thought for a moment.

"I'm not sure."

 Then, something in his words registered. Castiel looked at him curiously. 

 "Friend?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Friend."

◆

Dean was not there when Castiel took his father. They hadn't spoken in years.

 “So that’s it,” John said flatly.

Castiel nodded.

“Yes.”

 John was silent for a long moment. 

“Guess there’s no talking my way outta this one,” he muttered. “No more deals to make.”

Castiel slowly shook his head.

 John looked back at his own body, tears welling in his eyes.

“Miss my boys,” he mumbled. “I shoulda...shoulda done more. Shoulda done right by them.”

He sighed, staring blankly at his hands.

“Guess it’s too late now.”

 Castiel spoke softly.

“Your son is a fine man.”

“Yeah?” John turned, raising an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

 Castiel avoided his eyes, holding out a hand.

"Come," he said. "Mary is waiting."

◇

"How come I see you so much?”

"Death is everywhere.”

"Then how come your name isn't...y'know. Death?” 

 "There are many old names for things. Everything changes with time."

Silence sat between them, comfortable yet steady.

"Is there a god?" 

"Why would you ask me that?" 

"Dunno. Figured if there was, they'd be your boss."

"If there is, I've never met them.”

“Huh. Told Sammy as much. He still thinks you don’t exist, by the way.”

“People find it hard to believe things they cannot see.”

“Mmm.”

“It’s something I have wondered, many times, Yet it remains mysterious, even to me." 

 Castiel looked down at his hands, the means of his lonely burden.

 "I am merely the ferryman,” he murmured. 

Dean nudged his shoulder.

"So the Greeks were right then?"

"What?"

 Dean rolled his eyes.

 "Never mind."

◆

When his next-door neighbor died on his kitchen floor, Castiel visited Dean. 

He was crying. 

“Dean.”

 He looked up slowly, eyes unfocused.

“My dad’s dead,” he mumbled. Castiel nodded.

“I know.”

 “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Castiel shrugged slowly.

 “I hadn't talked to him,” Dean said, a confession. “Not in years.”

“He mentioned you.”

Dean dropped his head back in his hands, shoulders shaking. Rather than comfort, Castiel’s words seemed to have the opposite effect.

 Castiel stood still for several long moments.

Then he knelt, reached out, and touched his cheek.

Tears clung to Dean’s lashes. He looked up at Castiel, shattered, laid bare, his rough exterior finally split open.

 Dean leaned forward, lips parting.

 This soft, broken man was the edge of a knife, a precipice for which there could be no coming back.

   Castiel brushed a thumb over the freckles dusting his skin—wheat and honey stars in a milky sky. 

And he kissed him.

◇

Dean still burns cool in his sleep. But they've evened out, and now, he feels like warm summer rain in Castiel’s arms. He has stopped shivering when Castiel holds him.

 “What do I look like?” Castiel whispers one night.

They do not have much time left. Castiel has been reckless, pushing the limits further and further each time he stays. He cannot begin to imagine what danger might come from his disobedience.

 “You don't know?”

Dean smiles, and starts to trace the lines of his face.

“You look human. Sorta.”

His fingers dance down Castiel’s jaw, sweeping across his chin.

“But...I look at you, and know you're not...y’know?” He laughs softly. “I can just tell. You're made of something else.”

Dean’s hands skim across Castiel’s bare throat.

“When you’re wearing clothes,” he continues, a hint of mischief in his tone. “It’s always the same ugly-ass coat.”

Castiel makes a small indignant sound.

“It is not ugly.”

“Just saying.”

Dean grins, loose and easy, tangling his fingers in Castiel’s own.

“You could rock the whole badass look. Black cloak, scythe—the whole deal.”

“The scythe was quite cumbersome,” Castiel deadpans.

 Dean looks at him for a moment until he realizes Castiel’s joking—and he laughs.

“And you got one hell of a sense of humor,” he murmurs, leaning in.

 Castiel accepts the kiss, closing his eyes. Despite all he’s seen, all he’s suffered, Dean is still so full of love. The resilience of humans will never fail to astound Castiel, but Dean is something else. 

He pulls back, smiling softly, then reaches up, tugging at Castiel’s hair. 

“This is brown. Really dark brown, almost black. Way darker than mine.” 

Dean looks at him, lowering his voice.

“Your eyes are blue, and they're the prettiest eyes I've ever seen.”

 Castiel catches his hand, pressing a small kiss to his palm.

Dean’s smile fades as he watches Castiel, his chest rising and falling slowly. Castiel’s does not. 

He does not breathe.

 “When I gonna die, Cas?” Dean whispers.

 Castiel goes still. 

Dean searches his face. 

“C’mon,” he says, a slight shake in his voice. “You gotta know.”

Castiel looks at him, and realizes he does not. 

 “I don't,” he says, shocking himself with the words. 

Dean doesn't heed him, barreling on.

“Because when I die, I mean what if—”

He stops, fear in his eyes.

“What if I never see you again?” Dean whispers.

 Castiel cradles Dean’s face in his hand, shaking his head, opening his mouth to whisper false words of comfort. 

That's when he feels a tug at the edges of his being, and he’s being pulled halfway across the world, to the next death. 

 The last thing Castiel sees are Dean’s panicked green eyes, before everything turns to black.

◆

“SAM, NO—”

Dean runs, his scream rending the night air.

“No, no, Sammy—”

He reaches Sam just before he collapses, dropping with him in the wet dirt. 

“Dean—” Sam chokes out, as the perpetrator runs away with his crime into the dark. “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Hey, hey, no—it’s okay, alright?” Dean tries to pull him up, support him, even as Sam falls to his knees, slumping forward. “You’re fine—it’s fine, it’s not even that bad, it’s not—”

Dean cuts off. He lifts a shaky hand from the wet patch spreading over Sam’s back, seeing it come away covered in slick red.

“Shit,” he breathes lowly.

Sam says something, jagged and garbled in his throat. Dean shushes him, hands coming to his face. 

“No, no, Sammy, you’re gonna be fine—we faced worse before, you just need to—”

 Sam’s face is ashen white, his eyes starting to slip closed. Dean gasps back a choked breath.

 “C’mon, Sammy,” he begs. “Come on.”

He looks around, to cry for help, for something, anything—

And he sees Castiel.

 “No,” Dean breathes.

  “I'm sorry, Dean,” Castiel whispers.

  “No,” Dean snarls again, gripping the back of his brother's jacket.

He doesn't have long. Samuel Winchester’s heart is pushing the blood out of him, slowly but surely. It won't take more than a few minutes.

   Castiel takes a few steps forward, but Dean jerks back, dragging Sam backward, shielding him with his own body. 

 Dean meets Castiel’s eyes. He's broken. 

“No, Cas,” he whispers. “Please, no.”

Castiel’s hands tremble.

“I have to.”

Sam breathes in raggedly.

“Just a few more years,” Dean whispers. “Please.”

“I can’t,” Castiel answers softly. “Death demands life.”

“One year, just one year, c’mon, at least give him something—”

Dean stops, choking back sobs. His breath spirals silently into the night air, the ground slick with rain and blood.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel murmurs.

 He kneels beside them and places a hand on Sam’s forehead. 

Dean watches, bone-white and utterly defeated. 

Sam gasps.

“Dean,” he murmurs. “I...I see him.”

 Dean looks down at him, shocked out of his stupor.

“Y-yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Sam whispers. “Your angel...Cas.” 

Dean nods silently, tears dripping down thick and fast.

“He was real after all,” Sam mumbles, his head drooping onto Dean's chest.

 Dean stares down at his brother’s pale face, hands clenched in the loose folds of his jacket.

Seconds, now.

 Castiel closes his eyes. He has no heart, but he’s sure this is what it feels like when it breaks. 

“Take me.”

Castiel looks up sharply.

Dean’s jaw is set, his eyes are firm. 

 “Take me instead,” he orders again.

Castiel stutters, fear constricting his throat.

“Dean, I—”

 He stops, shaking his head. 

“I can’t,” he whispers.

“Bullshit, you can’t,” Dean spits back. “You saved me.”

 “I—”

 His argument dies in his throat. 

As Castiel beholds him, stares into Dean’s eyes—his fate is murky, the truth to Castiel lost in shadow.

  Dean reaches out, catching the edge of Castiel’s sleeve.

"Please," he begs. "Please, Cas."

  Castiel shudders, and looks back to Sam’s pale face.

“And you would leave him here alone?” He swallows thickly. “Without you.”

 Dean is silent for a long moment. When Castiel finally musters the courage to look back at him, his normally carefree face is drawn tight, resignation heavy on his shoulders.

“I ain’t supposed to be here, Cas,” he whispers. “I felt it. Ever since…”

 Castiel knows. 

Ever since he ripped up the rules, leaving nothing.

  “I was supposed to die,” Dean says quietly. “Maybe I should. “

Sam’s breathing slows, his face grows slack.

Dean tightens his grip, knuckles white. 

“It’ll be hard for him at first,” he breathes, looking down at Sam. “For—for both of us. But I know he’ll understand.”

 Castiel cannot think. Dean cannot fathom what he’s asking of him.

 “Cas.”

 Dean’s voice breaks on his name.

“Cas—please,” he whispers. 

A soft touch on his cheek.

 “We’ll see each other again,” Dean breathes, swallowing thickly. “R-right?”

Castiel folds his hand over Dean’s. 

“Right,” he whispers, but he’s not sure if it's true.

He slowly places his other hand on Sam’s, and looks up into Dean’s eyes. He nods, just once.

Sam bolts upright, just as Dean slumps over, the light fading from his eyes.

 Castiel sags, the transfer of energy leaving him weak. It's like watching a film in reverse—Sam rises dazedly, and when he understands what has occurred, he is the one now shaking his brother’s lifeless body, agony in his voice.

“Dean!” He calls, looking around wildly. “Castiel, you son of a bitch, don’t you dare—bring him back—”

He continues raging, cursing Castiel in one breath and begging for help in the next.

 “I’m sorry, Sam,” Dean whispers.

Sam stills, hiccuping.

“Be good, alright?” Dean continues softly. “You keep fighting. And take care of my wheels.”

Sam drops his head, stifling a choked laugh. Dean smiles, sad and bittersweet.

“Remember what Dad taught you, okay?” He murmurs. “And what I taught you.”

