#kicked his pasty ass without holding back more than once) and so on...

[war-sword]

the ilvermorny exchange (7)

Part 7 | index | masterlist

summary: You’re an Ilvermorny student, and you’ve applied to the International Magic Student Exchange Program to attend your sixth year at Hogwarts instead. You and your friends are excited to go to school overseas, but a certain blonde prefect has decided to personally make your exchange year suck. You decide to give him a taste of his own medicine. (draco x reader, enemies to lovers, female reader) words: 5,050 A/N: i unfortunately must say ‘welcome back’ AGAIN because it took me an embarrassing amount of months to create this chapter. sincerely sorry. at least i have something to offer in apology this time! anyway i won’t bore you too much ;) hope you all enjoy (look how this taglist has grown 🥺 and if you’re new and want to be added, just send an ask) taglist: @tragically-cordelia @mhftrs @2pumpkin-pasty @gingerlouisgirl @seriouslynotfunny @clockworkherondale @cherrie511 @songforhema @marvelrose @acciodracoo @eltanin-malfoy @socontagiousimagines @drawlfoy @purplelittlepup @trashysara @imatoiletpaper @laureldrakefics @definitely-not-spider-gwen @candune @wolfsbxnee @bubblybubbubs @nerd-domland @fricktheitinerary @bored-and-bothered @shawn-is-bruh @droppingthegloves

◈◈◈

The last time you remember being this excited for your first day of school was when you were eleven. The second you open your eyes and remember you’re in your dormitory, and not in your room at home, you feel wide awake. After the usual first day chaos of getting ready, you– along with Stella and Grace– meet Draco in the common room to head to breakfast. 

The Great Hall is already bustling, the outer tables packed with lower years filling up on their first Ilvermorny breakfast. Grace spots Alex and Ginny already seated at a table with Chris, and you make your way over. 

“Hey guys,” you say cheerfully as you all sweep into chairs. Warm breakfast foods cover the table, and you happily scoop grits onto your plate. 

“Hey,” Alex and Ginny say in unison. Chris merely waves his hand, eating and already engrossed in a piece of paper he’s scratching away on with a quill.

“You got yours already?” Stella says, peeking over Chris’s shoulder from her place next to him. 

“Yep,” Chris mumbles around a mouthful of toast. “And it’s so fucked up. I hate Herbology, and they always want to put me in it instead of my free period. I need that, otherwise I’ll never pass Ancient Runes!”

You watch in your peripheral vision as Draco very neatly arranges his breakfast on his plate. He’s being uncharacteristically quiet, but he at least looks more relaxed than he did last night. “Schedules?” He asks when he notices you looking.

“Yep. Alice should be bringing ours soon.”

Sure enough, about five minutes later Alice comes over to the table with a dwindling stack of papers. “Finally, I saved you guys for last.” She hands you, Stella, Grace and Draco pieces of parchment with your timetables on them. You give it a quick once over as she moves to the opposite side of the table. “Is it alright if I sit with you guys this morning? Everything else is getting full.” She gestures to the chair beside Ginny. 

“Of course,” Ginny says, moving her bag out of the way. 

Alice slumps down and pulls off her cloak, her sage-green Head Girl badge prominent against the black of her uniform shirt. “I swear I know everyone in Horned Serpent, but every year it seems like there’s at least five people I’ve never even seen.” She shovels eggs onto her plate unceremoniously. “I hate schedule duty.”

“You’ll never have to do it again, though,” Stella points out, lifting her fork. “But while you’re at it, can you tell Angeles that I want to switch to–”

“No.” Alice says flatly. “Once the paper is delivered, my work is done.”

Stella groans dramatically. Alex nervously picks at her omelette. “If stupid James doesn’t hurry up with ours, I am going to kick him in the balls.”

You put your schedule next to Draco’s to compare. You’ll have N.E.W.T. Potions together on Mondays and Wednesdays, and to your delight you see he has History of Magical Painting and Photography on Wednesdays and Fridays as well.  “You signed up for it?” You beam at him.

“Of course,” he says, smiling back. “You asked. And why not, it should be easy. What the hell is there to know?”

You shrug noncommittally. “And I’ll get to kick your ass in Potions again.”

Draco’s mouth drops open in false shock. “You’re not going to be my partner?”

“Uh, when Grace is in that class? Think again.” You turn back to your food with a smirk.

“Yeah, back off my Potions partner.” Grace puts her hand on yours for emphasis. “I’ve called dibs since second year.”

“Yeah, and you hoarded all your combined knowledge so I failed my freaking O.W.L.” Stella interjects.

“You were always shitty at Potions anyway, Stella.”

The familiar voice makes you all jump. Even though you knew he was coming, the sight of James standing behind Alex and Ginny with papers in his hands is enough to make your insides shrivel up. 

There’s a long stretch of silence at the table as everyone stares at him, Stella especially. If looks could kill. James seems blissfully unaware as he holds out the pieces of parchment to Alex and Ginny. Alex snatches hers away without a second glance, but Ginny takes hers with a look of amusement. 

“So, how was everyone’s summer?” James asks, continuing to stand there.

No one says a word.

You’re pushing your grits around on your plate– they’ve gone cold and now taken up the consistency of the remnants that Hiccoughing potion leaves in the bottom of the cauldron. You look across the table at Alex. She’s pretending to be engrossed in her schedule, but she senses you watching and looks up to catch your eye. You watch her bite her tongue and squeeze her eyes shut to keep from laughing. Next to her Ginny is doing something similar, both going entirely unnoticed by James who’s right behind them.

“Well, clearly I didn’t spend mine brewing potions,” Stella finally says, scathingly. 

You wish you could melt into your chair. Into the floor. You don’t even dare to look over at Draco. 

Chris, the only one at the table who’s not radiating ‘leave-us-the-fuck-alone’, shifts awkwardly in his chair. “Mine was fine.”

“Did you not have your birthday party this July, Chris?” James asks.

“Uh, no. We were in Taiwan the whole time.”

That was a lie. You had gone to that party.

More silence. 

“Okay, I’ve got to go. More schedules to give out, and all.” James says, but he’s now entirely empty-handed. “Catch you guys later.”

The relief around the table is palpable the second James is out of earshot, weaving his way between the tables.

“Fucking asshole,” Stella grumbles, flipping off his retreating figure.

Meanwhile, Ginny has broken out into giggles. “Galloping gargoyles, Y/N! Alex told me he was terrible, but I can’t believe you dated that wanker.”

Now you definitely want to melt into the floor. 

“You what.” It’s not even a question that comes out of Draco’s mouth, and it’s dripping with revulsion.

You slump down into your chair and let out a pathetic groan, covering your burning face. You feel absolutely mortified.

“You’re right, Ginny,” Grace says, totally ignoring your meltdown. “I think he does spend most of the day mentally jerking himself off for being so fucking funny.”

“I wish you’d gone through with kicking him in the balls, Alex,” Stella adds. 

“Uh, Draco? You good?” Chris interrupts. This gets you to move your hands down from your eyes. Just a bit.

Draco’s staring at you like he’s never seen you before in his entire life. Oh no. Is he really that pissed? “What?” You ask, putting your hands out.

“That bloke is your ex?”

“Uh, yeah. Unfortunately.”

This time his mouth is open in actual shock. “Y/N… I’m like, an eleven.” Draco points across the Hall to where James is now seated with his few friends. “He’s like, a two.”

Alex and Grace explode into laughter, and Ginny’s giggling only increases.

“Yes, I know, look how my taste has matured,” you drawl, but inwardly you’re glad he’s not already halfway across the Hall with his wand drawn. 

Draco is back to staring at Jame’s mop of mousy dirty-blonde hair with disbelief. “What a dickhole.”

Stella has gone into a coughing fit.

“Can we stop talking about this,” you plead, running your hands over your face.

“You mean you never told Malfoy about him?” Ginny gapes. “Sorry, then. But also not sorry because the look on his face right now is priceless.”

“It wasn’t important.” You grumble. The rest of breakfast is just a lively session of making digs at James, in which you do not partake but also don’t bother stopping. It’s not like any of your friends are lying.

Ginny is taking it all in with a wonderful glow, meanwhile Draco just looks more and more disgusted. By the time eight o’clock rolls around, you’re more than ready to head to Potions. You make the hike to the western side of the castle and to the classroom for your year with Draco and Grace. Grace picks a table for two near the side of the room, and Draco watches as you set your things down.

“You were really serious, then.” Draco says.

“Deadly.” You make a shooing motion. “Bye!”

Draco turns up his nose. “I hate you,” he says decisively, and sits down a few tables in front of you. You pull your potions book from your bag and then rest your forehead on it, letting out a long sigh.

“I also thought you were kidding. But thanks for not ditching me.” Grace says.

“Bros before hoes,” you mumble. How had your morning taken such a turn already?

You keep your head down while Grace narrates the room for you. “It’s gonna be a small class again this year, it seems. Oh hey, Sarah’s here. And Robert. Aw, he’s going to sit with Draco.”

You lift your head to rest on your chin instead, to watch as Robert introduces himself to Draco and sits down next to him. Robert plays on the Thunderbird Quidditch team with Alex, so you’ve seen him around. Draco says something to him and they both turn in their chairs to look back at you and Grace. Robert gives you both a friendly wave. Grace pats your head once they’ve turned back around.

“Had you not told Draco about James?” She asks, her tone changing to something a little more serious.

“No. I dunno, we’re not really… ugh it’s hard to explain.” You trace the letters on the cover of your textbook. “Casual isn’t the right word. We are more than casual. Maybe we’re both just very… secure? We’re just having fun, we don’t really talk about all that emotional stuff. It’s only been official for a few months. Besides, James was almost two years ago. And he sucks. Who cares?”

Grace hums in response. “Well I haven’t known him very long, but Draco did seem a little shocked. Just tell him the story about how James is a piece of shit and be done with it. Um, and it might be something to do soon, considering that he’s in this class.”

You look up at Grace, and then turn your head the other way to see where she’s looking. James is coming in the door, eyes sweeping the now almost-full room for an empty space. You drop your forehead to your book again, not particularly caring if it leaves a red mark. “Fuck me.”

“Lighten up, Y/N.” Grace pats you again as you hear the door close and your teacher, Ms. Zenik, walk in from outside. “It’ll be fine.”

Several hours later you sit near Draco in one of the hallways with big windows, already doing your Potions knowledge pre-exam sheet during a free block. This is another one of your favorite halls, and it’s got a fountain on one side that’s decorated with moving ceramic cherubs, collecting water in tiny jugs that they mischievously pour over students who get too close. 

Draco’s scratching away at his pre-exam with his stupidly elegant handwriting. You push your shoe against his, trying to engage him in a game of footsy. 

“Y/N, stop,” he says flatly. Your second attempt gets you a little shove from his elbow.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, already knowing the answer. 

Draco makes a big deal of setting his quill down and blowing on his parchment to dry the ink, before closing it in his Potions book. “So, when were you planning on telling me that your ex is one of everyone’s favorite topics of discussion, and you know, just telling me in general?”

You sigh, setting your own pre-exam to the side. “It really is not that big of a deal, I swear. I swear!” You say again in response to Draco’s raised eyebrow. “It’s just that you’re the first person I’ve dated since. And there was a long time in between, I suppose. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it would matter. You coming here was a surprise, remember? I never thought you would have to interact.”

“Okay, but still.  Based on the way everyone reacted makes it seem like there’s a little more to it.”

“James and I started dating in fourth year,” you begin. “We dated for a year and a half. We were just stupid and young and thought we’d be together for a long time. But then he just broke up with me totally out of the blue. I was a mess for months.”

“He didn’t seem to care. He told me he was going to ‘give me space’, and wouldn’t even look at me or talk to anyone around me for an entire week. Even now we barely speak, it’s just too weird. He totally ruined it. That, and I heard from Jason he was talking to some other girl barely a week and a half after it happened.”

Draco’s got that disgusted look back on his face again. “What a piece of shit.”

“Yeah.” You rest your head in your hand. “He’s a dick. And insanely annoying, as you saw. But… I feel a little bit bad for him.”

“What?” Draco snaps. “Why? That's one of the shittiest breakup stories I’ve ever heard.”

“Yes, I know, I know,” you say. “It’s just that he barely has any friends, now. We were friends with all the same people before and while we were together. Chris was his best friend since first year. Everyone took my side after our breakup. Jason is one of the only people who will hold a full conversation with him anymore.”

“If they all stopped being friends with him, why does he act like they still are?” Draco asks.

“I don’t know! He’s an idiot. Maybe he feels bad. Or his two brain cells can’t string together the thought process that’s needed to evaluate human interaction.” 

“So far, I’m definitely seeing the second one.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” You turn and put your hand on Draco’s leg. “Just one favor though– don’t go bothering him. Even if he’s annoying. All that shit was a long time ago now, I don’t need you going after him all high and mighty. I just like to forget about it. Please?”

You give him your softest look, and all you get in return is one of Draco’s best unbothered faces. “What makes you think you could stop me from hexing him into next week?”

“Draco! Come on, I don’t want people to think you’re one of those fly-off-the-handle boyfriends.”

“I am not,” he says staunchly. “My retributions are always very exact and calculated, I’ll have you know.”

You roll your eyes. “Can I at least ask for you to keep the overt ass-kicking to the Quidditch field?”

Draco considers. “Alright, fair.” 

Since the hallway is almost entirely empty, you scoot as close as you can get and swing one of your legs over Draco’s lap. “Seriously.” you point your finger for emphasis. “Don’t go stirring the pot. Like I said, he barely ever talks to any of us. This morning was kind of an anomaly.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Annoying, a right idiot, so dumb he can’t even be bothered with. Sound good?”

“Check check check.”

Draco takes one of your hands and presses his lips against your knuckles. “I’d also like to make it clear I would never do that to you.” He gazes up at you from under his lashes.

You purse your lips together to hold back your grin. “Thanks.”

You break at the same time, dissolving into laughter. Draco wrinkles his nose up. “That was weird, hm?”

“So dramatic!” You tease. You press a kiss on his cheek anyway and watch his blush blossom from the contact. 

“Alright, onto more important things. Tell me about the Quidditch.” He lets go of your hand to tap on your leg that’s still draped across him. “Tell me tell me tell me.”

“Ugh, I don’t know!” You pull your pre-exam back into your lap and lick the end of your quill. “I don’t even know who’s Captain for Horned Serpent this year. Ask Alex at lunch, she can tell you who to talk to, I’m sure.” 

Draco curls his lip. “Merlin, you’re so useless.” 

“Ooh, wait, or ask Gao when you get back to your room. He’s always been on the team. Except he might be skipping this year, he’s taking like, three extra N.E.W.T.s.”

“Well jokes on you, because that was a test and you failed,” Draco says, pushing you off his lap and pulling his own parchment back out again. “I already talked to Robert about it this morning.”

Your jaw drops. “What? Fuck you!”

You give him a shove and he pushes back. “Hey, quit you’re going to make me smudge–”

Draco is cut off by your loud gasp as icy cold water runs from the crown of your head and down your face. You wipe the water from your eyes and see Draco has a hand clapped over his mouth.

“You are cursing too loudly, young lady!” A tiny voice comes from your right, and you turn to see one of the cherubs glaring at you, empty jug under its arm. “You better watch your language, or there’s more where that came from!” It flies off in an angry huff. 

Draco starts laughing deeply, and you flick some water at him. “Ah, hey, don’t get my homework wet!” He shields himself with his Potions book.

“Suck my–” you whip around to look at the fountain, where all the cherubs are waiting and watching with their beady little stone eyes to see what you’ll say next. “Toe.”

“Ooh, sorry. I’m not really into that.” He gives you a patronizing look. 

You shove your parchment into your knapsack and get up, off to a bathroom to assess the damage to your hair. 

༄

You felt slightly guilty of not finding the time sooner, but Ms. Bell didn’t seem at all bothered when you knocked on her classroom door on your second weekend.

“Y/N! Come in, I’m glad you were able to come hang out today.” She beckons you in, and moves all the papers she’s been grading off to the side of her desk. 

“Me, too.” You say, sitting down in the chair she pulls out for you. “I want to start by saying we’ve all been enjoying class a lot.”

Ms. Bell beams. “Really? I’m so glad. Tell me what you think about the scrapbooks!”

Stella was the only person who ended up joining you and Draco in your favorite teacher’s new class. The class was tiny, barely fifteen students. Draco’s prediction of it being easy had so far come true, but that was mostly because you were really enjoying the material. You’d been taking so many notes your hand was cramped by the end of each class. There was apparently a lot to learn about the evolution of magical art and photography.

“The scrapbooks are great,” you said, referring to the new way Ms. Bell was having you all take notes. “Stella’s is very neat. Mine is alright, but I think it’ll get better as we go on. I’m not really sure how I want to structure it.”

“So far I think yours has been looking very good. And Draco has some of the loveliest handwriting I’ve ever seen.” She reaches into her pile to pull out the worksheet you turned in earlier in the week, his tight and neat cursive covering the page. “Do you know how he learned to write like this?”

You shrug. “Fancy European stuff. I think it’s impossible to read. It was so embarrassing when I would have to make my mom read out parts of his letters for me over the summer.” It’s a memory that makes you want to cringe. After the third letter, you’d really had to bootcamp yourself into learning more of his cursive.

Ms. Bell smiles. “I think it is very sweet how you met while you were on your Exchange year. Tell me some more about Hogwarts. Did you learn lots?”

“Not so much schoolwise,” you muse. “But I did in general, I think. They had a much more comprehensive and hands-on Magical Creatures class over there, that was cool. But no wandwork classes.”

“Ah, I have heard that,” Ms. Bell hums. “So without it, what was Defense Against the Dark Arts like?”

“Pretty horrifying, I gotta say. Also very hands-on.” You thought back to your many lessons with Professor Lupin. While some were not so bad, you distinctly remember crying through several classes. It was scary, being expected to face so many real threats, with your previous classes being mostly textbook only. “I think it’s something Ilvermorny could improve upon here. Although, I guess there’s not much need…” You trail off, not even wanting to say ‘He Who Shall Not Be Named’. 

Ms. Bell nods, understanding where your trail of thought was headed anyway. “Speaking of, did you see him very often? Harry Potter?”

Now this was a part of your story you’d been dying to get to. “He was one of my first friends,” you say with a grin.

“What!” She gasps.

“Yes,” you say. “His best friend’s sister is that redhead girl who’s here on Exchange right now, Ginny Weasley? I think she’s in your History of Magic class.”

“Merlin, she is! So her brother is very close to him?’

“He apparently spends the summers with them.”

Ms. Bell is in a daze. “That’s incredible, Y/N. To be able to know the Boy Who Lived like that.”

“Well, he’s just Harry to me. And he’s pretty terrible about consistent letter sending. My other friend is much more timely.”

“Who’s that?”

You launch into a brief overview of your time at Hogwarts, telling her how you and Hermione became friends over Potions work, and moving into things like your little Christmas party and your sorting hat prank (glossing over a few details, of course). She very patiently sits and listens to the whole thing, and you appreciate how much she’s paying attention. You’re not sure what you’ll do without your favorite teacher to talk to when you leave school.

“It sounds like I’ll be needing to watch out for Jason this year,” she teases. “Although, I have to tell you we were all informed of that little escapade already. Principal Rittler read us all the letter she received from Dumbledore before we all went home for the summer. She could barely get through it, she was laughing so much.”

You gasp, clapping a hand to your mouth. “She knows? Everyone knows? Aw, Knuts.”

“What did you expect? From what I heard you caused quite a stir over there with it after someone apparently remembered it all.”

“Yes,” you say glumly, remembering that very clearly. Professor Trelawney had gone about yelling and screaming to the other teachers they’d been brainwashed, and Dumbledore had to set her straight himself. At least, that was the logical assumption everyone had been under. Why else would she have gone from hysterics to her normal level of paranoia in between lunch hour and dinner two days after?

When your eyes trail over to the clock in the corner of the room, you gasp again. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to go. It’s time for Quidditch trials.”

Ms. Bell raises an eyebrow. “You’re going?”

“Yes. I mean, no! I’m going to watch. No, I’d never dream of doing that.” You wave your hands in front of you. “I just told Draco I’d be there.”

“Okay, just making sure I hadn’t missed another new development,” Ms. Bell laughs. You both stand and have a quick hug.

“See you on Wednesday!” You call as you run from the room. 

The Quidditch pitch is a good twenty minute walk from the fifth floor of the castle too all the way across the lawn, even if you’re moving fast. It’d been a good three years since you’d gone to watch Alex try out, and beyond that you were pretty sure each Captain did their tryouts differently. Even though you were going to be a good fifteen minutes late, you were sure you would be able to catch some of the action.

You finally reached the Quidditch structure, panting and sweaty, dreading all the climbing you were going to have to do up the stairs to be able to watch from a good spot. A group of people were seated in one of the boxes near the middle; if you went and sat a few rows above you were certain that would be sufficient. 

Finally, you plop down and start to fan yourself, sweat rolling down the back of your neck courtesy of Massachusetts’ residual summer heat and your extreme cardio session. Clearly you’d been too sedentary over the summer.

Squinting against the sun, you scan for Draco. He’s quite easy to spot with his light hair and pitch black broom. The Horned Serpent Captain, Travis, seems to be testing for a good keeper, having one person throw the quaffle while someone defends the goal posts while everyone else hovers off to the side. Draco is leaning on his broom, looking bored. From this distance, he probably won’t even notice you.

Ugh, should’ve just stayed with Ms. Bell, you think. Or gone back to the dorm… I have that stupid wandwork practical this week.  

Draco’s practically falling asleep on his broom out there. You watch his tiny form, his hair moving in the blissful breeze that’s also drying your sweat. The sound of people saying your name brings you out of your daydream about Draco’s hair. 

“Y/N! Come down here!”

Below you, the large group of girls is beckoning you to join them where they’re sitting. A little reluctantly, you get up and walk down the sets of bleachers.

Some of them you recognize from your year, like Maddie and Ginger. The others look vaguely familiar, but their tan skin and brown hair that’s been permanently turned into glossy sheets from daily Sleekeazy potion use blend together, and you feel like you’ve run into a group of identical octuplets. 

You focus on Maddie and Ginger, the ones you do know. “Hi guys, how are you? Did you have a nice summer?”

“Mine was great! I went to work everyday with my aunt at the MACUSA, like an intern,” Maddie says. “New York is soooo crazy– tons of muggles!”

“I bet.”

“Mine was nice, thanks for asking,” Ginger says appreciatively. “How was yours? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Ginger returning your question does not go unnoticed by you. “Mine was nice, too. And yeah, I guess it’s been a little over a year, huh?” 

“Ooh, that’s right!” Maddie says. “Where did you go again?”

“Hogwarts. England.”

The unnamed clones all Ooh the same Ooh. “Was it fun? Different?” One asks.

You shrug. “It was a lot of fun. It was a great experience.” 

“Okay, we’re so glad you’re here because we have a question,” another girl jumps in, wasting no time now that the formalities are past. “That guy, with the white-blonde hair, you know him right? What’s his name?”

