#the staff was okay. I’m not gonna pretend I felt supported but I get that it’s a complicated and stressful event

[petrichorium]

Happy anniversary of the time I wrote 20k words in a week and got ghosted by the artist who was supposed to make art for the fic lol

[siancore]

Summary:  Rick did not like shopping at the best of times. He was happy to shop online. With just a few clicks, everything he needed was paid for, shipped, and delivered to the letterbox in his college dorm. He avoided a bunch of fellow shoppers, didn’t have to worry about finding parking, and did not get distracted with things he shouldn’t want or couldn’t really afford. Yes, Rick did not like shopping, especially during the holiday season. That is until he needs to buy something for his mama and meets a young woman who works in a giftshop.

A/N: Richonne Christmas AU one-shot. All feel-good fluff

Word: 3,788

Rick did not like shopping at the best of times. He was happy to shop online. With just a few clicks, everything he needed was paid for, shipped, and delivered to the letterbox in his college dorm. He avoided a bunch of fellow shoppers, didn’t have to worry about finding parking, and did not get distracted with things he shouldn’t want or couldn’t really afford. Yes, Rick did not like shopping, especially during the holiday season. Luckily, his friends Morgan and Shane went with him for moral support when he needed to choose a gift for his mama.

The sound of Mariah Carey’s voice coming through the speakers of the PA system in the mall wafted around the friends as they walked beside one another. Christmas garlands with lights hung overhead, and there seemed to be a plastic, decorated tree in every shop window they passed. People were everywhere, trying to find the perfect gifts for loved ones. Rick wouldn’t really say it was last minute shopping, as it was the first week in December. Normally, he would leave gift shopping until a week or so before Christmas, but wanted to get it over and done with sooner this year.

Shane nudged Rick’s shoulder and then pointed toward a novelty gift store that looked like it sold everything from those tuxedo t-shirts to marijuana paraphernalia.

“There,” he said, wearing a wide grin. “Bound to find something in there for your mama.”

Rick and Morgan shared a look that was somewhere in the middle of disbelief and disgust.

“Nope,” said Morgan.

“Nuh ah,” Rick added. “I’m not gettin’ my mama one of those bikini t-shirts or a bong.”

“Why not?” asked Shane, still smiling.

Rick rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“The fact that you even have to ask me that makes me question why we’re friends,” said Rick with no malice behind his words. Shane just laughed and clapped a hand to his shoulder.

“You’ve been stuck with me since third grade, asshole,” Shane replied. “Now, if y’all are too good to come in that store with me, there’s a classy lookin’ place over there. Let’s meet up in the food court at that burger joint you like.”

“Thirty minutes?” asked Morgan, checking the time on his phone.

“Alright,” Rick replied. “Sounds good.”

The three friends nodded to one another and then went their separate ways: Shane to the novelty gift store, Morgan to a quaint little hole-in-the-wall bookshop, and Rick to the classy lookin’ place.

…..

One of the reasons Rick disliked shopping in public was that there was so much choice. He ended up overthinking most of the time. When the well-meaning staff asked if he needed any help, he normally gave a polite smile and told them no thanks. This time, however, he could probably use the help. The little shop had a wide variety of really nice gifts ranging from silverware to delicate looking jewelry boxes. Any one of the items would be appreciated and cherished by his mother. Rick was almost hesitant to touch anything because it all looked so pretty and nice. He wandered over to where the little glass figurines stood on a glass shelf. There were tiny little people, cars, monuments, and animals.

Rick’s eyes settled on a cute looking puppy figurine. His mama loved dogs. She would love the small glass one.  Carefully, Rick picked it up and placed it in the palm of his hand so that he could examine it more closely. It was very nice. Yes. His mama would like it. Smiling to himself, Rick made his way to the counter to purchase the figurine. He was met by a friendly looking older lady.

“Found something?” she asked with a warm smile.

“Yes, ma’am,” Rick replied as he placed the little puppy down on the counter.

��Ooh, these are really lovely,” she proffered as she searched around for the blue box that the item came with. “I have a bunch of them myself.”

“I like it,” Rick found himself saying. “Hope my mama likes it, too.”

“A gift for your mama? What a lovely boy you are. She’s gonna love it.”

Rick smiled and nodded his head as the lady continued speaking.

“Now, this box is fine and all, but we have a gift-wrapping service here, and it’s free for the whole month of December,” she explained. “Would you like it wrapped up all nice for your mama?”

“Yes, ma’am, that sounds really good.”

She gave Rick a smile and then said, “Alright, I won’t be a minute.”

The lady then walked to the curtain that covered a doorway that led to the back of the store and called out, “Michonne? Honey? Got a customer who needs somethin’ wrapped up.”

She returned to where Rick was standing and said, “If you wait at the end of the counter there, we’ll have our gift wrapper fix you up.”

Rick nodded, smiled, and said, “Thank you, ma’am.”

He then made his way to the end of the counter with the little box in his hand. He was busy looking out the shopfront window when his attention was drawn by a sweet-sounding voice. Rick turned his head and he swore his breath caught in his throat when his eyes fell on the young lady standing before him. He was certain he was staring, with his jaw on the floor, because she repeated her question.

“You needed something wrapped?”

Rick needed to look at her lips to make sure he understood what she was saying because, holy shit, she was stunning. She had the prettiest brown eyes Rick had ever seen. Her hair was pulled away from her face in a chignon. Her smile was so bright that it was blinding. Rick was awestruck.

“Sorry, yeah, yes. I uh, I’d like this wrapped, please,” he stammered, mentally chiding himself for not being smooth in front of the pretty girl.

He placed the box down on the counter and managed to smile at her. She smiled back at him and he swore his knees felt weak.

“Is it for a he, she, or they?”

“Pardon me?” asked Rick, still not able to function properly.

“Not that it actually matters,” she replied amicably. “But some customers choose wrapping paper based on if the gift is for a guy or a girl, so I have to ask.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay,” said Rick, while rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “It don’t matter to me. I mean, it’s for a lady, but anything is fine.”

Rick glanced down at the nametag on her lapel, which read Michonne. A pretty name for a pretty woman, he mused, tempted to say her name out loud to see how it felt on his lips. He was drawn from his reverie by Michonne asking, “Is it a Christmas gift?”

“Yes, a Christmas gift,” he replied, kicking himself for malfunctioning in front of gorgeous Michonne.

“Awesome,” she replied with that brilliant smile. “I have some really nice Christmas wrapping here. Do you want foil or paper?”

“Umm, paper?”

“Great choice,” she replied as she reached under the counter and got out a few items: Three rolls of wrapping paper, a pair of scissors, and a roll of cello tape. “Which do you prefer?”

Rick had to force his gaze away from Michonne to look down at the choices. There was a roll of paper with multi-colored stars, one with tiny Santas, and the other with snowflakes all over it. The snowflakes one was the nicest, but he knew his mama would think the Santa one was adorable. He chose the Santa paper.

“Great,” said Michonne. “I really like this one. It’s super cute.”

“Yeah,” said Rick as he watched Michonne get to work.

Her long, elegant fingers made it look so easy as she cut through the paper, placed the box on it, and then began to fold the wrapping around the gift. She was done way too quickly. Rick wanted to stand there and watch her for hours.

Yeah, creepy, Grimes, he chided himself.

“Thanks, that, uh, that looks great. You make it look easy. You’re really good.”

“Thanks, it’s just a lot of practice,” she replied, somewhat coyly. “Did you want a ribbon or a bow?”

“Yeah, thanks. A bow would be nice.”

“Alright, any preference?”

“A gold one?”

“A gold one it is,” Michonne replied with another grin, before placing a small golden bow in the center of the wrapped box. “Did you need a bag?”

“Yes, please, that’d be great,” said Rick as Michonne placed the box carefully into a small, paper bag.

She held the bag out to Rick and their fingers brushed against one another slightly. Rick thought he was going to pass out.

“Thank you,” he said, still standing there.

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a beautiful beam. “Happy holidays.”

“Oh, thanks. Yeah, you too. I mean happy holidays to you, too.”

They both stood there smiling bashfully at one another until another customer cleared their throat behind Rick.

“Umm, thanks again.”

“No problem,” said Michonne. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“You too,” he said as he finally began to walk away. “Bye.”

…..

Now, Rick wasn’t a weirdo creep or anything like that, but he was a little smitten. He could not stop thinking about Michonne from the giftshop. He may or may not have went back to the mall and walked by the shop to see if she was there. They may or may not have caught one another’s eye and proffered friendly smiles. He may or may not be a crushing hard on the young woman.

A week after first meeting Michonne, Rick found himself back in the giftshop. He was pretending to be looking at the small jewelry boxes while stealing glances at Michonne. It was ridiculous, really. He was a broke college student who had already chosen the perfect gift for his mother. He didn’t even like shopping. He had no business being back in the shop. He was about to leave when Michonne finished up with the customer, and their eyes met.

Shit, he thought. Have to buy something, now.

He picked up the least expensive jewelry box and made his way to the checkout. He paid the same older lady from the previous week, and then took the boxed item to the end of the counter for Michonne to wrap.

“Hey, back again,” she greeted with her dazzling smile that made Rick feel all gooey inside.

“Hey, yeah, so much great stuff here,” he proffered, much more smoothly and confidently than he had been the first time they met.

“What’d you get?” she asked, causing him to stand up a little straighter. She wanted to have a conversation, he realized, and he was beyond happy.

“One of those little jewelry boxes,” he explained.

“Oh, yeah. For the rings.”

“Yeah, a ring box.”

“They’re really pretty.”

So are you, he thought.

“Yeah, they’re real nice.”

“Pretty paper for a pretty gift?” she asked warmly.

“Yeah, sure. That’d be good. You choose.”

“Alright, well, let’s go with this silver foil wrapping,” Michonne said as she took out what she needed.

“Okay, looks nice,” Rick said, wanting to keep talking to her while she worked. “You, uh, you got all of your Christmas shopping done? I mean, if you celebrate Christmas. Sorry, I shouldn’t assume everyone celebrates this particular holiday. That’s just inconsiderate on my part. I shouldn’t go around assuming things –”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s fine,” she said with a little chuckle that settled into Rick’s chest and made him feel warm all over. “I do celebrate Christmas, and I actually did all of my shopping online back in September.”

“That’s smart,” said Rick, reining his nerves back in. “I left it late this year.”

Michonne nodded her head. The gift was wrapped, and she was placing a little red bow on top of it.

“Is this the last of your shopping?” she asked, reaching for a paper bag.

“Umm, maybe? I don’t know.”

“Well, whoever this is for is a very lucky person.”

Rick smiled at Michonne and took the bag from her hand.

“Thanks,” he said as he slowly moved away so the next customer could be served. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” she replied.

…..

He was going to do it. He was going to go the mall, make his way over to the giftshop, and ask Michonne out on a date. If he was lucky, he mused, she would say yes and they would go get coffee, or whatever she liked to drink, and he would charm her, and they’d have an amazing time, and then they’d fall in love and have a cute story to tell their grandbabies. He was going to do it. He was. He walked into the giftshop and Michonne wasn’t at her workstation. Rick sighed and decided to browse a little in the hopes that he would see Michonne sooner rather than later. When she wasn’t at the counter after five or so minutes, he was about to leave when another staff member approached him.

“Can I help you with anything, sir?” the teenaged boy asked.

“Hey, no thank you, I’m just browsing –”

Just then, Michonne came from the back of the shop and went to her spot at the end of the counter. A line of customers formed, and more were entering the shop, and Rick saw his chance at speaking with Michonne slipping away.

“Actually, I might get these,” said Rick, pointing to a box of six silver-plated, embossed coasters that were probably out of his price range.

“Great choice,” said the boy as he took the coasters from the shelf. “Let me ring it up for you.”

…

As the line grew shorter, and Rick got closer, he felt his resolve falling away. This was actually ridiculous. He was there spending money he couldn’t afford to be spending so that he could talk to a pretty girl? Ridiculous.

“Hey, so you’re still shopping?” Michonne asked with sweet smile.

“Hi,” said Rick with a bashful smile. “Yeah, just a few more things.”

He placed the coasters down on the counter and Michonne glanced down at them.

“These are really lovely,” she said before meeting Rick’s eyes with her own. “Any preference for wrapping?”

“Nah, I trust you,” said Rick, causing her to beam more brightly.

“Aww, so sweet,” Michonne replied before she began her work.

He watched her graceful hands as she cut a gorgeous square of paper and placed the item in the middle of it. She then cut a piece of red ribbon and sat the paper over it. Rick looked on as Michonne carefully and skilfully folded the paper and bound it together with the ribbon which she then tied in a bow on top. It was perfect. She didn’t need to use tape to hold it all together.

“You’re so good at that,” Rick complimented her again.

“You always say that,” Michonne replied. “But thank you. Hey, did you want to add a gift tag?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Rick replied, eager to spend more time with Michonne.

“Cool, let me just grab one for you,” she said, fishing out a brown tag from under the counter. She took a pen out of her pocket and then asked, “Who do I address it to?”

“Oh, umm. It’s for, ah, Sheila. It’s for Sheila,” said Rick, not really thinking about who the gift was for, since he hadn’t planned on even purchasing it to begin with. He went with his mother’s name.

Michonne nodded and then wrote Sheila in beautiful cursive on the small tag.

“And it’s from?”

“Rick. It’s from Rick. That’s me. I’m Rick.”

“Rick,” she said, and he swore hearing his name on her lips damn near made him ascend. “There you go, Rick.”

“Thank you, ah –”

“Michonne,” she said. “I’m Michonne. Nice to finally be properly introduced.”

“Yeah, it’s nice. Thank you, Michonne.”

Wow, it feels great to say her name out loud, he thought before smiling at her.

“You’re welcome, Rick,” she replied as she handed him the bag with the gift in it.

…..

“Rick? I need to borrow some drawers, man,” Shane called out as he walked into Rick’s bedroom and made a beeline to the tallboy.

“You don’t have any clean underwear?” asked Rick, as he glanced up from where he was sitting on his bed reading one of his textbooks.

“Nope, that’s why I need to borrow yours,” said Shane as he dug through the bottom drawer. “I’ll get ‘em back to you ASAP.”

“Ugh, no thanks. Keep ‘em.”

“Hey, man, what’s all o’ these?” asked Shane as he pointed to the gifts sitting atop the tallboy. “Hope you didn’t go buyin’ me anything.”

“They’re not for you.”

“Who’re they for then?”

“No one.”

“No one?” asked Shane dubiously as he picked one up and read the tag. “Sheila? As in your mama? You dumb enough to call her by her first name?”

“What? No. They’re not for mama. They’re just. I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“Rick, you’re not makin’ a lick of sense. You wanna explain?”

Rick let out a sigh and then pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It’s stupid,” he repeated. “There’s this girl.”

“A girl named Sheila? You goin’ with some girl with the same name as your ma? That’s weird.”

“No, dumbass, there’s no girl named Sheila. Her name’s Michonne. I met her a few weeks ago. And she’s somethin’ else. I’m tellin’ you, man, she’s so gorgeous and sweet. And I’ve been meaning to ask her out, been buildin’ up to it, but I haven’t and I want to.”

“Okay, well, that’s cool, but what’s she got to do with all o’ these gifts? You gonna give ‘em to some girl you ain’t even asked out yet?”

“No, it’s not that,” said Rick as he took a deep breath. “She works at the classy lil’ giftshop I went to the other week. I got my mama’s gift from there, and Michonne wrapped it for me. I took one look at her and I was so gone on her.”

“Hold up. Hold up. So, you’re tellin’ me you’ve been goin’ back to the shop, buyin’ shit, and gettin’ this pretty girl to wrap them for you? Shit you don’t need, and probably can’t afford? Just so you can stand in front of this chick and not ask her out? And you’re callin’ me a dumbass?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Shane shook his head and then burst out laughing.