 Behind them, a soft white light begins to glow, banishing the obscure dark. Sam does not notice, or see. He is too caught up in his grief, mourning over a now-empty shell.

The universe demanded the soul of a Winchester, and it got one. Yet a life traded for another cannot move on. 

Castiel knows this. 

Beside him, Dean’s hand finds his.

Castiel shivers. Not candle-warm, like the other souls he’s helped cross over. Dean’s hand is as cold as his own.

 “Let's go, Cas,” Dean whispers. “I can't see this.”

They turn away, Castiel giving one last look to the brother they’re leaving behind.

 And they walk forward into the light.

◆◇

Castiel’s work has always been demanding. Souls dying everywhere across the globe, some within the same second. 

 With two, the job is somewhat easier. 

◇◆

She opens her eyes. She must’ve slipped under again, a brief respite from the pain.

She sits up and is surprised to find the motion does not hurt her. In fact, nothing hurts anymore. Instead, she feels only lightness.

“Well, you sure took your sweet time.”

   She turns, startled to see a man standing at the foot of her bed.

He clicks his tongue, pulling back the edge of a leather glove to tap a shining watch on his wrist.

“We’re late enough as it is,” he says expectantly. “And I don’t got all day, seeing as my brother’ll kill me if I don’t get to visit him again.”

He thinks a moment, then chuckles, a wry smile playing around his lips.

“Well.” He smirks. “He would if he could.”

 She blinks a few times, bewildered.

“Who are you?” 

 The man ignores her question, removing his gloves completely. He’s tall, impeccably dressed in a dark suit and black cloak. 

“Tessa, right?”

He smiles, extending a hand.

On his fourth finger is a ring, white ivory in a square setting.

 Tessa doesn’t move.

“I’m dead.”

 The man winks.

“Bingo,” he answers. “Or ‘condolences’, as Cas would say.”

 Before she can ask what that's supposed to mean, the man quickly checks his watch again, speaking brusquely.

“Okay, but seriously, come on.” He jerks his head, nodding over his shoulder. You’d think we’d have all the time in the world, but turns out we run on a very tight schedule.”

Tessa eyes him warily.

“And...where are we going?” 

“Y’know.” The man gestures vaguely. “On. As they say.”

“On,” she repeats.

 The man smirks.

“Yeah. Dust in the wind and all that.”

She frowns.

“What?”

“It’s a—” The man stops, waving an impatient hand. “You know what—never mind.”

 He turns, beckoning once again. Seeing no other option, Tessa falls into step beside him. 

Before them is a warm silver light, growing brighter by the second.

They reach the threshold of what seems to be a shimmering door, a gateway.

Tessa takes a deep breath. Despite everything, she is not afraid. 

 She looks back at her strange shepherd, gathering her courage.

“So.”

He glances up, raising an eybrow.

“You’re Death,” she says.

 The man chuckles, once again pulling on his black gloves.  

"Sure am," he answers, smiling. "Well—"

He shrugs.

"One of them, anyway.”

 He turns, holding a hand out for her to shake.

“You can call me Dean.”

◆◇

[mister-fleck]

blue heart: arthur fleck x reader

Prompt: All of my Arthur/Male Reader requests combined into one.

Standing here, neck stiff and blood cold in Hoyt’s office, Arthur daydreamed about what his life would be like if he hadn’t been born into poverty.

Would he still have the same morals, the same gentle mentality if he had been raised like Thomas Wayne? If he had been taught arithmetic at a private school, instead of half-heartedly lectured on his mother’s couch? If he had the luxury of showering with shampoo rather than discounted bar soap? If he had been able to celebrate his birthday as a child, rather than wistfully wonder how old he even was?

“Why would I keep a sign?” Arthur heard himself defend, barely audible, hardly there. It was beyond him why somebody would think that he would lie about being jumped. By children. How mortifying. If it hadn’t been work related, Arthur would have easily kept it to himself.

And yet, his boss brushed it off, scoffing and rolling his eyes as he continued to go down the list as to why Arthur was an inadequate human being. Normally, Arthur would reach into his pocket and take out his rolodex of coping mechanisms for this exact occasion, but there was something in the way Hoyt dipped his chin, looked at him as if to say really?

As his pulse reached his ears like the drums of war, Arthur knew that if he didn’t get out of there soon he would be leaving with blood on his hands. So he smiled, he smiled, he smiled all the way through the hallway, down the stairs, and out into the alleyway. 

But once he was alone in the shadows, Arthur snapped. He felt himself fly out of his body, abruptly disassociating, and watched himself werewolf. It frightened him, what years of rage looked like, of how he was capable of muting the pain in his shoulder and ribs as he drove his foot into the nearest dumpster. 

He imagined Hoyt lying there, blood pouring out of his nose, begging for mercy as Arthur stomped his face in. How blissful it would be to finally shut him up. Arthur transcribed his violence into music — the low notes of sin, the high falsettos of redemption. 

Arthur’s lungs burned, each inhale ragged and unfaithful as he continued to plow the imaginary corpse of his boss. Eventually his body gave out, not cut out for such brutality — it had been days since he had eaten a solid meal — and he found himself collapsing within the heaps of trash. 

But as he did so, the heel of his shoe skidded across something slick and Arthur didn’t land as he had hoped — no, he was forced to put his hands out behind him to stop himself from ramming his head into the dumpster, which in turn led to —

“Fuck, ow!”

Seething in an agonized breath through his teeth, Arthur forced himself into a sitting position and cradled his right hand in alarm. Pain shot through the tendons of his wrist, white-hot and throbbing, and Arthur found himself blinking away tears. It was just his luck. The one time he had allowed himself to vent, he wound up injured. Nothing surprised him anymore. 

Now back at home, Arthur rolled up his sleeve and sat down at the kitchen table to examine the damage. There wasn’t anything gruesome, thankfully — no bones sticking out or deep gashes — but it was still spasming and tender to the touch. 

“What the hell did I do?” He mumbled to himself, thick brows furrowing as he turned on the lamp nearby to take a closer look.  His hand was starting to swell. Wanting to test just how hurt he was, Arthur attempted to clench his hand up into a fist but cried out at the unexpected, blinding pain that coursed through his wrist and up his arm.

“Happy? What’s going on?”

Arthur’s head shot up. He had forgotten about his mother trying to sleep down the hall. “Sorry, Ma!” He hesitated, grasping at excuses with a vague hand gesture. “Just, uh, banged my knee!” 

“Don’t do that,” his mother called out wearily, as if Arthur needed to be instructed. “It’s bad for you.” 

Rolling his eyes fondly, Arthur pushed himself up onto his feet and padded his way over to the kitchen cabinets. His body ached all over and he cursed his poor behavior. Why would he throw such an irresponsible tantrum after being beaten the day before? It made Arthur feel like a child, this new situation, and he felt his eyes burn again. Would a day go by where Arthur didn’t feel like crying?

On the top shelf of the furthest cabinet sat a paper bag, the contents within something of a first aid kit. It wasn’t anything grand, just some bandages and disinfectant that Arthur had gathered over the years due to, well — life. Thankfully there was still half a roll of gauze left. He figured he could put together some sort of makeshift brace. How hard could it be?

The following morning, Arthur trembled with frustration as his bandages came loose once again. He was back at work, midway through opening his tray of face paints when he felt the gauze begin to unravel for the third time that day. Thankfully, he was the first one in and consequently alone, so Arthur didn’t feel too self-conscious when he let out a gruff:

“God damn it.” 

“Are you okay?”

A little spooked, Arthur gasped and whipped around, a few of his paint brushes rolling off of the vanity counter in the process. He could have sworn that he was all by himself. 

An embarrassed flush painted Arthur’s chest and neck upon noticing an unfamiliar young man standing at the top of the staircase. Was this a client? A lawyer? His heart seized as he remembered the gun tucked away in his locker. Would he get in trouble for that?

The man raised his eyebrows apologetically and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Didn’t mean to startle you. But you sounded like you were in pain,” he explained, his voice smooth and sweet. He made his way over to Arthur, kneeling immediately to pick up the fallen brushes. Gazing up at him beneath long lashes, the man threw him a smile so charming that Arthur could have collapsed. “Here you go.”

Arthur shyly accepted them with a smile of his own, though he doubted it was anything nearly as arresting as what this man had gifted him. “Thank you. Yeah, I — uh, fell yesterday,” he managed to stammer, glancing down at his stupid, stupid hand. 

“Can I take a look?” The stranger almost perked up at the news. “I know first aid, I might be able to help.”

Really out of his element here, Arthur sat back a little and tilted his head. “Who are you?”

The man laughed softly and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Sorry, I’m Hoyt’s nephew. I’ll be working here as his new assistant.” He remained kneeling, seemingly completely comfortable with their close proximity, and held out his hand. “May I see?”

A little guarded but hopeful, Arthur gave him a short nod and extended his bandaged wrist, face pinched with pain as he held his breath. “I think it might be sprained. I don’t know.”

Hoyt’s nephew frowned, gingerly turning over Arthur’s hand. “You should definitely get this wrapped. Properly.” He shifted, preparing to unwind the gauze, but something caught his eye.

The bruises on his shoulder. The damage to his ribs. Arthur had forgotten that he had been shirtless this entire time.

“Yeah, I really took a spill,” Arthur spoke up awkwardly, definitely not prepared to admit to this kind stranger that a handful of kids had beaten him up. “Fell down the stairs.”

The man winced sympathetically, beginning to cautiously wind the bandage up and over the dip of his thumb. “I’m sorry to hear that, Arthur.” 

All of this positive attention was starting to make Arthur nervous. He knew that it never lasted very long. “How do you know my name?”

With a quirk of his lips, the stranger playfully tilted his head toward the plastic tray of paint on the counter. Upon its lid in permanent marker was a smudged Arthur F.

“Oh,” Arthur let out a sheepish laugh. “Right.”

—

To Arthur’s bewilderment, the kindness didn’t stop there. It seemed as though they tended to arrive at the same time, a few minutes earlier than everybody else. They bonded over cheap coffee and cigarettes, even gossiping about the other workers, how they performed and what gimmicks they used. He was so delighted — for the first time in his entire career as a clown, Arthur was excited to wake up in the morning. To see him. 

It took a while for his wrist to heal and as much as Arthur tried to hide his exasperation, the young man caught onto it. 

“Hey, maybe I could help?” He had offered one morning after watching Arthur struggle to apply the blue paint near his eyes. “I’ve practically memorized your routine.”