“I’ve seen him sit with your friends at meals and I know y’all are in the same house,” another adds rapidly. “He’s from Hogwarts, too, right?”

“Super dreamy, look at those arms,” says a third, and a few others hum in agreement. 

For a moment, you feel furious that all these girls had been drooling over Draco while you’d been visiting with Ms. Bell. It quickly dissipates, however. A cavalier sense of satisfaction fills your chest at getting to say, “that’s Draco. He’s my boyfriend.”

They all gasp in unison. “You’re kidding me,” Maddie says, in a tone that kind of makes you think she’s not joking and actually hopes you are. 

“How did you manage to snag that, Y/N?” The first girl asks.

“Pretty much acted like I hated him for four months straight.” You decide to play dumb at their obvious digs, but you’re starting to regret giving any of them the time of day.

“Wow, and it worked?”

“If I had a guy like that after me, I don’t think I’d waste any time.”

“Well, I didn't really. He didn’t like me much either,” you grind out.

For the rest of tryouts, you try to tune out their babbling. Eventually they move on from Draco to another player, then another. You feel gross being an accessory to their objectifications, but Ginger at least tries to ask you a more normal question every now and then.

As soon as Travis is finished with his assessments, you bolt from your place on the bleachers and down to the rail that surrounds the Quidditch green. Draco catches your eye and walks over.

“And here I thought you were going to skip,” he says, watching you jump the rail to land on the grass. 

“Oh, no, it was interesting.” You wrap your arms around his waist, looking up at him. His hair still looks nice and windswept. “Can you do me a favor and kiss me?”

Draco cocks and eyebrow, but swings his broom around to rest on your lower back, pulling you closer. “Sounds suspicious. Why?”

“No reason,” you giggle as you lean in. You divulge yourself in running your fingers through his hair, and relish in the sound of girlish squealing coming from high up in the bleachers.

Draco pulls away after a few seconds and turns to look, but you push his jaw back towards you with a finger. “Don’t.”

“Y/N, what the bloody hell are you getting me into?”

“Nothing!” You chime, wriggling out of his grasp and hopping the rail again. “See you back in the dorms,” you say with a parting wink. 

Draco throws up his hands in exasperation. You fight the urge to look back up at the bleachers as you walk away, and consequently miss the Thunderbirds coming out for their tryouts with Alex on the other side of the field, James among them.

◈◈◈

A/N: i hope I can start updating this more frequently again. and I know the index has said nine chapters for a while now, but i’m pretty sure i’m bumping up to ten. love you guys and thanks for sticking with me <3

[cryysiswritesthings]

A Year, A Century || Reunion AU

Series: Inuyasha Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Implied/Referenced Character Death Status: Complete Pairing: KogKag Summary:

The sounds aren't real, the smell is his nose playing tricks. Kouga knows that. Of course he knows that. She's been gone for five centuries. He'd never seen her again.

...

It can't be.

Find it On: AO3

Tumblr Tags: #kogkag #inuyasha

Kouga walks the streets of another city, draped in a faded sweater/jacket combo, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the strings of an old duffle over his shoulder. It’s been decades since he’s seen any of the pack. Ginta and Hakkaku have tried keeping steady contact, but it’s too much for him to keep in touch. He needs the distance from them. From their worried eyes, their friendly recommendations. The unwarranted (rage inducing, heart crushing) advice.

(Wolves mate for life. No amount of time would ever be able to change that.)

He stays away from cities regularly, only stomachs them when his clothes are nearly rags. Where he’s at now isn't large, but as part of the trail to the Mountains of Dewa, it's full of students and tourists. Still, the forests border the edge of town; getting back to his cabin won’t take any time.

He's half out of it, not really paying attention to what’s going on. That’s why when he first hears it, he thinks he's dreaming. A laugh that sounds like a faded memory. But he knows that’s all it is, just another memory of a long lost girl superimposed on someone in the here and now.

When Kouga hears it again, he wonders if he’s finally lost it. He only just stops himself from straining his ears to listen. But it’s the scent on the breeze that does it, that brings his slow walk to an abrupt halt. Its like someone threw open the windows in his mind and a gust of wind blew through, bringing all his memories with it.

The sounds aren't real, the smell is his nose playing tricks. Kouga knows that. Of course he knows that. She's been gone for five centuries. He'd never seen her again.

…

It can’t be.

~

Kagome is walking the streets with her friends when she feels it. An impossible well of power, something she hasn’t seen since the closing of the well. Her intake of breath is sudden and sharp, stopping her in her tracks. Her head turns automatically to track it, ready to shout a warning to people who are no longer there.

It’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

Her friends look worried, having stopped themselves when they realized she wasn't following. They're good friends, people she's met and gotten along with since college where they first met. Even Ayumi is here, the only one of the original three she'd never lost touch with over the years.

Ayumi is the one who calls her name, snapping Kagome back to the present. She must have imagined it. There haven't been demons in Japan for centuries. Or at least not that she’s seen. She would be the one to know; she hadn’t stopped searching for a sign of them until three years ago.

She waves it off, trying to smile even if it feels wrong in her face. Ayumi is looking at her the same way she did during her first year back. Like she's waiting for something. Sympathetic, but wondering if this is the day one of her best friends is going to crack.

As much as she understands it, Kagome hates that look more than she wants to admit.

The girls continue their trek. Kagome tries to pay attention, has to fight the urge to turn back and make a run for it. She’s crazy. They don’t exist. Time has proven it. She knows it, her mother and brother know it, even her grandfather knows it. Still wasn’t easy to accept.

They debate stopping, and Kagome tries to get back in the swing of things. She doesn't want to get lost in the past, trapped forever and alone with her memories. She wants better than that. Deserves it.

They're in front of a restaurant when it hits her again, and it makes her whole body turn with the force of it, searching desperately for the source. She takes a step, ready to run, when she remembers who she's with.

But Ayumi's smile has changed, an understanding she hasn't seen in centuries (not since she befriended a demon slayer and began the building of a life-long, now distant friendship.) That smile tells her to go, to find whatever it is she needs to find. Whatever it takes to make her whole again.

Kagome’s gone faster than her friends can blink, kicking up a there-and-gone cyclone of wind.

~

Her running feet carry her through the city, through gaggles of students and local teens (all no older than she used to be, back then, before, when time could mean anything.) She passes through them like a ghost, flickers of eyes catching her frantic pace without acknowledgment.

It reminds her of running through a long forgotten forest, makes her blood sing.

The aura disappears and she collapses against a column, giving herself a chance to breathe. She doesn’t know where she is, only knows that she’s near the city center. The buildings are reminders of the once grand greco-roman empire, but are covered with flecks of paint. This place doesn’t have to try and make itself look old, it already is. Instead you see the city that’s grown around it.

Kagome’s caught her breath, so she straightens, taking in the sights. She knows what direction she needs to head in, but there’s a part of her still fighting it. A corner of her mind is screaming to let it go, that if she can ignore this, she’ll have finally moved on in her new life. She should listen to it. She knows it.

There’s a hum against her skin, demonic power like static making the hair on her arm stand on end. There’s no feeling in it, nothing to tell her if its malicious or benevolent. But its unsure, flickering. As if its feeling the same uncertainty she is. Like it’s not sure if it wants to be found.

She’s already moving, but slower now, more carefully. Nervous as she is, the last thing she wants is to spook it.

It comes and goes, leading her through the streets, making her search with her own power to seek it out. Her reiki reacts as quickly to her commands now as it did then. The years have changed how she looks. They haven’t done much for what she is.

(Shard detector, miko, reincarnation, friend, enemy, protector, protected. Family.)

The buildings have grown smaller. More shabby, less populated. The road was cobblestone, but no longer. It’s only dirt now, rocks scattered at its edge. The treeline is in sight, a barrier separating the city and its inhabitants (the villagers knew to fear the woods, had never lingered near that terrifying line) from the wild and its wonders. The smell of wet earth and deep forest sits heavy in the air; the snap of a twig sets her heart pounding.

Whatever she found here, something was going to change.

There weren't words to describe how desperately she needed it.

~

It was her. Standing there, only feet away.

It shouldn't have been possible; Kagome had been many things (the love of his life, the song in his heart, the wind in his hair, the mountains at his back), but she was human. Death was always going to come for her unless she bound herself to a demon. (Even the mutt would do, as long as it meant she lived.)

But here she is, as beautiful as he remembers her. Silky black hair, sapphire eyes, rosey skin. A scent he could track anywhere he went.

(How that moronic half breed had ever thought she looked even remotely like that pasty ass priestess was beyond him.)

All he had to do was step out from the trees and he could touch her. Tell her he was there, and she’d speak to him. He’d hear his name on her lips.

His voice was gone. He couldn’t make his legs move.

She was right there, right in front of him, and he was scared fucking stiff.

~

She didn't know how long she stood there, searching with unused senses for something she couldn't see with her eyes. The longer she stood at the edge, the closer she was to the precipice. One wrong move, and she'd fall from the edge. Never to be seen again.

Her heart is pounding in her chest, enough to make her think she can hear it with human ears. If she even thinks she hears it, she knows whatever is out there surely can. But it isn't coming.

(That's the problem with hope. It can be the most powerful thing in the world, or the most devastating.)

Heartbreak clogs her throat, brings salt to her eyes that makes them sting. She doesn't want to cry. She doesn't want to give up. (It was real, she knows it, she KNOWS it was real!)

The space in front of her stays empty. There's nothing there.

No one's coming.

Quakes rack the frame of her body, and she thinks this is it. The world is coming down around her, forcing her to face reality.

No one's coming.

The weight of the world drags her knees to the ground.

They don't make it.

~

They’re laying on their sides in his bed, staring at each other. Neither can really believe they’re here, that this is happening. He’d watched the fight leave her, seen her ready to give up everything. (His heart couldn't take it.)

He hadn’t thought about it. His body moved, and he’d trusted his instincts for the first time since… he couldn’t remember when. But he’d taken her and ran, legs pumping faster than they ever had (even empowered with the jewel's strength.) Kouga had kidnapped her all over again, dragged her to the safety of his cabin (the privacy of his den) and hadn’t cared a damn bit.

(He wasn’t going to lose her again.)

If he’d been any less of a demon, any less of a man, he’d have already sunk his teeth in her neck and bound her life to his. Made it so she would be as indestructible, as forever lasting, as him.

But he couldn’t do it. Not because he wasn’t selfish (there was still a high chance he’d do it sometime over the next few days), not because he was worried she’d hate him when he did. It was just… he hadn’t seen her in five hundred years. What a hell of a first impression.

A crack in the window let cool air in, goosebumps rising on her delicate skin. Kouga’s hand moved on its own, the backs of his fingers brushing over the ridges of her dress. Her gasp was quiet, almost inaudible even to him.

(She was here. She was real. This wasn’t a dream.)

Kouga’s thoughts are so focused inward, he doesn't see her hand moving. But he feels it when the pads of her fingers hover over his cheek, light as a butterflies wing. It's like she's afraid to touch him, like she'll shatter the illusion if she does. He understands completely, but he wants that touch more than he needs to breathe.

He turns his face into her palm, nose brushing over its center. The slightest twitch in her fingers, and he grazes his lips over the meat of her thumb, down to her wrist. He can feel the blood, warm under her skin, her pulse fluttering against his lips. (It's everything.)

There's no stopping it; Kouga holds her hand to his cheek and kisses the bend, soft lingering things, breath moistening her skin. He inhales, and the smell hits him like a ton of bricks.

(She wants him.)

His hand moves from her waist to the hem of her dress, risen high on her thigh. Warm fingers cup smooth flesh, slipping beneath the fabric to pull her thigh over his. The smell assaults him, hardening him in his jeans, but it doesn't matter. It's secondary to everything else he's feeling.

Kouga lets go of her wrist to press more kisses to her chin, up her jaw to the throbbing pulse in her neck. Kagome's not pushing him away, instead making little sounds of encouragement at his attention. He settles his attention there, tasting the life in her.

The tang of their want coats his nose, makes him heady. He wants to lose himself in it, to let go, to put everything he has into making more of it. He wants to know the fragrance of their joining, to have it linger and live in his sheets. (He wants her with him for eternity.)

He scrapes his teeth at the nape of her neck, fangs itching to grow and sink. Her core rocks into him at the feeling, and he does it again, a little harder, a little longer. Kagome’s as lost as he is, her gasps and whimpers howling in his ears. (He has her. She belongs to him.)

Rather than roll her onto her back, he drags her over him. But Kagome isn’t mindless, and she tugs him up, holding him to her. Kouga takes a moment to breathe, try to get his bearings. Kagome’s fingers are in his hair, tugging the tail loose so she can feel its length. It’s a wolfish show of affection, whether or not she’s aware of it. He feels a smile tug at his lips for the first time in decades, and nuzzles her for it.

His eyes are drawn downwards, to the sight of her dress pooling over their laps. It’s just long enough to be decent while she’s standing, but anything else (even this) reveals the softness of her skin. It does something to him, makes him want to catch, to chase, to have her always dress like this. Innocence and prey, temptation (mate.)

Kouga doesn’t see the way his eyes tint red at the edge, doesn’t feel the difference in himself as they change. But Kagome must read something in him, or knows enough about lost control and demons (don’t think about it, don’t wonder, the mutt’s been dead for years and there’s nothing he can do about it) to draw his lips back to her neck. It works, and he focuses on the taste of her skin again.

Kagome is still making those noises, the ones that go straight to his cock, make him want to claim her here and now. But the way she’s acting, there’s no need for it. He knows it, same as she.

Kagome belongs with him. She’s here, in his arms, in his woods, his cabin. He’s found her again.

Just like he knows she’s found her home in him.

[dark-and-kawaii]

Kiwiiii =_= ive been waiting to see if you ever write for any of the kuroko boys again and here we are. As Kiyoshi Senpai would say, let's all have some fun! How would our bad boys feel when their fem s/o asks to do their makeup 🐞

Awh, I’ve honestly missed writing for my basketball babes (^w^)

 EHEHE!!! Kiyoshi is right! Let’s all have some fun, yeah??? This request is making me feel so many things since I myself am a makeup artist!!! Thank you so much for sending this in love bug!!!

Yamazaki:

Bless his heart, because this boy is the absolute best. 

Kicking open his bedroom door -makeup pallets in hand- your eyes are practically glowing with so much passion as you run towards him. “Yams!!! Look!! Look!!!” Pressing your pallets against his face he already knows the next thing you’re about to say… “I just got some new pallets!!” -twirling around your skirt lifts ever so slightly and our sweet bad boy is smiling with how cute you are with all your excitement.- “I already have makeup on…. ~sooooo could i please use your face as my canvas?!” 

Yamazaki will of course say yes. He’s mainly curious to see what you can pull off and he’s never had makeup on before so he’s also curious as to how it feels…. 

Will sit as still as he possibly can but his nerves kick in and his knee begins to bounce around which isn’t the best for you since you’re trying to do his mascara… 

You definitely end up poking him in the eye with mascara since he won’t stop bouncing his knee.. And when you try to reapply it he leans back every time while squinting at you… It’ll take years for him to ever trust such a product again, especially in your hands…

Will sit and make kissy faces at you when you apply the lipstick / cracks jokes about how the team would be gay for him.

When the process is all over and you’ve finished his makeup, Yamazaki can see how sad you look since you were having so much fun with him and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying this time with you as well… Picking up one of the pallets you seemed most interested in, Yamazaki will stand from where he was sitting and tell you to sit down. “I want to try doing your makeup, ___.”

Yamazaki will gently wipe off the makeup you had on previously and once its all wiped off he will then attempt to apply makeup to your face…. 

Just as you did to him… He did to you with the mascara… You and Yamz will never trust one another with mascara ever again.

Hara:

Hara just pops his gum as you sit in front of him silently wide eyed awaiting his reply… He pops another bubble… And you can’t take it anymore. “So!? What’s the answer Hara? Will you let me play with my new makeup with you or not?? It should be at my place by now and i really think it would be fun for us!”

Hara makes an annoyed sound as he pops yet another bubble, “Sure, but only if you give me a blow job after.” You can hardly believe it…. that’s a lie… you can believe he would say something like that…. With disgust written all over your face you get up from your desk and begin to storm out while harshly saying, “FINE! I’ll find someone else!! Someone who doesn’t need or want anything in return except fun memories!”

It takes only 2 minutes before Hara is sitting up from his very own desk going after you. Maybe that was a bit too harsh, you’re always doing for him and unlike his previous girls he wants to keep you around.

Eventually finds you on your front steps holding your new Jeffree Star lipsticks and pallet. Taking one of the lipsticks out of your hand he opens it and applies it best he can before pressing his lips together making a popping noise. Smiling at you he pulls back his bangs from his face and asks you if you can help make him a pretty girl.

Turns out to be a fun night with Hara. Applying makeup to him is easy thanks to his smooth skin and him being patient with you. 

Asks if he’s getting anything in returned like sex or a BJ, you just smack him upside the head though. 

Hara surprisingly likes the feeling of eyeshadow being applied to his eyes, your brush is extremely soft and the smooth swiping motions on his eyes is quite calming. Will ask you questions about what does what and what the purpose is… It’s not that he cares it’s just he really wants to make up for how he acts at times -lowkey hopes it scores him points with you-. 

Once his makeup is complete he will tell you to stay in the bathroom as he goes into your room and raids your panty drawer. No no no. It’s not what you think. Once he’s done doing what he wanted, he will come back to your bathroom and there standing before you is one tall ass basketball player wearing your V-string and sport bra… Popping his gum Hara smirks at you, “Mommy is ready for her punishment daddy ____.”

Hara is cringe. 

Seto:

Seto is so chill my god. 

At first Seto isn’t the biggest fan of the idea and he does tell you no the first two times you ask. However as you lay on his chest looking up at him with teary eyes begging him to let you apply makeup to him he can’t help but smirk. “Someone’s quite persistent, aren’t they?” Placing his hand atop your head he tousles your hair and says fine, but only if he can sleep through most of it. 

Sitting up on his chest you peck his nose and agree to this! Most of the makeup can be applied with his eyes shut and it’ll be easier to apply the eyeshadow! “Thank you Seto! I will even hide that mole of your forehead since you hate it so much!!!” You say with one of the sweetest tones he’s ever heard. 

It’s honestly a win win for the both of you. 1st you’re getting to put makeup on your very tough looking boyfriend who is deemed a bad boy in your school. 2nd He loves the feeling of you straddling his chest as you apply the makeup and he’s gotta admit… the powder brush feels pretty damn great.

Once you’re all finished you hand him your glittery mirror and say “BOOM THATS THE POWER OF MAKEUP BABY!!!” His mole is concealed and the pink eyeshadow you applied pops thanks to his darker skin…. His eyes are wide with a bit of concern, he’s heard horror stories of neon shadow staining eyelids…. which guess what… it did…. And the next day he’s going to school with pink eyes and the guys all laugh. However, Seto shrugs it off. It made you happy and that’s what’s important. 

Furuhashi:

Staring out his bedroom window you watched as the rain continued to tap against his window. Between the roaring thunder, Furuhashi’s soft voice, and dark sky, you were slowly starting to doze off… Until your elbow was harshly nudged by another. Furuhashi was gazing at you with his iconic dead fish eyes… He had been trying to help you study but he just couldn’t keep you focused long enough, “____, if you don’t want to study why did you ask?” 

It’s not like you didn’t want to study, honestly. You were falling behind in your language class and he was the best person to ask… and also the only person he’d be okay with you asking since deep down Furuhashi was a bit possessive… Poking his cheek softly with your sanrio pen you asked in your most angelic voice, “~Ko, could i please apply my makeup to your handsome face? It would help wake me up and change the mood in the room.” Adding the puppy pout you looked so pathetic, it made him want to hurt you… 

With a great big sigh, Furuhashi finally caved. He hated makeup being on his face and this wasn’t his first rodeo which is exactly why he always gave you a blank stare and walked away when you asked in the past. His young sister has done this to him in the past and he absolutely hates the way it feels on his face, not only that but it gives him anxiety. 

Doesn’t look thrilled 90% of the time you’re applying your makeup on him. Will look curiously at certain products and arch his eyebrow at you as you dip your brush into the odd looking product in your hand. Asks questions and will grab your wrists when he sees a color he isn’t too fond about -reminds him of the time his younger sister did it and it stained-. 

Will smile ever so gently at you when you’re turned around reaching for a new product as you ramble on about how it works better than the other brands. Furuhashi actually finds you quite adorable at the moment, he’s amazed you’re so passionate about makeup. And as he turns around to look in the mirror -with you still turned around- he’s even more amazed at just how talented you are at it. It makes him want to continue to protect you so you can accomplish your beauty dreams without any interference, though he’ll never admit that openly to you. 

Hanamiya:

Hanamiya has never been so damn annoyed or tired in his entire life, and he’s been through quite the irritating situations before. However as you continue day in and day out asking him… no, scratch that… begging him if you can put makeup on his pasty face his eyes grow more tired and exasperated. 

Eventually snaps on you and makes you cry by calling you an annoyance and that you’ve been nothing but a pest the past week. Give it about an hour though, deep down he knows he messed up and with a click of his tongue he’s off to find you. 

“Hanamiya! I challenge you to a basketball game!!” With unstable quivering legs, you stood as tall as you can as you throw the basketball at the back of Hanamiya’s head…. Ah yes, this is why he loved you and kept you around, not only were you always pulling dumb stunts around him but you also tried to act as if you weren’t afraid of the consequences. Turning around with a devilish smirk, hanamiya replied to you as he picks up the orange sport ball, “Oh? And what might my little ____ want if she wins?” He knew you didn’t have a chance but this was too much fun seeing you have so much hope just so he could take it away.

“I-If i w-win I get to ap-apply my makeup to you… I- I-” Looking down with sullen eyes your voice became low and Hanamiya could hear the deep dejection in it… “I’m just really nervous because this Salon got ahold of me and asked if i could come in a show them my skills… Th-that they are interested in having me there with them… but i wanted to practice on an actual person… i- This was dumb, gomen’nasai Makoto…” 

Before you could even walk away the basketball had made contact with the back of your head this time. Twirling around holding the back of your head you saw that Hanamiya’s eyes were concealed with his jet black hair but his signature grin was fully on display, “Oi oi, who said you could walk away from me? Let’s play.”

It took a solid two hours but you finally managed to beat Hanamiya… Not that you won by pure skills or anything, Hanamiya had let you win. 

Applying his makeup actually ends up being more fun than you thought it would be, though there were a lot of times where he was making it difficult for you -surprise-. Hanamiya will “accidentally” knock a brush out of your hands here and there along with blowing the eyeshadow right off your shadow brush. You don’t know what overcame you but in the heat of the moment you decided to just dump your loose glitter all over his head since he wouldn’t stop acting out, and with a booming laugh you hold your stomach as you die from pure joy after seeing his face.