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“Get your ass down there and ask the girl out, Rick. Before you buy the whole goddamn store out you dumbass.”

…..

Shane was right, Rick was a dumbass because he was standing in front of Michonne with a little cat statue that she was calling gorgeous while trying to figure out how to wrap it. She sat it on some foil, drew it up around the figurine, and then tired it with ribbon at the top. It looked great.

“Sheila’s very lucky,” said Michonne as she placed it carefully into the bag filled with tissue paper.

“Sorry?” asked Rick, too distracted by the words running through his mind.

“Sheila, your girlfriend,” said Michonne, looking slightly deflated as she said the words. “She’s super lucky to have a boyfriend like you getting her all of these amazing gifts.”

Rick pressed his palm to his face. Yes, he was a dumbass.

“Oh, no, no. Sheila’s not my girlfriend. It’s my mama’s name.”

“You call your mom by her first name?”

“No, I don’t. I ah – shit. I’m sorry. It’s – damn it, let me explain. Do you go on a break soon, or?”

“Umm, yeah. Ten minutes or so. Why?” asked Michonne, with a questioning look on her face.

“Would you like to get some coffee with me?”

“Coffee? Like a coffee date?”

“Yes.”

“What about your girlfriend who you’ve been buying all the gifts for?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Rick explained. “I don’t even have anyone to be buyin’ all of these nice things for. Truth is, I’ve been comin’ in here trying to work up the nerve to ask you out.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Michonne, really,” he said gently. “I just wanna buy you a coffee. Or just spend some time with you. Would you wanna do that? Would you wanna spend some time with me?”

Michonne narrowed her eyes a little as she contemplated Rick’s request.

“Yeah, sure,” she said with a smile. “I’d like that.”

…..

Christmas day in the not too distant future…

“Dad, I love it, thank you so much,” said Carl as he smiled down at the gift that his father had given him.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” said Rick with a warm smile.

“I can’t open this,” said Judith as she tried to untie the intricate ribbon.

“Give it here, honey,” said Sheila as she reached out her hands. “Let grandma help you with that.”

The small girl handed the gift over and leaned against the old woman’s chair.

“Why don’t you check the stockings,” said Rick to his daughter.

“Oh yeah, I nearly forgot,” said Judith as she made her way to where the stockings were hanging over the disused fireplace at Sheila’s home. Her gaze landed on the little glass ornaments sitting atop the mantlepiece. One little glass puppy, and a cat statue sitting next to some coasters and a ring box. “Grandma, these are so cute. Where’d you get them?”

“Those were a Christmas gift from your daddy. They’re very special to me,” Sheila said with a fond smile.

“They’re special to me, too,” said Rick, as Michonne, André and R.J. came back into the living room with a tray of steaming beverages. She set it down on the coffee table and took up a seat next to her husband.

“We got hot chocolate,” said R.J. excitedly.

“And marshmallows,” André added.

“Thank you, my babies,” said Rick with a loving smile.

“Why?” asked Judith, ever the inquisitive child.

“Sorry, honey?” asked Rick.

“Why’re they special to you?”

“Because,” said Rick, as he turned to Michonne and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “If I didn’t go shopping for them, me and your mama might not have met.”

Michonne took hold of Rick’s hand and leaned in to kiss his lips.

“Well,” said Judith as she watched her parents stare lovingly at one another. “That means that they’re special to our whole family.”

“That’s true,” said Michonne as she leaned her head on Rick’s shoulder. “But you know what’s even more special?”

“What?”

“Our family,” Michonne replied happily. “Merry Christmas, Team Grimes.”

[thewhitejournal]

“The Intern” Part Five

Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader Series

(not my gif)

hello everyone! thank you all so much for the recent support on my work, you have no idea how much it keeps me going. i love you all and i hope you enjoy the latest installment of ‘the intern’ :)

content warnings: cursing, pain, blood, injury

-

Darkness was all that you felt; was it possible to feel the darkness? You’d expected it to be lonely and cold, this unconscious state you knew was inevitable. You expected dark and you got it. But it was nice, in a weird way. If you could remember what it was like in the womb, you’d think it’d be something like this.

Your subconscious whispered to you to stay, and you admitted, it made a good argument. Your brain filled your vision with the perfect life that you could live if you never woke up. Everything was perfect; it was like a fairytale. You were a part of the team and together with Aaron, Jack loved you, and you lived in bliss. No one you ever cared about was ever in pain again, and there was never any sadness or anger. It was just peace.

Logic piped up, telling your subconscious that what it was thinking was completely unrealistic. You knew it was true, but could it hurt, be like this forever? To just sleep, and be inside your mind for eternity?

But then, if not you, you thought, who would love Aaron with everything in them? Who would hold Jack close and read him a story? Who would the girls pick as their fourth musketeer on a night out, and who would the boys mess with?

If you did stay, you’d never get to actually be with anyone. As much as it would be nice to live in ignorant bliss, it wouldn’t be real. Real was what mattered.

But you were so weak. Your brain was active as ever as if you were still conscious, but your body was so still it could be considered lifeless. You tried to pull yourself out of it, maybe twitch a finger or toe, but nothing ever worked. You wondered if anyone even noticed you were trying. You hoped they did.

Every once in a while, your ears would tune into the real world. Mostly, you heard the machines you must’ve been hooked up to. Sometimes it was voices, those of distant hospital staff and sometimes you heard some of the team in the room with you, but you could never chalk that up to your imagination or not.

“Do you think she can hear us?” It sounded like Penelope. Of course, she’d have made it here, you’d expected nothing less from your favorite technical analyst.

“Studies show patients in an unconscious state are still aware of all of their senses, just unable to physically react, so it’s entirely possible.” That was definitely Reid.

The voice you assumed to be Penelope’s grew closer. “Well, (Y/N), if you can hear me, we love you and we’re here for you! I mean, Hotch never leaves your side-“

Someone cleared their throat next to you, probably Aaron. You laughed to yourself. Suddenly, someone gasped.

“Did you hear that? Was that her?” Did you laugh out loud? Vaguely, you felt a hand on your left arm.

“I think she laughed! I mean, it was quiet, but that’s what it sounded like.” Reid spoke up, an excited tinge to his voice, like when he talked about something he was passionate over. You tried moving your hand, and it must’ve worked at least a little bit because you felt someone grab it and squeeze.

“(Y/N)?” That had to be Aaron, whispering to you. You imagined them all looking expectantly at you. Was this even real? Your brain had tricked you before into thinking Hotch was with you, or maybe it hadn’t. You didn’t know what was real and what was what you wanted to be real.

You tried opening your eyes, and succeeded, to some extent. Your vision was blurry, but sure enough, the aforementioned technical analyst and SSA’s were there with you. It looked like Derek was there, too. You blinked several times, trying to fully regain your vision. The lights were so bright; it made it even harder to see.

“C’mon, (Y/N), open those eyes.” That was Derek’s voice, and all the sounds you’d heard before had started to become clearer. You could smell the sterile smell of a hospital and Aaron’s piney and minty cologne next to you. You will yourself to the full capacity of your energy, which wasn’t much, to open your eyes all the way.

You looked around at all the faces in the room, and they were all smiling at you. Your eyes landed on Aaron’s face last, and you think you smiled at him. You tried to, anyway; his hand was holding yours and he squeezed it.

“(Y/N)! You’re awake!”, Garcia exclaimed, throwing herself on top of you. Suddenly, pain shot throughout your entire body, and you groaned. She pulled away immediately, flashing you an apologetic look. You just chuckled lightly, but it turned into a very raspy cough. Aaron was quick to grab a cup of water with a straw that must’ve been sitting on your bedside table. He held the straw steady and put it as close to you as he could without hitting you with it. You gladly sipped from it, your lips lightly touching his fingertips.

God, you were so grateful for him. You didn’t even care what the team was thinking right now; they’d do it for you, right? Truthfully, you were in denial about whatever it was the two of you had. It didn’t matter, whatever the team or the bureau might think about it, whatever it was. You cared about and were kind to each other, and that’s what mattered.

“I’m gonna call the rest of them and let them know you’re awake, (Y/L/N).”, Morgan said with a smile, stepping out of the room and dialing on his phone. After you’d drunk almost the entire cup, he softly pulled it away, setting it back down.

“What happened?”, you whispered. Aaron lightly rubbed your arm.

“What do you remember?”, he asked you softly. It hurt to think about; the pain was nothing like you’d ever felt before. Even now, your leg was pulsing and felt like someone was twisting a knife in it. You remembered you’d called him Aaron for the first time to his face, which was a slip-up in itself. You hoped he either forgot or didn’t mind. It was unprofessional of you.

“He s-shot me in the leg…” Your eyes fell to your leg for the first time. It was covered with a blanket and felt tight; it was in a cast, you assumed. “The last thing I remember was you carrying me out of the house…”, you whispered, looking into his eyes. You were afraid your voice would crack if you spoke. Tears welled in your eyes.

Penelope sat on the bed, placing a hand on your good leg’s knee. She reassured you, telling you it was okay. Reid walked up to the foot of the bed, resting his hand on your ankle, but only for a second. You knew he wasn’t a touchy person, so this surprised you.

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry, I should’ve never left you alone.”, Aaron muttered, his dark eyebrows knit together on his forehead, lips in a straight line. It was his apologetic face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his eyes were a little misty, too.

“Hotch, it wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t have known he would be there. You probably saved my life.”, you said in a low voice, your ability to speak coming back ever so slowly. He chuckled deeply.

“I definitely saved your life, (Y/L/N).” You gave him a weak smile, then turned to look at the others.

“How long was I out?” Garcia and Reid exchanged a look, and you saw Aaron motion them out of the room out of the corner of your eye. They followed his instructions promptly. Your attention turned back to him.

“Hotch? How long was I out?” Your tone was more stern; your gut had a weird feeling like something was going on, and you didn’t like it. He took a deep breath, sighing when he exhaled. His eyes met yours.

“Four days.” You were in shock; it took your breath away and your eyes grew wider. You were speechless.

“Are you kidding?”, you asked him. His expression never faltered. You couldn’t believe it had been that long, there was no way it was true.

“I wish I was, (Y/N),” He held your left hand between the two of his. “I was going to wait until you’d healed to bring it up, but you know that your internship lasted only a week, right?”, he continued. You were starting to get infuriated; not at him or the team or anyone in particular. Maybe the unsub, if the feelings had to be directed to someone. You’d been comatose for the remainder of your internship. Your mind flooded with everything you might have missed and your vision clouded with anger and maybe a few tears.

Aaron’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. He said your name, and your eyes met his. Suddenly, his phone started ringing. He gave you an apologetic look and said he had to take it, answering the phone and stepping outside of the room. You were alone with your thoughts, and they all consisted of one main theme: ‘What now?’

What would happen, now that your internship was over? Would you just go back to your normal life and pretend like you hadn’t just met the best people of your entire life? Like you hadn’t met Aaron?

You heard him having a heated discussion; his voice was urgent, but you could tell he was trying to keep it lowered. You listened in as best you could, worried that something might be wrong.

“...didn’t plan on this to happen, Haley.”, he paused as she spoke. “I understand that but-“ His hand was in a fist at his side, his body was angled away from you but you could only imagine the emotions on his face. “She’s a member of my team, it’s no different than if it were Morgan or Reid.” His tone was stern, that you could tell. His knuckles were turning white, thumb anxiously rubbing over his fingers. “Haley, listen to-“ He pulled the phone away from his face and looked at the screen; the call had ended. He scoffed, shoving it back into his pocket, running his hand through his hair.

“Hotch?”, you softly asked him, and he turned to face you. For just a split second, the look on his face conveyed one clear emotion: anger. He was pissed, to put it plainly. But he looked in your eyes, and his face that could’ve been mistaken for stone softened, along with those amber-brown eyes.

“(Y/N), sorry, that was nothing.” He strode back into the room and returned to his seat at your bedside. You gave him a weak smile and a look that told him you knew he was lying.

“I might not be a profiler, but I’m not stupid, Aaron.”, you retorted, using his first name; this time, it was entirely intentional. This was a test to the waters, the two of you alone with a personal and intimate atmosphere. You looked him in the eyes and you swore his pupils dilated and his irises grew a shade darker, twinkling in the fluorescent overhead lights. His lips parted slightly like he was shocked, but he quickly worked to cover it, clearing his throat. You knew, though.

“Haley called me. She’s upset that we stayed longer than I’d estimated.” The ‘boss’, serious tone returned to his voice. You frowned a little at him, knowing full well you’d have been back sooner if not for your rookie mistake. You knew you shouldn’t have gone in alone, but you did, for whatever reason.

“That’s not your fault. You know that right?”, you tried reassuring him, but you knew that deep down inside him, it wouldn’t work. He’d beat himself up for disappointing Haley. Nonetheless, he flashed you a little smile, trying to reassure you that your efforts had worked.

“I know. I need to tell the nurse you’re awake so they can discharge you.” He squeezed your hand one last time before leaving the room. You watched him walk away, thoughts about anything and everything clouding your mind. Just then, Garcia and Reid came back in, holding cups of coffee. Garcia sat down in the other chair that was in the room, and Spencer leaned against the wall, sipping his coffee.

“Did he tell you the good news?” Garcia half-whispered, but not before looking around to see if Aaron was in the vicinity. Your brows knit together on your forehead. Before you could ask what she meant, he returned with a nurse.

“Hello, Miss (Y/L/N), you look great! I just have to take a couple of your vitals and check you out and then you should be good to go.” She flashed you a bright smile and you couldn’t help but feel elated. You were ready to get the hell out of there.

The team left her to do what she needed to do, and within the hour, you were cleared to leave. Garcia helped you change into some sweats, which you were grateful for; your sore stitches and clunky cast made it hard to do simple maneuvers, which was inconvenient, to say the least.

Those of you that were at the hospital loaded into an SUV and headed to the airport. Aaron had already gathered and brought your things to the hospital; he’d done this at one of the points Morgan made him go back to the hotel room and get some rest.

The four of you boarded the jet, which was a task for you; your crutches and cast weren’t exactly stair-friendly. You’d never used a pair before either, so it was hard to work out the mechanics. You felt so pitiful, like a hurt little puppy that nobody could do anything for.

Hotch helped you out of the passenger seat of the SUV, and you managed the ‘walk’ over to the jet without any complications, but you let out a defeated sigh when you reached the bottom of the staircase. The two of you were the last to board. Aaron had been silently refusing to leave your side, so he stopped behind you when you quit moving. He looked you up and down, watching to see what you were going to do next.

Right as you were about to attempt the ascent, you heard Hotch put both his and your duffle bags down, and he laid a hand on your shoulder, and you turned to face him. He just gave you a look, silently asking if you wanted his help. You sighed, nodding. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. His big, strong hands supported you as he took the crutches out from under your arms.

He scooped you up into his arms like it was nothing and started walking up the stairs, careful of your leg. Everyone looked up at you when you entered the cabin, and you knew you had to be blushing. Aaron gently sat you down on the couch and left to get his and your things. Emily, Garcia, and JJ gave you a knowing and teasing look. You just narrowed your eyes at them, shaking your head. They dropped it, for the time being, snickering to themselves. You rolled your eyes at them, a smile growing on your face.

Hotch boarded the jet with his arms full, and you felt a twinge in your chest. You felt bad, like a burden on him. But you knew that he wanted to help, and you also knew there was no way you could talk him out of it. He did feel guilty, after all; he didn’t say that, but he didn’t need to.