Arthur dipped his chin bashfully and lifted one of his shoulders. “No, I could never ask you to do that.”

“You weren’t the one that asked,” he replied easily, and before Arthur could react the younger man had lowered himself onto his lap. “C’mon. Give me the brush.” 

He smelled like vanilla and coffee and aftershave and Arthur felt himself fall in love. “Oh.” 

“You do that a lot,” the man teased, carefully dipping the brush into blue. He lifted his voice to match the pitch of Arthur’s. “Oh.”

Blushing wildly, Arthur gripped at the sides of the chair, knuckles white. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” A gentle swipe near the swell of his cheek. “It’s cute.”

Arthur was beside himself with pride when a laughing attack never came. 

—

Having his make up done became the newest addition to his routine. You’re a star, Arthur, the man would admonish upon each protest. You’ll have to get used to having a make-up artist. Might as well start now. 

Those here-and-there compliments were the highlights of Arthur’s day. Not because he was a narcissist — far from it. Because they were genuine. And warm. Arthur was finally starting to understand what it felt like to be noticed. 

It was a Wednesday when Arthur mustered up the courage to touch him. They were alone again, the sun barely having risen, cigarettes long forgotten as they sat close together. His new friend had openly fancied sitting in his lap each morning, flippantly defending that it was the best angle to do his work. Arthur would never complain. 

“Why are you so nice to me?” Arthur questioned, feeling like a child again. His voice wavered. “I don’t understand.”

The man smiled his Arthur smile. “Because I like you, silly boy.” Confident as always, he reached out and tucked away some of Arthur’s hair — but didn’t stop there. It turned into a bit of an affectionate stroke, twirling brown locks between his fingers. “How could I not be nice to you, Arthur? You’re such a sweetie.” 

Arthur was very rarely bold, but there was something about that smile that inspired him to reach forward and mimic, twirl his own fingers around the man’s hair. He soon pulled away, though, not quite that bold. Arthur swallowed hard, counted the freckles on the man’s nose. They were sitting so close. “I like you, too.” 

The heavy, familiar slam of the employee entrance echoed its way up the stairs and the two wordlessly separated. They had a mutual, silent understanding that their behavior was a little too friendly for the workplace. But Arthur didn’t mind it. He found something romantic in keeping their moments a secret. They didn’t need to be shared. He’d rather keep them protected.

With a small squeeze to Arthur’s shoulder and a smile, the man slipped away, passing Randall as he descended the stairs. His gaze lingered there, already missing his company.

“What’s with the face?” Randall barked at him, moseying his way over to the lockers. “Are you high?”

Turning back around to face the mirror, Arthur let out a quiet, painless laugh upon seeing a tiny blue heart painted on his cheek bone. “No,” he murmured, fuzzy all over. “Just happy.” 

—

Arthur dreamt of him that night. It was a simple dream — just the two of them, cuddled up on a love seat, watching an old film. The house was foreign to him, but nice and clean. They were holding hands. Dinner was warming in the oven. They had matching slippers. It felt like home.

Even Arthur’s mother, despite how far, far away she always was, started to notice the change in him. 

“You seem lighter, Happy,” she commented one morning, watching as he pranced his way over to the coffee maker, freshly-shaven and whistling. “Are you on new medication?”

Arthur had to laugh. He laughed often now, freely. “No, Ma. Just excited for work.” 

“Be careful, smiling that much,” she looked at him pointedly before sitting down in her arm chair. “Somebody might take advantage of you.” 

Shaking his head, Arthur twirled his spoon between his fingers. His wrist was healed now, though he’d continue to fake it. He’d never want to give his only friend, the only man who ever showed him affection, reason to slip away. Checking his watch, Arthur jumped a little and made his way to the door.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” his mother added, “There’s a message for you on the machine.” 

Knowing that he was running a little late, Arthur brushed it off. It was probably a telemarketer trying to sell him another vacuum. He hastily slipped on his jacket, his coffee long forgotten on the counter. It wasn’t the same drinking alone, anyway.  “I’ll listen to it later, Ma, I’ve got to go.” 

“But, Happy — “

— 

Arthur wasn’t proud to admit that he virtually ran to the subway station and then off of it to work, but if looking foolish meant arriving on time — he could care less. He was a clown, after all. Looking foolish was his profession. 

He ascended the stairs two steps at a time, a little sweaty and out of breath once he reached the top, but let out a heavy sigh of relief upon finding it empty. If Randall or any of the other’s spontaneously decided to show up before him, it would ruin everything. 

Taking off his shoes and swapping them out for a pair three sizes too big, Arthur whistled to himself and retrieved his makeup and wig from the top shelf of his locker. He shook his head with a chuckle at the paper bag shoved towards the back. Carrying a gun sounded appealing, once upon a time. But he was more alert now, present and secure. It didn’t seem necessary. 

The butterflies in his stomach forced him to take a deep breath to steady himself. Arthur always had to give himself a bit of a pep-talk each morning. Be normal, Arthur. Sitting down in front of the mirror, he looked himself in the eye. Don’t scare him away. 

Knees bouncing in anticipation, Arthur set out his makeup just so and waited for him to arrive. It should be any moment now. The sun was beginning to spread over Gotham, painting the sky orange and yellow. He smiled. If he could compare his friend to anything, it would be a sunrise. Warm, full of hope, beautiful.

A few minutes passed. Arthur turned in his seat, green eyes glued to the top of the stairs. He thought back on that first day, on how unprepared he had been for joy to enter his life. The happy memory helped soothe his nerves, but only just. The sun was up high in the sky, now. 

Once the clock struck eight, Arthur knew something was wrong. In the two months they had known each other, he had never been late. Maybe by a minute or two, but never half an hour. Tormented by the idea that something terrible may have happened, that he might be harmed in some way, Arthur smoothed back his hair and hastily made his way down the hall to Hoyt’s office. 

He knocked twice, waited. 

“Yeah, what is it?”

Arthur poked his head into the room with an apprehensive smile. “Hi, Hoyt. Sorry if I’m interrupting.” 

Looking unimpressed and bored, Hoyt leaned forward, silently begging him to spit it out.

Wringing his hands together, Arthur briefly cleared his throat. “I was wondering if your nephew was coming in today? It’s past eight now — “

Hoyt made a face, scratched at the back of his head with his pen. “Nephew?”

Arthur frowned, frustrated that his boss wasn’t showing the same level of concern. “Yes, him. He’s late, which isn’t like him at all — “

Rolling his eyes, Hoyt looked back down at the paperwork he had been working on. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I’m busy, Arthur.”

“C’mon, now,” Arthur pleaded, taking a step forward, “You’re his uncle, shouldn’t you be worried, too? I know you may see him as only an assistant, but he’s your family — ”

“I’m not an uncle, Fleck. I’m an only child.” Hoyt looked disturbed, pissed. “Stop spouting bull shit. Get out of my office.”

Arthur didn’t move. He blinked rapidly, the flurry of excitement that he had woken up with dwindling down into nothing. “I don’t understand. He comes in every day. He — He helps you with your accounting. That’s what he told me.”

“Listen, if you’re going to come to work high, you can forget about having a job here.”

“I’m not on anything!” Arthur snapped at him, feeling hot in the face. “Why does everybody think that I have to get high to feel something, huh? Why can’t I just — can’t I just find happiness the normal way? Through people? Am I that detached to you? Am I that pathetic?” His throat began to seize. Arthur let out a strangled little noise, not wanting to have to deal with that right now.  “Just tell me where he is!” 

“God, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Hoyt spat at him. “Whoever you’ve been imagining, whoever you’ve been talking to, he doesn’t exist.”

Arthur shook his head weakly, brought his hands up to cover his ears like a little boy. He didn’t want to listen to this. 

“I haven’t hired anybody new in the last two years, alright? Get the fuck out of here. Come back when you’ve stopped being such a freak.”

Blurry-eyed and wheezing, Arthur pushed himself through the door and stumbled his way through the hallway. He grasped at his throat, choking on the first terrible ripple of laughter. The first laughs were always the worst. They hurt the most.

By the time he entered the locker room, most of his coworkers had arrived. They were huddled together at the center table, whispering to themselves and all seemed to collectively turn towards Arthur upon his arrival.

“You okay there, pal?” Randall was the first to speak, his mouth twitching. He had a terrible poker face. 

Arthur couldn’t reply even if he wanted to. He stood hunched over in front of his locker, hand pressed to his gut as if he were vomiting, sweat making his shirt cling to his chest. 

“What, did you finally get fired?” One of the other clowns jabbed, a different kind of laughter hidden in his throat. “Figures.”

He waved him off, trying his best to tell them to stop, but their laughter started to gather into something ugly and cold. It had been Arthur’s goal to change his shoes, but he couldn’t spend one minute more in this building. This locker room only mattered when — when he was here. A fresh bout of sharp laughter clawed at his throat and rattled his brain. Covering his ears again, Arthur bolted down the stairs, tripping on the last one — which of course fueled the laughter above. He had to leave. He had to leave. He had to leave. 

—

Blowing your nose for what felt like the one hundredth time, you sighed and sunk back into the couch. You hated being sick, it threw your entire day off. You weren’t ashamed of your morning routine — meditation, smoothie, positive affirmations — and not being able to indulge in this simple necessity put you in a foul mood. 

You had slept most of the day away, curled up pathetically on your uncle’s sofa. You didn’t care if you got your germs all over his living room — the man was an ass anyway. If it wasn’t for your complete lack of income due to the recent move, you’d be living on your own. Anything was better than tiny cowtown Ohio, you supposed. Even if it meant listening to your uncle drunkenly rant about his political and religious beliefs every evening. As if anybody would ever sign up for that. 

Around half past nine, Uncle Hoyt came strolling into the loft. Strolled. He never had such a bouncy gait. Wiping at your nose, you massaged absently at your sore throat and spoke up. “You seem happy.”

Hoyt promptly burst into a fit of throaty giggles, wheezing in an ugly fashion, as if being tickled on the spot. “You should have seen his face, buddy. God, you really missed out, there.”

Wrinkling your nose in confusion, you frowned, tissue balled up in your fist. “What are you talking about?”

“Fleck. You know, the skinny one with the weird smile?”

Your heart jolted to a stop. “Arthur?” Sitting upright, you set your jaw. “What happened with Arthur?”