The atmosphere in your bathroom has changed drastically and his presence is menacing… “Ha-Hanamiya… i- I-im so sorry i just.. I thought it wou-” 

Grabbing you by your throat Hanamiya pins you against the sink as his mouth gets dangerously close to your ear. You can feel his hot breath as he whispers in your ear, “I think it’s time you learned your place, pet.” You’re frightened and unaware of what to do until you feel loose face powder his your face, “BAAAAKA!” Sticking his tongue out at you Hanamiya proceeds to coat your face with loose powder.

[alison-anonymous]

♡ loose cannon ♡ pt 1

Warnings: nah man

Requested: I mean, you all were pretty hyped when I talked about this so😉

A/N: here you go, my darlings! This is the first part in a 3+ part fanfic about Hades from Descendants 3. He honestly doesn't get much attention, so I'm trying to fix that! This does contain some Descendants 3 spoilers, so read at your own risk. Please let me know what you thought of it after you read it and LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT ME TO CONTINUE IT! I'll start up the second part just in case😉 here is Part 1 of Alison's Hades X Reader, Loose Cannon...

Goddess of No Control

♡♡♡

Being the daughter of Boreas, the god of Winter, had its ups and downs.

One of those ups included your inheritance of extraordinary ice powers. Ever since you had been born, you had the ability to create the coldest of ice flurries with nothing but your bare hands. However, unlike your siblings who had inherited other abilities, you never really seemed to have gained full control of your abilities. You loved your magic more than anything, and adored anything that had to do with the cold from snowmen to ice cream. But while your brothers and sisters began to excel daily in their wind blasting and snow storm abilities, yours didn't dwindle, but instead grew more out of your control with every day. You tried your hardest to keep it under control through practicing and meditation, fearing that a lot of it stemmed from your emotions.

But none of it worked.

Your father had grown to overlook you compared to your successful siblings, as you were the middle child and frankly were pretty silent for the most part. You had always been a decently happy girl, but as time went on, you began to feel your happiness drain as it became replaced with hopelessness. Despite your best efforts, your powers were growing out of your control and you feared that it had something to do with you.

That something was wrong with you.

There were multiple occassions where you would be sitting by an open window, reading calmly when suddenly the book would freeze solid, the page stuck to your icy fingers. Or when you would be going for a walk, the trail behind you was left frozen, causing many others to slip and fall. Whole rooms would be frozen in the blink of an eye and brutal frostbite would happen to strangers who simply touched you. But it wasn't you, of course. You never wanted to hurt anyone. Once your father found out about the frostbitten people, he was furious. The two of you had a fight that night about the whole situation. He was furious that you hadn't learned how to control your powers yet and you were angry because he didn't seem to understand that you couldn't.

Through your best efforts, you didn't prevail. He forced you to pack up your things and hopped with you into a taxi to Auradon Prep, where King Beast and Queen Belle lived. There, he forced you to tell them all about your chaotic powers and the people you had hurt, despite your efforts to get better. They were very hesitant at first, but after some pushing by your father, they decided to enroll you to Auradon Prep on a transfer program from Olympus to see if they could help you gain control of your powers. You were terrified, as this would be your first time alone without your father and siblings. But wanting to get better more than anything, you agreed.

The program worked well for a while, but you found it hard to make friends. Most people called you the Ice Queen and shunned you because you were different than them, like you were someone from the Isle. Little did they know how right they were about to be...

About a month into the program, you got news that your father had passed up his entitlement as God of Winter to your brother, who had wind powers. Normally, it would make you happy because he was finally stepping down, but it made you furious and even more envious because he had promised the position of Winter to YOU. You were going to be the Goddess of Winter, not your incompetent brother! Boiling with rage, any progress you had gone through before disipated.

You tried walking it off, but once Audrey and her gang of princesses showed up to taunt you, you couldn't contain it anymore. Letting go of all of the anger and jealousy and sadness, you couldn't control your hands as they flew in front of you and an icy blue light flew from your chest and struck the princesses down onto the floor. Their lips turned blue, their skin a pasty white, and a thick layer of frost across their bodies. Not only that, but the whole hallway froze as well. They had hypothermia. Only this time, instead of freaking out, you felt free.

That was what scared you most.

Before you could do any more damage, you forced on a pair of gloves and forced yourself down to Beast and Belle, where you turned yourself in for the hypothermatic princesses and the damage in the halls. You had expected a suspension or a slap on the wrist, but what came next was cruel and unjust. It was what set the ice cold hatred inside your heart for the King and Queen and for everyone inside that fucking kingdom. Before you even knew what was happening, you had two shackles chained around your hands and a power restricting collar snapped onto your neck. Tears began to spill down your cheeks as you attempted to fight the guards dragging you towards the car. You knew where they were taking you. The other fucking dumbass students in the courtyard knew where they were taking you as they sat on their asses and watched as your screaming, thrashing body was shoved into that limo.

And now, you are here.

Standing next to the emotionless guard as he holds onto the chain linking your cuffs like you were a puppy, tear stains on your cheeks, glassy eyes, and a mat of hair on your head. One of the things they never told you about the Isle was how rank it smelled. A foul stench nearly burned your nose hairs as you felt your knees begin to shake. Hatred filled you from head to bottom, especially for the little guard who was barking into his walkie talkie. You knew better than to try and escape of course. In all your years of isolation and reading, you'd learned a long time ago that your powers don't work in the Isle. But of course they kept the bondages on. You felt the brace chafing against your neck, but refused to let it show as the guard turned to your ice cold glare.

You could've sworn you saw him shiver.

"Alright, Icy, since the King and Queen respect your father, they've decided to not just drop you off here to defend for yourself and have chosen someone for you to live with."

You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head. Of course your father would still be mentioned even though he's not God anymore.

"And just who might my lucky partner in crime be?" You snarled. The old you had been drained away as soon as they locked these cuffs on you. Everyone hated you, underestimated you, pitied you. They thought you were crazy, that you were out of control. That you were a villain. And if they wanted you to become a villain, then you were going to be badder than Maleficent herself.

"Hades, God of the Underworld. Found it suiting due to the whole Olympus thing."

You only shrugged your shoulders and cast a gaze towards the wall as the golden bridge finally deteriorated. This was it. You were trapped here.

An uncontrollable ice goddess, being treated like a villain. The envy coursing through your veins was enough to turn you green. One day they'd all pay, you vowed.

One day, they will all pay...

♡♡♡

Many years had passed since you came to the Isle, and needless to say, the second that Hades saw you, it seemed like time had frozen. You were the most gorgeous girl he had ever seen, and he had only been around Isle girls for a while so that was saying something. You only made things even better when you suddenly screamed and kicked the guard who had accompanied you in his special spot, knocking him into the misty underground below Hades place. He even took off his sunglasses to get a better look at you. You had thought living with the god of the Underworld would have been awful, but it turns out... he wasn't so bad. He helped you out of the chains you were in, and throughout your stay, you began to slowly realize that you were falling in love with him. Between the sitting sessions on the couch that gradually turned into cuddling and the constant compliments he would give you, you and the stealer of souls began to grow inseparable. Even his little assistant started to call you his girlfriend, to which he never corrected her. You even had long, late night talks with the God too, varying from anything. Your shared hatred for everyone in Auradon, his daughter Mal, your uncontrollable ice abilities, his ember. It felt like you could talk to him about anything, and you found it interesting how he seemed to be hostile towards everyone but you.

You felt like you finally had someone in your corner, and he was your other half. Of course, you were the first one to admit your feelings to him. You had been out for one of your walks when it started storming, and you suddenly realized that you had to tell him before he was gone. So, you frantically rushed back home and screeched to a halt in front of his sleeping form, the record player with Cerberus playing in the background, and blurted, "I love you."

No hesitation.

No barriers.

No walls.

Just... you. And your feelings.

Unfortunately, as soon as you managed to caught your breath, fear struck into your heart as you finally realized what you had just confessed. Yes, you had powers to defend yourself, but they didn't work now, stupid! And you just confessed your love to HADES, the Fucking God of the Underworld! What the hell was wrong with you? You had opened your mouth, prepared to take it back when he suddenly rose from the couch and slowly stalked towards you, lowering his sunglasses in such painful slow motion it made your stomach want to crawl up your esophagus and spew out your mouth. But something prompted you to stay, and your icy blue boots refused to leave their position on the boards, so you ended up staying as he stopped only mere inches away from your face.

He was a bit taller than you, so you had to strain your neck a bit to meet his eyes, and what you saw in them scared you even more than your confession. For once, you couldn't read his handsome, piercing gaze. You couldn't tell what emotion was swimming in those beautiful irises. The ones you could get lost in whenever he complimented you...

"What was that?" His voice suddenly snapped you out of your trance, and you frantically hoped you hadn't said any of that out loud.

"W-what?" You couldn't help but stutter.

"Did you say what I think you said?"

"Well, it depends what you think I said," you decided to try to tease your way out of it, knowing he loved to be a jokster. Only this time it seemed like he wasn't having it... weird...

"Come on, Y/n, seriously. Did you say what I think you said or not?"

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific than that, Had."

"You're as infuriating as you are beautiful," a blush coated your cheeks. "Did you say... that... thing that you said?"

Aww, you thought as you tried to surpress your grin. He was afraid to say it.

"The thing that I said? What is this thing that I said that you think that I said?"

"Y/n! For once, this is serious!"

He shook his head at you and stared at you with a look you had never seen on his face before. Desperation. Your heart began to pulse and you slowly reached out out of pure instinct to rest your gloved hand on his arm. He looked at it momentarily, suddenly noticing the intimacy in the action and reverted back to meeting your gaze.

"Hades," you breathed. No avoiding the truth. "I love you."

He stared at you, a look of unsureness coating his face. You were about to step away when a grin suddenly spread onto his face and he let out a deep chuckle, causing you to jump slightly.

"It's about damn time," he swiftly wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you to him, cupping your cheek with his other gloved one. He never seemed to care about how cold your skin was. And before you knew it, his warm lips were against yours. Fireworks had exploded in your mind as you wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. And let's just say that that was just the start of it.

After your confession, life for the two of you was something that fairy tale characters could never live up to. The love you two shared was something like true love, but on sterioids, you know, because of the whole god and goddess thing. When he finally did say those three words back, it was a while later. You had just come back home from a trip to the market, and the fresh snow was still in your hair and your eyelashes. Seeing you looking like you had just walked out of a christmas movie made Hades think about what you might look like on your wedding day... and Gods, you were beautiful. The conversation went a bit like this:

"Had, I'm home!"

"..."

"Hades? Are you oka-"

"I love you too."

You two were even more inseparable than you were before. Everyone on the Isle knew about it, and they knew to stay away from you. Not just for you being Hades girl, but also for your rumored chaotic ice powers and your burning envy and hatred for those in Auradon. You were a loose cannon, they liked to say. You took it as a compliment.

Things were perfect for you. You were finally happy with the love of your life, and had plans to stay with him for the rest of your life, maybe even have kids and sing rock-enhanced duets. The magic didn't matter. Auradon didn't matter. It was just the two of you.

At least until the VKs came along.

TO BE CONTINUED...

♡ a.a.

[cola-fucking-losers]

as promised heres the stupid thing-

Edd was definitely chubby, he can't deny that. In fact, he's pretty sure there's a lot of times where he feels bad about it, before he starts to get over it. Not until there was an afternoon he and Matt got into a heated debated about the meaning of 'Thicc' and why is it a trend.

Matt of course lost, seeming that he lacked the braincells to really process everything. It brought satisfaction to Edd, but he did start to wonder if he was considered 'Thicc'

No, he wasn't talking about having large hips and an ass so curved you can search for its equation. He was wondering if he, a grown man who probably has diabetes, can look nice wearing tight clothes. Specifically, ones for below that always bring out the curves on people.

Tom pointed this out first, joking about it before Edd's brain started to overanalyze it. So now Edd has to go through a phase where he's angry at Tom for that.

Matt decided to say "Why don't you try some on?" Before shoving some clothes onto the brunette's face. He huffs, and tosses them away, refusing to participate.

He cringes at the shorts he was given, it looked uncomfortably tight. And the stockings were no good either because there's no way in hell he was gonna wear fishnet stockings. He picked up a tight pair of jeans, and he was pretty sure those belonged to Mark, so he tossed them away too. He picks up....he picks up a piece of underwear that he quickly deleted from his memory.

Everything looked either uncomfortably compact, or looked like something you'd find in an adult-themed clothe shop. Edd tossed them all away.

Matt had to pick them up, offended. "Why won't you put them on?"

And before Edd could explain why you can't just suddenly recommend someone to wear something uncomfortably explicit, Mark explained it himself. "Those look like they're for stripping rather than making Edd feel nice."

It's times like these Edd forgives Mark and the times he was rudely sarcastic.

Matt hums, before he dashed back into his room. And once the Red-head returns, he was carrying a smaller stack of clothes. He sets them down, and lets Edd examine.

And finally, he finds some clothes that looked nice and comfortable, without making him look like someone who's about to work in a strip club.

Edd's fingers traced the outside of a piece of shorts. "Well-...I guess I'll try them."

He wasn't really the type to even consider wearing something that even tried to hug his skin. He'd rather wear large clothes that were loose. But trying wouldn't hurt...right?

Actually it did, a bit. He first wanted to try some jeans. They didn't look TOO tight, so he figured he'd try that first on. And he regrets it.

It took what felt like hours to even properly shove his whole left leg in. He had to stop to catch his breath, and then he struggled again just so he can lift up the hem up to his waist.

Though the battle tested his patience, he won. He successfully put on the jeans. He felt like he deserved a price, so he steps out his room. And walking unto the kitchen, he passes Eduardo who was busy cooking and grabs a can of cola from the fridge.

After chugging the whole can down, he hears a curse word. Edd raises an eyebrow. The Hispanic dropped a plate, but it thankfully landed on a rug. He quickly picks it up.

Eduardo to gulps as he forced his eyes to not move. Ironic, because he usually tried to avoid anyone's gaze at all, but right now was a crucial moment for him to not even spare a quick glance at whatever the fuck was hugging Edd's legs so tightly.

He turns back to cooking, And Edd shrugs whatever happened and walks back to his room. And once the door closes, he curses internally. He completely forgot to ask Eduardo if he looked okay.

He ignores the thought, because he's pretty sure Eduardo is just gonna throw an insult at him.

That was proven the next morning when he put on a pair of shorts. They were tight, but with a hoodie on he felt...cute?

Whatever it was, he felt nice, and his legs felt less warm.

He walks in the kitchen that morning, hoping to make some cereal. And as soon as he did, Eduardo drops a plate. "SHIT!"

Edd was thankful he decided to stack up on plastic plates instead, because if that was glass he could've brought wrath on the Hispanic. Eduardo quickly picks up the plate, and frowns. "Damn it- I just washed this-" He curses, before he places it in the sink again.

"You okay?" Edd casually asks, walking up to the Hispanic. The man was stiff. If looks could kill, he's pretty much trying to melt the plate he was holding with that scowl of his as he aggressively scrubs it.

"fine."

That was not fine. He wouldn't even look at him.

"cool- uhm.." Edd fixes his shorts a little "Does this look okay on me?" Eduardo turns, but quickly focuses back on the plate.

"Looks terrible."

Edd frowns, mostly because that's such an Eduardo thing to do, but also, ouch. The confidence he had earlier had long disappeared, so he just throws whatever comeback he had and goes back to his room. He tears the shorts away, and shoves his normal brown pants on.

But still, Edd can get pretty heated too. He didn't spend thirty minutes trying to shove clothes on just to get insulted like that.

So the next morning, he still placed some shorts back on. And while it took him awhile, he forced himself to force doubts away, and puts on some white socks that reached past his knees, just a few inches away from the end of his shorts.

He stomps to the kitchen, and was going to prove that he does NOT look terrible. Edaurdo gives him one short look, before he turns away..again.

Edd almost looked childish when he huffed angrily. "L o s e r."

He whispered loudly. Just to grab Eduardo's attention. And what better way to grab it than calling him that? It always gets on his nerves quickly.

The Hispanic turns back again, fuming. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused." Edd grins. Eduardo just shoots a glare, and turns away again. Nope, nuh uh. Edd ain't taking that.

"losersayshuh" "Huh?"

Edd laughs, while he lets Eduardo slowly process what just happened.

"Motherfucker- how dare you!" He finally got his full attention "That's not fair!" "Yes it was." Edd replies. "No it wasn't! I want a rematch!" Eduardo demands.

"Okay-" The Brit had his chance "Loser doesn't say these shorts looks good on me." The Hispanic stares. Then blinks.

"Are you seriously upset about yesterday." "You were upset for years over a painting."

Eduardo nods, closing his eyes. He lets out a frustrated sigh.

"That's fair."

He finally looks at Edd's legs. The Brit swore, the longer Eduardo looked, the more he begins to look sweaty. Then before staring back into his eyes, "Your shorts looks okay."

It wasn't what Edd exactly wanted, but whatever, he'll take it. "HAH! Not so terrible now huh?"

Eduardo smirks. "I said 'tear-able'. I feel pretty bad for the poor shorts." He crosses his arms. Edd starts pouting again. "It's not my fault I'm Dummy Thick!"

The Hispanic chokes on his spit. "Dummy what now-"

Edd was just joking, but the way Eduardo's face flushed made him want to go further.

 "I'm dummy thick, and you can never achieve the peak physique of having these babies." He slaps his own thigh. Which was like- a bit painful. He can see a light red mark on his pasty skin, but that was his fault.

"How dare you- I might not have an ass but at least I've got legs to make up for it!!" Eduardo kicks up high, causing a plate edging off the counter to get flipped up before landing on the floor loudly. "Geez-" Edd picks it up himself "that's the third plate you dropped this week." Eduardo just grumbles something in another language as he snatches the plate back. Edd simply hummed, and slaps his thigh again.

"Ow-"

Why did he even do that? "Why did you even do that?" Eduardo repeats.

"Good question!" Edd finger-guns "I have no idea."

Eduardo rolls his eyes as he kneels, just so he can inspect the mark on Edd's thighs. The Brit blinks, before he subtly drags his eyes somewhere. Looking down currently gave him...suggestive ideas of how else the view could look.

The Hispanic snickers at the mark. "It looks like what happens if dalmatians were white and red-" He pokes, then he pauses. He pokes again. Edd looks back and gives him an odd look.

The Tan brunette stares a little longer, before full on grabbing Edd's thigh.

"Oh my fucking god?" Eduardo whispered, squishing a bit. Edd squeaks, slapping the hand away. "Holy crap- I knew you were soft- not that soft-....?" Eduardo almost laughs.

"It was like holding a pillow! I was right! You really are just a marshmallow!" Edd flushed pink a little. "What? Were you expecting me to feel like a cracker?"

Eduardo shrugged "It's not easy to have an idea if you barely show skin. All I ever seen you wear are long sleeves and pants. I've only seen you shirtless once." He stands up and pat's the Brit's shoulder. "It's okay, pudgy. Maybe one day you will gain SOME muscles."

Edd slaps the hand away, offended. "At least I'm SOFT and good for cuddling." Eduardo gives a manic grin. "So like..a tEDDy bear?"

The Brit starts hitting Eduardo while he laughs, trying to back away. "That was a pun!!That's my job! I'm gonna break your kneecaps!!" Edd yells. "Oh come on- At least it wasn't an insult."

He stops, and huffs. "I mean..okay. I guess." He sighs "You wanna cuddle my thighs next and call them shitty leg pillows?" Eduardo replies with "Really?"

Which was the least expected thing Edd heard- because as far as he knows, he was just joking.

"...Yeah- sure. If you wanna nap on here, then go crazy." He says. Because who is he to complain? It's free cuddles. Plus he never really had someone place their head down there, so this is a first.

"Okay- but- Breakfast—" "Breakfast can wait. Thigh Snuggles" "that sounds very suggestive." "And comfy." "But the fucking breakfast Eddie-" "It can w a i t."

The Paler brunette was already dragging Eduardo to the living room. Edd sat comfortably on the floor, and pats his lap. Eduardo stared awkwardly before he glares sideways. "Really? Now you're gonna be a tsundere?" "I am NOT-..!"

Eduardo just pouts more. Edd gives a stoic look.

"Just get over here."

The Hispanic grumbles, and reluctantly sits near. All what's left was him lying...his head...down..there.

It just sounded so...something a couple would do. And as far as Eduardo was aware, they aren't one. Edd didn't seem to care though, because he took the liberty to gently pulling Eduardo down, and set his head down on his lap.

Oh god- he's doing it. He's resting his head on someone's thighs, and it's Edd, out of all people. Not that he was complaining, it's just not what he really expected. The Brit starts to play with his hair, humming a little.

Eduardo let's his eyes shut. Edd found It adorable. Not that he's gonna say that out loud.

"Are you fucking humming despacito-" He growls, and starts to rise up. The Brit laughs and tries to keep Eduardo back down. "I didn't notice! I'll just sing something else.." He ponders a bit.

"When you try your best but-" "NO."

Edd laughs as Eduardo tries to scramble away like a cat again. "But It's a good song! Come ooon-" He tried to sound upset, but he just snorts.

"You just wanna sing memes!" "Maybe so- but come on. Is it NOT a good song?"

The Hispanic grunts as he crosses his arms. But he did let his head fall back to Edd's lap again. "Fine- But only sing the other parts." Edd shook his head. "Nuh uh- I can't hit those notes." "You don't even have to- you just have to sing it-" "Says the guy who's been blessed with a good singing voice!"

Eduardo turns to glare at Edd. "Pillsbury- I want you to shut the fuck up and sing. I've heard worse, and It took me years to even speak fluent English, so don't give me that shit." Then he smirks. "Unless...you're too much of a pussy to do it?"

Edd frowns. "You're not helping. I am NOT gonna sing it." "Come on- It's just the other verses." Eduardo reaches up to pinch the Brit's cheeks. "My singing isn't even good...!"

There was pause. Before Eduardo takes a deep breath. "..If you never try you'll never know, Just what you're worth.." "Did you just-" But Edd gets cut off..

"Lights will guide you home.." "I'm not gonna sing Eduardo-" "And ignite your bones.." "You can't make me continue-"

Eduardo just stares up, waiting for Edd to continue the lines. And what seemed to be a good minute, Edd frowns, and sighs, giving in.

"And I will try..to fix you." Eduardo shoots Edd with a grin, and they both continue the song.

"Tears stream down your face, When you lose something you cannot replace-" Edd tries to not laugh, but he did find it a bit ridiculous. Still, they moved forward.

"Tears stream sliding your face, And I--...." Wow- They actually sound pretty good. The Brit watches as Eduardo's eyes shut close again. But he was still smiling, and singing along.

"Tears stream down your face, I promise you I will learn from all my mistakes." The paler brunette also lets his eyes flutter close.

"Tears stream down your face, And I--..." The same line was repeated, but Edd was pretty sure he let himself get carried away, and he tried to be extra while singing that part. But hey- who cares?

"Lights will guide you home, And ignite your bones..."

Edd opens his eyes, and Eduardo does the same.

"..And I will try to fix you.."

They gave each other a small smile, until of course, one of them have to ruin it. Edd noticed this pattern.

"Sappy." "I sang better."