Everyone was settled in after an hour or so had passed, more than ready to return to Quantico. You had both legs on the couch, your back leaning against the arm of the couch and the wall. Hotch sat in the chair across from you, filing reports. You tried to casually watch the way his hand and the pen glided across the paper with ease; he could probably do this with his eyes closed by now. The wedding band on his finger caught the light from the small overhead light he was using to see. Your mind inevitably wandered to Haley, more specifically, the “conversation” they’d had earlier. To say it was a conversation was a courtesy to the Hotchners’.

Your mind was plagued with negative thoughts; you’d thought the two of them had a picture-perfect life. They had a beautiful house, an amazing little son, and each other, which you may even say envied you the most about the whole thing. Why couldn’t she see he was doing everything he could? Or did she, and just didn’t care?

“What’s on your mind, (Y/L/N)?” You heard Hotch ask you from across from you, his vision never breaking away from the paper he was writing on. You just hummed inquisitively, but only to stall until you came up with a good excuse, because you’d heard every word he’d said like he was in your thoughts. Which he was, but that’s beside the point.

You sighed, finding a good alternative after a moment of thinking. “That good news I keep hearing so much about.” You waited a moment to look over at him, and when you did, he had stopped writing. You heard him mumble something that sounded like he had regretted telling Garcia first. You laughed internally.

“Well, I was going to wait until we got back to Quantico…”, he trailed off, making eye contact with you, a smile playing on his lips and showing fully in his dark, onyx eyes. You narrowed your eyes playfully at him, a smirk forming on your lips.

“Are you interested in being a new agent trainee with the bureau?”, he asked you in a low voice. Your eyes widened to farther lengths than you thought they ever could, your hand covering your mouth in surprise and shock. You were speechless, so you nodded enthusiastically. He laughed that little laugh you’d grown to love.

“Hotch, I- thank you. I won’t let you down, thank you so much!” You tried to contain yourself in the small space you were in, but your colleagues knew this moment was coming and celebrated silently with you. The real party would happen when you landed.

‘I won’t let you down…’ The words played again in his head.

‘I know you won’t, (Y/N).’

And for the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner smiled a real, genuine, big smile. Because you were the new agent trainee now. Sure, he’d have to do a lot of paperwork and make some phone calls but he didn’t care. It would all be worth it to see your face every day.

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odd one out {draco malfoy x reader}

Words: 11.3k

Summary: You’re known as the only Weasley without magic. Draco Malfoy has always taken great pleasure in teasing you for this, and you have always been ready with a retort. Your bickering with the Malfoy boy has gone on for years, but is it all done in bad blood?

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - i can’t stop writing for Harry Potter and that’s really just what you’re all gonna have to put up with. 

---

 You don’t want to be here.

   You don’t belong here, as you’ve been reminded a grand number of times throughout your seventeen years of living. To these people, you are nothing more than the unlucky one, a mistake. To these people, you are weaker.

    The halls of Hogwarts aren’t exactly unfamiliar to you, despite being the only person in your household who never properly attended. You’ve been here many times throughout your life, visiting sick family members, accompanying your parents when they don’t trust you enough to leave you at the Burrow. 

    It’s your twin brother, Ron, who is in need now.

    When you walk into the infirmary, he’s sitting up. Your mother squeals, throwing herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck as you and your dad approach in a slow and careful manner, not wanting to startle Ron any more than Molly has already managed.

    But even as you walk in and scowl at him, you can’t deny the relief that floods your system; the owl sent by McGonagall hadn’t even been fully read before Molly was slamming it down on the table, gathering her robes and telling you to get ready to leave. You had been busy doing your own school work, tucked away in the room you share with Ron during holidays, but was now barren besides your stuff.

   He had been poisoned, according to your father. Nobody knows how, or by what, or by whom - just that Ron had drank something given to him by Professor Slughorn and had immediately started foaming at the mouth. 

    Now, however, he looks in good enough health that you don’t see it as a problem when you slip your hair tie from your wrist and flick it at him from across the room. He yells, flinching so fast he nearly takes Mum’s head off as she clings onto his neck.

    Mum spins, glaring at you. “He’s ill!”

   “He’s fine,” you reply, slipping onto the seat next to his bed. “How have you managed to poison yourself, then?”

   Ron scowls. “I didn’t poison myself. Someone else did.”

   “Who pays enough attention to you to want you dead?”

    “Y/N!” Mum hisses. “At least give it a minute before you both start bickering.”

  You and Ron roll your identical eyes before Ron sighs, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “None of you should be here. You know that, right? With all the stuff going on with You-Know-Who-”

    Dad waves a dismissive hand. “We won’t let something like that keep us from making sure you’re okay.”

  You raise your hand. “I personally said I wasn’t prepared to die just for you, but-”

  “Y/N!”

    But looking down at Ron, you see him smiling; you smile back. You know all too well the kind of boredom he must be feeling right now, all alone in the medical suite with nothing but his thoughts and Madame Pomfrey keeping him company. You remember all those Christmas’s when he would come home and tell you to be quiet when you complained about how lonely the house gets with everyone gone - now he knows how it feels.

    Mum and Dad move on, telling Ron about how Bill sends his condolences and how the twins will be popping in soon to see him; you sit back, gazing around the room. Although you can use none of the stuff hung around you - in fact, it would most likely kill you if you tried - you know exactly what each piece of equipment does and how it is used. You reach out and gently twiddle the lid on a jar of unicorn hairs.

    The door to the medical suite opens. You glance over your shoulder just as Madame Pomfrey peeks her head through the curtain, a grand smile on her rounded face.

   A grand smile that falters as soon as she sees you.

   This happens all the time; it’s one of the reasons you don’t like being inside Hogwarts if you can help it. You’re known by name amongst most of the staff, and none of them dislike you nor discriminate against you in any way - but they’re weird around you. They never know what to say, are never certain how much you understand compared to everyone else in your family. 

    “Molly, Arthur, Y/N!” Madame Pomfrey exclaims. “Minerva told me you’d all arrived a little earlier than expected.”

    She shoots you yet another glance, giving you an uncomfortable smile. “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you, Y/N. How is the - uh - studying going?”

    Muggle studies. She wants to say Muggle studies.

   “Good,” you reply, already standing up. “I’m just gonna go to the loo a quick minute. Give you more room to work around Ronald here.”

   Ron reaches for your hand. “Don’t leave me with-”

   “Get well soon!”

   You duck out of the medical suite and into the hallways, immediately pressing your fingertips to your temples; you hate it here, hate it so much, have never felt so out of place than you do right now, and it doesn’t even make sense. You know just as much - if not more - than some of the people in this god damn school. Just because you were never able to perform any of the hocus pocus bullshit they’re able to perform doesn’t mean you don’t know what you’re talking about. You grew up around it. You lived it - still live it.

    You sigh and start down the hallways. You aren’t even sure where you’re going - you just know you’re not heading in the direction of the bathrooms. You pass a few people on the way, people who don’t know who you are or what you are, people who see you within the walls of Hogwarts and don’t even consider that you might not have the same abilities as them.

     You smile; it might be your last chance to exchange niceties with them before they realise who you are and start avoiding you.

    You turn down into another set of corridors, these ones empty as everyone filters into separate classrooms. They look quite spooky when deserted, unnaturally clean with the brick walls encasing you; you run your fingers along them, mind wandering to what it would be like to be within these hallways every single day for ten months out of the year. 

     A ghost swooshes over your head. You close your eyes, letting out an exasperated breath, preparing yourself for the inevitable-

    “The Squib Weasley! The Squib Weasley!”

    “Afternoon, Peeves. How are you?”

    “All the merrier for seeing you!”

  “Oh, yes. You always do enjoy taking the mick out of me.”

    He swoops down and bunks your head; it doesn’t hurt too much, considering he’s a ghost, so all you do is glare at him as he kicks off the wall and bounces back up to the ceiling.

    “Do a magic trick, Squib! I want to see a magic trick!” The ghost cackles, the bells on his hat jingling. “What about a nice card trick? They’re popular amongst non-wizard folk.” A storm of playing cards suddenly rain down upon you, and Peeves laughs even harder.

    This is the kind of treatment you fully expect from Peeves. You look down at the puddle of cards, kicking them as you say, “I’m afraid I’m not that skilled. I can’t do any tricks, I’m afraid.”

   “Useless Squib Weasley!” He bonks you on the head again. You growl, jumping up and swiping at his foot, but he merely kicks away from you, laughing even louder. “Useless Squib Weasley! Useless Squib Weasley!”

   “Get out of here, you idiotic little corpse!”

    Your head snaps round, blood draining from your face at the sound of that voice; you know it all too well, of course, considering it’s coming from a person you would much rather avoid.

     Peeves cackles in your face one final time before vaulting down the corridor. His laughter only echoes so far before you and Draco Malfoy are left in complete silence, the only sound being his polished black shoes clicking against the marble floor as he walks towards you.

    You look up at the ceiling, squeezing your eyes closed. “Malfoy.”

   “Weasley.” He stops. Opening one eye, you can see he’s stopped directly beside you, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his robes, a smirk on his face. “What brings you here? I know it’s not the magic.”

    “How did you figure that one out?”

    “Just a hunch.”

   “Mm.” You look at him. “I was visiting Ron, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business, of course.”

    “One thing I never understood about you was how you can have such an attitude with someone like me.”

  You raise a brow, pretending you have no idea what he’s talking about. “Someone like you?”

   He pulls his wand from his pocket and twirls it, casually, between his fingers. “A wizard.”

    He says it like he’s talking to someone who has never heard the word before. He’s smirking like he’s expecting you to gasp and say “Wizard?!” He’s acting like you haven’t heard the exact same comment a thousand times before.

    You nod slowly, watching his wand rotate. “Are you gonna try and hex me or something? Pretty cowardly of you, Malfoy, considering I have no way to defend myself.”

    His smile fades into his customary scowl; he tucks his wand back into his robes, instead choosing to intertwine his hands behind his back. “You shouldn't be walking the hallways on your own, Weasley. Security measures have been heightened since the Dark Lord came back.”

  “So I’ve heard,” you reply. The casual tone to your voice makes Draco’s eye twitch; you take a point for yourself in this silent competition the two of you have going on. “I felt like I was the safest one, considering Voldy-mort isn’t really interested in Squibs, is he?”

    “That’s not the point; I can’t just be letting outsiders walk about.”

   “I’m not an outsider. Dumbley-dore knows me just-”

  “Stop with the stupid names-”

    You lean forward, speaking louder just to annoy him. “Albus Dumbley-dore knows me just as well as he knows you. In fact, he probably knows me better considering he’s taught the majority of my family. How many Malfoys has he taught? Two? How many Malfoys has he liked? Zero.”

    Draco glares. You smile, enjoying how easy it is to wind him up. He probably approached you thinking you would find his mere presence intimidating; he couldn’t have been more wrong.

    “Well,” he drawls, straightening up. “I’ll be letting Professor Snape know of your presence, and the attitude you’ve taken with me. I’ll let him handle it.”

   “Oh, Snape! Goodness, it’s been a while since I last saw his ugly mug. Let him know my parents and I will be staying in the Hogs Head for a few days if he wants to pop in for a chat.”

    Draco growls, turns on his heel and stomps back the way he came; your laughter follows him, uncontrollable. It’s one of the few things you enjoy here at Hogwarts - seeing Draco, winding him up. You will never understand why he continues to approach you every single time you come and visit. He knows nothing he can say will affect you, as you grew up with five older brothers and a younger sister with an attitude - you’ve heard it all a hundred times before. 

  ----

    “See, this is so much more fun than Scrabble.”

   You scowl, glaring down at the chess board. The moving pieces seem to have something against you. No matter how hard you concentrate, or which direction you direct your little white pieces to go, you never seem to be getting any closer to winning this game.

    “Concentrate, Y/N,” Ron urges. He’s been laughing at you for the past hour and a half. “Where does your bishop need to be?”

    “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll be directing my bishop right up your-”

   “Y/N Weasley, enough of that!”

   You jerk upright, sending the chess pieces scattering. The curtain is pushed open, revealing your mum, dad and Professor Burbage. Mum stands with a scowl on her face whilst Professor Burbage and Dad chat animatedly to one another, barely even registering the people around them.

    “Honestly, who taught you to talk like that?” Mum grumbles, bustling over to Ron. She places the back of her hand against his head and scowls. “Your temperature is going up again, sweetie. Have you been drinking the potion Madame Pomfrey gave you?”

   “Yes,” Ron grumbles, swatting Mum’s hand away. “It’s just warm in here. She never lets us open the bloody windows, Mum. It’s like I’m in prison!”

    But Molly isn’t paying attention; after checking up on Ron, her attention snaps immediately to you. You meet her gaze and raise a questioning brow, freezing in your seat. It’s never good when Molly Weasley has her eyes on you.

    “You alright, Mum?” you ask cautiously.

    “Professor Burbage wanted to talk to you, dear,” she replies, and your heart instantly dips into your stomach,

   Your head snaps round to where Burbage and Arthur are stood; they’ve stopped their animated chatter now, Arthur with one arm around Burbage’s shoulders whilst pointing at you with the other. 

     “This is Y/N!” Arthur exclaims. “Our little Muggle-expert. Honestly, Charity, I’ve worked in Muggle Artefacts for ten years, but I’ve not learned half as much from them as I have from our Y/N here.”

     Your face flushes. “Dad.”

   “Oh, don’t be humble, dear!” Molly exclaims, gripping your shoulders. “We were just telling Professor Burbage here all about your little solo trip to London a few months back, how you navigated the trains perfectly - ordered their own food and everything!”

   Ron snickers. You slap his arm.

    Burbage looks at you. Her eyes look tired, strained, her hairline thin and hair itself even thinner. Her nimble fingers are twisted in front of her, and she says nothing as she continues staring at you.

    You glance at Molly, desperate for a bit of help, but Molly isn’t looking back. She continues massaging your shoulders as she says, “Of course, we don’t let any of them out on their own anymore - not with everything going on, but goodness, we were just so proud of Y/N when she came back in one piece. Apparently the train took an hour and a half to get from London to Birmingham! How bizarre is that?”

    “Oh, Molly, dear,” Arthur tuts. “How many times have I told you that Muggle transportation isn’t the same as wizard transportation?” He shakes his head, turning to Burbage. “I’ve told her a thousand times, I really-”

    Professor Burbage lurches forward and grabs your hand. You gasp, stumbling off your chair as she vigorously shakes it, nearly ripping your arm from its socket. Behind you, Ron has stopped snickering and is instead watching the scene unfold, clearly uncertain about what is actually happening.

    “Y/N Weasley,” Burbage says, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s an honour to meet you finally. I taught all of your brothers, so I did - all except Ronald, who apparently isn’t interested in Muggle Studies.”

    Molly sighs. “We told him-”

  “You didn’t tell me anything!” Ron exclaims. 

    Burbage ignores them both. “I know you’re no Muggle, of course - it would be insulting to say you are - but I did always find Squibs most interesting characters. They’ve got one foot in wizard life, one foot in the Muggle life. It really must be an experience, shifting between two very different worlds.”

    “Uh….”

   “Go on, Y/N,” Arthur urges. “Tell her about London. Tell her about the. . . the - What was it called? The peasant?”

  “The pheasant, Dad. It was a pheasant.”

   “Oh!” Burbage cries suddenly, making you flinch back. “I’ve heard of those! Birds, are they not? Quite ugly little things, but very big. Very big for birds…” She trails off, muttering to herself. The entire time, her hand remains firm in your own, refusing to let it go as if in fear of you running away from this seemingly important conversation.

    All you want to do is run away.

   “Anyway,” Professor Burbage bursts, “I’ve just come in to ask if you’d like to attend my next lesson for a few minutes. I’ve got a N.E.W.T. class coming in and I know for a fact having someone like you involved in their learning would do them a world of good.”

    Oh goodness, no. 