Tossing his keys and jacket onto the kitchen counter, your uncle covered his face and continued to snort obnoxiously. “I can’t get over how priceless — guy looked like he was losing his damn mind.”

You felt yourself beginning to tremble. Throwing the blanket off of your lap, you stood and stalked over to him, voice very low. “What are you talking about? What did you say to him?” 

Hoyt needed a moment to catch his breath. “Told him — Told him you didn’t exist — “ He was wiping tears out of his eyes now. “Made him think that he dreamed you up. What a fucking idiot—“ 

You had never punched anybody before and immediately realized that you weren’t good at it — the ache in your knuckles after connecting with his jaw almost pulled you out of the moment, but even your uncle’s bloody nose wasn’t enough to quell your rage. 

“You told him that I didn’t exist?” You shrieked, your voice reaching the high pitch that it normally did when you were stressed. It didn’t help that your throat was on fire due to whatever virus had been holding you hostage. “Are you sick? Why the hell would you do that!” 

But you didn’t give Hoyt the chance to reply or defend. You had pushed him into the wall, kneed him in the stomach, sent another punch to his face — any and all energy left in you was directed at your uncle until he was nearly gasping for breath on the kitchen floor. 

Red in the face, Hoyt tried to push himself up but stumbled back down, the wind having been knocked out of him. 

You paced and paced and paced, shaking hard, forced to imagine poor Arthur’s face upon being lied to so horrendously. Your sweet, silly, green-eyed boy.

Not being able to take it anymore, you stumbled towards your room and slipped on some shoes and a sweatshirt before booking it out of the loft with a hard, “Fuck you, Hoyt.”

—

Arthur wished he had his own room. God, did he, because it was only upon arriving home that he realized that there was nowhere to go, no where to hide and scream and process. He heard his mother question him, sounding half-asleep, but Arthur knew that he wouldn’t be able to put it into words.

How could he explain to his mother that he had gone insane? That he had fallen in love with a hallucination? That the hallucination had been a man?

He ended up locking himself up in the bathroom. His mother gave up trying to connect with him fairly quickly, this was hardly his first emotional break down. She was notoriously lazy when it came to anything maternal.

Knees pushed up to his chest and arms curled around them, Arthur sat in the middle of the tub, wet face pressed into the fabric of his pants. His stupid clown shoes had been tossed to the side of the room, along with his shirt. He cried and laughed and cried and laughed until he felt physically sickened — but the sun setting in the window behind him brought on another devastating wave of grief.

Was it even possible to grieve over something that was never truly there? 

It was only when Arthur heard his mother close the door to her bedroom that he managed to get up out of the tub. He had to catch himself from falling, both of his legs asleep from lack of movement, but eventually found enough balance to exit the bathroom. 

His eyes fell straight away to the couch, the cushions and quilt so inviting after hours of weeping against cold, hard tile. Arthur’s entire face was sore from crying. He couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself to feel. 

He had been lying down barely ten minutes before a series of impatient knocks fell against his front door. The rate of the pounding told Arthur that whomever it was wasn’t going to leave any time soon, so he grabbed a shirt out of the laundry basket nearby and pulled it over his head. 

Arthur’s footing wasn’t quite there yet, but with shaking limbs he managed to reach the door and peer through the peephole. He instantly stumbled backwards with a horrified grimace, desperately distancing himself from the entrance.

“Stop it!” Arthur demanded, voice thick with tears all over again, “Go away! Get out of my head!”

The knocking ceased, and Arthur thought that he had won until he heard a voice — your voice. 

“Please open the door, Arthur, please.”

“No!” Arthur took a few more steps away, wrapping his arms around himself to find some semblance of comfort. “You aren’t there! I know that now!” He hiccuped around a cry, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve been a fool.” 

—

Pressing both hands flat against the door, you let your head fall forward to rest there as well. 

“He’s a liar, Arthur,” you pleaded, beginning to seethe with anger all over again at the thought of him. “It was some sort of sick prank. He’s —” You gritted your teeth. “He’s an awful man.”

You heard a soft sob on the other side of the door, breaking your heart.

“I don’t believe you,” Arthur replied after a long moment, but his voice was louder now. He had moved closer. “I’m just a freak, that’s what they all say. Because they’re right. I dream up love because a part of me knows that I’ll never have it.” 

Your chin began to tremble. You had never heard Arthur talk about himself like this. Fighting back your own tears, you shook your head. “Arthur. You have it.” You shut your eyes tight. “Of course you have it.”

You were met with silence and as the moments passed by, your stomach twisted. Had he left the room? Was he doing something to harm himself? Frightened, you began to knock again, much harder now. 

“Where are you?” More silence. Your itchy throat grew tight. “I’m so sorry for what he did, Arthur. I was hoping you would have gotten the message I left last night. I shouldn’t have called so late.” You didn’t want to cry. You hadn’t been the one abused. “Please come back.”

There was shuffling on the other side of the door and you pressed your ear to it, straining to hear what was happening. Just as you were about to speak up again, you heard your own voice play throughout his apartment.

Hey, Arthur. It’s me. Sorry if my call woke you up, but I just — I wanted to let you know as soon as I could that I’ve come down with a cold. A beat. That sounded weird, what I meant was that I won’t be at work tomorrow and… well, you know. Another pause.  I’ll miss you. Hope to see you soon.

A slow beep followed the recording and you held your breath. God, did you sound lame. You winced and looked down to your shoes, only just now realizing that you were wearing two different pairs. What a mess. You wouldn’t blame him if he lost interest. If he told you to leave anyway. If he — 

The door ripped open and you promptly fell forward into Arthur’s arms. 

He caught you easily — you always loved that he was taller than you — and helped you back up onto your feet, his eyes wide and searching. Your heart sank into your stomach at the sight of him, at how exhausted he looked. At how puffy and red his eyes were. 

You reached out without thinking, brushing the pad of your thumb below his eye. “You poor thing.” 

Arthur sniffled abruptly, still not looking stable. He leaned into your hand and closed his eyes, breathing out brokenly, “I want you to be real.”

“Arthur,” you heard yourself whispering, “I’m right here.” 

You kissed him. You wrapped your free hand around the back of his neck, took a step closer, and poured your heart into a kiss so adamant that you’d surely die if he pushed you away.

It took him a moment, but soon the hands holding you steady slackened and smoothed over your back, pulling you closer. Arthur kissed you back so sweetly, held you so dearly, but his breath hitched audibly midway. He was crying. 

You pulled back — but only an inch, just so you could press your lips to his eyes, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. 

“You’re really here?” Arthur croaked, fingers tightening in your sweatshirt as you smothered his face in affection. “I’m not dreaming?”

“My silly boy,” you murmured, leaning back to take his face in your hands, wanting to catch his gaze. You smiled up at him. “You’re wide awake.”

Slowly, beautifully, Arthur smiled back.

--

reader tag: @taintednihilist @galaxycat-1459 @hxneyboy @sebastianshoe @insomniabird @jesstaggartt@lenawiinchester @emissarydecksetter @ghoulsguilty @vampirozi @spaceinvader @aclownthing @zy-nnic @alirabbitt @mapreza1 @the-jokers-wolf @nicimixerxoxo @catch-a-star-wish-from-afar @umetsa @skaravile @live-love-loki @clowneyrat @darknessisafriend @chaosheartjester​

(if you’d like to be added to the reader tag, shoot me a message! sorry if i’m missing anybody!)

[rainiedeforest]

Chengqing Soldier/nurse(doctor) AU

This was... super funny to write, cause it’s one of my favourite ship of the drama/book/and so. And much longer that what I thought but... Nevermind. Thank you for the ask~ I hope you like it. 

“The war is over! The war is over!” Shouted a man entering at the camp. It wasn't long before he was surrounded by a group of men, all of them waiting for what the radio would say.

A male voice began to relate the latest advances and the meetings that would take place to sign the treaties that would end one of the most bloody and deadly events in the history of humanity.

Wei Ying rushed over to Jiang Cheng, the young man lying on the cot with his hand on his abdomen.

“Jiang Cheng! It's over! It's over! We can come back home!” He yelled excitedly. His face was cut from glass from an explosion, but that didn't seem to matter to him. On the contrary, he was seen as the same happy and carefree boy he was before the war. However, his entire face darkened when he realized that something was wrong with whom he considered his brother. “What happens?”

“Nothing...” he said, trying not to show the wounds, but Wei Ying was much faster and pulled the covers that covered him. He hissed when he felt a hand close to the wound, and his eyes locked on the other man's. “So it’s over? Will we go home with A-Jie?”

“Yes... We'll be back... But first you should go and have that wound looked at,” he replied worriedly, kneeling next to the cot and looking at him worriedly. “Since when do you have it?”

“Wei Ying, I'm fine.”

“No, you are not. Come on,” he said, turning around so he could climb onto his back. “Let's go so someone can see it.” Jiang Cheng went to complain, but was soon cut off. “Don't say anything and get on! I promised your parents that I would protect you. And we'll both go home together.”

Jiang Cheng would have complained, insulted him, hit him if he felt better. Not because he didn't appreciate his attempts to care for him, but because he didn't know how to thank him except in such a sullen and brusque way. He was just like his mother, he had the same communication skills... And his father... Well, he wasn’t a marvel by showing that he loved others. With such genetic and examples, how did you expect him to achieve it?

So, swallowing all his pride, he climbed onto his brother's back and let him take him to the field hospital near the camp. They had taken over the mansion of an executed Japanese businessman and used its land and building to be able to treat the wounded in a much more hygienic way than in the middle of the field.

Wei Ying walked in with Jiang Cheng on his back, and soon a nurse appeared, helping him lay him out on one of the few free beds.

“I'll call the doctor right away.”

“Hurry up!” Wei Ying yelled at her when he saw the woman disappear through some wooden and glass doors.

“Wei Ying, stop scaring everyone. I'm not going to die.”

A surprised groan escaped his lips when he heard him, pinching his arm.

“Of course you are not going to die. If you do, I'll go after you to bring you back.”

A smile crossed the lips of Jiang Cheng, who continued to clutch at the wound. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if he had resigned himself to it all. Soon the clatter of shoes echoed across the floor and a figure positioned itself by the bed.

“What happened?”

Jiang Cheng widened his eyes upon hearing that soft yet strict voice and laid it on the figure, who was looking at him with a frown. It was a girl, a young woman dressed in a white coat and a stethoscope around her neck.