They stare a little longer. Then Edd breaks into a fit of giggles. "Yeah, you did." Eduardo only beamed.

[ninzied]

at the crazy speed of needing something more [a kastle fic]

What he should’ve said was. 2.11.

"…do you mind if we continue this heart-to-heart once we're out of here?"

And then there are things happening all at once, Amy shifting expectantly on her feet as she watches them, that damn door swinging open a second time and bringing Madani back in with it. But the only thing Frank can see in that moment is Karen, Karen dropping her hand from his chest, Karen turning her head, Karen walking away from him for good this time.

Frank hears the soft padding of bare feet across the linoleum, a whisper of fabric that must be her coat, and he stares blankly at nothing in front of him, at all the nothing she's just left in her place, and he takes it all in, shoves it down deep.

He did this. He did this.

Somewhere, vaguely, comes Madani again, a quiet, determined "I have an idea," as she strides over to the cop on the floor. O'Rourke. O'Rourke, his name badge had called him. "Help me turn him around and get these clothes off of him."

Amy's marching past Frank to join her, helpfully wedging her shoe beneath the body and kicking him over with a contemptuous expression. He flops onto his back, Madani already loosening his tie and reaching for the top button.

Amy pauses above her, cringes a little, hesitates just long enough that Frank can't – she's just a kid, for chrissakes, he won't let this—

Before it's even fully registered in him to try and stop her, Karen's suddenly by his side again, purse sliding off of her shoulder as she rests a placating hand on his arm.

It's brief, but Frank feels as though he's moving underwater, everything slowing down to just a breath of space between heartbeats, and it should terrify him (it does – it does), what she can do with one simple touch of her hand.

"Hey," says Karen, but she's looking at Amy, stepping over to her and gently pulling her back a few steps. "I'll take care of it, okay?" and all Frank can think is that he should've kissed her when he had the chance.

"'Kay." Amy looks more relieved than she'd probably ever want to admit. "I'll just go…stand watch," and then she's wheeling that monitor back over to station herself solidly in front of the door, keeping an eye on the hallway, making a show of typing up rubbish with her back turned to them.

The cop's shirt is off, and Karen wordlessly gives it to Frank before bending to undo the belt buckle, Madani with O'Rourke's holster in hand. The pants are last to go, stripped down to the ankles with brutal efficiency, and Frank can only stand there, hating his own uselessness, the too many goddamn steps involved in putting a shirt on without some kind of new pain tearing through his whole body.

"I'll take the head," says Madani.

They're hauling him onto the bed when Frank finally snaps out of it, the sight of Karen's hands wrapped around that asshole's pasty white ankles just about doing him in.

"Wait. Lemme—" He starts forward, but it comes out more like a pathetic sort of shuffle, and Karen boxes him easily out with one clean move of her shoulder.

He nearly collides right into her back, has to brace a hand against the bed railing until his knuckles turn white with the effort of holding himself away from her.

"Don't." She's half-breathless with what he thinks might be anger, all this hell-raising fire and light in her wasted on some piece-of-shit lost cause like him, and he curses himself for it. "Frank, just, don't."

"You – you shouldn't be here. Gonna get yourself hurt."

She looks at him like he's lost his damn mind.

And maybe he has, for all that he sounds like a broken record with her, and maybe, just maybe, he's let her break his mind too.

"I've had worse." Karen pushes the legs toward the center of the bed, grabbing up and rearranging blankets while Madani clears away wires, pulls a bunch of masks from the wall. "I'm not as helpless as you think I am."

"That's not – Karen. You know that's not what this – it's not about that, it's not even a question of that, okay?"

"I can handle it. Trust me." She turns to face him fully, voice hard as fucking steel, but the look that she gives him, that look could bring a man to his knees in so many other damn ways. "I'm going to be needing that hospital gown now."

He shakes his head, throwing a desperate glare in Madani's direction, but she's either gone selectively deaf or become real invested in picking the right-fitting mask for their guy.

Goddamn it, Madani.

Amy's still clacking away at the keyboard, the sound of it seeming to amplify all the silence rather than covering it up.

"By all means, keep taking your time," shrugs Karen. "I doubt the men who want to kill you will care that you have your shirt on backwards."

Frank looks down at his half-assed attempt to get dressed, one hand jammed through the wrong sleeve, the rest of the thing up around his neck where he'd gotten it twisted with the ends of his gown.

"You sure you still don't want my help?" The corner of Karen's mouth goes soft, like she knows she can pull him back from the edge with that smile, and he can't have that, he can't.

It's too dangerous, staying this long with her here, and he can no longer trust that he'll do right by her, if he has to watch her walk away from him again.

Frank looks past her. "Already told you what I want."

He thinks that if she ended him right then, it wouldn't be half of what he deserves.

Instead, she reaches over, gingerly freeing his hand from the railing. "Come on, Frank." Their fingers twine, and if he'd figured out some way before, he sure as shit doesn't know how he's supposed to let her go now. "You don't have to do this alone."

…

Frank wonders, sometimes, what might've happened if he'd done things differently. Bit the goddamn bullet, so to speak – though when it comes to this woman, taking on a more literal form of the phrase is never out of the question as far as he's concerned.

If he'd just. Come out and said it, instead of – caving into the fear. Not the fear of blood, or some measly bullet holes, but of drowning in blue when Karen Page looks at him the way that she does. All that faith, that trusting warmth, that glint of a thing that might just be love in her eyes.

Not of death, but of being brought back. Of holding on. Of letting go.

…

What he should've said was—

…

"Okay."

Karen's expression is firm and unblinking when he finally lifts his gaze back to hers. "Okay?" she says.

"Yeah." He nods, and keeps nodding, breathing out hard through his nose. "Okay."

She doesn't wait for him to change his mind, liberating her hand from his, and that – that wasn't part of the plan, he can't help but think as he tries to find some kind of balance without it – but then both arms are going around his neck, sending him off-kilter again.

She untangles the shirt from his gown before scooping up the rest of the clothes, sliding an arm around his back and carefully urging him forward.

"Bathroom," she says, and he grunts in response, leaning his weight onto his good leg to avoid crushing her with it as he hobbles his way to the door.

But Karen's making it ten kinds of harder for him, her shoulder snug under his arm, that hand of hers pressed tight to his waist and heating his skin through the hospital gown. He clamps down on his jaw so hard that he starts to taste copper, tries not to focus on anything else.

The typing has stopped, and Amy's swinging the bathroom door open for them, biting her lip with a worried expression as he heaves himself off of Karen and collapses into the wall with a groan.

"Kid, you good?" he rasps at her.

She and Karen exchange a look, like this is somehow amusing to them, and Christ this was not what he'd signed up for.

"All right, all right." He shoves himself away from the wall, lurching slightly into the sink for support, but Karen's already right there to steady him, hands closing over his shoulders. He grips her elbows, doesn't let go. "Get this thing off me."

They both glance at Amy, who's still hovering in the doorway, and with a deeply aggrieved sigh she steps obligingly back and releases her hold on the knob.

"It's not like it's anything I haven't seen before, you know," Amy calls through the closing sliver, and Frank blows out an exasperated breath, stealing an occasional glare at the door as if she could feel his aggravation on the other side of it.

He slumps into the sink again as Karen retrieves the pants, rucking one leg down waist to ankle and coaxing his foot up and through.

"Dare I ask what that's all about?"

Frank skims his gaze across the sterile white walls, tripping over cracks in the plaster, some paintings of a vase, and a road leading to nowhere that's hanging slightly askew. Easier, this way, to try and forget what it looks like to have Karen on her knees in front of him. "Better not."

She's gotten the pants over both his legs somehow, despite his complete inability to tell so much as right from left anymore. She's working on tugging them up beneath his gown, her hands making it somewhere mid-thigh when Frank grinds out a rough "Got it, I got this," brushing her aside.

She turns away for the rest, and he can't read her face but he knows her, that stubborn, impenetrable square of her shoulders, the stiffness in her back. He feels like he wants to give her something, anything, like he owes it to her to try after all the trying she's done for him.

So Frank clears his throat, and he tells her, "Kid dug a piece of shrapnel out of my ass and then sewed it back together, day after we met."

He can hear the wan smile in Karen's voice as she picks up the uniform and says, "You sure know how to win them over."

"Guess so."

Frank rotates himself toward the mirror, fumbling around with the zipper without much success. He glances backward every two seconds while she shakes out some wrinkles, like watching her this way is somehow safer when she's not looking back.

"Karen," he says.

"Yeah." She's turning the shirt, reversing the sleeve he'd left inside out.

"Where're your goddamn shoes, Karen?"

"Don't worry about it, Frank," she tells him, and he snorts.

"'M always worrying, with you." The words drop lower and lower, until he can barely hear them over the sound of his own heavy exhale. He shifts his weight around, rolling his shoulders if only to feel the pain in his back sharpen. "Don't you know that by now?"

"Yeah, well." He watches her movements in the mirror, approaching him from behind with her eyes cast down at the shirt in her hands. "I never asked you to."

"I know that. I know."

She reaches around him, sets the tie and uniform onto the sink before turning to unfasten his gown, with an attentiveness that he almost wishes he could save her from – save her by shutting her out, when he's already shown her the ugliest sides of himself and she barely even flinched at him.

The room is quiet when she opens the door to hand Amy the gown, exchanging some brief words before she's closing it again.

He's not looking anymore, but he hears the soft hitch in her breath as she comes back to him, and then he's the one shuddering, blinking hard at the ground when he feels her palm sliding gently over his spine.

"Oh, Frank." She sighs out his name, and he still doesn't know how to look at her, to see on her face how badly he can't seem to quit breaking her heart.

His body's restless, too much always simmering, fighting to rip itself out, but she – the way that she's touching him now, feather-light over every scar and bandaged surface of skin, God he wants to stand still for her, just this once.

But then she's gone, stepping away before he can bring himself to give it a good honest shot, and ain't that always the way, with them?

"Here." She holds out a sleeve, easing it up to his shoulder before switching to the other side. He twists his arm through with a slight wincing groan, shaking his head when Karen looks at him in concern.

"S'okay," he tells her, "keep going," as she folds the collar down over the back of his neck.

"Turn around?"

Frank swerves a little, swaying in place as he faces her. She's so close that breathing's not really an option, not if he wants his head to remain anywhere close to half-sane – he's been here before, with her within reach, and it's becoming harder each time to stay the dead man he keeps claiming to be.

There's nowhere safe to rest his eyes, she's so painfully beautiful to him, and he settles for watching her hands as they work instead, carefully buttoning their way down his shirt.

Her fingers graze skin more than once, light and cool yet still somehow setting his body on fire, and he doesn't bother to hide the change in his breathing, the way that it catches on its way out.

Karen's tucking the hem down into his waistband before he's fully come back to himself, brushing over his stomach and making the muscles there clench. He can feel his heart stumble, jumping straight into his throat when she tugs on both ends of his belt.

Frank tightens his hands on the sink behind him, hard enough to shatter something, and he wonders which of the two will break first.

"Almost there, okay?" Her tone is quiet, reassuring, but there's something underneath it, a hint of exhaustion spreading her thin, and he doesn't miss the way she picks up the tie and then pauses, staring down like it's suddenly foreign to her.

"Hey. Karen. I can…"

But then Karen blinks, and she's recovered, looping it around the back of his neck in one practiced motion. He thinks of Maria, teasing him into an early grave the few times he'd attempted to tie one himself. And then he sees Karen again, her movements short, and studied, like she's done this a thousand times before Frank, and it hits him, just hits him, takes him down more powerfully than any bullet ever could.

He wants to ask her, about all those other thousand times. He wants to ask her, to know her, in all the ways that hadn't seemed crucial until now. Here, in this bathroom, where he could be just some guy, and she's just his girl, getting him dressed before work while coffee brews in the kitchen downstairs.

The thought has him reeling, and he thinks she feels it, too, the could be, the what if. The knowing it can't. The wanting it anyway.

Karen smooths it all out when she's done, adjusts his collar, runs her palms over his shoulders and chest before coming to pause near his rib cage – and then she's ducking her head, fingertips pressing, a small shaky sound coming out of her throat.

God.

He swallows, hard.

Slowly, like something inevitable, Frank leans in the rest of the way, and touches his lips to her forehead.

Something gives out in her shoulders, and she sighs into him, strands of her hair getting caught in his stubble. He reaches for her with both hands, only to find that they're already there, gripping her hips like it's the most natural place for them to be, fistfuls of silk anchoring him there.

He doesn't know how long they stay this way, him falling and falling and pulling her with him – could be forever, and he'd still want more – but Karen's gathering herself again, a deep breath and then she's looking up at him with a tired but steady expression.

She raises her hand, fingers tracing out the path of her gaze. The cut below his lip, the angry color around his eye. She finds the edge of each bruise, every inch of his skin that's been split open, without blinking or backing away.

My girl, he thinks.

Her palm finally settles warmly over the side of his neck, the madness that lives there in his pulse, and still she's close as ever, close enough to cut herself on all these broken, messed up pieces of him.

If she – fuck, if she could just sink her nails into him instead, hard enough to draw blood, for all that it would hurt him less.

"I worry about you too, Frank."

"Yeah." It comes out hoarse, his eyes burning to take her all in, and he doesn't trust himself to speak anymore but still he's got to say it, can't let her walk away thinking he doesn't – that he – "Karen, I…"

His jaw works furiously over the words, breath coming out ragged in his frustration. "I—"

Karen presses her hand to his mouth to silence him.

He drops his forehead back to hers with a shuddering sound, lodging somewhere in his throat. His lips part slightly beneath her touch, and he knows, he knows with a terrible certainty, that when he opens his eyes to gaze down at her, he won't be able to hold anything back from her anymore.

He feels halfway delirious simply from standing there, and then she's looking at him too, lashes growing heavy as her eyes drift down to his mouth, and he's just. Gone.

He moves over her, crowding their bodies together, pushing back with his mouth against the pads of her fingers until her lips are pressed to the other side. He can feel her swallow, the softness of her breathing while his goes deeper, more uneven, and this is it, he thinks, this is – there's no coming back from something like this.

Her fingers slip, catching on his lower lip for one endless second before finally falling away.

He'll never know who makes the first move. Doesn't matter. All that matters is—

…

There are few constancies in his life, and for whatever it's worth to her (he already knows what it means, to him), Karen Page will never not be one of them. Karen, and all the moments she's tested what kind of a man that he is, the moments she's given him chance after chance, the moments he's wanted to kiss her but didn't.

Because he's a coward. And he's the kind of coward who lies to himself about it, claims it's to be the better man and save her when, in a way, he thinks it's because he doesn't want to be the one who gets saved.

He can't kiss Karen and then just – not kiss her again, every day, for the rest of his goddamn life. He can't kiss Karen and think that nothing – not the blood or the bruising or the spray-painted skull – is going to wash out, that nothing will have to change. He knows this. A better man would walk away, for the right reasons this time.

He was never meant to be the better man.

…

Their lips press together, softly, at first. Her fingers are still at the corner of his mouth, thumb cradled beneath his jaw, and there's so much gentleness there that for a moment Frank can't help but take his time, learning all the different ways her lips feel against his, as he kisses her again, and again, and again.

And then her fingertips are curling into his skin, applying just the slightest bit of pressure as her her whole body shifts upward to slide along his, and a groan wracks through him, lips parting over hers with a greater sense of urgency this time.

She makes a noise in the back of her throat that just about destroys him.

He's got his arms wrapped all the way up her back beneath her coat, but he frees one of them now, folding it solidly around her shoulders and cupping the nape of her neck in his hand. The sink digs up against his spine as he hauls her body into his, ignoring all the new fissures of pain splitting his nerve endings open.

Doesn't matter. None of it does, anymore.

He's slanting his mouth over Karen's, going practically sideways as she opens up for him, inviting him in with lips, and teeth, and tongue. He hasn't – Christ he can't remember the last time he felt this kind of hunger, this raw kind of need, he wants her, he wants her – and she wants him, too?

Frank lets out a low growl, the animal in him rising up in his chest, and for this one heady moment his senses take over, devouring every small moan that comes out of her, the sounds their mouths make moving together.

She drags her nails lightly over his scalp, running through the shorter hair in the back before resting both hands around the sides of his neck. There's something sweet about the gesture – tender, despite how he's let himself go, the almost callous way he's surrounded her body with his – and he eases up on the kisses, capturing her upper lip between his instead and slowly working his way over to that beauty mark in the corner.

The look that she gives him, though, when he pulls away for a breath, that look is the furthest from delicate, all fierce and irresistible, dropping warm things in his belly and twisting up his insides with the desire to kiss her again.

You can't. The words pierce his skull like so many daggers, slicing in deep until they've embedded themselves there. You do this and you're both good as lost, you hear me?

Karen deserves – everything, to be everything, to someone.

And he wants – he wants, more than anything, to believe he can be that someone, for her. But he doesn't know how to do any of that outside of this moment, beyond this hospital bathroom, where the rest of the world's waiting to get at him, with him trying to get at them back.

She stays, and Frank could go down in one of two ways – with Karen following him into the fire, or the fire finds its way here, and then they're burning all the same.

"Hey." But his voice is all wrong, still rough with this need, this longing he has to hold onto her, and he clears his throat, tries again. "Karen."

She bites her lip and looks away, like she already knows what he's about to tell her. "Yeah."

"You gotta get out of here, Karen. Go."

He bumps his nose against her cheek, pressing unsteadily into her as she lets out a sigh, sliding her palms back down to his chest. He moves his hand away from her hair, coming to rest over the side of her throat, thumb notching into her collarbone.

"Hey."

She shakes her head, but there's nothing else for her to say, no fight in her left to demand more from him, and that, Frank thinks, might rip him apart more than any other thing she could do.

"Please," he says, barely above a whisper, feeling their breath shake together as he struggles not to move closer, mouth drawn back to hers like some primal instinct, and he hardly knows what he's asking of her anymore.

She could kiss him right now, and he would forget why it was even a question.

He wets his lips, sucks in another hard breath. "Please. Karen."

She closes her eyes, nudging her forehead into his. Breath in, out. Back in again.

Slowly, she lifts her hand, touching her fingers to his mouth one more time. His vision tunnels black for a moment, the ground swooping low and taking everything with it as she pushes herself gently out of his arms.

"It's okay, Frank," she tells him, and he wants to believe her, but doesn't.

…

He'd promised her, once, that he'd never lie to her. He hadn't come right out and said it, but – it was something understood, between them. Over coffee at some run-of-the-mill diner that wouldn't be standing by the end of the day, she'd said to him, halfway to broken herself, "You're honest. You never lie to me."

And she hadn't been wrong about that, until now.

"Okay," he'd told her. Okay. Okay.

"Okay" was such a fucking lie.

…

What he should've said was—

…

"Come on, Frank. You don't have to do this alone."

He looks down at their hands, his fingers gripping her hard, the pale white of her thumb tracing patterns over his red, battered knuckles. Madani's still biding her time, moving pillows around his periphery to obscure O'Rourke's face, while Amy's typing recedes to a kind of dull white noise in the background.

All he sees is Karen. Karen, who would ruin her life, who would throw away her own goddamn after, for him.

Karen, who could tear up his insides simply by looking at him, strip him down to nothing but bone and whatever's left of his soul – and then take his wrecked heart and hold it close to her own, like she can just kiss it all better.

Maybe she could. Maybe she could.

But it wouldn't stop him from getting his blood on her hands.

He'd told her, once, when you find someone with that kind of power to annihilate you, you hold on with two hands, and never let go.

It hadn't been a lie, at the time.

Frank reaches over with his other hand, covering hers where they're joined. Carefully, without letting his gaze leave hers, he loosens her grip. Their fingers snag together, only for a moment, before she takes her hand back, arms crossing, and the distance between them gapes and gapes into an abyss.

What he should've said was—

"I'm not alone, Karen."

She shakes her head at him, lips thinning together. He thinks he's never seen her so angry with him.

Frank makes a jerking motion with his chin. "I think Madani's got it covered, yeah? She can take it from here." He shrugs the uniform off of one shoulder, grasps at the collar and yanks down. His eyes are still fixed on Karen. "Ain't that right, Madani."

"Frank…" sighs Madani, somewhere beside him.

He can't tell if she's trailed off, or if he's just blocked everything out, but after a pause he feels her taking the shirt from him, and that's good, that's—

Karen's the first to look away, her profile unreadable save for the rigid lines of her anger with him, and it's easier, feels almost like cheating somehow, to keep pushing her away when she's already on her way there.

"You need to go now, Karen." The words are thick, and he hopes to Christ she can't hear what's building beneath them, the sting behind his eyes, the way his body's practically trembling to hold everything still.

She doesn't address him, glancing back toward Madani to say, "Five minutes. Does that give you enough time?"

Madani considers this, and replies, "We'll make it work."

Karen nods at her, some understanding passing between them, and then she's tilting her head back at Frank, her expression softening into something resigned. Disappointed, in him.

And he can take it, the hardness, the fury, the fire. He'll burn ten ways to Sunday for her, but he'll never know how to handle her like this, he'll never know, and the thought that he may never get the chance to find out, or even to go down trying—

It should not comfort him as much as it does.

She's always been the braver one.

"Take care, Frank."

And then she's gone.

…

It would've been easier, not knowing. Not kissing her, holding her. Not fooling himself into thinking that for even a second he could do any of these things and survive.

That he could use these hands to pull her closer, and they wouldn't be the same hands to turn around and break her heart right after.

That she could love him and it wouldn't kill him not to say it back.

That after all that, he couldn't still walk away.

…

It would've been easier, but. It wouldn't have made any difference.

Story still ends the same, either way.

…

The room's silent as death when they make their way out of the bathroom. Karen's in front of him, so he can't see her face, but Amy takes one look at them both and swivels around, pinning him down with this strangely devastated expression. Like she'd been holding out hope that things would turn out…not like this.

Maybe he'd hoped for those things, too.

"Here, Frank."

He sways in the doorway, watching Karen reach for the hat propped beside Amy's computer. She stretches briefly onto her toes to place it over his head, exposing the curve of her throat as she does. He goes hot and cold all at once, and he longs to sink his mouth there, taste every last mark on her skin, make her sigh into his body again and again.

Make it mean something.

It already does, she means everything and more to him, and still it means nothing because he'll never know how to tell her.

Karen finishes straightening his hat, rocking slowly back onto her heels. But her hands linger, lightly touching his temples, each cheek in that gentle way that she does, and he clenches his jaw, turning into her palm on a sharp exhale.

His lips graze her hand in not quite a kiss, another deep breath shaking out of him as he gazes into her eyes. She's not asking anything of him, not anymore, but he wants to tell her anyway, tell her all of the batshit hopeless things he's too lost to ever bring himself to say aloud—

"'M sorry, Karen." Feels like he's swallowing pieces of glass. "I want—" But he can't go on, any more than she can go with him. "I do." He whispers the words like a confession. "I do."

"I know." Karen strokes her thumb over his mouth, until his breathing starts to make its way back to something steady again.

She lets go. Both hands.

He's grasping at nothing but air now.