   The answer is immediate. The mere idea of standing up in front of a classroom of wizards to walk them through how you were the one genetic failure in the family is enough to make your stomach turn. You open your mouth to express this, but Arthur jumps forward before you have a chance.

    “That would be an honour, Charity. An honour for Y/N and the family!”

    Your eyes widen. “Actually-”

   “Wonderful!” Burbage exclaims, grabbing your arm again. She wrenches you out of Molly’s grip, already ushering you out of the infirmary, the sound of Ron’s uncertain grumbles following you out. At least your brother can see how uncomfortable this idea makes you, but his chunterings don’t make any difference.

   “Professor,” you beg, stumbling after her as she leads you through the crowded hallways. “Professor, I really don’t have anything to say to your N.E.W.T. students or whatever. I’ve been to London on my own once, and it really didn’t go as smooth as my dad is making it out to be. I nearly got mugged, like, four times, and there was this guy with a knife-”

     “Here we are!” 

    You glance over; lining up against the wall is a group of seventeen year olds, all of whom are staring at you in a mix of confusion and amusement. Some of these people know exactly who you are, considering they’re in the same year as Ron, whilst others merely see a very distressed individual dressed in casual robes.

    “Good afternoon, class,” Burbage begins, refusing to let you go into her classroom or to let go of your arm. “I hope we’re all well. Please enter, and take your books out.” 

   The line of students files into the class, and you and Burbage follow close behind. Your heart is racing, eyes flicking back and forth along the students currently scooping textbooks and wands out of their bags, whispering amongst themselves. Burbage’s classroom is decorated with moving pictures of Muggle buses and trains, Muggle supermarkets and schools - all of which you probably know less about than anyone else in this classroom.

    Burbage pushes you towards a seat in the corner, kindly telling you to make yourself comfortable. You give her your best smile and sink into the plastic, crossing one knee over the other, resisting the urge to bury your head in your hands. Every eye is on you. Every single one.

     You bite your lip and look around, and that’s when you spot him.

   Of all people in Hogwarts, you never once would have expected to see Draco Malfoy unpacking a Muggle Studies textbook. The boy from a family of Muggle haters. The boy who spends every waking moment ensuring every non-pure-blood wizard in his vicinity is completely miserable is stood in a Muggle Studies classroom.

    “Malfoy?”

   His name bursts from your lips before you can stop yourself. You slap a hand across your mouth, turning to Burbage with an apologetic look that she raises her brows at, but refuses to comment on. Instead, she barrels on with the lesson.

    You glance back at Malfoy, who is now staring at you with an open mouth; he’s going to laugh at you. Seeing you sat in the corner is going to bring him such amusement. You can already hear the jeers he’s probably going to throw at you as soon as this bell rings, how he’s going to make your life a living hell for the short period of time you’ll be here.

    “Okay everyone, now that we’re settled, I’d like to introduce you all to a special guest who has so kindly offered to overlook our lesson today,” Burbage says after her introductions. 

    “Actually, Professor, I’d rather-”

   “This is Y/N Weasley, one of the few Squibs I’ve had the honour of meeting.”

   The class goes silent. You bite your lip, ducking your head into your hands before anyone can see the horror that is currently rising to the surface - you want to scream. 

    “Y/N’s parents were just telling me a few minutes ago that Y/N went into Muggle London - remember our last few lessons on Muggle London? - all on their own! Isn’t that incredible?”

    “Terrifying,” Malfoy jeers. “What a hero!”

   You grit your teeth - it’s started.

   “Exactly what I was thinking, Draco! What an honour it is to be in the presence of such a brave soul.”

    You look up through a slit in your fingers, giving Professor Burbage a pleading look, a silent plea for her to just stop, to just get on with whatever lesson she had planned while you sit in the corner and mind your own god damn business.

    But she just smiles brightly. “Tell me, Y/N - how did the Muggle’s react to having a Squib walking amongst them?”

    You lift your head, purposefully avoiding a glance at Malfoy; even without looking at him, his snickers are unmistakable. “They didn’t know I’m a Squib, Professor. I just looked like a normal person.”

    Burbage’s eyes widen. “Really? They couldn’t even tell?”

   “But Squibs are so obvious,” someone jeers from the far side of the classroom - looking over, you’re pretty certain you recognise the man as Zacharias Smith, someone Ron has always taken a disliking to, but only because Hermione threatened to go out with him one time. “Could they not feel the uselessness coming off you?”

    You scowl. “Have you been paying attention in Muggle Studies at all? Squibs don’t give off a bloody scent, you dumb little-”

    “But I thought Muggle’s dress differently to us,” a girl in the front row interjects, raising her hand pointlessly.

   “They do, dear,” Burbage replies. “They tend to wear. . . shorter clothes. No robes. Correct, Y/N?”

   “Uh, yeah.”

   “So how were you not recognised as a Squib?”

    “I wore Muggle clothes-”

  “Your older brother told me Muggle clothes can make a wizards skin burn-”

  “Y/N isn’t a wizard, you idiot. They’re a Squib-”

  “They’re the same thing!”

   “No, Squib’s don’t have magic, wizards do.”

   “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid, Gregg, or I swear-”

   “Alright, class, enough!” Burbage exclaims, but it’s too late for that now. Questions are being fired at you from all directions, questions that seem most innocent to the oblivious but which actually cut pretty deep into the thick skin you possess.

    The word Squib in itself doesn’t sit right with you - you’ve never identified as a wizard nor a Muggle, but there’s something about that word that just puts a bad taste in your mouth. Maybe it’s the way it’s spoken by others - like an insult, a sneer rather than a simple term. Maybe it’s the implications it holds - here is a person who comes from a family of people who can basically do whatever they want. Here is a person who comes from a family seen as mystical, but they are not the same. They were not blessed in the same way even though all odds were saying they should have been.

    You swallow thickly, glancing over at Malfoy for a reason you cannot pinpoint - it’s not like he's a source of comfort. It’s not like he will be any different than the ignorant wizards currently yelling question after question at you. Nonetheless, your eyes find his, and it’s with a jolt that you realise he’s staring right at you with an almost worried expression on his face. A tilt to his head, brows furrowed, lips pursed. 

     You don’t know why you do it. You mouth the word help in his direction, and immediately he stands.

   “Everyone shut up!” he hisses. “Giving me a bloody headache!”

   The class fades into silence. Malfoy grunts, sits back down and ushers for Professor Burbage to continue the lesson, which she does with only mild hesitance. It’s clear she now realises that bringing you here today was perhaps not thoroughly thought through, but you don’t make a move to leave. You sit in the corner of the classroom as she goes through the lesson plan, keeping your head ducked in an attempt to ignore the stares.

   Once the lesson plan has been explained, Professor Burbage tells the class to get on with their work before she says, “Y/N will be walking around to help anyone who needs it.”

    You roll your eyes; will wizards ever get the hint?

   You push yourself up from your chair and start your rounds of the classroom, ignoring anyone who actually asks for your assistance. At this point, you just want the lesson to be over so you can head back to the infirmary and play Ron in a game of Scrabble - you’re much better at Scrabble than he is, and winning a few rounds will boost your dignity after those horrific chess games you played earlier.

    “Excuse me, can you help me with question-”

  “Piss off.”

     “That’s not very nice, Weasley.”

   You stop dead. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

  “I need help with question three - as I just asked.”

   You scowl, glancing at him over your shoulder. He’s smirking, twirling his pen between his fingers in a way not unlike how he had twirled his wand only a few hours prior. You take a few steps back and glance down at his work.

    “‘What mode of transport should a Muggle use if they want to move a sofa from one place to another?’” you recite. “Oh, come on, Malfoy. You’re not that thick.”

    “Just give me the answer.”

  “No. You’ll never learn if I just hand it to you.”

    He scowls, kicking your shin beneath the table. “Are you alright?”

   The sudden subject change nearly gives you whiplash, though it’s not nearly as shocking as the soft note his voice has suddenly undertaken. Your gaze snaps to him, an eyebrow raising. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

    “You asked me for help literally two seconds ago. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

    “I’m fine. Just - uh - a little shy when I'm the centre of attention.”

   “A Weasley, not liking attention? That’s a first.”

   You flick his ear. Malfoy grunts, swats your hand away before saying, “Why did you agree to come here?”

    “I didn’t agree to anything.” Before you can think better of it, you tug the stool out from beside Malfoy and sit down, leaning over in an attempt to look like you’re just helping him with his work. “She came into the infirmary with my parents and basically dragged me in here - you know how my dad is with all that Muggle stuff. He wouldn’t let me say no.”

    Malfoy snickers, pretending to write something down. “Is it true you wore Muggle clothes?”

   “Don’t start….”

   He raises a hand in mock surrender, that stupid grin forming on his face. “I wasn’t going to say anything. I heard - what is it? - Adidas? I heard they’re very comfortable-”

    “You’re taking the mick out of me,” you hiss, slapping his arm. He bursts into laughter, and the noise seems to startle even him, as he immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, face turning bright red.

    “I hope it’s just Muggle Studies we’re discussing over there, Draco!” Burbage calls.

   Draco scowls, slowly lowering his hand before he glances at you and says, “I hate this bleeding class.”

    “Mm, I gathered that. Never took you as the type to be interested in what Muggle’s get up to.”

   “I’m not, but it’s an easy N.E.W.T.”

   “That’s what they all say.” You nudge his elbow. “Just admit it, Malfoy; you’re interested in Muggle activities.”

    “Shut up, Weasley, or I won’t help you out of your next ambush.”

    You snicker, pushing away from the table. “There won’t be another ambush. I’m not stepping foot back in this classroom if I can help it.”

   “That’s what I said during my O.W.L’s, and now look where I am.”

    “See, this is when my Muggle education comes in handy; no need for crappy lessons like this.” You clap him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Malfoy. Have fun learning about vans.” You tap question three on his paper. “V-A-N. You’re welcome.”

  ----

Hogsmeade is a good place to be for a Squib.

    Magic isn’t necessarily expected. You can walk through the streets and nobody will be under any illusion that you’re different. It’s freeing, a rare experience when you spend half your life either not fitting in amongst wizards, or not fitting in amongst Muggles. There is no in between for you.

    Today, Arthur and Molly permitted you and Ron some time to go into Hogsmeade together before you and your parents are due to depart to the Burrow again, where you will grudgingly continue your Muggle classes, steeping in your own boredom. 

    The streets would be considered empty if not for the abundance of Ministry officials littering the area; they stand outside every shop, talking to passers-by, warning them of the danger they are in by simply being outside. Kingsley Shacklebolt - a good friend of yours - gives you and Ron a stern look when you pass him standing outside Olivander’s. 

    “I thought Molly and Arthur would know better,” he says. “You two should be inside at all times.”

  “It’s like the Order wants us to go insane,” Ron mutters when the two of you are walking away from what was undoubtedly about to turn into a proper scolding. “Honestly, what are the chances You-Know-Who is just going to turn up in the middle of Hogsmeade? I’m pretty sure I heard somewhere he doesn’t like the Saturday crowds...”

   You and Ron continue to shop for a little while, though none of the stores particularly interest you. You love looking at the architecture and the fancy colours of each shop, but when you can’t really use any of the stuff being sold, the architecture isn’t enough to keep your attention seized.

  Nonetheless, you trail after Ron because this may be the last time you are able to see him until Christmas, and you’ll be damned if you let your last few days of company go to waste. The colour is back in his face, that tiny sway to his walk returning now that the poison has officially cleared his system; though you will never admit it to him, the worry you felt sitting at his bedside these past few days has been eating you alive. To see him back on his feet and grinning again is like Christmas come early.

     “Oh!” He latches onto your arm, snapping you from your daze. You follow the direction in which he is pointing, throwing your head back to groan into the air when you catch a glimpse of Quality Quidditch Supplies, Ron’s favourite place in the whole of Hogsmeade.

    “Oh, come on!” Ron exclaims, dragging your protesting form forward. “Just a little look to see if they’ve got anything new in.”

  “Why would they have anything new in?” you hiss, pressing a foot against the door frame in your attempts to make Ron let go of you. “The Quidditch season started months ago! Everyone’s already got everything they-”

    “Don’t make me hex you!”

   You groan, letting your foot slip to the floor. Ron tugs you into the shop after him, a bright smile on his face as soon as he lays eyes upon the Quidditch sets propped up on the far side of the shop. He scurries off, leaving you to awkwardly pluck at the bits and bobs that - apparently - have something to do with Quidditch. Growing up, you always found the concept of Quidditch to be quite intriguing. Charlie would never let a single family dinner go by without ranting about some team or other, and you were always inclined to listen. 

   However, you were never able to properly play. The only way you could ever fly a broom was when one of your older brothers would get it off the ground first before placing you upon it - which never really had the same effect, and has left you in many bad states over the years. Your mum put a ban on it when you were seven years old, though that never stopped Charlie Weasley from letting you have a go on his broom every now and then.

    You glance over at the broomsticks as the memories pop into your head; they are magnificent looking. It’s with hesitance that you stalk over to them, running your fingers along the bristles at the end, imagining the magic seeping from your fingertips into the broom, watching it lift off the floor purely because you wished it to, because you want it to fly and nobody else. 

    You don’t even crave an expensive one, not like Harry’s, or Ron’s new one that he got when he was made a Prefect. You just want one - any of them would do, as long as they work, as long as it’s yours.

   But that will never be the case.

    You bite your lip and look down; this always happens. You’ve been able to push past these feelings of uselessness pretty well during this Hogwarts visit, but they push to the surface now. 

     “Oi! Weasley!”

    You stumble away from the brooms, very nearly knocking over a display case filled with different Quaffles as you do so. Draco laughs, wading towards you with that long-legged stroll of his, and that stupid smile plastered all the way across his face. Him catching you ogling the broomsticks, knowing full well you can’t actually use one, is really the thing that tops off this already quite disastrous trip.

    “What are you doing out of the castle?” you ask quickly, struggling to stop the display case from wobbling.

      “I’m a Prefect. I can do what I want.”

   “And you want to stand here and take the mick out of me, I suppose?”

   Draco raises a brow, glancing behind you to where the broomsticks are mounted on the wall by invisible bonds. He looks back down at you, tilts his head and says, “Feeling a bit envious today, Weasley?”

    You roll your eyes, hands still messing with the display case. “I really don’t - for the love of - I really don’t have the - Oh, my goodness, can you just use a spell and straighten this bloody thing?”

   Draco laughs, but does as you say. With a flick of his wand, the display case stops wobbling and you can safely lower your hands to your sides. 

    “Thanks,” you grumble. “As I was saying, I really don’t have the time to sit here and listen to you go on about your fancy spells. Mum wants me and Ron back at the castle in about half an hour, so-”

  “Oh, plenty of time!” And before you can pull away, Draco has wrapped an arm round your shoulders and is steering you back towards the wall of broomsticks. With his wand outstretched, he points to each one, uttering their names into your ear like a teacher giving a student a tour. 

    His breath tickles your neck, and you’re not sure why you’re so aware of it. His fingers are cold against the tiny bit of shoulder peaking from your robes, and again, it’s startling how aware of his touch you are.

    “Have you ever flown one of these before?” he asks, after telling you what each one is called - this is information you already know, of course, considering you grew up in a household of Quidditch fanatics, but you let him ramble on anyway.

    “No,” you reply. “Well, not on my own. My brothers had to get the broom off the ground for me and then I would ride around on it for awhile until the magic wore off and I - uh - landed.”

    Draco hums. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

   “Yeah. It is. It’s just stupid, and painful.” You shrug Draco’s arm off your shoulder and spin. “Quite like this conversation. Can I leave yet?”