“We're waiting for the doctor,” Jiang Cheng said, even though he wouldn't care if the woman was with him until he came. This seemed to amuse and offend her in equal measure, as she quickly pushed Wei Ying off the bed and began to strip Jiang Cheng from the waist up. “W-w-what are you doing?! Let go!”

“How do you want me to see what happens to you if you don't let me see the wound?” The woman asked curtly, causing Wei Ying to laugh.

“Are you the doctor?”

“No, the clown,” she growled before pointing a finger at him. “Are you going to help me undress him so I can treat whatever he has or are we going to continue to comment the obvious?”

He didn't need to be told twice. Wei Ying began to undress him and put his uniform shirt on the bedside table, moving further away so that the young woman could occupy herself. The doctor leaned slightly and looked at the wound, touching the nearby area and clicking her tongue.

“Since when?”

“Since when what?” Jiang Cheng asked rudely, feeling extremely uncomfortable that it was precisely a woman who was taking care of him.

“The wound. Since when do you have it?” Anybody could tell she was trying very hard not to hang him right now. And it was exasperating. The room was full of wounded soldiers and that he was making her job difficult...

“Two days. There was an explosion due to a bomb and the shock wave caught me. Happy?”

She looked at him in surprise, her mouth widening in disbelief.

“Did you really just ask me if I'm glad you got caught in a shock wave from a bomb?” His words had hurt her and he knew it. The young doctor took a deep breath and began to give orders to one of the nurses, who soon returned to her side with everything she had asked for.

She cleaned the wound and removed the small pieces of shrapnel from the bomb, starting with the suture before covering it with bandages. Afterward, she administered a pain reliever and left, refusing to speak to him.

“Don't get out of bed. You have to rest.”

“Hey!”

The woman left and Wei Ying stayed with him until a nurse asked him to leave. Jiang Cheng stayed in that hospital all alone, listening to the complaints and breathing of the rest of the patients. The nurses moved from one side to the other, although with less bustle than before, at least, until the whole room was silent.

He was dozing every few minutes, not tired enough to fall asleep, but not active or entertained enough to stay conscious.

Every now and then he would see the doctor pass by, working late into the night. Then he watched her do her rounds before going, he supposed, to rest. Jiang Cheng knew that he had misbehaved, had not answered her in the best way, and had underestimated her just for being a woman. Big mistake. His mother would have ripped his head off if she had found out. She would rip it off if she found out, because despite the teachings and widespread thinking of the society, his mother had never educated him to think that way.

And he didn't think that about her beloved sister Yanli. His A-jie was the strongest, hard-working woman he had ever met. Putting her in the same group would be unfair.

The next morning, Wei Ying was there on time like clockwork, smiling broadly at him.

“How did you spend the night?”

“Bored. I've barely slept,” he answered dryly, thanking him for helping with the pillows.

“Why didn't you ask the pretty doctor to give you another pain reliever?” Jiang Cheng looked at him bored. “Not even the nurses?”

“Wei Ying...”

“Okay, okay... Listen. I have to go to town to present some reports that have been requested from our unit. I'll be away for a few days. Do you think you will be able to stay alive during the time I’m away?”

Jiang Cheng snorted, crossing his arms, but nodding. He wouldn’t hold him longer than necessary, especially if the higher command had demanded that he submit those reports, even if he knew he would take longer than expected. They said their goodbyes as warmly as possible both of them could, and Jiang Cheng was alone again.

However, as the hours passed, he got worse and worse. His head was spinning, he was horribly hot, and his eyes were closing tightly. He'd started to sweat as if he'd been doing the most demanding of exercises, and before he knew it, he'd lost consciousness.

By the time he woke up, Jiang Cheng's entire body felt heavy and sore. His eyelids weighed horrors, as if they were made of metal. Apparently the clarity of the day was evident wherever he was. Wearily and heavily, he opened them to find himself in a completely white room, with several beds, some of them already empty.

Jiang Cheng tried to get up. A lash of pain jolted him and made him stay still, as did a not-pretty curse from his mouth. He could hear the chirping of a bird, and the tranquility of some conversations. He licked his lips. They were like two scouring pads. They were split and dry like his mouth. The door opened, letting in a woman in a white coat as if he were a heavenly angel.

“He's awakened,” the woman said softly, coming to his side and leaning in beside him. “How long have you been awake?” The voice was familiar. He had already heard it. Oh sure, the doctor.

“What happened?” He asked, looking around the room and fixing it on the doctor's face. Now that he could, he paid attention to her a little more. Petite, with a soft face and dark hair in a loose bun, as if she had done it quickly. “My whole body hurts.” The woman just looked at him silently before letting out a small laugh.

“It’s normal. Your fever rose as soon as the young man who brought you here left. We have managed to control the temperature, but we have to check what has caused it,” she replied, helping him to sit up slightly. She put her hands back on his shirt, this time his pajamas, and began to undo the buttons. Jiang Cheng looked horrified. He wasn't used to being undressed by any woman.

“W-what are you doing?!” He asked again and seemed to have returned to the first day in the hospital. Jiang Cheng's eyes were wide with surprise and disbelief; He had even stuttered and his voice had come out in a torrent of highs and lows, just like when his voice began to change. The woman seemed to find it amusing, as she put a hand to her lips, trying to hide her smile.

“I have to treat and check the wound,” she answered calmly, as if she had already had to endure something similar, and, after struggling with the young man, she stripped him of his shirt and pointed to some bandages, which covered his abdomen. She worked in silence for several minutes. The wound was necrotic, but the surrounding skin was beginning to take on a slight pinkish hue that indicated proper recovery. The high fever must have been due to the action of the body to try to heal him naturally. She changed the bandage and put the shirt back on, much to the embarrassment of Jiang Cheng, who felt like a little boy. “It’s done. You better rest.”

“Jiang Cheng,” he replied quickly when he saw her try to leave. “My name is Jiang Cheng,” he replied. The woman simply nodded and, bowing her head slightly, said goodbye. “W-wait! What is your name?” He asked before watching her disappear through the door. “I want to be able to thank you.”

“I don't need your thanks, Mr. Jiang, because it's my job. Although… I accept them, ” she said before leaving without saying her name.

The recovery was considerably faster than Jiang Cheng expected at first. In a few days, the wound hardly hurt, and in a few more days, he was able to go outside for walks in the gardens to get some fresh air.

He saw the doctor, whose name he still didn’t know, working on several occasions. She always worked. There were only a few times when he didn't see her working, but she was in the company of a tall young man with a boyish, sweet face. It was on those occasions that she laughed. Carefree, relaxed, happy. It was like a breath of fresh air. And, to his surprise, always, always, the doctor had some kind word for him, even if he had behaved like an idiot.

One of the mornings in which she went again to check how his injury was -one of the last, since one of his superiors wanted to send him back to the front and had told him so by letter- he steeled himself and asked him for a date. Well, he tried, because what came out of his lips was a pretty pathetic, babbling, and hardly meaningless attempt.

He didn’t know her name and he also knew that he had been the worst with her, so no affirmative answer was expected. However, the young woman looked at him, brushing her hair from the bangs that had fallen over her eyes, and accepted. And Jiang Cheng couldn't have been happier.

“I hope it's not until very late; I must work tomorrow and you, rest.”

“I promise it won't be. But…” The woman looked at him silently, waiting for him to continue. “You still haven't told me your name.”

“Wen Qing,” she replied before leaving. “Be punctual.”

He didn’t know how he did it, but he managed to be prepared as best he could and wait with a bouquet of poppies that he had taken in a field near the hospital. It didn't take long for Wen Qing to come out, gazing at the poppy bouquet with a raised eyebrow.

“I thought you would like them,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Uh... If I didn't know about the poppies applications, I'd think you're trying to poison me.”

Jiang Cheng looked at the small bouquet in confusion, not quite sure what she was referring to, until the girl smiled and took it from his hands.

“Come on, let's go before sunset.”

They walked through the town, enjoying the environment they were in as best they could. It was difficult to concentrate when there was still a lot to be resolved from the war. They both sat on a nearby bench and watched the soft orange rays tint the mountains. He didn't quite know how, but he took her hand and squeezed it silently. She didn’t make any sudden movement that would suggest that she disliked him.

“Wen Qing,” he began. He had to tell her now. He couldn't deny that he felt a certain attraction to the pretty doctor who had been taking care of him all this time. “I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?” She asked, turning her head and piercing him with those two big, expressive eyes that seemed to read his soul. Jiang Cheng felt naked. He didn't dare tell her.

“They'll send me to the front again tomorrow,” he snapped. The light that shone in the woman's eyes disappeared as soon as it had arrived. Wen Qing simply nodded. “And... I don't know if we'll see each other again...”

“I thought the war was over,” she answered quietly, trying to stay professional at all times.

“Apparently, there are still some militarized areas that have to...”

Wen Qing stopped him and nodded.

“I get it. It is your duty after all.”

He didn't expect those words, but Jiang Cheng didn't know what to say to him. He had cowed again. Wen Qing remained silent for a bit longer until he felt her squeeze his hands back. He hadn't let go of her hand.

When it was time to part when they got to the hospital, where that boy with boyish face was already waiting for her, Wen Qing walked him inside to bed. But, before she could leave, he called her.

“Miss Wen,” Those two expressive eyes looked up at him before waiting for an answer. Jiang Cheng reached inside his pocket and took out a small handkerchief with a delicately carved and lacquered wooden comb. He handed it to her. “Don’t forget about me.”

The woman watched him silently before taking both.

“I won’t.”

Jiang Cheng returned home after a long and tortuous months. He was one of those many survivors who still didn’t understand why, being less capable than others, were still alive. Perhaps it was due to the chance factor of luck or it was some design of the gods.

Jiang Cheng was greeted with great joy and humor by his family. Along with Wei Ying, they were the only men who had returned. His father had passed away years before at the front, may the gods take care of him. His sister had enlisted as a nurse and had recently gotten married. Even his mother, who had been most affected by the whole matter of the war since and looked tired and emotionally devastated, gave him a small smile, even when he informed everyone of the decision to move from a city to the north.

He continued to write letters to his entire family, especially to his older sister. In the letter he was reading at the time, she informed him of her pregnancy and of Wei Ying's progress in a small music school where he worked with an officer he kept persecuting. In her letter, at the end, as in all the others, she asked him to take care of himself and to visit her more often, that she missed him a lot and that she was very proud of him.