"It's okay, Frank." She would never lie to him. "I know."

—and for now, it has to mean enough.

[alittledizzy]

Title: lean with it Rating: PG Word Count: 1695 words Summary: Sometimes Dan has to say things, even if Phil doesn't really want to hear them. (An anti-jealousy fic.) Notes: Written for @europeansoul​ for my thirty minute fics for charity fundraiser to benefit PhandomGives.

[read on AO3]

Dan has the strong sense of deja vu as he stands in duty free and watches a man try far too enthusiastically to sell Phil a bottle of cologne.

The man has blonde hair and he's taller by a couple of inches. Not Dan's type. Not Phil's either, not really. He's slender and attractive, with the hint of a tattoo peeking out under a shirt sleeve and a silver hoop in one ear not unlike Dan's own.

He's fit. Dan's eyes wander down, lingering on his ass. Phil's got a better one, but Dan can still appreciate.

*

"He was trying to pick you up," Dan says as soon as Phil makes his way back to where Dan's at. Phil's got a bag that Dan is quite sure contains no cologne but probably far too many sweets.

"He was not," Phil scoffs.

"Okay," Dan says. He waits thirty seconds. "But he was."

Phil gives him that look that Dan has come to recognize over the past few months, that weirdly bashful but hesitantly proud expression. Dan has a fondness for that expression, almost a pride over it. "No," Phil says. "He wasn't."

"He was," Dan immediately says. There's less conviction in his voice now. "He wanted your sexy body."

Phil snorts indelicately. "No one wants my sexy body."

"Excuse," Dan says, offended.

Phil rolls his eyes. "You don't count."

Dan can't help himself. One firm poke with his pointer finger, right to Phil's side. No one notices the poke, but plenty of people turn to stare when Phil yelps out a wounded sound. "I count," Dan says.

"No, you're just like." Phil makes a face. "Obligated."

"Phil." Dan sighs. "I'm tired, you know. I'm a busy guy. We're busy guys. We're on a fucking world tour. Don't make me schedule in time for some intense body worship kink action. I'll do it, but, you know, I'd rather just nap."

Phil laughs. "See there, that's what I mean. You'd rather nap than have sex."

"Like you wouldn't sometimes," Dan says.

"Sometimes," Phil acknowledges.

"Bet Mr. Buy My Overpriced Smelly Waters would rather hit it than nap," Dan says. "I can run back and ask him-"

He acts like he's going to stop and double backwards, even taking a few steps until Phil grabs his arm. "Stop that. You know they're going to stop let us wandering off on our own if we can't behave."

"We're behaving," Dan says. "Not behaving would be me blowing you in a public toilet, but I'm not fucking doing that, am I. Even if I like your dick in my mouth. Because you've got like, the best dick."

"What-" Phil squints at him. "Are you complimenting my dick to make me feel better?"

"Is it working?"

Phil shrugs. "I mean, I already know you like my dick. But someone can have a nice dick without like - a body, you know."

"You have a body," Dan says.

Phil looks like he's physically struggling with the words that come out of his mouth. "I don't have the kind of body that fit Finnish airport workers want to - hit."

And, ah - there it is, that something there, that nerve Dan's been brushing up against. "Yeah, Phil, you do," Dan says, letting a bit of that something not quite suited for their current environment seep into his words. "Because it's not about having a six pack, you know? People look at you. They notice you. You've got some kind of like, I dunno, striking thing about you. Especially since the hair."

Phil visibly tenses when Dan mentions his hair. He's got some shit to unpack, some things left to let go of.

It's not that Phil doesn't like how he looks now. It's just, Dan thinks, neither of them realized what a source of insecurity it was for him before. Vulnerability doesn't sit well with Phil, even in front of Dan sometimes.

"I'll strike you," Phil says, and they both know he's just filling the space between them with words that hold no meaning.

"Strike me with that big ole' d," Dan says, because he figures he's pushed hard enough for one day.

"You're the worst," Phil says, a blatant smile on his face.

*

"Have you got your introduction prepared yet?" Marianne asks, picking over her breakfast scramble.

"Yeah," Dan says. "I'm going to talk about how Phil got chatted up by his future husband in the airport when we flew in."

Phil drops his fork. "You are not!"

Marianne looks between them, one eyebrow raised. "Did he now?"

"No," Phil says at the same time Dan says the opposite.

"Might even work it into the show regularly, you know? When Phil's talking about his hair. Add in something about how he's got his forehead out for the lads, and the lads are definitely noticing."

Phil is staring daggers at him. Dan's perceptive enough to know that Phil is genuinely a bit annoyed Dan's bringing it up, but it's a new day and he's ready to push a few more buttons in the name of forward progression. Sometimes Phil needs another person to pry his fingers off the walls of his comfort zone.

"That'd go over well with the audience," Marianne says, forever diplomatic.

"You are not," Phil says again. "You are not putting that in the show."

"But you admit now that he was flirting?" Dan asks.

"I don't-" Phil stabs his fork ineffectively into his sticky, sugar-laden pastry. "I don't know why you're making such a thing of this."

"Would you look at that," Marianne says, looking down at her still mostly full plate. "Think I'll go back for seconds. Don't kill each other, boys. I don't want to have to be the one to explain that."

"I just think," Dan says, picking up the conversation from before as though there was no pause of almost forty eight hours. "That you need to accept that your sexiness. I know your whole thing is just like, owning that you're a pasty tall nerd, but you're also... you know."

Dan makes a hand gesture.

“I’m what?” Phil asks.

“Hot.” Dan does a little dance with his eyebrows.

Phil is not as amused as Dan had hoped. "I don't want to do this."

“Fine,” Dan says.

“Fine,” Phil says, and there’s a moment of silence.

But only a moment. Dan’s never been good at shutting up.

"You weren't like that when we met, you know," Dan says, licking yoghurt off his spoon. "Your self-confidence was part of what made you so attractive."

"I was twenty-two," Phil says. "Everyone thinks that way when they’re youn and dumb."

"Why is owning your sexiness a young thing?" Dan asks. "Or a dumb thing? I know you don't lack self-confidence in other ways. You're a functional, successful adult. You do our fucking taxes. Which is also hot, by the way. You don't feel the need to downplay any of that off-camera."

"That is a kink I will never understand," Phil says.

"Don't judge me." Dan kicks a leg out under the table, knocking his calf against Phil's. "Just admit you know you look good. I've seen the selfies you post. Hell, I've taken most of them. I know you get it. You just don't want to say so. But I know it feels nice to have someone who doesn't even know you think you're fit enough to flirt with."

"I just..." Phil's pastry is in forked apart pieces now, having taken the brunt of his frustration. "It doesn't matter, I guess. I don't need other people to find me attractive, it's not like I'm available. So it's easier to not think about it."

"You don't have to be available to enjoy people hitting on you," Dan says. "Validation is still validation. I mean, just don't go home with anyone. "

"Do you like it?" Phil asks, suddenly curious.

Dan smirks. "Maybe."

"Why?" Phil sounds perplexed.

"Because..." Dan licks another spoonful off, perhaps a bit more luxuriously than he needs to. "Because I do still think that you're the fucking sexiest person alive. What you said about me feeling obligated - it's not actually true. I may not jump you every time we're in a room alone together anymore, but we're both too old for that. Doesn't mean I don't love your fucking face, though. And the whole rest of you. I mean, sure, you've got a beak nose and your head is weird shaped and-"

"Wow, thanks," Phil says dryly.

"Shut up, let me finish. You've got a bird nose and your head is weird shaped and sometimes your roots grow out and it looks funny but you put it all together and it's just, stupidly hot, you know. As a whole package. The parts of you that aren't like a magazine cover are what make it work. I loved the emo fringe, I fell in love with the emo fringe, but you got rid of it and suddenly the whole rest of the world noticed that you're a whole fucking meal, Phil. And I want you to own that. I want you to feel as good about it as I do. My kink isn't other guys hitting on you, my kink is you enjoying it."

Dan finishes his monologue and sits back, awaiting a response.

"You're so weird," Phil says, but he smiles down at his food and, out of sight of everyone else, presses his leg against Dan's.

*

They're bouncing around with backstage jitters, listening to the thunderous voice of the crowd singing along to the pre-show playlist, when Phil suddenly stops and turns to Dan with an alarmed expression. "You still can't tell that story in the show."

"Ugh," Dan says, though he'd never really intended on doing it at all. He just likes to keep Phil on his toes sometimes. "You ruin all of my fun."

“Dan!” Phil shoves him.

“Fine. But I get to mention your ass at least twice.”

“Once,” Phil says.

“You drive a hard bargain, Lester.” Dan turns and reaches up, brushing his fingers over Phil’s hair. It doesn’t really need adjusting, but he can get away with it. “Good thing you’re so damn pretty.”

[theoddcatlady]

Washed Overboard

“Jesus Christ, Anna, get your nose out of the book, we’re about to go snorkeling!”

I responded how I normally did to my sister- I raised my middle finger without tearing my eyes from the pages. I heard Rose gasp before she ran back to mom, whining about how I flipped her the bird and was being antisocial again.

Hey. My family dragged me away from my weekend of reading in my room where it was quiet and peaceful. My plans hadn’t changed even if the location had. On the ocean. Where my brother and his girlfriend were constantly making out below deck and you couldn’t get my older sister out of the water for more than ten minutes.

I heard my dad’s stride approach me before a pair of large hands covered my eyes. “Anna, did you flip off your sister again?” He asked.

I struggled free and set down the book, putting a bookmark in place. “There’s no photographic evidence,” I said before turning in my seat to look at him. “Are you seriously going to force me to snorkel?”

“Noooooo… but I’ll take you to a bookstore once we’re back home if you do.”

The cruelest of bribery. I chewed my bottom lip as I contemplated it before I said, “And we name the boat ‘The Midlife Crisis’?”

I got a gentle smack on the back of the head for that.

“Worth a shot.”

I got into my swimsuit and stood awkwardly near the edge, crossing my arms over my chest. Rose bounced over, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Yippee! You’re gonna love it sis. It’s SO gorgeous out here!” She trilled before she jumped in. The water was practically her second home.

On the other hand, I totally believe if God meant us to swim, he would’ve given us fins. And that says something considering I’m an atheist.

I took a deep breath before I dived in after her.

The water wasn’t too cold at least, Rose was already swimming off watching the coral below. I floated in place for a while, not moving an inch.

“Anna! You drowning?”

I shot a thumbs up above the water before I started paddling my feet. Rose was so graceful in the water, each movement smooth and calculated. The fish got close to her, unafraid of her because she was unafraid of them.

I screamed when a smaller fish darted closer to me. It darted off and hid. Yeah. I’m a little scared of fish. Just a little.

I was beginning to wonder when was the appropriate time to return to the boat when at the corner of my eye I caught a dark shape floating. A human dark shape floating.

I popped my head up, my heart pounding in my chest. Had something happened to Rose? I ripped off the goggles and started paddling to the body.

Closer I got confirmed it wasn’t Rose. It was a man. Too tanned to be my pasty white dad or sunburned brother, but they weren’t moving. Frantically, I paddled faster, screaming for Rose or my dad for help. I reached him and turned him over.

He wasn’t rotting. He was still warm to the touch. Also, bad time to notice, but he was really hot. And naked.

Rose popped up next to me, her eyes bulging from her skull. “Holy shit! Is he dead?!”

“I don’t think so, come on, I can’t drag him back to the boat myself!” I grunted as I attempted to do so, only succeeding in pushing my head below the water.

Thankfully Rose had been a lifeguard for the past two summers running. She knew how to do this. We dragged the unconscious man up to the ship, yelling for dad to help. Both him and my mom grabbed a hold of the guy and pulled him onto the deck. By the time I got my flippers kicked off and I climbed onboard Rose was already performing CPR.

I shook my head as Leo finally joined us above deck, his girlfriend Claire discreetly adjusting her bikini top behind him. He was so dead. The success rate of CPR was way lower than the movies and the TV shows would have you believe. Ick. I checked out a dead guy.

Water spurted from the guy’s mouth and he sat up in a shot. I screamed and nearly toppled overboard as I scrambled backward. The man gasped, his eyes wide as he rested a hand on his chest. His eyes darted from person to person. Rose sighed with relief. “Welcome back to the living,” She said, patting his shoulder.

This is when we all consecutively noticed how very naked he was. My mom quickly tossed him a towel to cover his ‘decency’ and my dad got him to a chair to sit down. He seemed very out of it, not surprised given he was probably just about to head into that good old white light before we fished him out of the ocean.

“Sis, get the first aid kit. And maybe dad’s spare trunks,” Rose said as she sat with him.

Of course I was reduced to running girl. Not like I found him or anything. By the time I returned to deck, he seemed more focused and was talking coherently.  His bright green eyes focused on me as I walked up, holding out the swim trunks. I felt my face grow a bit warm and I cleared my throat. “So, did you see a white light or anything?” I asked.

Rose groaned and face palmed. “That’s my sister Anna, she’s the one who found you. She doesn’t know how to talk like a normal person,” She said.

The man chuckled and took the swim trunks, resting them on his lap. Damn, he had great thighs. Focus on his face. On. His. Face. “Eh, I can’t remember if I did or not. Thank you, Anna. I don’t know how much longer I would’ve lasted out there,” He said. Damn, his voice was sexier than his ripped bod.

Seriously! Focus!

I cleared my throat a few times and shrugged. “I mean, I’m not gonna leave you for the sharks. What’s your name?”

“Christopher. My name is Christopher.”

Despite nearly drowning, Christopher seemed to show no ill effects, only taking an Advil for the headache he had. And my whole family immediately fell in love with him. Particularly Rose.

Especially Rose.

“Here’s dinner,” My dad said as he plopped the steaks in front of us. Christopher seemed uninterested in dinner. Same with Rose. They were… very interested in each other, their eyes not breaking contact and their hands clutched together.

Mom pressed her lips together. “Chris? Rose? Are you hungry?” She asked, not so subtly hinting for them to break it up.

“Oh! Right!” Rose blushed and filled her plate while Chris raised a hand.

“I’ll pass. I’m not too hungry.”

Claire wrinkled her nose. “What were you doing out there anyway?” She asked.

Chris paused for a moment. “Oh, why I was out in the water?” He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s embarrassing. I was on a boat with my friends last night, we were partying, and I guess I slipped. Ocean was rocking pretty roughly last night, I hit my head on the way down. I don’t know how I made it as long as I did,” He said.

“And you were walking around naked-” I cut off as Rose kicked my ankle.

Chris shrugged. “It was warm,” was his excuse. Rose giggled and set her head on his shoulder. Lucky her.

I focused on my steak dinner and let Chris continue chatting it up with my family. After I cleaned my plate I walked below deck, deciding now was the time to finish my book.

“Pssst! Anna!”

Claire poked her head from her room and gestured me in. Confused, I walked in. Claire was the same age as my little brother, sixteen, so there wasn’t much of a gap between us but she hardly seemed interested in talking to me. For a few seconds, Claire listened at the door before she sat on the bed.

“I think Christopher is full of shit.”

I nearly choked on my spit with how bluntly she delivered that. I pounded my chest before I sat down next to her. “What do you mean, full of shit?” I asked.

Claire rolled her eyes. “Please. He said he fell overboard last night. You didn’t find him until midafternoon. Yet his skin wasn’t wrinkled? Heck, he was still alive after being out there so long? And the ocean was hardly bad last night. I’m just saying it’s weird. Also. He was walking around naked last night. How convenient.”

Huh. I shifted my weight on the bed and frowned. “That’s… that’s a bit weird, yeah.” I heard a burst of laughter above deck, Christopher probably cracked another joke. “I don’t think he’s bad though. I mean, he’s been nice. Maybe he’s just embarrassed?”

Claire pursed her lips. “That’s what worries me even more. If he was out to sea last night with his friends, why the fuck hasn’t he asked for one of our cellphones to call them and tell them he’s okay? Why haven’t we heard on the radio that someone went overboard last night?”

Oh.

~*~

I couldn’t sleep that night. Christopher was sleeping on the top deck, dad was promising to take us all back to land tomorrow so we could reunite Christopher with his friends. Christopher laughed and said he’d kick their asses for not realizing he was gone.

Why did Claire have to make me all paranoid though?

I counted the waves splashing against my window. Maybe it would work like counting sheep and I’d be okay. One wave… two waves… three waves… a giant fucking splash…

Did Christopher fall overboard again? I kicked off the blankets and quick walked to the deck, my heart bouncing into my throat.

Rose was out there in her Hello Kitty pajamas, looking overboard. Her lips were in a perfect ‘o’ as she stared into the water. “How… I don’t understand, Christopher...” She said.

I heard Christopher’s voice, more melodic and soothing than ever. “Come with me, Rose. I can show you the reef in ways you’ve never imagined. You won’t have to leave the water again. And your chains with be of the beautiful silver and pearls.”

I was almost onto the deck myself when someone yanked my arm back below deck.

It was Claire, who’d gone white. “Cover your ears! Now!” She hissed, pointing to her own earplugs. I reached up, dazed, clapping my hands over my ears.

It was like a switch. What the fuck.

Claire dragged me further below deck, out of earshot of Christopher. “There’s more of them. Men, woman. I saw them swimming by the window,” She said, pulling out one earplug. “They’re all telling us to come overboard. I had to tie Leo to the bed with his t-shirt, he’s uber pissed.”

“What the actual shit is going on, Claire?!” I asked, glancing back up the stairs. I could still hear Christopher’s voice, not the words, just the tone.

Claire shook her head. She had no idea.

Oh no. Rose.

I pulled Claire’s earplugs from her and ran back above deck.

My parents were already up there, staring into the water. Rose was standing on the edge of the boat, completely naked except for the necklace I gave her last year. I could hear Christopher’s voice, with many others, talking to all of them.

I screamed Rose’s name at the top of my lungs. Rose jerked and turned around, seemingly trying to focus on my voice. “Rose! Get down from there! Please!” I screamed again, starting to run to her to pull her down.

My dad clubbed me over the head before I got too close. I hit the ground, my skull exploding in pain. I heard one splash. Two splashes. One of the earplugs rolled out of my ear. I heard Christopher again.

“Jump, Rose! Jump!”

I blacked out.

The next morning, when the sun started warming my face, I woke up, my head aching and Rose nowhere in sight. Neither was Christopher. I walked to the bench where he’d slept the night previous, the borrowed swim trunks were neatly folded on the seat.

I heard a splash and turned my head.

A scarlet, scaly tail slapped above the water, before a familiar head poked up. Christopher grinned up at me, gesturing for me to come closer.

I threw the swim trunks at his head before I ran below deck, screaming for my family.

Mom and dad were gone. Leo was gone. Claire was also gone. I was the only one left onboard. I walked back on deck. Christopher was already gone, along with his swim trunks.

I sunk to the ground, wrapping my arms around myself as I sobbed.

I was all alone. The only one not convinced to jump overboard.

[rebellingstagnationblog]

“Meet Me Under The Mistletoe” by Dick Robertson (Day 16 of 31)

For @leviprime @teh-bluejay @rubbersoles19 and @raidenraccoon because there’s more GoMax in here. 

These next stories take place a year after “Here Comes Santa Claus”. 

Max stepped aside to allow a waiter to whiz by before continuing across the room.

Gosalyn caught sight of him as he wove through the crowd and smiled. A whole year together and she still caused butterflies to flutter in Max’s stomach whenever she smiled at him. Or looked in his general direction. Or laughed. Or when she did pretty much anything.  

He was totally gone for her.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Such a gentleman,” she said, taking the champagne flute he held out to her.

“Well, there are witnesses,” Max said smiling and nodding to Drake, who was standing near the gingerbread house on the other side of the room.

The pastry had been built to resemble St. Canard this year and Drake had been hovering around it all night. He’d probably have notes to give to the baker about intersections and crossroads that were wrong. The angle of Audubon Bay Bridge off by a few degrees. Or any other untold minuscule details that weren’t quite right about Drake’s hometown.

But he didn’t scowl or roll his eyes at Max. Which was progress.

Instead, he just watched the couple for a few moments before turning back to scrutinize the pasty city.

“Ah, I see,” Gosalyn said, her tone light as she smirked up at Max. “So once we’re alone, you’ll make me get my own champagne.”

Max nodded. “It’s like that ‘if you teach a man to fish’ theory. If I give you champagne, you’ll drink for tonight. If I let you find your own champagne, you’ll get to drink it forever.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”  

“One of my many good qualities.”

Gosalyn smirked as Max took a sip of his own champagne, glancing around at the festivities.

There weren’t any meet and greet set ups this year. As Scrooge had predicted, the “meet your heroes” event that Max had put together last year had become its own evening shindig. Gizmoduck had been invited along this time, much to Drake’s chagrin. But the evening had gone off without any major catastrophes, and Scrooge had invited Max and Goofy along to his Christmas party as a reward for such a successful night with the heroes.

And speaking of….

“Is Dad with Launchpad?” Max asked, unable to locate Goofy anywhere within the crowd.

Gosalyn nodded. “They went upstairs to look at the tree.”

That made sense. Goofy loved Christmas more than any other holiday and getting to attend the McDuck party as a guest this year instead of as Santa Claus had gotten him so giddy he’d practically been bouncing in his seat as they’d driven in from Spoonerville. He’d gone around the party with energy to rival any child, looking at all the decorations and talking to everybody. Launchpad had taken it upon himself to act as tour guide.

“So, overall, this party is a success,” Max said, smiling down at Gosalyn who raised an eyebrow.

“A little early for that assumption, isn’t it?”

He was about to respond — because a non-scowl from Drake Mallard and his father getting to celebrate Christmas alongside Launchpad McQuack was enough to let him declare this a win — when Scrooge McDuck took one one the mics the carolers had used earlier in the night and said, “Good evening, everyone,” into it.

Gosalyn smirked. “Told you.”

Max drank his champagne to hide his grin. He knew better; Gosalyn was always right.

“I hope you are all enjoying yourselves and I wish to extend you the compliments of the season to each of you.” There were a few murmurs of agreement and returned sentiments from those gathered.

“This year, I wanted to extend a challenge to any of you who might be interested.” He pulled out a large silver star from his pocket, one someone might put atop a Christmas tree. “I will be hiding this somewhere within the ballroom. At seven o’clock, you may begin searching for it. The first one to hand it back to me will get to be my second in command on one of my adventures that I’ll embark on in the New Year.” Scrooge grinned down into the crowd where Webby and his nephews stood collected in a group. “Good luck to those of you who choose to participate and, again, thank you all for coming.”

There was a smattering of applause before everyone turned back to their conversations.

Max, no exception to this, glanced at Gosalyn. “How many people d’you think’ll participate?”

Gosalyn surveyed the crowd. “Maybe half. Scrooge’s adventures are known as much for their danger as they are for their excitement. I think the game is mostly meant for them,” she nodded to Scrooge’s family, all of whom were whispering furiously to one another.

“That mean you won’t try to find it?” Max asked.

Gosalyn took another drink of her champagne. “I never said that.”