  Draco raises a brow; it’s that facial expression that always gets to you, no matter how many times you’ve seen it. You and Draco have watched each other grow up in tiny little bursts - you came to visit Hogwarts multiple times within the school year, and every single time, you somehow managed to have some sort of run-in with Draco. The two of you have bickered with one another from day one, but this facial expression is one that has always, always made you want to punch him.

    “I’ll walk you back to the castle,” he says. He turns on his heel and starts walking before you have a chance to decline his offer. You splutter, frantically scanning the shop for any sign of your twin brother - it’s when you spot him talking to Seamus Finnigan that you groan and decide to give in to your fate. You have to jog to keep up with Malfoy.

    “I know the way back,” you say, stumbling over your robes. 

   “I’m sure you do. That doesn’t mean I can’t accompany you.”

  “I really don’t think I should be leaving without telling Ron first…”

  “Ronald will handle the journey back perfectly fine on his own.” Malfoy glances back at you. “Plus, I don’t think Ron would like to hear what I have to ask you. It’s probably best we’re on our own.”

  You falter, heart skipping. You don’t like the sound of those words, especially coming from someone as unpredictable as Malfoy. 

   You raise a brow, ignoring the way he smirks as he turns back, giving a passing group of third year girls a nod. 

   “Don’t look so worried, Weasley. The wand is staying beneath the cloak.”

  “It’s not the wand I’m wary of.”

   His smirk turns into a grin. “I was going to ask you if you’d fancy a trip to the Quidditch pitches later tonight.”

    You stare at the back of his head as if doing so will somehow unravel the joke he’s clearly trying to pull right now. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t correct himself, doesn’t even snicker, though you can’t miss the way in which he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his robes. 

    “Sorry,” you reply sometime after. “I just. . . Can you repeat that?”

  He groans. “It really isn’t a difficult question.” He looks over. “And it’s not a date, either. I just thought you might appreciate a little bit of flying time on the pitches before you leave.”

    Is this Draco Malfoy being nice? If you weren’t currently witnessing it first hand, you wouldn’t believe it to be possible. You pick up your pace a tiny bit, just until you’re walking directly beside him when you say, “I can’t fly a broom, and you know that.”

    “You just told me your brothers used to help you; I can get it off the ground, and then you take it from there.”

    “And you don’t mind me using your broom? You’re not scared I’m going to break it?”

   Draco shrugs. “I have more than enough Galleons to pay for a new one, Weasley, don’t worry.”

   “I wasn’t worried,” you mumble. “But I - uh - I guess I could do that. It doesn’t sound too bad.”

   Draco glances down at you. “I’ll meet you at the pitches at nine o’clock then.”

    “Nine o’clock it is.”

    ---

    You have to tell your parents you’re going to visit Ron.

   They’ll never let you leave otherwise, not with Voldemort still breathing. Honestly, you can’t even blame them for the protective pull they’ve put on you, though you also can’t help but notice just how much stronger it is over you than it is for Ron - your twin brother had been in the infirmary after being poisoned only a few days prior, and yet they let him roam about Hogsmeade as much as he wants.

     “You know it’s probably Ron they’ll go after before they come after me,” you recall telling them over dinner one night. Your mother hadn’t even looked up from her food, though you saw her jaw twitch with the idea you had just implanted in her head. “He’s the one that’s best mates with Harry.”

  “You and Harry are also good friends,” your dad says, pointing his fork at you. 

   “Right, but not - like - best friends.”

   “Y/N, we’re not discussing this over dinner,” Molly had snapped. “You’ll do as we say, and that’s final!”

   Now you feel like you have no choice but to lie.

    You inform your parents that Ron has asked for your company during his next study session in which he wants you to check over his essay and correct any spelling and punctuation he’s messed up on; a lie, of course, but Ron’s genuine lack of skill when it comes to basic spelling and grammar is an easy enough lie to ride upon. Your parents immediately permit you to leave, kissing you goodbye before sending you off to the castle under the moonlight.

    The Quidditch pitches themselves are magnificent when it’s dark.

    You’ve never been to a proper Hogwarts Quidditch match; you went to the Quidditch World Cup with your family a few summers ago, but you’ve always wanted to see Ron or Harry play.

   Or Malfoy.

    The rings stand tall, glittering gold in the darkness. The lights from the commentator’s stand have been kept on, and it’s almost as if night time doesn’t exist. You can see everything perfectly; the audience stands, the rings, the soft grass you are currently walking across to reach the very centre of the field where Draco Malfoy stands, his broom at his side, his robes fitting him perfectly.

     He gives you a smile when he sees you. “I thought you’d gotten lost. Navigating around this place without magic can be a real pain.”

    “As I’m so often reminded.” You nod to his broom. “A Nimbus 2001. Not bad.”

    Draco shrugs, though his smirk is evident. “It’s carried me well.”

   “Is that why you’ve never caught the Snitch?”

   He scowls at you. “Do you want to fly it or not?”

   You slowly reach a hand out, gently brushing your fingertips along the wood. It really is pretty - you can already imagine Ron’s face when you tell him that you somehow managed to have a go on a real Nimbus 2001, something Ron couldn’t even dream of doing.

     You lift your gaze. Draco is staring at you, watching the adoration on your face, reminding you that you will forever be unable to do as he does. You flinch your hand away and stuff it in the pocket of your raggedy robes.

    “Let’s have a look, then,” you say. “Get on it and show me how it works.”

  Draco sets everything up. You watch him closely, recounting the steps you have memorised for no reason at all, steps you are intrigued by but will never use. He gives you one final look before he mounts the broom and takes off.

    And he’s just as beautiful as you imagined.

    You’ve seen Quidditch matches. You’ve watched players soar through the air for hours on end, watched them swerve between hoops and dodge Bludgers with an efficiency similar to that of a bird. You’ve seen it all, but it’s quite different when you’re watching someone like Malfoy have the sky all to themselves. There’s no dodging, no jerky swerves, no expressions of frustration. It’s just Malfoy and his broom, swerving between nothing, grinning down at you.

     His blonde hair flashes silver every time he flies in front of the commentator’s lights. You place a hand on your forehead, blocking out the beams just enough to see him do a loop before he yells out your name and waves.

    You laugh, unable to help yourself. Jumping to be seen a bit better, you wave your arms violently back and forth, hoping for no reason at all that Malfoy can see you, that he’s smiling down at you, having fun-

     He does a final loop and then crashes to the floor, dirt flying up all around him, splattering his robes and his face, but he’s laughing and smiling as he jogs back to your side.

    “Wow,” you say, giving him a round of applause. “That was good, Malfoy.”

   “Thank you, thank you,” he replies. “Your turn?”

   You nod enthusiastically, watching Draco set the broom up until it is hovering in the air between you. 

   “The magic bits all done now,” he says. “I’m assuming you know how to work the rest?”

   You place your hand on the broom; immediately it deflates, becoming heavy in your hand when it should feel light as air. You frown, dropping it to the floor.

    “It stopped working,” you say.

   Draco hums in confusion, bends down and picks it up. He tries again, getting the broom to float before he steps back and you have another go. Once again, the broom deflates and crashes to the floor between you.

    “Well, that’s bloody annoying,” you grumble. “Walked all the way through Hogsmeade and this is what I get for it?”

    Draco picks up the broom again. “Don’t be so dramatic. If you want to have a go, I’ll just get on with you.”

  You falter. “What?”

   He swings his leg over the broom and motions for you to get on behind him; there’s plenty of room, but the mere idea of soaring through the air upon the same broom as Draco Malfoy is a bit intimidating.

   “Listen, mate.” You take a cautious step back. “I know my family can be a bit of a pain when it comes to you, but I never had any issue with you. If you want me dead, you could have just-”

  “Oh, for the love of-” Draco surges forward, grabs a handful of your robes and rugs you onto the broom behind him. You yelp, having only seconds to grab onto his waist before he’s kicking off the floor and suddenly you’re in the air.

     You bury your head in his spine, groaning against his robes; you were so prepared for this, and yet the abruptness with which he took off has your stomach reeling. The wind pelts your face. The world gets smaller and smaller and smaller below you…

    You peek an eye out from Malfoy’s robes, the breath leaving you in an instant. Hogwarts really is a wonderful sight to behold when you’re looking at it from above; the lanterns flicking subtly in the hallways, the shadows of passing students drifting by the window, the smoke billowing from the many chimneys dotting the castles exterior.

    “Bloody hell,” is the only way you can articulate your feelings. 

    Draco laughs, the noise reverberating against your cheek. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

   “It’s. . . more than nice,” you choke out, finally pulling away from him completely, though you keep your arms wound around his waist. “Is this what you see during every Quidditch match? ‘Cause you clearly don’t see the Snitch all that often.”

   Draco jerks the front of the broom. You simply laugh, even as you’re forced to tighten your grip on his waist to stay in the air.

    “It’s a little different,” he replies, shooting you a playful glare. “There’s always so much going on in a Quidditch match, it’s difficult to stop and focus on the scenery.”

    “That makes sense.”

   Draco hums, jerking his broom to go in the opposite direction. “I hope that’s not another dig at my Seeker skills, Weasley.”

   “If the shoe fits, Malfoy.”

    The broom is directed into an abrupt nosedive.

   You screech, pressing your head - yet again - into Malfoy’s spine, as if being unable to see the floor will mean you are not heading directly towards it. The wind whistles loudly in your ears, though not loud enough to cover Malfoy’s cackling laugh as he tugs and suddenly the broom is soaring back into the air.

   You pant, lifting your head, darting your eyes left and right. “What the hell, Malfoy?”

    “Did that scare you?”

    “Of course it did! Why would you do that?”

   He glances at you, grinning from ear to ear. He doesn’t even have to say anything - you get the message. He’s always had fun teasing you, and that isn’t going to stop tonight.

   You roll your eyes, slapping him on the back. “You’re the absolute worst.”

   “So you’ve told me.”

    It’s silent after that. The two of you fly circles round the Quidditch pitch until it gets too cold for Malfoy to grip the handle properly. He heads back to the ground, feet skidding against the floor, one hand winding around and gripping your waist to stop the impact from hurting too much.

    You stumble off the broom, grin evident on your face. “That was incredible!”

   Malfoy lazily picks at the handle, not looking up when he hums in agreement.

   Your excitement is palpable, screaming through your system at a million miles per hour. You clap your hands, doing a tiny twirl in the middle of the Quidditch pitch purely because you can, because you’ve just flew, because Charlie is going to be so damn proud of you-

    You open your eyes to see Malfoy staring at you. 

   He’s wearing an expression you have never seen him wear before; dazed, almost, like he doesn’t quite know how to process what he’s feeling or seeing. His lips are slightly parted, hands limp so his broom falls halfway to the floor. His blue eyes stare into your own, and slowly he starts to tilt his head.

    Your cheeks heat up, and you quickly look away. “Don’t look at me like that, Malfoy.”

    He doesn’t say anything for a number of minutes, and you’re suddenly much too nervous to look up to see why. You can still feel the burn of his gaze on the side of your head, even as you keep your eyes trained on the grass beneath you.

     And then suddenly Malfoy takes a step forward. Just a single step, but it’s enough to put you nearly chest to chest with the Slytherin. You can smell the wind clinging to his clothes, the fresh scent of grass and a slight undertone of sweat. You can hear his breathing, suddenly much more shallow than it was before.

    You risk a glance upwards, not entirely sure why you’re not moving away from him, making some remark about how weird he is or how badly he annoys you. All words have died on your tongue, and it’s understandable when you look up to see him staring right down at you, not a single flash of humour upon his face.

    His hand is on your cheek in seconds; your breath leaves you in one clean swoop, the feel of his palm making your heart jump.

    “Your smile is. . . very pretty,” he says, so quietly his words could easily be mistaken for the wind. 

    “Draco…”

   “Come back to the castle with me,” he continues. “I can convince McGonagall to let you stay in the Slytherin common room.”

    Your eyes widen. “Wait, really?” 

   His grin flashes in the dark, sharp and perfect. “If you want to accompany me. If you-”

    His words are cut short by Molly Weasley bellowing your name from across the Quidditch field.

   You leap away from Malfoy, very nearly falling over your own robes in the process. Malfoy himself looks suddenly flustered, running his ringed hands through his hair and looking away from the blinding lights in an attempt to hide the pink hue of his cheeks.

    “Y/N Weasley, do not ignore me!” Molly screeches, and then she is Apparating in front of you and seizing you by the shoulders, shaking you. “ARE. YOU. INSANE?”

   “Mum!” you exclaim. “Bloody hell, Mum, calm down!”

  “CALM DOWN?” she cries, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down! Can you even begin to comprehend the fright your father and I got when we sent an owl up to the school to check how you and Ron were getting on, only to be told that you weren’t even in the Hogwarts castle?”

    Guilt falls heavily on your shoulders. “Sorry.”

   “Oh, you will be.” Molly grabs your wrist and starts stampeding across the field, muttering things like “early grave… grey hairs….can’t believe” beneath her breath. You, however, don’t even fully register what she is trying to say as you turn and glance at Malfoy, who is standing stock still in the centre of the Quidditch pitch, watching you go with his broom hanging limp at his side.

    Molly Apparates back to the Hogs Head, and that’s the last you see of him.

   ----

   “Please tell me it’s a joke.”

    You don’t even look up.

   “Y/N, please tell me Mum was just pulling my leg.”

   “I don’t-”

   “Oh, god, you can’t even look at me.” Ron falls into his chair and grabs a hash brown, stuffing it in his mouth. “You were out with Malfoy?”

    You wince; the volume with which Ron always insists on speaking has never made sense to you. “Not for very long,” you lie. “And what’s it to you who I hang out with?”

    “Good point,” Hermione chirps. “But Malfoy, Y/N? Really? You could do so much better.”

    Something burns in your chest, an overwhelming urge to tell the two of them to get their judgemental noses out of your business; however, you know doing such a thing will do nothing to persuade them that nothing is going on between you and Malfoy, so you instead choose to scoop some cereal into your mouth and pretend you hadn’t heard.

    “It just doesn’t make sense,” Ron continues. “Malfoy’s a Prefect, for crying out loud. What’s he doing sneaking out of the castle in the dark?”

   “Clearly he wanted to see Y/N,” Hermione says.

   “Well, yeah, but why? Y/N’s a Squib!”

  “Thanks, Ron,” you grumble.

   Ron groans, nudging your elbow. “You know that’s not what I meant; most people don’t have a problem with you. But Malfoy - he’s a different cup of tea altogether, isn’t he?”

    “How so?” 

   Ron shrugs. “He’s just a close-minded little weasel. Can’t see anyone being anything other than pure blood.”

  Hermione rolls her eyes. “How many times do I have to remind you, Ron? Y/N is a pure blood - they just haven’t got the magical abilities.”

    Ron waves a dismissive hand. “Either way, I’m surprised Draco hasn’t tried humiliating you a thousand times already.”

    “Have you ever actually had a real conversation with Draco?” The words are out before you can stop them. Hermione and Ron cautiously glance at you, eyebrows raised.

    “Oh, don’t tell me he’s buttered you up,” Ron says. “Not you. I have to bloody live with you!”

    “He hasn’t buttered me up,” you shoot back. “I just don’t see why I should completely boycott him just because you lot don’t like him. He’s nice to me.”

    Ron scoffs. “He’s nice to me. You know what that sounds like, Y/N? Sounds like you’re fraternising with the enemy; getting cuddly; abandoning the side that put clothes on your back-”

   “Oh Ron, honestly!” Hermione hisses, slapping his arm. “Give it a rest; Y/N can like whoever they want.” She nods at you, giving you a small smile. “I’m happy for you.”