Chest puffed out with pride, Jiang Cheng folded the letter and laid it resting on the table, next to the steaming cup of coffee. He leaned against the white metal chair in the café, western-inspired coffee like everything at the time, and dropped his lids open when he heard a laught. Expressive eyes watched him from the opposite chair.

“Did I keep you waiting long, Mr. Jiang?”

“It's worth the wait, Mrs. Jiang,” he replied with a small smile when he looked at the comb decorating the woman's bow.

He always thought that the war had been a mistake, and that paying attention to Wei Ying about going to the hospital was crazy, but he had to say -something that he would never recognize his brother- that that decision had only had one good thing; it had brought Wen Qing into his life.

[thorne93]

Inside The Criminal Mind (Part 24)

Prompt: You’re married to Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU, and are a distinguished doctor yourself on the team. You’re sent down to Miami, Florida for teaching and as a side request from the FBI, to investigate a string of missing persons. When you think you’ve figured out who the unsub is, your life becomes more complicated than you ever could’ve imagined.

Word Count: 2441

Warnings: (throughout the fic –>) death, blood, gore, killings, language, disturbing mental notions, mentions of rapes/murder/etc (You know, Dexter and Criminal Minds related business)

Notes: Thank you so much to @arrow-guy​​​​​​, @carryonmyswansong​​​​​​, and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​ - without each of you, I couldn’t have finished, written, or properly navigated this story. Each of you helped me fish out details that were incredibly important to me. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong​​​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​… Aesthetic by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​

This is a crossover of Criminal Minds x Dexter. First time writing Dexter.

Also, the timeline is after Season 1 of Dexter, but during season 14-ish of Criminal minds into Season 15. Enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright, crime fighters,” Garcia began as she stood before the screen. “This one is a doozy. Bring your sunscreen because thirty bodies were discovered in the ocean in Florida. And none of them were in one piece.”

“Did fish get to them?” Luke asked. 

“No, they were found in bags. The, uh, nature of the mutilation was done by the unsub.” 

“Where is this at in Florida?” Tara wondered. 

“Bay Harbor, Miami. Hence the icky name of Bay Harbor Butcher,” she explained. 

She went through the pictures on the screen as you were drinking. You didn’t pay much mind to the things being said until she said that and you choked on your water. Coughing. 

Your blood ran icy hot. Your veins had been replaced with white hot rods of steel, your legs replaced with jello. 

Jesus fucking christ this wasn’t happening. 

Spencer glanced at you and patted your back. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry. Miami?” you asked once you got through coughing and everyone was done staring at you. 

“Yes, and it appears that some of them may be the eighteen cases you were looking at before you went down,” Garcia explained. “So, guess you’ve got some more to help you with the profile. If there is a bright side at all to this.”

“And on the not so bright side, we have another case in Oregon. Which means we need to split up. Reid, Y/N, Rossi, and Luke go down to Miami. Y/N since you know most of the victimology, catch everyone up on the jet. Matt, Tara, JJ, and I will go to Oregon.” 

The team was dismissed and everyone started to head for the bullpen before Spencer grabbed your sleeve and kept you in the conference room. 

“Hey, are these his?” he whispered, sure that everyone was out of hearing range. “Are they Dexter’s?” 

You nodded, a look of apology in your eyes. 

“Are any of them yours?” he asked even quieter. 

“Possibly,” you said. 

His face morphed into upset. “Alright. Call him and see what he’s doing to handle this. Tell him we’re on our way. I’ll go get our overnight bags out of the car.” 

You nodded again, trying to keep your composure. Jeez, lying was getting easier with Dexter, but when you were faced with scrutiny, it was earth shattering for you. 

You took out your phone and went into Derek’s old office where no one had been using it for years. You shut the door and turned the blinds so no one could see you. You called Dexter and paced, your heart hammering. 

“Hey,” he greeted, his tone serious. 

“Hey, so we just got a case for Miami, Florida. For dismembered bodies in bags on the ocean floor!” you whisper-yelled. “When the hell were you going to tell me?” 

“Look, I’ve got it under control.” 

“Really? Then why is my team being called in?” 

“That’s Captain Matthews. It’s a political move. Your team does the work, he gets the credit.” 

“Do you have any plan on how to fix this? Were you ever going to tell me?” 

“I’m working on it. I didn’t have time. They found the bodies last night and I’ve been up all night trying to think of a way to get ahead of it.” 

“You need to work faster.” You glanced up at the clock. “Shit, I gotta go. I’ll be down there in a few hours.” 

“Looking forward to it,” he sarcastically responded before you rolled your eyes and hung up. 

You exited the room where you saw Spencer with his back turned towards you. 

“Hey,” you greeted as you walked up. 

“What’d he say?” 

“Not much. We’ll talk more when we get there.”

With that, you two took off to the air strip and boarded the jet. Once everyone got settled and in the air, the victimology took off. 

“Alright, Y/N, catch us up,” Rossi directed. 

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your nerves steady as you looked around your teammates, trying to do your best to hide every minute facial expression, tick, inflection in voice, change of speech pattern. Lying to the beat cops was one thing. Lying to your husband was hard, emotionally. Lying to a team of the best profilers and cold case crackers - that would be a miracle. 

Not to mention you had to be sure not to include any details that weren’t found in the files sitting right in front of you.

But you had to do it. Your life, Dexter’s life, even Spencer’s life depended on it. You had to be cool, calm, controlled. Dexter had tested it out on you once or twice, lying, being interrogated, but it was hard with him. It was a killer interrogating a killer. 

“So when I was studying this, I narrowed it down that most of them had a run in with the Miami PD before going missing. Now though, that doesn’t fit. Not everyone had a run in with the law. In fact, some of them led model lives. That’s where I got stumped.” 

“Did you interview all the detectives and everyone that had come in contact with the ones that did go through the Miami PD?” Luke asked.

“Just about everyone on their payroll. Everyone admitted to interacting with some of them, to some degree.”

“Alright so we know the unsub chose an underwater grave, why?” 

“Forensic countermeasure?” Spencer offered and you tried not to smile at him, a sign that you knew he was trying to help you and Dexter. 

“But if that’s the case, why put them in bags? Wouldn’t you just dump the body parts by themselves, let the fish take care of the rest?” 

“The unsub might worry about the parts floating, or washing to shore. This way, if the bag is weighed down by something, it’s at least going to stay put on the ocean floor,” Spence countered and you wanted to thank him for thinking quick on his toes. 

“Did you get anything out of the victims’ families?” Rossi questioned.

“A little. Some said the ones that had run ins with the law wouldn’t be surprised if they left, others were still in hock that they left the house without their cell phone.” 

“Was there anything to tie them to the others? Maybe a past they didn’t show on paper. Did Garcia find anything?” 

“Not that I could see,” you admitted, trying not to sweat bullets. “I didn’t get a chance to get all of my info over to Garcia though. I had so little go to on. I checked into some of the cleaner ones pasts but came up empty,” you explained. That wasn’t a lie. Dexter had found out most of the dirty secrets and told you once you confronted him. 

“Alright. Luke, question the victim’s families again. Now that they’ve been found, I want to see if they’ll share anything else. I’ll go with the Reids to the PD. Hopefully a familiar face will set them at ease.” 

I hope something puts me at ease, you thought before looking to Spencer who gave you a face you couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

Before you knew it, and before you were ready, you were landing in Miami, and at the police department. 

“Ah, Dr. Reid, good to see you again,” Captain Matthews greeted, shaking your hand. 

“Likewise. Captain, this is my husband, Special Agent Dr. Reid, Special Agent Tara Lewis, Matt immons, and my boss David Rossi.” 

“So good to have you all here. You can set up in our conference room and I’ll gather my men,” he said. 

“Thank you,” Rossi replied with a nod. “Ah, so you left everyone with a good impression of the Bureau I see,” he teased and you smiled.

“Let’s hope so.” 

All of you entered the conference room and began setting up, when it was only an hour later that cops and the Captain started to file into the room. Dexter and his sister were some of the last to come in. You made eye contact and for the life of you, you couldn’t be mad. 

Well, okay, you were pissed, panicking, under tremendous pressure. 

But Dexter was on the line here too. No, when you saw him, you just saw… a friend. Dexter was smart, cunning. He had the help of his cop father to lead him out of this, and with you and Spencer on the inside, you could hopefully pin this on someone who deserved to be the unsub. 

When you saw Dexter and he gave you the tiniest of side grins, you felt… better somehow. 

Matthews spewed off some bullshit about working together and then everyone was let loose. Your team worked on the case some more, until it was 10 oclock at night. They hadn’t gotten very far. You all had to wait on forensics. It looked like most of them matched the files, but nothing had been confirmed except about five, and four of them were criminals. 

When everyone went their separate ways for the night, you and Spence headed to Dexter’s small workspace in the back. You knocked on his door and he  looked up. 

“Hey, got time for some company?” you asked with a smile. 

“Sure. Let me just put these up and I'll meet you downstairs okay?” 

You nodded before the two of you turned and walked out of the bullpen.

“Are we just supposed to go drinking with him now? Be friendly?” Spencer asked, the irritation clear in his voice. 

“I don’t have to pretend. He is my friend,” you reminded. You two had stepped into the elevator. “This is a chance to catch all of us up on what happened.” 

Spencer nodded, putting his head back against the wall. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he said. 

“I know. I’m so sorry to put you through this. You don’t deserve this part. I never thought you’d have to cover up for me like this.” 

“It’ll be tricky, but we’ll make it work,” he promised, looking down at you with a promising smile. The two of you got off the elevator and waited for Dex, who arrived in just minutes. 

“So, your place or mine?” he asked with a grin. 

“Yours,” you answered. You rode with him to his apartment. As soon as the door was shut, Spencer laid into him, something you weren’t expecting. 

“How could you let this happen?” he demanded, getting close to Dexter. 

“I didn’t let anything happen. I was scrupulous. I was careful, painfully so.” 

“Right,” Spence said sarcastically, his face made of stone as he stared Dexter down. “So careful that your victims were found by a fishing expedition.” 

“Look,  I made sure there was no trace evidence, fiber, DNA. Nothing can trace back to me,” he assured him calmly. 

“And what about Y/N? Can any of it trace back to her?” 

“No, I disposed of her bodies myself.” 

“And look at just how careful that turned out,” Spencer retalitated. 