A thrill of excitement shot through Max at the thought of getting to see Gosalyn in action. She was very adamant that he not go on any sort of mission with her, but Gosalyn was a badass and he was desperate to see her skills for himself.

He kept an eye on the clock, counting down the minutes and hoping the search for this star would warrant some sort of fancy combat moves from his girlfriend.

At seven o’clock on the dot, about half the party goers began searching the ballroom for the star. Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webby scattered across the room and seemed to communicate to one another via hand signals.

Gosalyn swallowed the remainder of her champagne and handed the glass to Max. He glanced at her expectantly.

This was it.

The moment he’d been waiting for.

His girlfriend was gonna sweep the floor with everyone else and find the star and be Scrooge’s second in command—

“I’m going to use the restroom,” she said before heading up the staircase.

Or.

You know.

Not.

“Where did Gosalyn go?” Dewey asked, popping up out of nowhere and causing Max to practically jump out of his skin. He lost his grip on Gosalyn’s empty champagne flute, but managed to snag it out of the air before it shattered on the ground.

“Warn a guy before you do that again, yeah?” Max said.

Dewey shook his head. “Second in command is at stake. I can’t take any prisoners. Gosalyn? Where’d she go?”

Max straightened to his full height. “Bathroom.”  

Dewey nodded and darted away, sending Huey some sort of gesture that had the red-clad duck head for the bar in the back of the room.

Max shook his head and handed the empty champagne flutes to a passing busboy with a smile. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and watched the crowd of eager would-be adventurers look for this star.

Gosalyn returned and stood beside Max, watching everyone around them.

“You gonna start looking?” he asked.

He wasn’t trying to push her into something she didn’t want to do. He was just….

Excited.

He was freaking excited, okay?

He wanted to see her find the star and kick everyone else’s ass.

Gosalyn glanced up at him, mischief in her eyes. “Scrooge said the winner would be the one to hand him the star. Once they,” she pointed to the nephews and Webby, “go to all the trouble of finding it, I’ll take it from them, hand it to Scrooge, and be the winner.”

“So I’ll finally see you in action?” Max asked, unable to hold back a grin.

Keep it cool, man.

Keep it real cool.

She shrugged. “Maybe. Let’s get something to eat. By the looks of it, this’ll take a while.”

An hour later and no one seemed any closer to finding the star. The people who had been looking had slowly lost interest or had gotten distracted by the festivities.

The only people who continued to search were Scrooge’s family members. They were starting to grow frantic and messy, running into people and checking areas they’d already visited several times over. Gosalyn didn’t do much of anything besides watch the group intently.

Twenty minutes later, the triplets and Webby gathered together in the middle of the dance floor, whispering excitedly and glancing around the room. It looked like something had been stuffed down the front of Louie’s shirt, which didn’t go unnoticed by Gosalyn.

“Show time,” she said, standing up from the chairs she and Max had relaxed into by the fireplace.

“After you’re done kicking ass, meet me over there,” Max pointed on the other side of the fireplace. “Under the mistletoe.”

Gosalyn rolled her eyes. “Sap.”

“Your sap,” he said, completing their customary endearment with a smile.

She returned his smile and ran a hand through his hair. “Kiss for luck?”

“You don’t need it,” he assured her, but pulled her down for a brief kiss all the same.

Gosalyn’s fond smile turned into a knowing grin as she disappeared into the crowd.

Seriously.

Merry Christmas to Max.

[pwrangerbabes]

Cranscott Headcanons!

• Jason loves visiting Billy at his desk before class starts to just check in on him and ask him how his day has been and Billy just loves it and rambles on like he does. The teacher even has to kick Jason out because he doesn’t realize the bell has rung because he’s listening so intently.

• Billy loves Jason’s hair! Like “it’s just so curly and pretty Jason!!!” And Jason just gleams with his head in Billy’s lap while he’s on his phone letting him twirl it around and massage his scalp because it feels so good and like “Billy you stopped playing in my hair, Ima need you to stop doing your homework and finish playing with my hair.”

• When Jason gets into fights with his dad he low key goes in his room and cries and wants to throw crap. He doesn’t like talking about his personal drama with his dad to the other rangers but Billy can always tell when something is up so whenever they are over each other’s houses Billy’s just like “Jason, I know something is wrong so please don’t tell me that your fine and tell me why you’re upset.” And Jason is so dumbfounded??? He’s so???? Like how do you know??? But then he lets it all out and ends up crying on Billy’s shoulder.

• Billy feels that it’s only right to ask Jason if he can walk with him to class or sit next to him at lunch because he’s afraid that one day Jason will get tired of him and be annoyed with him because he’s unapologetically himself but little does he know Jason finds him like SUPER sexy it’s so funny. One day they’re like making out and Billy’s like “Jason is this okay???? Am I bothering you??” And Jason is just shook he’s like “Billy... we’re kissing…”

• Jason is a little possessive sometimes and has to check himself because he gets jealous easily. After Billy accidentally knocked out the bully, he quickly became a ladies man and pretty popular so when a bunch of people are crowded by Billy’s locker, Jason runs up and grabs his hand like “HEY BABE LETS GO GET LUNCH I REALLY MISSED YOU” and Billy just covers his face because he’s blushing so hard and is slightly embarrassed but low key loves it so much.

• Billy gets super upset and confused one time because he’s sees Jason talking to his ex boyfriend from the football team and Jason is smiling while talking to him and it leaves him really hurt but he doesn’t understand because he’s like “they were just talking” but it still hurts so he doesn’t talk to Jason for a while and like avoids him which leaves Jason so confused as well because he has no clue what he did wrong. When he catches Billy at his locker and is like “can you please talk to me? If I did something wrong let me fix it Billy please.” And Billy gets really emotional and overwhelmed and is like “listen Jason I really like you but if you like someone else that’s okay I understand I don’t want to be a bother I just really want to be your friend and I know Brad from your team is a really nice guy-” and Jason shuts him up with a hug, realizing what he was talking about and he’s like “Billy, he was just asking me how I was and all I could do was talk about how happy you make me.”

• Jason sometimes visits the football field and watches the players which gets him in his feelings. Whenever he comes back to where the rangers are he doesn’t talk for a minute and tries to hide how much he misses playing the game but Billy ain’t no fool. So he’ll throw himself on to Jason’s back and kiss him all over and is just like “I WUV U SO MUCH LETS GO GET YOUR FAVE ICE CREAM!” And Jason can’t help but smile with tears of joy because he doesn’t know what he did to deserve someone as kind, loving, considerate, and just damn he’s so fine like Billy.

• Billy can be really flirty when he wants to be and he loves leaving Jason flustered like when they’re at his house and no one is in sight he’ll nibble on Jason’s ear and whisper things while Jason is trying to be a good student and do his homework but dang it’s so hard. So he ends up putting his homework away and they do “other things”.

• After Billy’s death, Jason sometimes can’t sleep without hearing Billy’s voice so he’ll FaceTime him and Snapchat him like their streak on Snapchat is over 500. Billy will let it be known that it’s “3 in the morning Jason I’m fine” but then Jason just smiles because he knows he’s with him and safe and that they’re okay.

• Jason is extremely fashionable like his Instagram has thousands of followers because everyone thinks he’s so cute and stylish and his pics are on fleek. Little do they know that Billy is Jason’s personal photographer and manager. Even when they’re walking and Jason sees something super “aesthetic” he’ll be like “Billy! Check this wall out!” And Billy is like “already got you” and pulls out his phone and goes into professional photographer mode, getting on his knees or any position to take good photos of Jason for his social media. Billy isn’t a picture person himself because he has low self esteem but he gives in when Jason gives him puppy dog eyes and is like “please take this selfie with me?! Everyone deserves to know how awesome and cute my bf is!” And Billy is like “sometimes I don’t feel cute…” and Jason is about to beat someone ass like “who said you weren’t cute?? Did someone say something to you?? Was it in detention??” And Billy’s like “nooo Jason staaahhpp noooo” and then Jason realizes it’s Billy who feels this way and all he can do is hug him and tell him how perfect he is, just the way he is.

• Jason has a very hard time controlling his anger sometimes so when Billy almost gets himself hurt when they’re fighting Rita’s monsters, he freaks out and starts yelling like “Billy how could you?! You could get yourself hurt or even worse and I can’t handle losing you Billy please-” and Billy kisses and hugs him with tears in his eyes once Jason starts to cry too because they’re soft boys and they care too much for each other.

• Billy is a huge nerd for super heroes and Jason can’t help but to surprise him with super hero themed adventures and movies, especially when the local theatre starts playing older super hero movies Jason surprises him with tickets to each one and Billy freaks out and is like “I HAVE THE BEST BF IN THE WHOLE WORLD!” And Jason wears his captain America shirt and Billy wears his spider man shirt and Jason is high key a DC guy but he doesn’t really care as long as Billy’s happy… but also “Jason, how can you like DC more than Marvel????? Like???”

• Jason is a classic movie and theatre buff (just like Dacre) and Billy buys him a huge box of classic movies from the thrift store because they were each like a $1 each and Jason can’t even handle all the emotions he’s feeling he’s like “you fouND GONE WITH THE WIND????” And they spend the night eating and watching all of them until Billy falls asleep but Jason is stubborn and is like “nope, I’m not sleeping till we’re done with the first tape” but most of the classics come with two or three tapes.

• Don’t let that sweet boy fool you Billy can be possessive too and he’ll leave hickies all over Jason’s neck and chest and shoulder and Jason LOVES it but when he goes to school he has to wear his dads big sweaters and hoodies and shirts and just runs to Kimberly in the halls like “Kim I REALLY need your cover up” and this is basically how the other rangers find out and they FLIP OUT! They kinda had a deal with Zack on whether or not they’d found out in the next few days. Billy gets a little embarrassed but he knows what he’s doing. “I’m sorry Jason but it’s not my fault you’re so pale and pasty!!” And Jason scoffs like “um… excuse me? It’s not my fault that I’m the only white person here…” and the other rangers just laugh so much like he’s so white it’s funny asl.

• One day Jason and Billy are hanging out and Billy honestly asks him “will you be mad at me if some days I don’t want to be touched or kissed?” Because some days Billy just doesn’t feel comfortable and Jason smiles and holds his hand “Billy you tell me what you want and when you’re ok and I won’t mind, ever.” And Billy nods and hugs the crap out of his bf because he couldn’t have found someone more patient and loving than Jason.

[write-my-dreams]

JayTim Day 2: Sunburn

Title: Sunburns 

Author: write-my-dreams

Pairing: JayTim

Warning: None

Rating: PG

Summary: Jason decides that he and Tim need to get away from Gotham and go to the beach. Whether he has to kidnap his lover to get him away from work or not.

Read at Ao3

Tim frowned down at his case notes. He’d spent hours collecting information, hacking, and analyzing everything. What did that leave him with? A fat lot of nothing. He only had rumors still about the kidnapping ring tied up with genetic experimentation. What was he missing? Why couldn’t he find anything concrete? Tim groped for his coffee mug without looking away from the notes. There had to be some detail he hadn’t seen yet. He found the mug, raising it to his lips. Yuck, nothing but ice cold grounds.

“I wondered when you’d notice your coffee had gone cold.” 

Tim glanced back to see Jason leaning against the living room wall. He blinked slowly then did a second scan of his boyfriend. “Jay, what… what are you wearing?” 

“Beach outfit.” Jason wore red swim shorts, a tank top proclaiming “Losers Only Live Once” and then an obnoxious “I <3 RR” baseball cap. He grinned, holding up an oversized beach bag and umbrella. “Forget the coffee, baby bird. Brush your teeth and get changed. I’m taking you to the beach before you turn into Quasimodo. You’ve spent at least four hours hunched over your desk.” 

Tim put the mug down. “Jason, this is an important case. I can’t just leave my work so I can spend the day at the beach. I have to figure this out!”

“You expect to find a breakthrough in your next pot of coffee? Tim, I’ve been watching you. All you’ve done is scowl, go through far too much coffee, and work on those eye bags. Now get your pretty little ass up out of the chair and into some swim trunks. We’re going to a nice, sandy beach because we need a break from all the shit going on around here. You have three minutes to get ready or I’m kidnapping you and taking you to the beach.” 

Tim’s eyes narrowed. Jason was serious about this. He glanced down at the case file again, still reluctant to up and leave his work behind. Bruce wouldn’t do it. He would persevere until he found the clues he needed no matter how much coffee he had to go through or how exhausted he was. Then he would act. Tim knew he and Bruce shared the same obsession about their cases, but he was trying to be less of a workaholic for Jason’s sake. “I’ll come with you if that hat stays here.” Where had Jason gotten such a hat and what possessed him to put it on willingly? Had he lost a bet with Roy? 

Jason laughed. “I wanted to see the look on your face. Now up. Your three minute countdown starts now.” 

Tim got out of the chair and stretched. “Just us at the beach?”

“Just us.”

“Good.” Tim kissed his cheek. Jason’s smile made his agreement worthwhile. He’d have to set him straight in the car though. Worse people than the Red Hood had tried to kidnap him before, either as Tim Drake or Red Robin. Just because they were a couple didn’t mean that Jason had an advantage over him. 

Tim stirred as a warm hand shook his shoulder. “Tim? We’re here. I can set up the umbrella and the beach blanket if you want to sleep more.” 

It took a few moments for Tim’s mind to catch up. He must have fallen asleep during their debate about if it was possible for Jason to kidnap him. It’d evolved into a discussion of Red Hood versus Red Robin, and then Tim remembered laying his head against the window… “Red Robin would,” he yawned, “still win.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and rubbed his eyes.

Jason snorted. “You’re still thinking about that?”

“I am.”

“Fine, it’s a challenge then. I’m going to kidnap you one day.” Jason got out of the car and opened the trunk to pull out the beach bag. Tim followed him. “Take the umbrella. And put on some sunblock so you don’t turn into a lobster. Fuck, the glare off your legs is going to blind me. You’ve got the pale, pasty nerd look going on.” He laughed and dodged Tim’s playful strike with the umbrella. 

Tim rolled his eyes. “Please. You’re not much darker than I am.” He could push the kidnapping topic further, but decided to let it drop. For now. They kicked off their shoes once they reached the sand. Couples and groups were clustered around the beach space closest to the parking lot or food vendors. Go a little further away in either direction and it was easy to find a peaceful spot. Tim picked a direction and soon found a good place. Close to the water, no shrieking children nearby. Just some teenage girls a few feet away who looked at Jason like he was the Messiah. Tim would have to show them who Jason belonged to. “How about here?”

“Looks good.” Jason dropped the beach bag onto the sand. Tim set up the umbrella while Jason rolled out the blanket, putting their towels on it. “Shirt off. I’ll help you with sunblock.”

Tim tugged off his shirt and sat down with his back to Jason. The girls were whispering to each other and being none too subtle in their blatant admiration. He lifted up his hair so Jason could get the back of his neck then took over to apply sunblock to his chest, arms, and legs. “What’s the worst sunburn you’ve ever gotten before?”

“Glove burn. My fingertips and forearms burned while the part of my hand covered by the glove stayed white. Yours?” 

Tim snorted as he pictured it. “Mine’s the classic ‘farmer’ tan. I fell asleep in the backyard reading. Everything covered by my shirt was white but the rest was red.” He twisted around to face Jason. “Your turn. Try not to make the girls behind us faint when you take off your shirt.” 

Jason grinned. “I am pretty sexy aren’t I?” He waved at the girls, who blushed, but didn’t look away for too long when the shirt came off. 

Tim couldn’t resist kissing him. “You are.” He moved to stand behind Jason. He was sorely tempted to write “Mine” in sunblock on his back, but imagined it wouldn’t go over too well.

Once both were thoroughly protected against the sun Jason tugged him towards the water. “Join me for a swim?”

Tim smoothed Jason’s hair down. As promised, the offensive hat hadn’t come to the beach with them. “Sure. Promise you’ll never wear an I <3 RR hat again though.”

Jason laughed. “Deal.” Without warning he grabbed Tim by the waist and flung him over his shoulder. 

“Jason!” Tim shrieked. The girls were now giggling at them. “Don’t you dare throw me in the water!” He pounded on his back, swearing viciously when Jason ran towards the waves instead of listening. “I’ll—!” A thorough dunking cut him off. Spluttering, Tim surfaced to glare at his boyfriend. “You,” he hissed.  “You are in so much trouble.”

“Only if you catch me.” Jason tripped him back into the water. Laughing, he danced out of reach when Tim lunged at him. “Come get me, Timmy!” He splashed away so Tim could chase after him. Jason relied on strength and intimidation to get his way. Smaller than his elder brothers, Tim used speed and skill. So while Jason was stronger it didn’t stop Tim from tackling him off a sandbar and into an oncoming wave. Jason snagged him by the waist and rolled them under the water, playfully pinning Tim to the sand and kissing him before bringing them up to the surface. “I’ve caught you now.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Or do I have you?” He playfully pinched Jason’s nipple then shoved him back into the water. 

After swimming and walking the beach they returned to their spot for a drink. Jason rummaged in the bag to pull out his wallet. “I’m going to get us some ice cream. You want some?”

“Sure.” Tim scrubbed his body with his towel. “I’ll sit here and wait for you.” He flopped back on the blanket. He hadn’t wanted to admit it but he was feeling tired. The impromptu nap in the car hadn’t been enough for him. He’d close his eyes for a couple minutes while Jason waited in line… 

That Evening

“I’m glad you suggested we go to the beach today.” Tim squeezed Jason’s hand. “It was a lot of fun. I guess I needed something like that. Even though I did get a pretty awful sunburn.” He made a face as he looked at his sunburnt right hand and wrist. He’d shifted in his sleep and thrown his arm out from under the cover of the umbrella. “Also sorry for falling asleep on our beach date.”

Jason shook his head. “Don’t. You needed the rest.” He opened the trunk to put the beach bag back in, taking the umbrella from Tim. “So… back home? I imagine you’re ready to get back to your case.”

Honestly, Tim wasn’t quite ready to end this day yet. “Why don’t we go out for dinner first? Then we can head back to Gotham and I can work on the case again.” He had, at least, sent his information over to Bruce before leaving with Jason. He didn’t know if Bruce had gotten the breakthrough Tim hadn’t. Jason had confiscated his phone as soon as they got in the car.

“Sounds good. Wait, turn around.”

“Huh?”

“Turn around.”

Tim shrugged and obeyed. He glanced back when Jason whistled. “I just suggested we go on a dinner date and you’re whistling over my ass like some pervert?”

“I’m your boyfriend. I have a right to admire your ass. Which, for the record, I was not doing. Look at your legs. The backs of them are bright red. Think Red Robin red.” 

Tim frowned and twisted to see what Jason was talking about. Shit. It was his own stupid fault for only putting sunblock on once rather than reapplying after being in the water. While his brothers tanned, Tim always burned. “Great. Now I have two burns while you don’t have anything.” He huffed and turned to give Jason an accusing onceover. 

Jason patted Tim’s back. “I’ll rub aloe on you. And tease you about your lame burns,” he added as he slapped Tim’s ass.

“You’re a jerk.”

“Your jerk.”

Tim couldn’t deny that.      

Note:

Jason and Tim’s sunburns are based off of personal experiences. I did have a very unfortunate glove tan after biking and when I was younger, I fell asleep at the beach and had my arm out on the sand. My sister and I are masters at getting really awkward/ridiculous sunburns.

[bungou-stray-dogs-indulgences]

You know that "who you should fight" meme? Could you do a BSD version of it, if it's not too much to ask?

(Ngl this may be the best thing I’ve ever answered)

WHO YOU SHOULD FIGHT

ADA

Atsushi: You win(?)

Walk right up to him and beat the ever-loving shit of him. He’ll apologize to you. An easy fight, just don’t slip in any tasteless orphan jokes, it’ll have the opposite effect intended and he’ll take you the fuck out with the pure intent to prove he’s worthy. You could beat him but the psychological weight of crushing someone so innocent will ensure that you never feel right again. Fight him if you have no soul.

Dazai: You lose

He’ll turn the whole affair into a big joke. If you, by some stroke of luck, actually hit him, he’ll probably just say ‘harder daddy’. The psychological effects of brawling Dazai will be devastating either way. DO. NOT.  FIGHT.

Ranpo: You win

Honestly, it’s hardly worth your time. He hasn’t eaten anything but chocolate cake and cheap lollipops for the last six years, not to mention any form of physical exercise. He’s got pale-ass noodle arms and a muffin top (don’t believe the official art’s lies. The bitch eats solely from a candy shop and looks like he just topped off a cycling session with Jillian Micheals? Get the fuck out). Just don’t bring a Jolly Rancher shiv because he’ll eat the damn thing. Undoubtedly fight, just be prepared to book it like a fucking librarian after you knock him out because the rest of the ADA will come after you.

Kyouka: Depends 

Look, fourteen’s a shitty age even when you’re not dealing with pressing morality crises.There is nothing Kyouka wants more in this world than to dial herself, let Demon Snow rip and raise her kill count to thirty seven. But all you gotta do to keep her at bay is debate on morality like Matthew fucking Murdock in Netflix’s Daredevil. If you can successfully hold her back with discussion on ethics (and how hers will be jack-shit if she slaughters you) you have a slim chance of victory. A great fight if you need to practice for speech class.

Kunikida: You lose

You might think victory’s as simple as tossing his notebook in a nearby water fountain and watching him flip a lid, but this is an absolutely awful tactic and the inside of your head will be decorating the sidewalk in mere milliseconds. He beats Dazai’s band-aid wrapped flanks on the daily and he won’t hesitate to destroy yours. If you fight, at least your cause of death can be listed as ‘blonde beefcake’s rippling biceps’.

Kenji: You win

Just feed him a few bowls of Spaghetti-o’s before you deck him and the little blonde bitch won’t stand a chance. You can smack him back into the cultist backwater rice paddies he crawled out of easy as smacking a crippled fly. A perfect fight for abusing a fourteen year old without getting into too much trouble. 

Fukuzawa: You lose

You might think you could dress up in a kitty costume and sneak up to him. And you could. It would be easy, in fact. He’s so focused on the cuteness he won’t notice any maliscious intent. Despite this his reflexes are simply too quick and he’ll still take you the fuck out when you make your move. A bad fight from all angles. You’ll have to fend off his adopted, dysfunctional ADA children too. Just don’t.

PORT MAFIA

Akutagawa: Depends (99.5% losing chance. risky.)

Yeah, you’re fucked. Akutagawa won’t even wait until you initiate, he’ll be the one attacking you, probably over something minor and stupid like the color of your pants is personally offensive. Rashomon will be slicing and dicing you into a smoothie for cannibals before you know what hit you. The only way you make it out alive is if by some stroke of luck Dazai happens to be in a one hundred mile radius and Akutagawa’s senpai-radar starts going off. Fight only if you bring My Chemical Romance vinyls to punt at him; they’re his biggest weakness .