  You smile back, even though her words do nothing but fluster you; she speaks of you liking Malfoy as if you outright said you liked him, but you never did. To be honest, you don’t even know what your feelings are for Malfoy; after last night, you will admit to feeling something, something that was always lurking beneath the surface but refused to make an appearance because every time it started to rise, Malfoy would say something to Ron, or you, or he would just be ignorant and you couldn’t bring yourself to admit what you were feeling for him.

    But last night, things took such a sharp turn. So sharp, in fact, that you haven’t even fully processed what any of it means, or what you’re meant to do now, or how you’re meant to approach the topic with Malfoy the next time you see him. 

     Breakfast finishes, and it’s nearly time to leave. On any normal day, leaving Hogwarts is the highlight; you can escape the stares and the uncertain questions. Now, however, as you, Ron and Hermione stand up from the table and get ready to go downstairs where you are due to meet your parents, you can’t help but feel a little. . . incomplete, as if you didn’t finish something you set out to do on this brief trip.

    Harry catches up to you all as you’re wondering down the staircase. “You lot couldn’t have waited?”

   “We’re on a schedule, Potter,” you reply. “Molly and Arthur Weasley cannot be left waiting.”

   Harry rolls his eyes, pulling you into a brotherly side hug as you arrive in the main hall; sure enough, Molly and Arthur Weasley are nowhere to be found, and not a single person is surprised.

    “Always late,” Ron grumbles. “I just want to get rid of you.”

   “Shut up.” You pull Ron into a hug. “Try not to get poisoned again before Christmas, alright? I won’t be able to handle Mum on my own if Percy doesn’t show up again.”

    “It’s not me we need to keep an eye on,” Ron says, pulling away. “If I put you on a leash, do you think that will keep you away from the Slytherin boys?”

    Harry splutters, head snapping up. 

  You groan. “Nothing happened with Malfoy and I!”

   “Oh.”

    Your heart drops.

   And it shouldn’t. The sound of Draco’s voice - that quiet, innocent little oh - should have done nothing to faze you, but it does. You whirl around and there he is, standing on the bottom step with his hands swinging by his side and his face strained with his attempts to keep that strong expression upon it.

     “Sorry. Looks like I’ve walked in at the wrong time,” he sneers. 

    “What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron spits. “Can’t you see we’re a bit occupied at the-”

   “Draco…”

   Malfoy’s blue eyes flick to you. A muscle tenses in his jaw before he shrugs, turns on his heel and starts walking back the way he came.

     Your heart is beating so fast. It feels heavy. Your eyes are burning, unshed tears rising to the surface even though none of it makes sense; you weren’t lying. Nothing did happen between you and Malfoy last night - nothing serious, nothing physical.

    But you would be a liar, a downright fool, to claim nothing changed. Soaring through the sky on the back of his broom, watching the stars glide past, laughing louder than you have laughed in many, many months - something did happen, whether it was physical or not.

    You turn, eyes finding Ron’s immediately. He’s scowling until he meets your gaze and notices the desperation there; his twin, the strongest of his siblings because you’ve been the most misunderstood your entire life, yet here you are, on the verge of tears because you don’t know what to do.

    Ron’s expression softens. He looks over at Harry and Hermione, neither of whom seem to have read the room and have since continued their chat about Harry’s Defence Against the Dark Arts homework.

   Ron sighs, steps forward and says, “Go. I’ll tell Mum and Dad you went to the loo or something.”

   You’re off in a heartbeat.

    If last nights endeavours don’t give away your feelings for Malfoy, then the speed at which you dart back up the stairs certainly does. The hallways are empty besides the odd stray ghost, all of whom you ignore as you search desperately for any sign of Malfoy roaming amongst them. It seems like all is lost until you eventually round the corner leading to the library and very nearly crash right into his back.

    He’s leaning against the wall, though he spins around as soon as you make an appearance. His eyes widen, mouth opening but you’re speaking before he can say anything.

    “For gods sake, Malfoy! Why do you have to be so dramatic all the time?” you pant, slapping his arm. “Do you know how difficult it is to run up those stairs when they’re moving like that? No, of course you don’t, because you can just Apparate or whatever it is you lot do to get from one place to another.” You groan, clutching the stitch in your side. “Please don’t let me leave here without an explanation.”

    Draco stares at you open mouthed, seeming too stunned for words.

   You close your eyes and say, “I didn’t mean what I said.”

    “What are you-”

  “I don’t think nothing happened between us last night.”

   Draco pauses. You lean forward, pressing your forehead to the wall in exasperation; your side is still aching, and time is running out, and you’re no longer all that confident in the fact that Draco feels the same way.

     “I think. . . I think we were very caught up in the moment,” you hurry on. “It was dark, and the lights were a little romantic-”

   “Romantic?”

   “And obviously we’re both very confused, because we hate each other, you know? That’s kind of like our thing! You take the mick out of me, and I take the mick out of you, and then we don’t see each other for a good few months and then it restarts, and-”

    “I don’t hate you.”

   “Yes you do. You always have.”

    Draco places a hand on your arm, gently easing you away from the wall. Your eyes open, hands trembling with anxiety but that doesn’t stop Draco from slipping his fingers between your own.

    “I don’t hate you,” he repeats, quieter this time. “Do you wanna know a bit of a secret, Weasley?”

   Your heart jumps. “Uh. . . Go on then.”

  “Last night when the broom fell every time you touched it? That was me. I was making it fall so I had an excuse for you to fly with me.”

    You blink. In any other situation, with any other person, that news would absolutely infuriate you. But now, you look up into Draco’s eyes and you see that soft, cheeky smile and you can’t even bring yourself to feel anything besides absolute fondness.

    Nonetheless, you scowl. “You really are a little rat, aren’t you Malfoy?”

    He throws his head back and laughs, and that does it for you. You grab his chin, pull his head down and kiss him.

    His hands find your jaw immediately, winding through your hair as the world disappears and trouble doesn’t exist. It’s a weird feeling to be so at peace with someone who is the definition of destruction, someone who was born and raised to cause havoc. You silently wonder who taught him to be so gentle. 

      Draco pulls away first, eyes still half-closed, tongue swiping so casually across his bottom lip, as if savouring the feel of you. You are less graceful, stumbling away from him enough to exclaim, “So that broom would have stayed up if you weren’t messing with it? I knew it!”

    Draco rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand to pull you back towards him. “Don’t pretend you didn’t prefer flying with me.”

    You scowl. “I would have preferred having the option.” 

   “I’ll make it up to you.”

   “You better; let’s see who can catch the Snitch quicker.”

   Draco pecks your lips. “Sounds like a plan.”

   ----

      “Draco, fly straight! Fly straight!”

   “Why would I do that? The Snitch isn’t-”

    “Just fly straight!”

    Draco groans, tugging the broom in the direction you’ve ordered. Up ahead, Ron and Charlie twist around each other, eyes scanning the garden for any sign of the little golden ball you’re all desperately searching for. Charlie is good - you know this, have seen him play Quidditch too many times to deny such a fact. Now, however, you’re determined to give your boyfriend a point.  

    “Has Weasley spotted it?” Draco calls over the wind. 

   “There’s three Weasleys in our vicinity, Draco, you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific.”

   “Ron. Has Ron spotted the Snitch?”

   You glance over your shoulder. “No, he still looks like he doesn’t know where he is.”

   “Oh, good.” Draco speeds up then; you cling onto his waist, keeping your eyes firm on Charlie up ahead. “What have you got planned, Weasley?”

   “Give me a minute.” You push yourself up using Draco’s shoulders; your boyfriend cries out, averting his eyes from the path ahead to look up at you as you balance on the back of his broom, a trick Fred and George taught you when you were only little.

    “What are you doing?” Draco yells, reaching round with one hand to grab your knees. “You’re gonna fall!”

   “Just keep flying straight!”

   “Oh my-”

  Charlie tries to whizz past, knowing full well what you’re planning to do - he’s seen this trick a million times before, has always claimed it to be cheating. In your eyes, you can’t really cheat if you’re nothing more than a bystander.

   And that’s what drives you to leap forward and crash onto the back of Charlie’s broom.

   In the background, you can hear Draco cursing, his own broom swerving left and right before he manages to get it together and spin back around. Ron is laughing. Charlie is fuming.

   “Get off!” your older brother exclaims. “You said you wouldn’t do that!”

  “Give Draco a chance,” you say through giggles, before you slam your hands into the front of Charlie’s broom, directing it to the floor. Charlie yells out your name, thrashing against your hands, but this is something you’ve been doing from the age of eleven, when Fred and George figured out they could use their younger sibling to their advantage, despite the fact you can’t actually fly a broom yourself.

    Charlie’s broom crashes to the floor and the two of you roll off it. You scramble up and sprint to the far side of the yard before Charlie can grab your foot and pull you back down for a scolding. 

    It’s with the professional on the ground that Draco is able to snatch the Snitch right out from under Ron’s nose. You cheer when Draco holds the golden ball in the air, jumping and clapping in your excitement. 

    “That was cheating!” Ron yells.

   “I said that, mate,” Charlie calls back, but neither you nor Draco are listening. Draco comes back to the ground, stumbles off his broom and rushes towards you, the Snitch still in his hand. You jump into his arms, giving him a hug as he laughs heartily in your ear.

   “That’s one way to win a Quidditch match,” he says. “Don’t do that again, though. Nearly gave me a bloody heart attack when you stood up.”

  You pull away, keeping your arms around his neck. “Aw, were you worried about me?”

    Draco scowls. “I’ll push you off the broom next time.”

  You chuckle and press your lips to his. He melts in that way he only seems to when it’s you he’s melting into, his arm tightening on your waist, the other pressing the Snitch against your neck. 

     “Oh, bloody hell, Y/N-”

   You pull away from Draco just as your mother appears in front of you, red-faced and furious. 

    “AND HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO STOP DIVING BETWEEN BROOMS? DO YOU WANT TO GET YOURSELF KILLED? HONESTLY, CHARLIE COULD HAVE DIED! Oh, hello Draco, dear - would you like some toast?” 

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

As Far As Friends Go

This was kind of a transition chapter so cred’s to the show for the dialogue I used. But buckle up, shits really gonna go down next chapter.

Chapter 14 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12; Chapter 13)

Nixon - June 1944

The drop into Normandy was perilous. Just as Nixon had feared, nothing seemed to go as planned. It was as if the Germans were waiting for them to arrive based off of how much fire they experienced. Nixon, like most of the men, missed his drop zone but he was lucky enough to quickly link up with Battalion headquarters. It was a chaotic couple of first days in France as the airborne got situated in relation to the troops on the beach. Early into their arrival, Winters and the available Easy Company men took down some German guns. This not only saved a number of lives on the beaches but produced a map detailing German artillery positions. Looking at it, Nixon realized how important it could be. It couldn’t wait, so he decided to run to Utah beach to hand the map over to the higher ups who could do something with it. The run to Utah was only three miles, no worse than he had experienced during training. He was grateful though that Command decided to send the first two tanks that landed in to aid the 101st, thus providing Nixon with a ride.

He greeted Winters with a cheeky smile when he returned to the assembly area. “Going my way?”

Winters tossed his gun up for Nixon to catch, “sure.”

The men bunkered down for the night, scrounging for what food and beds they could find. The Battalion was on the move by June 8th on their way to take Carentan. As according to plan, the 101st forced passage into Carentan on June 10th and 11th. The days were hot and muggy, barely cooling down at night for the men dressed in heavy uniforms and equipment. Bugs were everywhere and exhaustion was setting in. Finally, they encountered the Germans. On June 12th the German’s were forced to withdraw and it seemed like victory was theirs. But Nixon was suspicious. Surely the Germans wouldn’t give up such an important position so easily; and he was right. On June 13th the 17th SS PzG Division counter-attacked. Thankfully, the U.S. 2nd Armored Division came in for support.

When Nixon returned to Battalion headquarters with news of their victory he found that Emily had finally arrived.

“Emily!” he wanted nothing more than to hug her in that moment. The last week had been exhausting. It was such a comfort to see her.

“Miss me?” she grinned up at him. Her smile was like a shot of morphine, he immediately felt his muscles relax. “You look a mess,” she shook her head.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, we’ve only been taking Carentan.”

“Congratulations,” she said, “did you like the tanks I sent you?”

Nixon looked at her flabbergasted. Then slowly, through the haze of his fatigue, he realized she was messing with him. “Ha ha. It would’ve been impressive if you had.”

“Yeah I wish, unfortunately I’m not that powerful yet.”

Nixon slung his arm around her neck, “no but I bet you know where to find me some food.”

Despite his exhaustion, Nixon didn’t sleep well those final weeks in Normandy. Instead, his alcohol intake increased. He had to re-fill his flask every day, sometimes topping it off throughout the day. He would need to replenish his stores soon. But no one anticipated how long they would actually be fighting in Normandy. In fact, the 101st had expected to be relieved much sooner. Strayer kept asking for patrols as the allies attempted to inch their way closer and closer to Germany.

Twenty-five days after D-Day Nixon was sent out on a patrol with Harry Welsh. It was a reconnaissance mission so Nixon was required to go. What they were looking for he wasn’t sure. The regiment had exhausted their knowledge of the German’s position in the area so any new piece of information could serve as an advantage.

Nixon peered through a pair of binoculars from where he and Welsh sat in the brush approximately 100 yards from a run down building. “We need to know what’s in there,” Nixon said.

“I don’t know who the hell to send,” Welsh said.


“Ask for volunteers.”

“I hate asking for volunteers.”

Nixon gave Welsh a pointed look, “then pick them.”

Blithe, Martin, and Dukeman moved in towards the abandoned manor. The rest of the paratroopers sat hidden in the grass behind Nixon. As they waited for Blithe and the others to get into position Nixon spotted something poking out of Welsh’s backpack.


“Harry, what exactly are you doing with your reserve chute? You been hauling that thing around since we jumped?”

Welsh sucked his teeth, slightly embarrassed he said, “gonna send it to Kitty when we get back to England. Silk, figure it’ll make a good wedding dress, ya know, what with the rationing and all.”

Nixon broke view of where the trio was moving in towards the manor to laugh at Welsh, “jeez Harry, I never would’ve guessed.”

“What? That I’m so sentimental?”

“No, that you think we’re going to make it back to England.” Nixon peered through his binoculars again. His mind flashed to Emily as he watched the men crouch down behind an upturned cart. Bad news, he thought. He had suspected for a while now that Emily may have feelings for Welsh, a man who clearly was intending on marrying his betrothed. No matter how much he flirted, Welsh wouldn’t have bothered lugging that extra chute around if he wasn’t serious about Kitty. Bad news for Emily. Suddenly, a shot rang out.

“Covering fire! Covering fire!” Welsh shouted. Martin and Dukeman pulled a downed Blithe back behind the line. They passed Nixon who saw the blood gushing from the young man’s throat before Doc Roe got to him.

“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Welsh commanded.

Winters moved up from behind, “what happened?”

“Sniper,” Nixon said coming up to him.

Winters couldn’t take his eyes off the bleeding Blithe, “they’re pulling us off the front line.”

“Now?” Nixon demanded.

Winters turned to him, “to a field camp north of Utah beach. Hot food, and showers.”

With a last mournful look at Blithe, Nixon turned away to head back. Great fucking timing, he raged to himself.

Emily was at the camp surrounded by intelligence staff and nurses, who were busy at work tending the masses of wounded men.


“Nix?” her voice was gentle when he entered the intelligence tent.

“Couldn’t have let us know a little bit sooner? Sent the runner just a few minutes earlier?” he demanded.



“What are you talking about?”

“We were on a patrol and some kid is probably gonna lose his life because that information came a few minutes too late! I sent them in there, I told them to check it out but turns out we didn’t need to!” Nixon pounded his fist on one of the tables.

“Lewis I didn’t know, that information didn’t come from me.”

“You’re intelligence staff! You’re meant to know!”