“Hey!” you demanded. “Knock it off. Both of you. Dex, is there any cause for alarm right now?” 

“You tell me, you’re on the special task force assigned to this. What do you have? What have you given them?”

“Not much of anything. Since we are waiting on confirmation, we’re just reviewing missing persons cases.” 

“Then all we can do is wait. I can’t be proactive about something that shouldn’t even be happening. Nothing points to me, nothing points to Y/N. So can we all relax a little bit, please?” he asked, begging in his tone. 

“Relax? You want me to relax? Because of your negligence, my wife’s life hangs in the balance. If they trace anything back to her--”

“They won’t,” Dexter assured firmly, darkness encasing his face and tone. “As for your wife, she approached me, remember? She didn’t have to go rogue. That was her doing. Don’t blame me for her crimes. I’m just as exposed as her. Most of the bodies are mine, if anything, it’ll all be pinned on me.” 

“That sounds just fine to me,” Spencer snapped with a coolness.

“Hey,” you interjected. Both men were staring each other down before you sighed. “Arguing won’t help right now. Dexter’s right. We can’t fight something that hasn’t happened yet. We know they’ll look at victimology. All that will tell them is that they’re criminals and they have a vigilante.”

“And that most of them came through Miami PD,” Spencer reminded. 

“That wasn’t all though. We still have a few that won’t show up on those radars.”

“With Garcia? She’ll dig up all kinds of dirt.” 

“Yeah but maybe we can point her in someone else’s direction,” you offered.

“You want to pin this on someone innocent?” Spencer asked.

“For once, I agree with your husband. We aren’t doing that.” 

You balked. “Are you serious?”

“That’s taking an innocent life,” he reminded. “I can’t do that.”

“Okay, so how do we defer blame from us?” you inquired. 

“Sabotage the evidence,” Dexter realized, hope in his voice.

Spencer frowned. “Evidence? What evidence? All you have right now are the bodies.”

“Exactly. If we can decompose them quicker, they won’t be able to see the injection sites or pick up as much forensic evidence.” 

You questioned, “So what do you suggest? A giant body snatching?” 

“Not the worst idea,” Dexter commented. 

“We’re not hauling off tons of slimey dead bodies from a forensic lab,” Spencer argued. 

“Well, they’re being contained in that state of the art warehouse. Is there a way you could mess with the AC? Maybe swap samples? Anything?” 

“We’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here, guys,” Spencer suddenly said.

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, right now, the BAU has no leads. Like we said, even if we identify all the bodies, all they have is a pattern that vaguely leads to a vigilante. At best, we’ll profile a cop, someone within the police department, that will point to a dozen people. I think for now we should just see if it blows over. Maybe we won’t get any solid leads. But if someone sees one of us tampering with evidence, questions will begin to spark.”

You looked to Dexter. “It’s not a bad call. You don’t have a plan of action anyway. Best we can do right now is lay low, see what they dig up.”

“You mean what you dig up?” Dexter replied. “It’s your team on this. I’m trusting you to keep their eyes diverted.” 

“I’ll do my best but our team has solved nearly every case we’ve come across.” 

“Make this one of the ones you don’t solve,” he ordered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[feelthepainofdodick]

The Keychain (D.D. Imagine)

Request! OKAY, okay, it’s me again! I know your requests are still closed BUT I HAVE TO GET THIS IN BEFORE I FORGET! Imagine... the reader and David have been talking for awhile. He goes to Lollapalooza and after the weekend is over he flies in, late at night, to LA and has been missing you all weekend and can’t wait to see you so he calls you, waking you up and asks you if he can come over to say hi (lame excuse) because he can’t wait til the morning to see you. THANK YOU BABES 💘

Notes: Okay so I’m working on writing slowly so I don’t get overwhelmed. I’m sorry yall but I’m happy right now so I hope that means something to someone. Hopefully I get more writing done. Requests are still open but they’re piling up so I may not get to yours as quickly. I really liked the way this one came out so I hope yall like it too. Much love, Julie.

Word Count: 1072

Over a year ago is when you met David. You had met him and the vs through mutual friends. You both instantly clicked platonically. For over six months it was nothing but platonic hangouts. You would hang around him and his friends while he edited. You would be invited to parties, movie premieres, and filming related things. It wasn’t until six months into your friendship with David Dobrik, when you and many other vs members were hanging out, where the beans were spilled.

Everyone was laughing and joking around in David’s living room on his cloud couches when the subject of you and all the male attention you received consistently was brought up.

“Every fucking guy we meet wants to bone (Y/N)” Jonah says.

David was filming Jonah so you knew it was just a joke. You played along for the camera. 

“I know you’ve always wanted to go out with me (Y/N)” Attention now on you.

You laughed loudly. “And why would you think that Jonah?”

“Don’t fuck around (Y/N). I’ve seen you checking me out.” He grins.

You cock your head to the side. “Is that right Jonah? Because I could have sworn you tried sexting me last week and I clearly, and respectfully may I add, rejected you.”

Hollers were heard all over the room. Jonah’s faced turned red.

“Whatever. You’re not even that fucking hot.” Nudging David with his elbow. “Aren’t I right David?” Before David could even answer, Zane chimed in. “Are you fucking kidding Jonah. David has had the biggest crush on (Y/N) since he met her.” 

I jerked my head up seeing David glare angrily at Zane while he covered his mouth like he spilled a giant secret. In an attempt not to make things awkward you yelled out, “What-fucking-ever Jonah! You know you use me for spank bank material. Don’t ever fucking lie to me.” Ignoring what Zane had said, putting the attention back on Jonah, his face more red than before.

The next five months were filled with casual flirting, your overwhelming developing feelings for David, and his inability to pull the trigger and ask you out. 

It wasn’t until the month before Lollapalooza when you told each other that you liked each other. It was another normal night hanging out with the vs when you ended up being the last one there with David and Natalie. Natalie, an earlier sleeper than you and David, went off to bed leaving you both alone. You kept talking and carrying on a normal conversation while he edited and you made goofy snapchat stories. You were in the middle of moving your head in all sorts of funny directions for a snapchat story when you heard David mumble something. You look up from your phone. “What did you say David?”

You glanced over at him, cheeks were slightly flushed. “Oh nothing.”

You chuckled. “Yes you did. I heard you say something. I could always just play back my snapchat...” Turning over your phone to show your video playing silently on loop. “So why don’t you just tell me.”

He pushed his laptop forward. “Fuck it...” He sighed under his breath, getting up to walk over to the lovesac, where you were sitting, and kneeling in front of you. “David what are you-” He interrupted you with a kiss. A longing passionate kiss. You melted into it immediately. When you split, he laid his forehead on yours and said, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a really long time.”

“So have I,” you breathed out.

The next month was filled with continued casual flirting, but with the expectation of more. You both continued to enjoy each other’s company, with late night make out sessions here and there but no official dating because you both weren’t sure if you were ready.

When Lollapalooza rolled around David had asked if you wanted to come with. You’re parents had wanted to visit and that weekend was the only one they had free so you had to say no to him. You spent the entire weekend, with your parents, of course, but also watching insta stories having major fomo. David spent the entire weekend filming and being Mr. Successful with brand deals, all the while thinking about how much he misses you. When he would be with his friends on the way back to the hotel, he would talk their ear off about how much you would have loved a certain band, or song, or moment. How much he wished you could have come with them.

When the weekend was over, David and the vs flew back to LA. Him and Natalie went straight home to settle back into reality. When David got home he felt as though something was missing. It was nearing two in the morning so he was half asleep. He rummaged through his luggage trying to figure out what he forgot. In the corner of his luggage he found what he didn’t realize he was looking for. A tiny keychain that spelled out Chicago. He bought this in the airport at the beginning of the weekend for (Y/N). When he found the keychain, he was reminded of how much he missed you. The ache he felt that he hadn’t seen you in over 72 hours. He grabbed his keys, went to his car, and drove straight to your apartment without even thinking. Within 10 minutes, he was outside your door, knocking.

You were fast asleep when you heard the knocking at your door. You groggily got up and put on your robe to go check who it was. When you opened the door, David stood there not saying anything. “David, it’s two in the morning… What are you doing here?” You said as you rubbed your eyes.

David grinned with his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I got you a present,” he said holding up the keychain.

You looked at him like he was the biggest idiot then reality set in. He missed you. He missed you so much that he couldn’t even wait until morning to see you. He missed you as much as you missed him. You smiled and grabbed his hand without a word, guiding him towards your bedroom, so you could both could get rest in the comfort of each other's arms. That was the night when you knew you and David would be together forever.

[fanfics4all]

Baby It's Cold Outside

Request: Yes / No I found this while scrolling through my main blog and I really had to do this, so here you go!  If someone wrote me a Spencer Reid x reader piece based on Baby It’s Cold Outside, I would love them forever @peapodzzz​

Requests are open only if its CHRISTMAS/HOLIDAY/ WINTER related<3 Have a nice day/night

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 1327

Warnings: Lots of Fluffy goodness  

Y/N: Your Name 

Song: Baby It’s Cold Outside by Dean Martin

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

Masterlist 

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

I was at Spencer’s house, we had been spending the day having a Doctor Who marathon and neither one of us noticed the snow. It was getting late and I knew I should get going soon. 

“Hey, it’s late, I should probably get going.” I said looking over at the genius. 

“But it’s so cold out.” Spencer said and I shrugged. 

“I’ll be fine, anyway, today was great.” I said getting up. 

I really can’t stay 

But baby, it’s cold outside 

I’ve got to go away 

But baby, it’s cold outside

This evening has been 

Been hoping that you’d drop in 

So very nice 

I’ll hold your hands, they’re just like ice

I started to head for the closet that I put my stuff in when Spencer stopped me. 

“Y/N, it’s snowing out. I think it’d be better if you stayed.” He said and I looked out the window, it was pretty bad out. 

“I know Spence, but I’m supposed to go see my parents.” I said. 

“I think they’ll understand if you can’t.” He said. 

“I don’t know Spence, I think I should just go.” I said and he stopped me again. 

“Just stay for a hot drink, at least you’ll be warm then.” He said and I thought about it. 

“Okay, one hot drink then I have to go.” I said and he smiled. He took my hand and lead me into the kitchen where he got to making coffee for the both of us. 

My mother will start to worry 

Beautiful what’s your hurry?