Chuuya: Depends (99.75% losing chance. Cross thy fingers and pray)

Facing Chuuya is a bigger risk than that board game. He’s practically impervious to all close-up melee and he’s too small of a target to be hit with anything from afar. You might think you’d have a fighting chance if you knocked his hat off; after all, that’s basically all he is. A hat rack prone to alcoholism. But that fury will only make him stronger and he’ll crush you like you’re a cum-covered Dazai body pillow. As with Akutagawa your only glimmer of hope for survival is if bandage-kun happens to be close by because Chuuya will prioritize and leave your now crippled ass in the dust that he punted you in. Only fight while intoxicated. (Both of you. Not just him. It’s more fun that way. Much like Turkish oil wrestling but with more gravity.)

Mori: You lose

If you want to fight him you’ve obviously got a death wish and I’m not going to stop you. There’s easier ways to go though, man. Easier ways. His expression won’t even change when he whips out that scalpel (I don’t believe that man’s ever been to medical school) and filets you like a fresh caught tuna, on its way to a B-rated fast food join. Your body’s gonna get left on the pavement for the stray dogs. (No, I’m not gonna finish that joke. Low hanging fruit. I have some dignity.) If you want to die that bad, just go see if Dazai will suicide with you. It’ll be significantly less painful

Elise: I fucking dare you

I mean, you probably could take her out, she’s like seven. Mori will let her play skip rope with your small intestine after she’s recovered. Rest In Peace if you even consider it.

Kouyou: You lose

I don’t know what would inspire you to be so stupid. She’ll just let out a dignified little chuckle and shove that umbrella sword so far up your ass you’ll be tasting acid rain for months, and she’ll do it all in the most ladylike way possible. Unless you’re ready for your innards to end up in a teapot, served with chocolate-coated orange wafers at tea break, just don’t fight.

Oda: ???

He’s fucking dead. What are you gonna do, kick his headstone, maybe plant some weeds over his grave? Just don’t mention the burnt orphan soup, or he’ll literally rise and put you in his coffin instead. If you’re willing to dabble into necromancy, knock yourself (or him, in this case) out.

Q: Haha

I get why you’d want to fight him, I really do. He looks like a miniature Cruella Deville on an acid trip. But you just don’t have a chance. Hit him. Go ahead. As soon as you so much as brush him he has the power to destroy your shit like it’s never been destroyed before. Will annihilate you from the inside out. The deadliest emo thirteen year old there’s ever been; avoid at all costs!!!

Higuchi: You LOSE

You might think you have a chance because she doesn’t have an ability. But you’re gravely mistaken. Higuchi is bitter. Higchi is ruthless. Higuchi does not give a fuck about anything other than getting Emotagawa-senpai to notice her. She has nothing, nothing to lose and she will not rest until she’s pulling your tonsils through your asshole in the hopes that Akutagawa will give her a thumbs-up for slaughtering you. DO NOT fight. She stands to lose nothing and gain everything.

THE GUILD

Hawthorne: You lose

You might think that you’d have a fighting chance because he’s a priest and priest’s aren’t supposed to wreck people’s shit but he will see your sins and you won’t even see him coming. Try to punch him his ability is literally activated by injuries. Knocks you out with a psalter hymnal and ships you off to Bible camp while you’re unconscious.  Only fight if you have never sinned, not once, ever.

Steinbeck: Depends

If you’re from the city he’ll destroy you. Farm boys always tear apart city people no questions asked. If that fact doesn’t dissuade you then just prepare yourself not to be freaked the fuck out when he jack-knifes his own neck and starts sprouting flora. As long as you keep your cool you’ve got a 30/70 chance. Only fight if you bring a metric fucktonne of weed killer.

Poe: You win (biggest douchecanoe award, but that’s about it)

Physically, sure, you could sneeze within fifty feet of his pasty ass and take him down. But really? Do you really want to hurt him? He’ll stare right into your soul with those sad, sad eyes and wonder just what he did to inspire such bitterness in you. If you can still fuck him up after that then you’d best kiss your spirit goodbye because it’s descending to the seventh level of fiery hell as you read this. Plus, honestly, there’s no true triumph against a man whose best bud is a raccoon. That’s just too rad. If you can deal with the pressing moral consequences and a pissed off  raccoon, go for it. (You monster). 

Mitchell: You win

All you have to do is push her hospital bed down the stairs and pretend it was an accident. Her comatose ass can’t do a thing to stop you. Fight if you’re ready to run from angry hospital staff.

Fitzgerald: You lose 

You know, this sentient sack of Benjamins deserves it, in all honesty, but don’t try. Him and his power suit will kick you into the next millennia before you can say ‘old sport’. Prepare to be crushed by capitalism.

Melville: You win

He’s like eighty and his ability’s a goddamn floating whale. As long as you don’t throw down at Sea World, you’re good. Fight as long as you’re not in front of an assisted living facility; the CNAs will think he’s a resident and defend him.

Lovecraft: Depends

Attack him while he’s trying to nap and he’ll be too lazy to get up. Otherwise… yeah, just google ‘Cthulhu’. You’ll get the idea. Don’t fight: there’s no beating weaponized tentacle porn.

Montgomery: You lose

Go right ahead and try, she’ll whisk you away to her Melanie-Martinez ass torture dimension and let Anne mop the floor with your teeth. It’s kind of like challenging God. Unless you want to spend eternity in an unsexy rip-off of the 50 shades Red Room, DO. NOT. ENGAGE.

Twain: You win

Twain’s all talk, anybody that walks around with their titties hanging out 24/7 is definitely trying to distract from something. In this case he’s trying to fool people into thinking he’s not a dictionary-definition pussy. Rip the heads off his muppet babies and he doesn’t even have an ability anymore, the schmuck. Fight when you’re looking for a quick self-esteem boost. 

Alcott: You win

This poor woman does not deserve to be tortured anymore than she already is by the weight of her own social awkwardness, but if you really insist: make a derogatory comment and she’s basically down for the count already, no physical contact necessary. If you really want to dominate, just steal her glasses and she instantly morphs into a significantly less foxy Velma Dinkley. Also significantly less prone to self defense. An A-1 fight for when you’re looking to cement residency in Hell.

OTHER

Ango: Depends

You would think his beanpole ass would be an easy target. You’d be wrong, though. So very wrong. He’s been chugging tomato juice like it’s his job for the past forever and he’s got a snazzy pair of handcuffs he’s just dying to break out. If you sabotage basic safety features on his car, though, he’s a goner. Just sneakily unbuckle his seat belt while he’s driving and you’ve basically defeated him right then and there. A good fight for practicing strategic tactics and subtle vehicle vandalism.

Fyodor: You lose

Just ask A how that one turned out. Actually, ask anyone in the manga what throwing down with Fyodor entails. (Unless you only watch the anime, then just wait for the season three that we’re probably not getting) He’ll escort you personally to the gates of hell with a flick to your forehead. Then he’ll step right over your still-warm corpse and start playing the cello with that unnecessarily wide leg-spreadage. Mess with this sentient ushanka hat and he’ll uSHANKa you.

[lustwatch-blog]

I loved the fic you wrote! It was so good! I was kinda like whaaaaa at your comment of going darker! I hate to ask, but I kinda want to see where it goes! Jamieson getting on his last nerve on sharing, jealousy, betrayal, the gruesome inhumanity!

I got to this one first because it’s something that stuck out a lot to me and would be the quickest to write as I already have many ideas for this sequel and even a series of future fights between Mako and James, they may or may not team up against them etc. Continue reading under the cut for the prequel mentioned above. This sequel is about Mako taking a personal trip and James being left in charge of their “toy” who’d began to show a favoritism to the lanky junker. Nsfw.

Mako growled lowly, kicking your cage. He’d become more aggressive lately, he bit harder and started finishing inside more, he’d even forced it in your ass once or. . a dozen or so times. And after, he’d send rat to get a plan b pill and force it down your throat, grumbling about not wanting any of your brats or bastards running around. James on the other hand. . something more brewed.

When Mako wasn’t watching your intersections, he’d make small almost invisible gestures to you daily. During the rare chances you got to have sex alone, he’d kiss your neck and collar, tracing your back sweetly despite the fucking itself being rough. He’d request you’d ride him because he could tell you yourself had some confusing feelings as you’d resist at first but when you rode him, your hands gently pressed to his chest as your hips rocked on their own, sometimes you’d whimper his name or diminutives of it without him having to ask.

It was obvious to all of you something was wrong, but Hog hardly had the time to worry. An important meeting with his old gang of aboriginal bandits requested him as a guest of honor, probably hoping to utilize some of his services he did on the side.

“3 days.” He said as he loaded up his Harley, “Make sure she takes those pills. I don’t want any mistakes running around.” He would taunt lowly, “We already have one locked up in a cage.” He smirked as he got on and road off without another word.

The first several hours were awkward, neither of you knew what to say and if you did you had no clue on how to say it. It was obvious there was tension. Around dinner time he got more antsy, finally letting you out.

“You can stretch an’ eat.” He said, “If ya run I’ll kill ya.” He muttered as he walked off to the kitchen, digging around in the fridge for snacks to give to you. Nothing of nutritional sustenance of course, but you weren’t in any place to turn down food, especially with your stomach grumbling as it was since they forgot to give you lunch.

“Junkrat...” You called him by his nickname as its what he was most notorious for, “C..could I..” You began as his face burned, “Have a shirt..please..anything.”  you sniffed softly. They always kept you naked.

“Not like we got mucha those lyin round. You seen what hog and I wear.” He said before his eyes caught your large orbs, filled with tears. “But I’ll find ya something. I’m tireda’ lookin at that ugly old scar.” He said coldly as he rummaged through old drawers and cabinets, having lead you to his room by your wrist.

He wasn’t rough though...It was almost like he was embarrassed to even be holding your hand. When he finally found you a shirt, he even turned away to let you put it on.

“Thank you, Junkrat..”

“When we’re alone call me James...” He insisted softly, his face red. You initially assumed it was from the sun burns he got frequently, but realized soon enough what had really been going on.

“James. . .” You said nervously, “You know you’re not like him.”

“Let’s get you back in the cage.” He sighed, rolling his eyes a bit as he nudged you.

“You’re kind.”

“Stop it...”

“James...”

“I said stop!” He yelled, shoving you onto the floor, his body on top of yours as he glared down, “You won’t trick me!” You knew he wasn’t. . . the smartest, there would be no point trying to verbally convince him.

You reached up, tracing his freckled face softly before pulling him down for a kiss, his eyes going wide as he pulled away.

“James...it’s okay..” You whimpered, worried that these feelings you were developing had really been all in your head.

“Just..get back to your cage.”

“No.” You sniffed softly, “It’s cold and hard and I want to sleep in a bed.”

“Yeah right.”“With you...” His face furrowed, you...willingly? wanted to sleep with him.

“I suppose watching you closer wouldn’t hurt...”

You wondered why he wasn’t forcing you to have sex with him yet, he could do it if he wanted and you couldn’t stop him. You had sex with him a lot when Mako was around whether you wanted it or not, and now he just slept, holding you close so you ‘couldn’t run away’ or something.

You were in his bed, alone, in his clothes. . .

You turned so that you could hold his chest nuzzling into it softly as he glanced down tiredly.

“James...Tomorrow I’d like a bath.”

“Yeah..you stink anyways.” He frowned a bit, inhaling your scent as he nuzzled his nose into your hair with a soft blush.

He would give you whatever you wanted if he could phrase it to make it seem like it benefit him.

The clothes and the burn, the bed and his surveillance, the snacks and your breast? He’d commented that they were getting smaller as you lost weight not eating enough and he fed you more.

You began to wonder what you could get away with and started testing the sleepy rat.

“Can we go outside tomorrow?”“Yeah ya look pasty.”

“Can I have normal food.”

“Wouldn’t want ya getting fat offa junk.” He nodded a bit, yawning above you as he held you tighter. Your cheeks turned a soft pink as you smiled into his chest.

“Do we have to tell hog..?”

“Err. . No...” He thought as he glanced down at you, “Why?”

“I. . I wouldn’t want him feeling left out...” You lied, “Should we have sex?” You finally asked as his body grew warm.

“I’m tired.” He lied.

“Oh. . I just thought you were sharing me fair and equal...” you sighed as you kissed his chest

“What do you mean?” He squinted.

“Mako forces me all the time..” You pouted softly as he glared a bit, leaning down and kissing you deeply as you wrapped your arms around him with a sigh.

“Better make it even.” He said softly, almost..charmingly as you nodded and deepened the kiss, pulling him on top of you as he grew harder. grinding it against you with a growl.

“James~” You’d moan, spreading your legs for him. He had easy access, they never gave you underwear and you were only in a tshirt of his he never wore. He slept in boxers tonight, but was usually nude. Perhaps he was trying to be a gentleman, but at the sound of his name escaping your lips the blonde threw the gentleman act completely out the window.

He quickly sat up, pulling his stark erection and teasing your entrance with it, almost too long, you wanted it more and more. You figured he was just trying to get you to beg but he was biting his lip almost violently to hold back, he wanted your consent.

You smiled, “I want it Jamison..” he immediately sighed in relief as he pressed in roughly, leaning down and kissing at your neck , leaving love bites all over. His thrusts were rapid and animalistic, for the sake of getting off and that alone. . . until he leaned up to kiss you and met his eyes to yours causing him to stop altogether.

“James..?” You blushed, panting softly as you loosened the grip on his shoulders. He smiled a bit, not a toothy hyena like grin, but a soft smile, enough to make your heart flutter.

He leaned down, kissing you deeply as you ran your fingers through his hair, twirling and gripping the locks passionately. His erratic thrusts turned to longing and deep grinds, picking up pace and keeping a pattern as you moaned ‘There!’ or ‘Don’t stop~!’ against his lips.

This went on for hours, and the two of you finally finished around sunrise, having had cum more than enough each, finally falling asleep tangled in each other sweetly.

After that, the rest of the weekend was similar, you’d bathe together, cook for him and not spit in his food, make love before and after every meal and sleep in his bed. You even cleaned his room a bit to show you were happy. But on the last night the love making was deeper, more longing as you both knew it’d be a while until you could do this again.

Rat worried about his temper, and how he’d feel seeing his new love with his best friend as they had to pretend everything was normal.

You worried about not being by his side, sleeping in his arms and being forced to fuck that sadistic man that held you captive. But. . it was better than them fighting because you knew it’d be to the death, and you weren’t willing to gamble with who might win either.

“James...promise to kiss me when he’s not around?”

“Anything, cactus flower.” He sighed as he leaned down, kissing you softly before locking your cage with a sigh.

UH OH ANYONE NOTICE HE DIDN’T GIVE HER THOSE MEDS

TUNE IN NEXT TIME TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS ON THE NEXT EPISODE OF MAURY if I get more requests to continue this saga

[jakallx]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Overwatch (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes Characters: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Hana "D.Va" Song, Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes, Roadhog | Mako Rutledge Additional Tags: Beach Holidays, Speedos, everyone drags Jack, Gabe still loves him though, Post-Recall

Gabriel Reyes just wants to lie on the beach and relax after a mission. Too bad for him he has an embarrassing husband who has a new-found love for Speedos. 

Reaper76 Week Day 4: On Holiday

Overwatch was a Mistake

The scream cut through the air, slicing the world in two and throwing Gabriel Reyes out of his blissful nap and into high alert. Instincts and years of training kicked in as he leapt up off the sand, turning to face the threat—

Well… he tried to. Something in his back went ‘crick’, and he found himself clutching his spine in excruciating pain, and wishing he wasn’t so damn old.

Blinking away the tears in his eyes, he finally managed to see what had caused the scream.

It was Hana, her youthful face twisted in horror as she pointed at a man who had his hands on his hips and a thoroughly unimpressed look on his face.

A pasty white man.

An old pasty white man.

An old pasty white man in speedos.

That left absolutely nothing up to the imagination.

Gabriel almost added his own scream to the terrifying scene unfolding on the popular Australian beach. Instead, he channeled his intense embarrassment of his husband into something more constructive and laughed in Jack’s face.

“Oh come on. Not you too,” Jack’s gravelly voice seemed unsuited to anything except barking orders, but he hadn’t done much of that in the last couple of years. Neither of them had.

After Gabriel had been brought …back, and those who had caused Overwatch’s downfall had paid for their crimes, they had both decided to stay on and help the transition of the new Overwatch. But it was no longer their Overwatch. Sure, they occasionally tagged along on a mission, but most of the time Gabriel guarded his semi-retired status like a rabid dog. He only accepted missions that came with perks like this particular one. He and Hana had conspired to have it completed several days earlier than expected and of course, Hana had simply neglected to inform Winston of this fact. And so the team found themselves lazing on the beach and soaking up the Australian sun.

And of course, he only took missions that Jack was also assigned to. He had vowed to never let that man out of his sight again.

He wholeheartedly regretted this decision as Jack gave him the finger and stalked over to where their towels were laid out on the beach (though Gabriel had to admit that the speedos showed off his ass quite nicely). Jack grumpily sat down on his towel, wiggling his butt in the sand to get comfortable.

Gabriel was still caught off-guard by how much Jack didn’t act his age sometimes. The grouchy old man visage would slip off and underneath was the beautiful, youthful and socially-awkward butterfly he had fallen in love with all those years ago. Gabriel shrugged at Hana and grinned as he sat down next to his husband. Old man Jack wasn’t all that bad, but he was painfully embarrassing sometimes. Not like Gabriel. Out of the pair of them, he was definitely still the cool one.

“I did not sign up for this,” said Hana, averting her eyes.

“No, you signed up to be a hero,” Gabriel replied in a serious voice. He caught Jack nodding along in agreement. “And sometimes, being a hero means suffering through other people’s fashion choices.”

Jack’s face goes slack and he slowly turned to Gabriel. “I will not take a fashion insult,” he said, voice deadly quiet, “from a man who spent six years wearing Hot Topic’s clearance rack.”

Gabriel stared down at Jack for a moment before letting the smile creep onto his face again. He shrugged and lay back down on his own towel, stretching out in the sunlight, feeling it infuse his cold bones, the last side-effect left over from the resurrection. He’d made peace with that part of himself. And besides, Reaper had looked fucking awesome, and Jack was a fool for thinking otherwise.

“How come Roadhog gets to wear speedos and nobody says anything?” Jack was sulkily watching Junkrat and Roadhog as they built a sandcastle down by the shoreline.

Gabriel sat up again and gave Jack a look that said, do you really want to be the one to question Roadhog about his love of speedos?

Jack pouted his lips at that. Fair point. He popped open a tube of SPF50+ sunscreen to begin rubbing it onto his arms.

Gabriel snorted and glanced back down to the shoreline about to lie back down on his towel, finally able to relax. The skinny arsonist was decorating his sandcastle towers with what looked like fireworks…

—fireworks?! Gabriel bolted upright again and squinted down at the two Australians in dismay. They really did have fireworks. Well, Junkrat did—Roadhog was using delicate seashells to decorate his half of the castle. Godamnit. Gabriel had no idea how the little fucker managed to get a hold of illegal explosives at literally every opportunity he was left unsupervised, but somehow he did. He sighed and rubbed a hand down his reconstructed face, feeling his scars stretch and pull under his fingertips. He couldn’t have a moment of peace, could he? Just one minute to lie down in the sun without dealing with embarrassing husbands or letting insane pyromaniacs blow up half the beach.

Hana was still hovering about, clearly torn between the desire to drag Jack some more, and the need to never look in his direction again. She was the leader on this mission anyway. And you know what—Gabriel was suddenly struck with the realisation—she could do her job. Take responsibility for her subordinates and the safety of the civilians with which they were sharing the beach with.

“Hana,” Gabriel got her attention and then gestured down to the shoreline where Junkrat was crowning the top of his castle with a particularly big rocket.

Hana’s eyes bugged out and she cursed. She turned back to Gabriel and Jack but managed to get a particularly horrific eyeful of Jack’s speedos since he was rubbing sunscreen into his thighs.

“Oh my god. Why?” she dragged her hands down either side of her face in despair, while trying to look anywhere but at Jack. It was a look Gabriel was familiar with, having made it many times himself over the years.

Then she put steel in her eyes and hunched her shoulders forward. “Overwatch was a mistake,” she gritted out before she marched off down the beach to deal with Junkrat.

“I’ll have to warn the others before they accidentally gouge out their own eyes by looking this way.” Her parted mutterings were just loud enough for Jack to hear.

Jack sighed and looked down at his legs. “You don’t think I’m embarrassing, do you?”

He sounded so defeated that Gabriel’s heart broke just a tiny bit. Oh god, he had to patch this up, so he patted Jack on one of his blindingly white thighs and said, “Babe, you make having eyes again worth it.”

Jack’s face went a little red than it already was.

Honestly, Jack was such a dork. Gabriel shook his head at his husband, feeling the tug of the smile at his lips.

Jack noticed and raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

He shrugged, almost not willing to answer, but at the same time he was curious. “Just thought you would have been the first one to be down there, sorting that out.” He vaguely gestured to where Hana was now in a loud argument with Junkrat, both of them shouting and gesturing wildly at the fireworks on the sandcastle. Junkrat was losing fast in this particular match-up, his composure withering as Hana gave him a thorough dressing down.

Jack snorted, fixing him with his piercing blue gaze. “Like you can talk. You were ready to jump up and go down there to deal with it yourself.”

Gabriel looked away, caught out. He was almost surprised with how much they had both changed. And also how much they hadn’t. It wasn’t the same as it was before, they could never go back to that, but both of them had never been that good at moving on from each other. Or from the job.

Gabriel watched the scene down at the shoreline come to an abrupt conclusion when a particularly aggressive wave on the incoming tide completely wiped out the sandcastle and all the fireworks atop it. Junkrat dropped to his knees with a wail, shaking his fists at the sky while Hana loomed over him with her hands on her hips. Roadhog quietly began picking his seashells out of the ruined castle.

Gabriel couldn’t have stopped the grin from creeping onto his face if he had tried. He picked up his pair of sunglasses and slid them on. “You know,” he turned back to Jack who was watching him with his own little smile, his scarred lips quirking up. “I would have once. But then I remembered.”

“Remembered what?”

Gabriel lay back down on his towel and finally let the sunlight soak into his old bones.

“That I’m semi-retired and it ain’t my fucking problem anymore. I’m on holiday.”

[fanarchoslashivist]

Harry Potter/Drarry/Time Travel

While the drabble doesn’t hold any Drarry, I do want to make a few shorts into this universe that eventually ill, because the idea became a little... addictive.

Sorry for any mistakes, kind of cranked this one out last night and only gave it a minimal edit today.

-

“Bloody hell Malfoy.”

It was one hell of a mess, Ron had thought himself prepared,he’d seen the evidence when he had first walked the crime scene with his fatherto collect the illegally modified muggle equipment, but there was a very bigdifference between dry black bloodstains and an actively growing pool beneath astill living body.

Draco cracked open his eyes and stared at him, somethinglike confusion in his pain clouded gaze. He was dressed so normal, Ron couldn’thelp but be unnerved by it as he dropped to his knees and got to work. Hehadn’t actually seen the body, even when Harry had firecalled him asking himto, ‘to be sure’. He had already been halfway through the second journal atthat point. He hadn’t the stomach to pay a visit.