“I’m not intelligence staff like you are! I’m no S-2,” Emily shouted back, “no one tells me anything!”

Nixon paced the room trying to calm down, “okay, okay,” he leveled his hands on the desk, “I’m sorry. I just -,”

“It’s fine, I’m sorry too,” Emily stood across the table from him, looking small in the dim light of the tent. “I do know one thing,” she said. He looked up, waiting for her to continue, “we’re going back to England.”

“Right, great.” And he stormed out of the tent onto the beach.

His insomnia didn’t improve even knowing that they were going back to a relatively safe zone. It was impossible to sleep with the sounds of men crying out all around and bodies held together by gauze and tape only paces away. Naturally, the night before they were meant to leave, Nixon couldn’t sleep. He grabbed his flask and made his way towards the dunes on the far side of the camp.

He plopped down on a ridge into a bed of marsh grass, the coarse tendrils tickling his wrists and neck. Nixon closed his eyes and inhaled. The whiskey he had guzzled earlier that night had seeped pleasingly through his veins. The summer air blew across the salty water cooling the sweat where it pooled around his collarbone and lower back. It was so peaceful. If it weren’t for the peppering of tents barely visible against the night sky, Nixon could have pretended he was there on holiday and not for a war.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a lean figure making its way up the dune towards him. Nixon braced himself for the quiet wisdom of Winters. However, the figure failed to grow as it approached him, only reaching a height of about 5′5″. The silhouette revealed itself to be Emily, dressed in another pair of slightly oversized O.D.s.

“What?” Nixon barked at her.

“I saw you pass by,” Emily dropped down beside him, bumping his arm on her way down. Disgruntled, Nixon scooted over slightly.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Why aren’t you?” Emily retorted.

“Couldn’t.”



“Same here.”

Quiet fell between them, a comfortable quiet but Nixon could sense Emily wanted to say more. Finally, her lips parted and she said, “it’s not something you can get over.”

“What?”



“Seeing the men like that.” Emily searched his face in the dark for any reaction. Nixon stared straight ahead. “It’s disturbing and not something anyone should ever have to witness.”

Nixon licked his lips to speak, but all that came out was, “yeah.”

Emily paused, then reached for his flask. She pulled it from his grasp and took a swig, “It’s over for now. We have to find comfort in that.”

“Right, some comfort in that,” he took the flask back for another drink. They sat there side by side listening to the waves crash against the shoreline. As the night waned on, Emily began to doze off. Her head fell to rest on his shoulder. Nixon considered waking her to walk her back to her tent but then decided against it. He didn’t want to disturb her. If she woke up now who knew if she would be able to fall asleep again. Besides, he enjoyed sharing a little sliver of the world with her in that moment. A sliver that was simple and not perverted by violence.

When the sun rose, she stirred and they both made their way back to their tents for a desperate last few hours of sleep before they were to ship off. As Nixon was boarding the ship he saw Emily standing on the Mulberry harbor hugging a dark, thin woman dressed in a nurses uniform. The woman brushed wild hairs away from Emily’s forehead then pressed something into her hand. Nixon couldn’t help but wonder what that exchange had been about. Out of curiosity, he met Emily at the gangway.

 “Who was that?” he asked.

“Hm?” Emily pulled a paper wrapped candy out of her pocket.

“Who was that woman you were talking to? A nurse?”

“Oh yeah, that’s my friend Marwa.”

“I didn’t know you had female friends.”

Emily rolled her eyes and popped the candy into her mouth.

“What was that?” Nixon pointed to her mouth.

“Ginger candy, you want one?” Emily offered him a candy and Nixon accepted, beginning to feel like his old self again standing next to her.

[octalove]

Back Then

(Batsis/Jason Todd/Dick Grayson)

Description: Reader’s little brother is having some trouble adjusting to his new life. Sad toward the end.

The sun was bashfully hiding behind some thin gray clouds, not unusual for any given afternoon. Leaning against my still-warm black Maybach 57, I tried not to grow impatient. “Maybe he joined an after school activity.” Dick mumbled through the Twix bar I’d picked up for him at the vending machine during lunch. He was sitting in the front seat, with the window rolled down, listening to Adele. I rolled my eyes, knowing full well that Jason Peter Todd would rather be skinned than join an after school activity. Still, though, Gotham Preparatory School for Boys had let out eleven minutes ago, and most of the other boys had gotten into their parent’s cars and sped away to their uptown abodes. Dick and I had come straight from Gotham Academy, punctual as usual, so as to avoid a folly of disapproving glares from dad and Alfred at dinner tonight. Where the hell was that kid?

“Maybe he ran away. Joined the circus.” Dick tried again. “Maybe I’m gonna put you in a circus.” “Back in a circus.” He corrected with a grin. Finally, at 4:15, Jason emerged from the school’s artfully carved wooden doors. His head was bowed, dark hair sticking up in all different directions, brow furrowed. He looked small in his school uniform, plaid socks and disheveled blazer. He hugged a book to his chest. A leathery hand lay on his shoulder, attached to a spindly man in his late 50’s, with receding salt and pepper hair, and golden oval glasses perched on his beak-like nose. I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms, and upon spotting me, the man turned pale as a ghost, just as Jason looked up to reveal a purple bruise under his eye. He snapped his gaze back down. Dick quickly assessed the situation as well, and hopped out of the car, standing equal to me at a solid 5’8, but with all the toned muscle of a gymnast since walking age. We were about to play good cop bad cop- me, the polite, sophisticated elder sister who didn’t want to involve her egregiously powerful father, unless provoked by lack of cooperation, and Dick, the ill-tempered 15-year-old brother ready to raise hell if he didn’t get a good idea of what the fuck happened.

“Headmaster Ellison.” I said tersely, smoothing out my Gotham Academy uniform. I was thoroughly familiar with him from Dick’s days at the prep school- he’d called him Headmaster Hellison, and had a catalogue of grievances as long as his list of unfinished assignments.

“Ah, Miss Wayne. You look lovely today.” I had to steel my face into something vaguely agreeable, because even though it appeared he was the one afraid of me, I was 17 and in a schoolgirl skirt, and something about getting complimented by old men always skeeved me.

“What happened?” I cut right to the point, deciding small talk might soften my resolve, and I was in the mood for this to piss me off.

“Well, you see, we had a small incident today-“

“It’s okay! Can we go home?” Jason piped up abruptly and nervously, eyes pleading with me to let it go. Unfortunately, Waynes skewed toward long grudges.

“Come here, let me see.” I said more softly. Stiffly, Jason trudged across the neatly cut grass, still avoiding my eye. The bruise itself wasn’t bad, but I could tell it had just begun to bloom.

The Headmaster cleared his throat. “Jason has been encountering some problems with some of the other boys. This wouldn’t be the first incident, but it did escalate this time-“

“Not the first incident?” I clipped.

“It never got physical before, just some small verbal altercations that we easily handled.”

“Obviously they weren’t handled.” It was Dick’s turn to interrupt. It always struck me how he could make his voice go from lazily playful to stark and authoritative, biting off words almost as effectively as dad. Who needed Batman and Robin when Y/N Wayne and Dick Grayson were on the case?

“Please, can we just go? I’m okay, honest.” Jason begged, grabbing my hand and tugging just a little. His bronzed face was all swollen and puffy- not just from the fight. I could tell his eyes were rimmed with red. But he looked at me with all the determination and bravado of a street rat from Gotham, and my heart always bled for him in that regard. I sighed.

“Well, I have violin practice here shortly, Headmaster Ellison, so I’m going to take my brother home,” I bit off the brother part with a special zeal to emphasize that Jason Todd, no matter his name or background, was a Wayne, and I was his reminder. “And my father will be calling this evening to handle it once he gets off work.” Work that includes being able to liquidize this whole school right into his bank account in the time it takes to send an email.

“Get in, Jason.” I said. He did.

After a silent ride home, in which Dick tried to coax the full story out of an increasingly moody Jason, we arrived back at the manor whereupon I briefed Alfred, concerned, supportive, and called dad, exasperated, quiet. I let my little brother stew in his room until later that night, when I finally got tired of waiting him out and knocked on the door.

“Jaybird.” I cooed softly.

“…”

“Jay. If I open this door and you’re not there, I will set up the largest manhunt this city has ever witnessed.”

“I’m okay.” A quiet voice called back, sounding annoyed.

“May I come in?” I asked.

“…”

“…”

“Ok.”

I cracked the door open. He was balled up in his window nook, engrossed in a book. The room was dark, and he was reading with a flashlight, which was really unnecessary because he had about a dozen lamps, including a really cool lava lamp that Dick had gotten him. He’d changed out of his uniform and into pants and a hoodie, his hood pulled over with the strings pulled taut. He glanced down at the keys in my hand, narrowing his eyes.

“Come on.” I said.

“Where?”

“You haven’t eaten since you got home, kiddo.” His gaze fell askance. When it came to Jason, food was the way to ensure the answer was yes, whatever the question was.

“Can you bring me back something?” He grumbled quietly after a moment. I shook my head.

“I’m going to Sherman’s. Dine in only. One time offer.” I said with a smile. He frowned.

“I don’t wanna talk to Bruce.”

“Bruce isn’t coming. Just you and me. And we don’t even have to talk.” After some consideration, he pulled himself from his nook and brushed past me on his way out. I grinned to myself. Too easy.

Sherman’s Diner was the finest restaurant experience in Gotham City. The reflection of the neon lights skewed across puddles which danced with the drizzling rain. Fuchsia, cyan, lime green, red. Cracked white tiles and a sign with Sherman himself; a little plump chef man who, despite his jovial countenance and enthusiastic smile, appeared to be weeping tears of rust. Inside, the floor was unswept, the tables a bit sticky from all the no-show teenage staff of the payroll, and one of the lights above a lonely booth flickered. Jason loved it. The waitresses loved him.

“Come on in and sit down, hun, we’ll get ya some coffee!” A blonde woman called from behind the counter. One thing about Gothamites and Diners, black coffee was a 24/7 ordeal; 9pm on a school night was no exception. I let Jason pick the booth- he usually went for the same one, creature of habit that he was. We slid into the cool, torn red leather and neither of us needed to look at the menu. We sipped our coffees quietly for a while- Jason pretending to like it because it was the worldly thing to do. He’d never admit that he only started after he saw that dad and I always passed on sugar and cream.

It seemed our little evening standoff was going to bleed into the night. I took it as an opportunity to show him how patient I could be when necessary. The waitress- Darcy- set down a small slice of Oreo cake on the table. For him. Finally, he sighed, taking a bite of it.

“I hate school.” He mumbled.

“The school? Or the kids?” He didn’t answer. “What happened, Jay? Last week you loved school.”

“I like English.” He offered.

“Jason.” I said, leaning forward and folding my hands on the table. Food hadn’t worked. Patience was out the window. It was time to apply pressure. “If you don’t tell me who hit you, I, on my honor as a Wayne, am obligated to track down every snotty little boy who ever set foot in Gotham Prep and hit their snotty little faces to see how they like it.”

Jason’s lips tugged into a smile, which he fought, and eventually lost. So he hid it behind his cake. But after a minute, his smile fell. Something else crossed his face and he looked out the window.

“I hit first.” He said quietly. Solemnly. I blinked at him, surprised.

“You did?”

“Yeah. Jared Mullins. I hit him first.”

“Why?”

He sniffed, furrowing his brow to try and fool me into believing he was something tougher than a ten year old boy. Maybe he was. Tougher than the likes of whoever the hell Jared Mullins was. “He said…”

I waited.

“He said I was poor. Said I don’t belong at the school. That Bruce only took me in cause he felt sorry for me.”

“Sounds like he deserved to get hit.” I sipped my coffee. He didn’t smile again. A beat passed in its place.

“I don’t know why I hit him.”

“Because it was a stupid thing to say.” He shook his head.

“That’s not it. He was right.”

My heart fluttered in my chest. “Jason! The fuck he was. You know that’s not true.” Alfred would’ve been appalled to have me cuss in front of him, as if it wasn’t a large majority of his vocabulary since before he came to the manor.

“You don’t get it.” He said, eyes glued to the rain on the window. “You’re his daughter. His real daughter.”

“And Dick isn’t his real son?” Dick was usually the one to advise him when his legitimacy came into question, not me. Because in truth, I didn’t understand. Jason didn’t answer the question. A plate of chicken tenders and fries appeared, but they went untouched.

“Look at me please.” He did.

“It doesn’t matter that you’re not dad’s real son. And it definitely doesn’t matter that Jared whoever the hell thinks so or not. Dad took you in because of who you are, and everything you’re going to be. You belong in this family and wherever else you go, because you’re worthy of everything Gotham has to offer- and more.”

Jason’s face crumpled a little before he composed himself, blinking fast and wrestling with the emotion. He didn’t say thanks, but that was thanks enough.

“Hey. Did you see how scared Headmaster Hellison was?” I asked smugly.

A small smile. “Yeah.”

“That’s because you’re one of us. And we scare the piss out of people like him and Jared Mullins. Cause we’re a damn good family.”

Jason smiled at me. “Yeah. I guess we are.”

*

People like us

I watched- all I could do was watch. There was no way in hell I could stop him. The Jason that stood before me was 6’3 and impenetrable. Even if I thought I could get the gun from his hand, I wasn’t going to save anyone. The only thing about himself he kept when he drug himself out of the grave was his stubborn conviction. Anyone he wanted dead would wind up that way.

Scare the piss out of people like him.

The man let out a guttural, desperate noise as he tried to crawl away, pale as a ghost as Jason stood over him. He was a criminal, to be sure, but not one willing to die for his trade. Evidently, that wasn’t enough.

Cause we’re a damn good family.

“Red Hood! Stand down, now.” Batman’s voice snarled, echoing off of the concrete walls and floor. I flinched. Jason didn’t. A single shot, blood spatter, all the rest. His red monochrome helmet was on the ground, black hair all mussed and disheveled from the fight. A bruise was blooming under his eye.

His gaze flicked up, landing on me. Any trace, any remnant of my brother was gone. The man who came back was a dejected, solemn thing, who carried this dark look in his eye and looked like he could eat me whole. I tried to convey something to him with my eyes. It didn’t appear to take effect.

“You’re late to the party.” His voice rumbled in his chest, and he turned his attention to Batman.

I tried not to let my voice shake as I stepped forward.

“We’re here now.” I said.

His jaw clenched at the sound of my voice. Something grim passed his features.

“Yeah. I guess we are.”

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Shaken

Chapter 2

Summary: MK wakes up in the hospital. If there's one thing he knows, it's that he's got to get away.

Trigger Warnings: hospital, referenced abuse, mentioned death

2990 words

“—just started freaking out—”

“—swear, if this is more monkey madness you’re putting him through—”

“—not.”

Words and voices faded in and out. What was going on? His head felt like it was going to explode. Everything was fuzzy, and he hadn’t even opened his eyes yet.

Come to think of it, he probably shouldn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want them to know he was awake.

MK fought to keep his breathing even, just barely suppressing a groan.

He hadn’t escaped.

He was in the “hospital”, no doubt, completely surrounded by those fake shells of his friends. He had to get out of here.

“—think he’s waking up!”

“—id! Kid, can you hear me?”

Shit. They knew he was awake. There was no getting out of this. 

He fluttered his eyes open, sitting up with great difficulty.

“MK? How are you feeling?” Fake Tang asked. He looked so real, too.

MK scanned the room as subtly as he could. The door wasn’t blocked. He had to make a run for it. It was a long shot, but if he could just get to his staff, then he could get out of here. But it was so far away.

Pretend Monkey King took a step closer, reaching out a hand to put on MK’s shoulder — or to kill him.

“Don’t touch me!” he demanded.