My father will be pacing the floor 

Listen to the fireplace roar 

So really I’d better scurry

Beautiful please don’t hurry

But maybe just a half a drink more

Put some records on while I pour 

Spencer and I were finishing up our coffees when I got up again. 

“Alright, now I really should go.” I said but once again Spencer stopped me. 

“Just call your parents and reschedule.” He said and I sighed. 

“Spence…” 

“You can stay here tonight.” He said and I bit my lip. 

“What would people think Reid…” I said. 

“Come on Y/N, it’s really bad out and there’s no way you’re gonna get a cab.” He said and I sighed. I looked into his eyes, the ones I fell for about a year ago. I always had a crush on my coworker and I knew I’d never be able to act on it. It was shocking that no one figured it out, what with being profilers and all. Guess I’m just good at hiding it. Reid grabbed my hat that I had put on and hung it back up. He grabbed my hand and pulled me back to the couch. 

The neighbors might think

Baby, it’s bad out there

Say what’s in this drink? 

No cabs to be had out there 

I wish I knew how 

Your eyes are like starlight now 

To break this spell 

I’ll take your hat, your hair looks swell 

I knew I should be telling him no right now. I knew I should just get my things and leave, but then he did something I never thought he’d do. He moved closer to me and placed his hand over mine. 

“Spencer, I really can’t stay.” I sighed. 

“Please Y/N?” He begged. 

“I really should go, as always spending time with you was great.” I said getting up again. Spencer got up and stopped me again. 

“Just stay.” He said. 

“My sister and brother are gonna wonder why I didn’t come.” I said. 

“They’ll understand.” He said moving closer to me, this was so unlike Spencer. My back was against the wall. 

“My aunt is gonna be there too, she’ll think I’m out doing something bad.” I said and Spencer smiled. 

“Even more of a reason to stay, I know you don’t really like your aunt.” He said and gently moved some hair behind my ear. 

“Maybe just a second more.” I whispered and glanced down at his lips. Spencer closed the distance between us and the kiss was magical. His lips were soft and warm, I never wanted this moment to end. 

I ought to say, no, no, no sir

Mind if I move in closer?

At least I’m gonna say that I tried 

What’s the sense in hurtin’ my pride?

I really can’t stay 

Oh baby, it’s cold outside 

The answer is no 

But baby, it’s cold outside 

Your welcome has been 

How lucky that you dropped in 

So nice and warm 

Look out the window at this dawn 

My sister will be suspicious 

Gosh your lips look delicious 

My brother will be there at the door 

Waves upon the tropical shore 

My maiden aunt’s mind is vicious 

Gosh your lips are delicious 

But maybe just a cigarette more 

Never such a blizzard before 

Once we pulled apart I jumped back into reality. We were coworkers, we couldn’t date! I gently pushed Reid away and he frowned. 

“I really should go Spence, I’ve gotta get to my parents.” I said and he grabbed my hand. 

“But you’ll freeze out there.” He said and I bit my lip.

“So lend me a coat.” I suggested and he shook his head. 

“It’s up to your knees Y/N!” He said and I looked outside again, maybe it was worse than I thought.

“Do you not want to stay because of the kiss?” He asked. 

“No! No, it’s just… We shouldn’t have done that.” I said with a sigh. 

“Why not?” He asked confused. 

“Spencer, we’re coworkers! We’re not supposed to kiss or be with each other like that.” I said. 

“I’m sure it’d be fine.” He said and I stared at him. 

“Really?” I asked shocked. 

“Yeah, we could always hide it.” He said. 

“Hide a relationship from profilers? I thought you were supposed to be the genius here.” I said and he laughed. 

“Well we can try and hide it at least.” He said and I thought about it for a minute. 

“They’re gonna know something is up when we walk into work together tomorrow.” I said and he thought about it for a minute. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea Spence.” I said and tried to get my stuff again. 

“What if you get pneumonia and died? 72.3% of people get it each year.” He said and I smiled a little. 

“Okay fine. I’ll stay, but you’re explaining everything to the team tomorrow.” I smirked and he smiled. 

“Deal.” He said and pulled me to him and kissed me again. 

“So, does this mean you’ll be my girlfriend?” He asked and I smiled. 

“Yes Spencer, I’ll be your girlfriend.” I said and he smiled. 

I’ve gotta get home 

But baby, you’d freeze out there 

Say lend me a coat 

It’s up to your knees out there 

You’ve really been grand 

I thrill when you touch my hand 

But don’t you see? 

How can you do this thing to me?

There’s bound to be talk tomorrow 

Think of lifelong sorrow 

At least there will be plenty implied 

If you got pneumonia and died 

I really can’t stay 

Get over that old out 

Baby, it’s cold 

Baby, it’s cold outside

Spencer and I spent a little more time watching Doctor Who and then we went to his bed. He was nervous about sleeping together since we literally just got into a relationship and he offered to sleep on the couch. I told him we were both adults and could handle sleeping in the same bed together. So we go in and I cuddled up to him and he gently played with my hair. 

“I’ve liked you for a long time now Y/N.” He said and I smiled. 

“Me too Spence, I didn’t want to ruin anything or risk one of us getting fired.” I said and he kissed my head. 

“I think everything will be fine.” He said and we soon drifted off to sleep. 

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[itsclydebitches]

Okay then. Here we go. If he was doing this—and Someone help him, he was doing this—then Crowley would be further damned if he didn’t do it right.

“Sorry,” Anathema said. She set her teacup down. “But are you asking my permission to court Aziraphale?”

“Uh... might be. Yeah.”

She didn’t have to use that tone. Like the request was ridiculous or something. Aizraphale was old-fashioned, even by an immortal’s standards, and as such Crowley had spent the last week recalling, reviewing, and trying to implement every human romance ritual his angel had ever made heart eyes at over the millennia. What Crowley had ended up with was a room flooded with notes and the realization that most of this stuff just wasn’t on the table for them. Well it was, yes. Literally. On the table. His table back at the apartment was, as established, currently covered in the fruits of his labor. No literal fruits though. Apples might send the wrong message given their history and besides, if he wanted to impress his angel with food he’d pick up an opera cake or something equally decadent—

Crowley stared. Across her own, stupidly clean table Anathema stared back.

“I might be panicking,” he said.

“Yeah. Picked up on that.”

Wasn’t that supposed to help? The whole ‘I see you’ nonsense that humans were always harping on about? Instead Anathema’s gaze just made Crowley’s skin go all itchy; fueled the desire to turn into a snake and find somewhere warm to hide. The look did jump-start his brain though. Linear thoughts. Right. He could do that.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley explained, speaking slow and precise entirely for his own benefit, “Is old. All our other friends? Dead. Family,” his eyes jumped to Above and for a moment his burning rage eclipsed the itch. “I’m not asking those bastards for permission.”

“Do you need permission?” From confused to forceful in a heartbeat. Anathema leaned her arms onto the table, nearly knocking her teacup off and slamming their heads together. “I mean c’mon, Crowley. It’s the twenty-first century. Aziraphale is a grown man! Er, angel. You know what I mean. He doesn’t need anyone’s permission to date—and neither do you.” She rapped her knuckles three times against the wood. “There’s a difference between old-fashioned and outdated.”

For the first time in a week Crowley smiled. “Yeah I know, but...try telling him that.”

Anathema continued to look at him in that skin-crawling way. Crowley kicked her shin. “I’m not saying he’s logical! Just that he’ll appreciate it.”

“Appreciate me giving you permission to date him?”

“Yes.”

“Even though I’m in no way a parent or guardian or even a relation?”

“Yes.”

“Even though I’ve only known you two a few years?”

“Yes!”

“Crowley, that’s—”

“Satan save us, book girl, would you just say yes!?”

Anathema laughed, a startled sound that burst right out of her. She picked her cup back up. “You’re an idiot if you think I haven’t been saying ‘yes’ since you walked in, Crowley. I never needed convincing, but that outburst seals it. You two really are perfect for each other. Look. I'm only getting sappy once, so pay attention. I'd do anything for you two, including giving you something you want but I don't think you need. That's fine. You have it, and I hope to Heaven, or Hell, or wherever that you both receive all the happiness this world has to give.”

It should have been a touching moment. Might of been, if Crowley hadn’t accidentally set the edge of the table on fire the moment she'd finished. That happened sometimes. Totally natural for a demon. Not that Crowley had ever seen it happen to another or bothered to ask them about it, but he knew it was true. Because otherwise this was just a thing that happened to him, when he was embarrassed, and that just couldn’t stand.

Never-mind. The real takeaway here was that wooden tables burned spectacularly and Anathema was a peach in a crisis. While Crowley cursed and tried (and failed) to picture a table sans flames, Anathema calmly bent beneath the kitchen sink and retrieved a fire extinguisher. Moments later the flames had disappeared via the magic of human invention, their little sit-down was covered in foam, and despite the kindly expression, Crowley got the distinct impression that Anathema would have liked to take that extinguisher and brain him with it.

“So,” Crowley said.

“So.�� Anathema agreed. Her lips were twitching.

“I’m just gonna...” and he thumbed at the door, lanky legs meandering backwards. Anathema let him go with both a smile and a glare. The tally then: three hours of her wasted time, a hefty dose of buffoonery from him, one permission secured, one damaged table, scorched teacup, and a cottage that would smell of smoke for the rest of the day, at least.

All in all, it could have gone a lot worse.

He was three miles into the trip back to London when his phone buzzed, a text from Anathema with, ‘at least you’re still hot,’ complete with emojis. It made him snort. Then laugh out loud. Then finally relax into the driver’s seat, the Bentley curving around him in comfort. It was absurd to ask for permission, particularly from someone who, in the grand scheme of their lives, Crowley barely even knew.

He found he was happy to have it regardless.

Probably slightly less so, however, if he’d known that Anathema had texted Aziraphale shortly after him. Just to say that Crowley would be there by nightfall, he had something to tell him... and perhaps Aziraphale should insist on having that conversation somewhere other than the bookshop. Why? Oh, no reason. Just something-something-precious books and fire.

From then until 8:00pm Anathema’s phone was blowing up with rather frantic texts. She ignored it in favor of surveying the damage done to her kitchen, wondering if she could carve the table into something a bit more interesting, using scorch marks to her advantage.

Anathema was just pulling out a pencil to sketch possibilities when her phone went suspiciously silent. After a full minute, she smiled.

Good. They’d figure it out.