He ripped the plain white shirt, saying “Why couldn’t you haveworn one of those stupid button-up ones you always liked,” as he set to tryingto stay the bloodflow. It wasn’t natural, a white shirt and trousers, scuffedsteel-toe boots, a muggle billfold had been among his personal effects formerlin’s sake. He’d almost pulled a Harry and assumed Malfoy had faked it.

If not for the journals…

“How did you-” Malfoy tried before the pain of speakingseized him, causing his to bow up off the ground and wreck the hasty first aidRon had managed, ripping open the new skin that was trying to knit the woundstogether.

“How do you think?” Ron snapped, putting more force than hereally needed to in shoving the other back down and keeping him there as heworked. “Stay still you bastard, its hard enough keeping you alive without youthrashing.”

It wasn’t exactly a fair thing to say, Ron had at least someexperience with a splinching, and he knew the victim couldn’t really controlhow the body reacted to that much trauma, but he wasn’t really feeling graciousbedside manner at the moment.

He was already running on his only reserves of charity forthe git.

“Why is it not healing?” He growled and keeping his weighton one forearm, both to keep Malfoy still as to keep pressure on the wounds,grabbed another bottle of dittany from the bag he’d brought with him, uncorkingit with his mouth and applying it across the huge open gashes.

“Its not-nngh-,” Malfoy clunched his teeth against a wave ofagony. “It’s a curse.”

“Curse?” Ron stared at him, eyes huge.

“Frrr-from before.”

Before, before what? “You didn’t get splinched because ofsome time-travel experiment?” Draco carefully, barely, shook his head. “Bloody-well that’s brilliant isn’t it?” He tossed the now empty bottle away andstruggled through the rest of his rudimentary first aid knowledge from Aurortraining. “Lets hope this keeps you alive long enough then, they’ll sort youout at St. Mugo’s.”

“No,” The denial came like a gust from Draco and he grabbedRon’s shoulder, bloodshot eyes wild, “No.”

“Merlin Malfoy, do you think I’ve the skills to do thismyself?” Ron gagged as the freshly healed parts of the wounds started to peelapart in front of his very eyes. “This is so far beyond anything I can handle.”

“Go.” Malfoy’s voice was bubbling, and there was blood onhis lips now.

“I didn’t break the bloody law to travel back just to notsave your pasty ass you-” Malfoy cut him off by putting a blood coated hand onhis cheek and forcibly turning his head to the side, towards the array of muggleitems in the corner of the shack.

“Go back.” Malfoy said simply, “Go back further.”

Then he died.

Ron stared down at him, at the vacant blue eyes and theslack face. Death wasn’t new to him, but it really wasn’t anything he wascomfortable with.

“Fuck you Malfoy.” He said bitterly, because that was reallyall he could say. He’d thought, he had really thought, but it hadn’t made adifference after all.

He’d gone back in time, used Malfoy’s secret time turner andgone back to save him, because what else was he supposed to do after readingthose damn… what had Malfoy thought he’d accomplish anyway? Messing with timetravel? His stupid plans to change everything, to fix everything, wasn’t itenough that they had won the war? Malfoy hadn’t even really lost anyoneimportant. His parents were still alive, none of them had gone to Azkaban, he’deven seemed to have been getting somewhere with this mental auto repair shophe’d set up.

So why did he have piles of journals filled with plans tochange things?

Plans to save THEM.

Ron stood on shaky legs, not quite ready to let go of hisanger. Not quite ready to let go at all.

“Why couldn’t you have just left well enough be you ass.” Hesnarled down at the corpse.

Go back further…

He’d already gone back farther than anyone was supposed to,that damn time turner he’d stolen from Hermoine’s desk.

“Damn it Malfoy.” He kicked out at Draco’s leg, but therewas no reaction. There wouldn’t be, not ever again.

He was running out of time, the five minute countdown wassure to be running low, and then he’d be back in his own time and having toface his wife and eventually Harry when he came back from Ginny’s tournament.Tell them he broke the law and risked getting fired, or Azkaban, to save theferret.

Because of a sodding diary.

Ron glared at the offending item where it lay, till open andready for its next update on Malfoy’s desk. Detailing the date and time of hislatest time-travel experiment, the one that would cost him his life.

He wandered to it, flipping the pages back to the passagethat made his decision for him, though the whole rotten thing had been oneguilt trip after another.

“I considered going back to the Battle, to attempt anothersmall change, but have determined the risks to be too great for an outcome thatwould likely be altered once I make my final jump. I have made alterations tomy yearly plans to factor in the risks involved in attempting to change thisduring that time however, though how it will play out with my previous years ofinterferences I cannot predict, I can only plan ahead so much, however I dohave every intention of preventing a war to begin with, so the fate of theWeasley twin should not be in such jeopardy.

I simply cannot endure seeing only the one of them, not whenI am certain I can make these changes if I chose.”

Final jump. It wasn’t the first or last time Malfoy hadmentioned that, which had never sat well with him knowing the five minute limiton the Time Turner. Hermoine had theorized that Malfoy and Nott had intended tomake many small changes, and that the final jump would simply be their last,but Ron hadn’t really agreed. Because of this, this one entry.

Why would Malfoy make any small changes at all if heintended to completely stop the war?

Before the Ministry had assumed the two were planning onsaving Voldemort, but Ron’s investigation hadn’t found evidence of that.

No, someone wanting to win a war wouldn’t plot to saveenemies on the other side.

There was something else going on.

If only they had arrested Nott when Malfoy was still alive,instead of tracking their ties and finding the poor bastard’s corpse months oldin this… muggle auto shop.

Ron flipped the journal closed and stalked towards themuggle machinery, the same old beat up car he had last seen as a teen. HowMalfoy had recovered his parent’s flying car he’d never know, but that thething was gutted and sitting in a corner under a tarp had hurt. It had savedhis life, his and Harry’s, and Malfoy had been picking it apart like ascavenger bird.

Except, looking at it now he didn’t really see that.

The doors had been replaced, and all the shattered windowstoo, the bonnet was removed, but there was a new one in the corner, unpainted,ready to be put in place.

Draco had been fixing it.

Ron ran his hand along the side, feeling all the littleimperfections where the dents had been popped back out and sanded down. Thejournal had spoken about Malfoy’s ‘project car’, he just hadn’t connected it tothe battered vehicle his father and he had shaken their heads over as theygathered evidence.

Well, he’d have to see about giving it a home, when he gotback. It was the least he could do, seeing as how he couldn’t save the prathimself.

He smiled and gavethe car a light pat, then looked back at Draco. He knew the seconds wereticking down, he’d be pulled back soon, so why not indulge a little? He openedthe car door and slid into the seat. Merlin, but he had wanted his own car forAGES. Hermione of course, being a muggle born, had dismissed the idea as afrivolous expense, muggles used cars out of necessity, wizards could floo orapperate.

Well, no offense to he wife, but she had never beensplinched, and this particular car had saved his life on two, TWO occasions. Itfelt so solid around him, he grinned as he gripped the steering wheel, so safe.

Until it suddenly turned on.

He felt the pull, not unlike apperating, and knew the timeturner was bringing him back, but the car roared to life at the same instant,the door slammed and the dials on the dash flinched, jumping up thenstabilizing. He could feel the time turner pulling him and he understood whyMalfoy had referred to them as ‘jumps’, only instead of the feel of movingforward he could swear it was like sinking. Like the moment he leaned too farback in a chair and it tipped. He gripped the wheel of the car tighter andscrewed his eyes shut. “Bloody-“

“-Hell Malfoy” his mouth finished the words, and he blinked,staring down at the corpse in the room.

Only it wasn’t a corpse, and it was staring back. DracoMalfoy, laying exactly where he had left him, with a growing pool of blood and squintedopen raw red eyes. Ron gaped, looking down at the time turner, which was indeedstill running, then over to the car, still sitting quiet and ruined withoutwheels or a bonnet.

“Weas-“ Draco began, then shuddered, his body seizingagainst pain.

“Shit shit shit, don’t talk.” Ron hit his knees beside himand opened his bag for the vials of dittany, but even as he uncorked it andreached for Draco’s shirt he knew he was too late. Malfoy coughed, once, andthen breathed no more. “No, Malfoy don’t you-” Ron spread the vial over the lacerations,but no new skin grew. “Fuck.” Ron fisted his hands in the bloodstained shirtand shook him, “Malfoy come ON!”

He hadn’t died that fast the first time. He’d lived longenough to at least tell him to…

“Go back.”

Turning again towards the car, the car that Draco hadpointed to with the last of his strength, that Ron had sat inside of as theTime-turner had attempted to pull him forward, but had instead sent him back.Back to when he had first used it, five minutes into the past.

Ron surged up and rushed to it, grabbing for the handle toofast it slipped out of his bloody fingers causing him to struggle with openingit for precious seconds.

He had to stop, bracing his hands on the side of the car andbowing his head, just breathing. He was breathing too hard, too fast. Why wasthis upsetting him so much? It hadn’t the first time.

Because he hadn’t really realized it would be the firsttime. To him it was the last time. The only time. His only chance to saveMalfoy, and when it had failed… he’d been frustrated and angry but he hadexpected it.

He wasn’t upset at Malfoy. He was upset because he was backhere, again, when he should have been back home, and the person who could tellhim why had died too fast to help him. Why had he died so fast?

Ron stared back at the corpse, at the pool of blood and theone opened vial of dittany that had been as useless this time as before- theDITTANY. It had WORKED. Or at least, it had to have delayed Malfoy’s fatesomewhat. Maybe if he was faster, if he could keep Malfoy from straining hisinjuries and used both bottles as fast as possible.

Merlin, where was his wife when he needed her?

“Leave it to you, ferret. Of course you’d never accept atime limit.”

Wiping his hands on his trousers he carefully opened thedoor and slid inside, he could do this, he could go back again and save Malfoy,and then he could go forward, and live the rest of his life with Draco Malfoyin his debt, because if the Ministry had been upset enough to confiscate themodified muggle artefacts they’d found the first time they would implode overthis. A time turner car. Blimey they’d throw him in Azkaban for certain.

Ron held the little device in his hands, oh wow his handswere really really red, he had blood all over him how had he not even noticed?He giggled, knew he was hysterical, and tried to focus, tried to calm down. Heleaned back, gripping the wheel in one hand and the time turner in the other,closed his eyes, and just breathed. He wouldn’t be any help like this, but hehad time, he was sure he had time, he had watched Draco die and then wanderedthe shop the last time.

He just needed to wait, five minutes wasn’t so long, then hecould go back and save Malfoy. Or at least buy him the time to call someone tosave him. If he could keep Malfoy alive long enough for someone to arrive.

Breathe in, Breathe Out.

Five minutes.

The car revved its engine.

He jerked forward, there was no way that had been fiveminutes already, and opened his eyes. He stumbled against a desk, knocking histhigh into the corner and hissing a swear.

He was… he was in his office. The one he shared with Harry.

When was he? Had he returned to his own time? After all thathad he really jumped forward?

“Ron?”

“What?” he glanced down, and realized he there was afirecall, shit shit, what?

“I asked if you were sure it as okay? I know you wanted togo too.”

Ron rubbed his eyes, it was Harry’s voice. Harry wasfirecalling him. And he didn’t sound upset or stressed or impatient for answersas he had been the last few calls after they had found Malfoy’s dead body.

“Yeah, its fine.” He said distractedly, riffling through hisdesk to find an answer to just where he had ended up.

Oh. That wasn’t good.

“If you’re sure.”

“Someone has to help Mione with Nott, and since I marriedher guess that’ll be me.” He said, not really remembering if that’s what he hadsaid before. He stared down at the open file, the arrest report of one TheodoreNott, who had been found acting erratic, aggressive, and showing signs of beingobliviated. With a time Turner on his person. Harry laughed, and Ron camearound his desk to crouch down by the fireplace, folder in hand and strainedsmile on his face. He knew what day it was now, and what time, and he didn’thave the luxury of a chat. “You take your girl, mate, I’ll handle mine.”

“Alright then Ron, good luck.”

“You too mate, have fun.”

As soon as Harry’s face disappeared in the embers Ron wasthrowing open their cabinet and stuffing their first aid supplies into his bag,how long had it been? What time was Draco’s experiment? Ron had only been ableto roughly estimate it’s failure based on the estimated time of death, was hedying now? While Ron had stood here chatting with Harry, had he died?

He snapped his bag closed and concentrated, as he had doneevery time he had returned to the crime scene to study Draco’s place of work,to try to get inside the head of the man the journals told him was so verydifferent from the boy he had grown up with.

He apparated into the auto shop at the exact moment Dracocollapsed to the ground, and caught him before he hit.

“Weas-”

“Don’t talk,” Ron ordered, laying Malfoy out and fisting hisshirt and tearing it open to expose the wounds. “Don’t talk, don’t move, justconcentrate on staying alive Malfoy and you just might do that.”

Draco gasped, mouth working like a fish, but the painalready stole his voice. Ron could see it now, the slow clean parting of theflesh, like some invisible knife was opening him up. Ron uncorked the first of thehandful of dittany vials and began pouring it as the wounds opened, racing thelines, trying to anticipate based on his last two jumps where they would open.

“What-” Draco’s throat worked as a slice opened up his neckand across his jaw, “is that?”

“Dittany,” Ron said, uncorking the next vial and reapplyingit as the first slice reopened, “I carry it since I got splinched, it workedlast time, so I grabbed more.”

“Last-?” Draco’s eyes crawled down to his chest where thetime turner swung on its chain, “How did you?!” He surged up, grabbing at thedevice and pulling it hard, and Ron along with in.

“Hey!” Ron gripped Draco’s hand in his own, barely managingto keep from being strangled by the chain.

“The prototype was destroyed.” Malfoy managed, “Nott-“

“We arrested Nott,” Ron explained, “He was obliviated, andhad this on him.” Ron pried Draco’s weakening fingers off the device and swungit around to his back as he worked, focusing again on the injuries that justkept reopening. “You need St. Mugo’s, I should have owled them before I came, Idon’t think I can side along you and keep you alive at the same time.”

“They can’t help me.” Malfoy went lax on the ground, as ifhe was giving up.

“Because it’s a curse?”

Those raw red rimmed eyes squinted open at him, bitter andsuspicious. “Yes.”

“Do you know the counter spell?”

“No,” he closed his eyes again, “only one person knew it.”

Ron made a frustrated noise as the wounds opened again,grabbing his third vial, he had somehow managed to keep the git from bleedingto death. “Well if you’re just giving up then, at least tell me how to getback.”

“Back?” Malfoy rasped, grunting as Ron used the torn shirtto mop off the blood and expose yet another freshly opened slice. “You go backin five minutes.”

“Not in my experience.”

That got him another suspicious squint. “How many times?” Hedemanded, and Ron must have given him an obviously confused look because heclarified, “How many times have you jumped?”

“This is my third

“Did you use the car?”

“Yeees?” Ron drew out, uncertain. “You told me to?” That gota reaction, a panicked one.

“Take it off.”

“What?”

“Take it off.” Draco made an aborted motion with his hand, asif he was going to remove it for him, but lacked the strength. “You’re going tocross yourself.”

“I’m what?”

“I’m dying Weasel,” Draco spat, and a bit of blood bubbledto his lips to punctuate that, “if you spoke with me you are running out oftime, take it off.”

Ron did, and felt.. felt sturdier. He hadn’t even realizedhe had felt so off, or perhaps he had just disregarded it as part of hisbreakdown earlier, but with the time turner no longer around his neck it waslike everything came into focus.

“You never want to catch up with yourself.” Draco told himseriously, and reached for the dittany in his hand, “especially not with thecar.” Ron watched, disturbed, as Malfoy drank what was left in the vial. “Didyou have any more?”

“More?”

“Dittany Weasel.”

“Oh, yes.” Ron dumped his bag out, bandages and wraps andvials of potions scattering on the floor. Draco groaned as he turned on hisside and raised himself on an elbow, snatching up the closest vial and readingthe label before uncorking it and drinking that. “I… didn’t know you could dothat.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Malfoy mocked, then closed his eyesand breathed. “For serious injuries you really should put it directly on thewound, as you were doing, however this is not a normal injury.” Draco ran ahand from his chin to his navel, where the lines were… still weeping blood butthey looked more like cat scratches now, very large cat scratches. “It shouldn’texist.”

“Why?” Ron passed over a roll of gauze as Draco wiped hismouth with the back of his hand, leaving smears of blood.

“Because I made sure it wasn’t.” Draco laughed, low andmocking, but not at Ron. He stared down at the bloody gauze in his hand, smilethin and brittle as a broken windshield. “Then I crossed myself, and it cameback.”

“Crossed…” Ron stared at the slashes, the ones that ‘shouldn’texists’ and felt the prickle of a memory, of lines in the journal that spoke of‘scars’ and their ‘absence’. ‘Every timeI look in the mirror,” it had read, “Iremember it is possible. That I can change things, because they are gone. I haveseen the scars, though they are no longer there, and they are the map thatleads me forwards.’ “Your journal said you had scars.”

“From a duel.” Malfoy agreed, and his voice was still soraspy but there was less strain in them. “In sixth year.”

“A…” and he remembered, of course he remembered, “In thebathroom, with Harry. How did I-”

“Forget?” Draco smiled, a mean little thing. “Because itnever happened, because I went back, and I stopped it.”

The tests, the little changes Malfoy was making, testing histime travel, seeing what he could easily change and come back to check.

“But I was careless, I keep track of all my jumps, I madesure I knew where I as at all time, but after Nott.” Draco shook his head. “He foundout my plans. He was okay with changing a few things, things to benefit us,ways to save face or better our prospects, but starting over? Changingeverything? That was too much.” His mean little smile went nasty, “So I obliviatedhim. Should have known though,” he lay back down, resting his hands on hisstomach, “that he would keep the prototype.”

“Change everything?” This was too much, far too much. “Infive minute jumps?”

“Don’t be an idiot Weasley,” Draco huffed a laugh, “it’sbeen far longer than five minutes already.”

Ron blinked, and then gaped, and then made a high frustratedsound in the back of his throat. “What?”

“You used the car,” Draco waved a hand in that direction, “Thecar doesn’t send you back like a time turner, it sends you BACK, all of yourmemories, your experiences, your…” Draco glanced meaningfully at the prototypetime turner, “specifically charmed items. They all go back to a previous you.”

“But it’s been… I should be..?”

“Crossing yourself,” Malfoy supplied, and that answered thequestion of what that term meant, “You would have, if you still had the prototypeon, but once you took it off time caught up with you, instead of the other wayaround.” He circled a finger in the air, “This is your time now, congratulations,welcome to the present.”

Ron opened his mouth to reply, closed it, opened it again,then repeated his whine. “I can’t go back?”

“You can’t mean to say you were so very far into the future?”Draco brushed off his distress with a casual sniff.

“I apparated from my office here Malfoy,” Ron ran a bloody handthrough his hair, then grimaced when he noticed and began rubbing at his hand withthe spare gauze. “How am I going to explain finding you in your own blood when Ibring you to St Mugo’s?”

“You won’t.” Malfoy said planly, and cut off any argumentafter, “I’m not going to St. Mugos.”

“You lost a lot of blood, and those cuts are not completelyhealed, you need-“

“They won’t heal.” Draco seemed to be losing strength, ormaybe just his will to keep talking. “The dittany bought some time, but theywill come back. They’re in a time loop Weasley, there’s no saving me from this.”

“What?”

“You sound like tire brakes,” Malfoy scowled at him, “badones. Kindly stop doing so in my ear.” Then he sighed and stared back up at theceiling. “I told you, I was careless, I kept meticulous track of every jump Imade, and only jumped to times where I knew my own location. Except, apparently,one, because I had already changed it.” He lifted his hand, flexed his fingersin front of his face, staring at his own blood, or perhaps the lines in hispalm. “I locked Myrtle’s bathroom that night, so that Potter wouldn’t catch mein a… delicate moment, and altered my own locations for the following days, asI was no longer hospitalized. Running into myself… Time Travel is not a welldeveloped field, because any changes we make would alter the future, making theneed to make such changes unnecessary. Even now your memories of your future-pastwill be trickling away, until all you have is a vague recollection of somestrange feeling, an urgency, to act in the manner you did. The consequences ofmisteps are… not often recorded.”

“So you don’t really know why you’re cut to ribbons?”

“No Weasley, I do not, except that it is an injury I hadavoided by way of jump.”

“Then how did you… how do you remember?” Ron indicated theroom, and then to the desk, where the journal lay. “Is that why you keep thediary?”

“Partly.” Draco admitted. “That’s mostly to organize my experiences,to plan. I keep my memories intact by using a pensieve.” Draco pointed at thedoorway leading into the loo, “In the cabinet there, I keep a set of-“ hegrunted, face twitching, and before Ron’s eyes the cut on his jaw welled withblood. “Listen.” Draco gripped Ron’s shoulder, the way he had that first timewhen he had refused care. “There are pills. Silver Gel capsules. They are mymemories Weasley, Nott’s too but you don’t need his.” The cut along his chestbegan to split, and he screwed his eyes shut at the pain. “Take them, all ofmine, and then take the car. The gear shift, it is hallow, the time turner isin there.”

“The, but this is-” Ron reached for the one beside them andDraco knocked it away.

“Useless,” Draco hissed, “A prototype, Nott was to destroyit,” he said with an anger unfitting someone who had double crossed his partnerhimself. “Do you remember the note copying spell your brother’s made?” Ronnodded, “Take the 7 pills, not at once, in the blue jar, they are my otherjournals. You’ll need them. When you remove your time turner your memories willbegin to unravel, you’ll need them.”

“For what?” Ron demanded, “Why do you want me to swallowyour memories?”

“Not you,” Draco scoffed, “You just take the journals, findsomething else to give my memories to, and not me either. I’ll be no help toyou even with them.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re going back Weasley,” Draco informed him, and smiled,“or did you think you wouldn’t jump again?” He scoffed at the clueless face butit became a bubbling wet coughing fit halfway through and Ron was too stunnedby watching Draco die, again, and the dawning knowledge of what the madmanplanned to react. “Don’t tell me there isn’t something you want to change,”Malfoy mocked him, tempted him, “someone you want to save? Some hole in youlife you want to refill?”

‘I simply cannot endure seeing only the one of them,’ thejournal had read.

“Don’t you use my brother against me,” Ron’s voice wentcold, went hard.

“I’m a Slytherin, I’ll use what leverage I have.” Dracoclosed his eyes, and neither he nor Ron really bothered with the blood thatgrew on the floor around him. “Do you remember the summer before first year?”he asked, and his voice was soft now, almost dreamy. “It really felt likeanything was possible then, if only I hadn’t made such a mess of it.”

Ron stared at him, not really knowing how to respond.

“Go on then Weasel,” Draco dismissed him. “Go save theworld. Since I obviously can’t anymore.”

“I’m not going to fix your life for you.” Ron told him,though it probably wasn’t something someone should say to a dying person. Dracocracked one bloodshot eye at him and managed to grin.

“So don’t.”

And then he died.

Again.