“Oh, kid—”

He scrambled off the bed and onto the opposite side, nearly collapsing entirely at the immediate searing pain that came from it. He’d forgotten about his leg.

“Shit, kid, sit back down!” Not-Pigsy said, like he was panicking and genuinely worried for MK’s safety and well-being.

As they advanced on him, MK backed away, using the wall for support. He had to get away.

He made it to the door, but immediately bumped into something — or someone. He turned around, stifling a pained gasp at the action. Pretend Sandy was there, almost totally blocking the doorway.

He looked back behind him, terror growing as he saw the concern etched on his not-friends faces. It looked so real, and that only made it worse.

He had to get out of here.

He faked left. As predicted, not-Sandy followed.  MK quickly changed his direction, sliding past him and making a break for it down the hall.

The violent burning crawling up his leg was, quite literally, his downfall.  His leg gave out, and he was sent sprawling to the floor, and then he was being surrounded, by nurses and his friends alike, and then… he didn’t remember much, after that.

He woke up again in the same blindingly white hospital room. It felt like he was missing more than he knew he was.

This time, he was alone.

Hope soared in his chest. If he wasn’t being watched, he could get out! He went to sit up, but was stopped short by straps that were holding him down. 

“No,” he begged, tugging on them desperately. “No!”

He was trapped. Done for. They were going to kill him, and there would be nothing he could do about it.

Oh god, he was sure now that they’d make it extra slow and painful. Of course they would. They had to despise him, by now.

He heard someone approaching from the other side of the door, and immediately, he went limp, pretending to be asleep again.

The door opened.

“Oh, bud…” he heard pretend-Monkey-King say. “You’re gonna be okay.” they must have known MK was awake. There was no other reason they’d be spewing this bullshit. Maybe they could watch him even without a human puppet around.

MK couldn’t take it any longer. “Just drop it,” he said, staring numbly at the ceiling. “You don’t have to act anymore. The jig has been up for a long time.” he blinked back the tears that were pushing at his eyes. “So, who am I talking to? Jin or Yin? Or both? I don’t know how this Calabash shit works.”

MK couldn’t see not-Monkey King’s reaction to that. He just kept staring at the ceiling, blinking away his tears. His head was beginning to hurt.

“Those bastards? You think—? Oh, MK…”

Oh, great, now they were playing from this angle. When would they just give it up? He knew it was them.

“I don’t think. I know.”

“Oh, come on, bud, you don’t really think they could replicate my stunningly good looks, do you?”

In spite of himself, MK laughed. That was just like his mentor.

Monkey King smiled. “Really, bud, it’s me. Wukong.”

MK glared at the ceiling. “Nice try. The real one wasn’t… I wouldn’t have called the real one by that name.” he never had before. The demons clearly hadn’t done enough research.

Pretend Monkey King’s confusion was so fake it hurt. “What do you mean?”

“We’re not that close, you know. Hell, I doubt he even actually knows my name. Just — god. Kill me. Don’t try to make me believe it’s really them. Just get it over with!”

“Dammit, MK, we’re not going to kill you!”

“Whatever.”

For a moment, fake Monkey King looked genuinely upset. He sighed. “Get some rest, kid.”

And then he left.

MK spent the next few minutes in silence, struggling to get out of the restraints. But they were tough. Fucking hell. 

But he didn’t give up. He couldn’t afford to. He had to get out of them, he had to get home, to his real friends. How long had he been in here, anyway? Pigsy would probably be pissed at him for missing work.

The door opened, and this time, it was the fake version of Mei. He didn’t even get the chance to wonder what she wanted before she spoke.

“Ask me something,” she demanded. “Monkey King told us what you think is going on, so ask me something. Something only you and I would know.”

Oh, so they could make it all worse by making him see just how much they knew about him? Hard pass.

At his lack of reply, Mei began to talk. “We’ve known each other since we were 13. Pigsy took you in a year or two after that. Your favorite season of Monkey King: the animated series is season 8, because you think whatshisname is hot.”

Okay, sue him, he had a thing for redheads! But that wasn’t important right now. “So what? Anyone could find out stuff like that!”

Mei huffed, continuing on. “Your favorite coping mechanism used to be writing fic about Monkey King adopting you. You wrote one of the biggest fics in the fandom ever.”

“And? That’s not that hard to figure out!”

Mei looked like she was about to scream. “Your parents were bad people.”

MK, who had been struggling, immediately went still.

“They were bad people, and they were even worse parents. You told me not to go after them, even after you got kicked out. Because you’re too good to have ever even considered it. What else do you want from me, MK? When you defeated DBK—”

MK had to admit, he’d almost begun to believe her. “You almost had me there,” he admitted, “I don’t know how the hell you found out about any of that, but if you didn’t notice, the DBK thing didn’t work last time either.”

“...What?”

“Oh my god, I’m not that dumb. I would remember locking away DBK if it had really happened.”

“But… it did?”

“Yeah, sure. I really did lock away the entire Demon Bull family, yeah. And Tang and Pigsy have some weird gay relationship going on, and Mo can just talk now, and Sandy is hosting romantic river cruises, of all things. And you,” he said, forcing down the vomit. “are in love with me!”

Mei made a face. “Ew! That’s disgusting. Wait, okay, I think I have one. What if I tell you what MK stands for? Then will you believe it’s me?”

MK rolled his eyes. Nobody knew what MK really stood for but the real Mei. Even demons would have a hard time figuring it out. Hopefully.

“Whatever.” 

They were probably bluffing, anyway.

His name, what MK really stood for, was a nearly perfectly kept secret. Especially in… recent times.

“MK stands for Monkey King, “because he’s like, my hero! And doesn’t MK have this super cool and kinda mysterious edge to it?” she replied, imitating him badly and hardly missing a beat. “And, even though you think it’s a super cool name, you’re embarrassed about it, and keep it to yourself.”

MK glared at her. “I don’t know how you heard that—”

“What will get you to believe me?” she begged.

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing! I’m not falling for this bullshit again!”

“Ask me something! Anything! Please.”

MK thought for a moment. There was maybe one thing he could think of that they wouldn’t know. Something real. Something they would have no reason to. 

He sighed, weighing it over in his mind. There was no downside, he supposed. “What did you say when I first told you about… me?”

Again, Mei didn’t even need a moment to think. “I told you that I was really happy that you were comfortable telling me, and that I would love to take you shopping sometime to get you some better clothes, and then I demanded to know where your father lived so that I could scoop his eyes out with a plastic spoon, because he doesn’t deserve to even be able to lay eyes on you. And then I said I would keep him alive, but only barely, because an asshole like that deserves to suffer.”

MK’s blood went cold. It was too oddly specific, and had happened years ago. There was no way they could have known. Which could only mean…

“Mei?”

“Yes!” she cried, nodding frantically. 

He couldn’t help himself, the tears he’d been so desperate to hold back earlier finally beginning to fall. “It’s really you?”  he sniffled.

Mei nodded. “It is, I swear.”

Carefully, she wrapped him in a hug. It felt so nice and comforting. For a moment, MK just let himself be swept away by it.

Until the door opened.

He pushed Mei away gently, wiping his eyes furiously. 

“You uh… feeling alright, bud?” Monkey King… the real one…? asked.

“I’m okay.”

It was real. Pigsy and Tang, they were both real. And Sandy, and Monkey King, and Mei. God, he was so stupid.

“So… you thought you were in some evil magical illusion? Why?” Sandy asked.

“Because I was there before, and—” MK cut himself off. “Wait, no, this is still wrong. I would remember defeating DBK. That never happened.” But they knew — but he also would have remembered — he didn’t know what to believe. Oh god. How was he supposed to know for sure? How was he supposed to be confident in his decision? What was he supposed to do?

The others shared a look.

“You defeated them weeks ago,” Tang said, slowly.

“In like, April,” Mei added.

“It’s March,” MK corrected, his breathing picking up.

“It’s definitely May,” Pigsy said.

“I don’t… but…” MK took a deep breath, trying to ground himself. He didn’t feel so good. His head hurt so bad. He wanted it to stop.

His eyes were hurting, too. Was the world always so covered in little black spots?

“MK?” someone asked, their voice a thousand miles away. “Are you alright?”

The darkness fully overtook his vision, and MK didn’t have the chance to answer.

———

“—kill you, monkey asshole—”

“—do I have to do with this?”

“—our kid a — concussion!”

“—my fault?”

MK groaned, feeling faintly like he was going to vomit. He didn’t try to sit up, this time.

“MK, how are you?”

He eyed his maybe-friends warily. “Trying to figure out if I’m being tricked.”

“Yeah, about that. You’ve got a concussion, kiddo.”

Well, that was a lousy excuse. “I didn’t even hit my head,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Try again.”

“What about that earthquake earlier?” Sandy offered.

“That lasted for like, ten seconds.” Not even. It had been over before it had even actually begun. They needed to try harder than this to fool him. He’d almost fallen for their lies the last time he’d been awake. He couldn’t risk it happening again.

“It definitely lasted for longer than that,” Pigsy said.

“No?”

“Yeah?”

“I bet that’s what happened, then. You hit yourself on the head during the earthquake, forget some important shit — I mean, stuff — gave yourself a concussion, and then you went on a quest that I like to call how badly can I scare my parentals?” Pigsy said, all but yelling by the time he was done with his explanation.

Out of all of that, MK couldn’t help but hone in on one part of it. “...parentals?”

Mei sighed. “You’ve forgotten a lot.”

MK looked at her for a long moment. He still just wasn’t totally convinced. But if there was one thing he knew Yin and Jin would jump at, it was this. One last try. “You know what? I changed my mind. I am in love with you.”

“I — what the fuck, MK?” Mei asked, looking sick at the thought.

“Oh, thank god,” he said, sighing in relief. “Okay, I believe you now.”

Thinking about it, he supposed it all made sense. It didn’t make it much less disturbing, though. In fact, the growing sense of horror he was getting was almost worse than thinking he was inside the Calabash.

But god, it had all been so obvious. Besides the initial earthquake, there had been nothing else like it the entire day. No glitches, no inconsistencies, no random people surrounding him and insisting that this  was completely and totally perfect. Yin and Jin would have probably jumped at the chance to gloat once he’d initially figured it out, too.

In short, MK was just… really fucking stupid. 

Shit, it was really hitting him now. He must have seemed absolutely fucking crazy all day. Especially considering he’d never told anybody about his first experience in the Calabash.

His friends really had been concerned about him. And with good reason. To them, he’d just lost his mind out of nowhere.

He’d attacked them. He’d actually landed a hit on Mei. He’d been so sure that they weren’t really them. Oh god.

He couldn’t breathe.

He was so stupid. He’d freaked out over nothing, and had very obviously put his friends through enormous stress. All because of a little paranoia that had snowballed into — well. This.

He’d gotten a fucking concussion, broken something in his leg, he’d attacked Mei, he’d fought with everything in him against the people who were only trying to protect him. And all he had in response was to try to hurt them.

He was an idiot.

“C’mere, bud,” Monkey King said, crouching down beside the bed and wrapping MK in this sort of embrace that was all warm and soft and fuzzy. It was so comforting and nice, and probably more than he deserved. “I’ve got you.”

From the other side of the bed, Mei leaned over, hugging MK from behind.

The others, to the best of their ability with the limited space the hospital bed provided, joined in, however uncomfortably.

It was like being completely cocooned in warmth and love. 

They… still wanted him around.

He’d completely flipped shit for no reason, had attacked them and screamed at them and done everything in his power to get away, but they still wanted him around. He’d been so sure they would be disappointed in him, would be angry that he’d fought them so viciously, or even hate him.

But if this was anything to go by, they didn’t.

In fact, he’d never felt so safe.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Tang assured from somewhere to his left.

For the first time in the last day (two days? more?), he actually believed it. His friends were real, they weren’t out to end him, and the danger, for the most part, was gone.

The Demon Bull family was gone, locked away under a mountain. Jin and Yin had nothing to do with it, this time.

Also, Pigsy had willingly referred to himself as MK’s parent figure, and wow was that strange.

Strange, but not unwelcome. 

And, if the day’s interactions were anything to go by, it seemed like Monkey King didn’t just tolerate him, but actually… actually cared about him?

He wondered if he’d felt that way at the point in time where MK’s memory stopped.

It was startling to know that everyone else in the room was much better informed about… well, everything, than him. They knew about thoughts and feelings he’d had that he didn’t even recall experiencing. They knew about his greatest battle, about how his relationship with all of them had developed in that time, all of it.

And he didn’t.

There was an uncomfortable gaping hole in his mind that he hadn’t even known was there. He felt sort of… naked without it. Like he’d run to work without his pants on and for some reason or another, couldn’t get back up to grab a pair.

His stupid brain was locking the door so that he couldn’t retrieve his pants.

But it would be okay. Something deep within him told him it would be. Or maybe it was the pile of people crowding around him in a group-hug, who knew. Probably a little bit of both.

But really, he was somehow certain that it would work out. He would regain his memory, and in the meantime, the others could fill him in on everything that he’d missed.

It was all going to be fine. It would take some adjusting, and it would be hard, but they still wanted him around. That was, in of itself, a miracle.

“Wait, does this mean he doesn’t remember that Tang and Pigsy are together?”

“What?”

[idnek83]

ok so i have a really niche souda head canon based loosely on the song ode to the bouncers by the studio killers, there was a club like down the block from his house and when his dad would leave him locked out or when he got beat up or when he just needed a break he’d always try and get in to the club, and after years of doing it he’s grown to be like freinds with the bouncers that work outside the club, some of them just think he’s annoying but there is this one who is basically his (pt.1)

(pt.2) who is basically his new father figure, he’ll let souda in after the club has closed and if he’s beat up bad he’ll bandage him up and it just means a lot to souda knowing that at the end of the day there is at least one person who is looking out for him, i also think the bouncer kinda helps souda relaize it’s ok to be into guys and when he starts dating gundham he brings him to meet him instead of his dad and he gives gundham a little shovel talk

Edit: You can all thank @froggish-lesbian for this wonderful au!

FOUND FAMILY! FOUND FAMILY! FOUND FAMILY!

The first time Soda shows up is like early summer, right after he changed up his look and his dad got super pissed about it. He’s like 15 and feeling cocky and tries like, just nodding casually to the bouncer and walking in, it’s probably future dad bouncer the first time too (I’m just gonna call him DB for dad bouncer lol). DB just like crosses his arms, stands in front of Soda and raises and eyebrow cus he’s so obviously underage that DB can’t even be mad. Soda tries putting on a low voice and is all ‘hey man, what’s the issue? I come here all the time’ and DB is just like ‘sure kid, try again once your balls drop’ and Soda tries to argue but his voice cracks and he’s mortified and DB just laughs until he leaves lol

The next time he shows up is probably like a month or two later and there’s a different bouncer at the door. Soda tries the same thing but gets stopped again, but this time it’s a lady so he tries to flirt his way in. The lady bouncer just humors him for a minute then is like “hmm, one second sweetheart” and Soda is like ‘oh shit it worked’ cus she’s like looking around and he thinks it’s to make sure no one is watching, but then se waves someone over and, lo and behold, it’s DB. Lady bouncer is like “Is this that kid you were talking about” and they both start laughing and Soda just leaves cus he knows he’s not gonna get with DB there.

The third time isn’t so light hearted. It’s a really cold Fall evening and Soda shows up with a black eye and several other bruises, obviously dirty and he’s slightly bent over because his dad bruised one of his ribs. Soda wasn’t really thinking he would get in, but he figured the injuries might stop anyone from asking so he’d give it a try. Once he’s close enough to see, which is pretty close thanks to the swelling around his eye, he can tell that the blurry silhouette at the door is DB so he just gives up, turning around and sitting on the curb while he thinks of where else he could go. DB is super alarmed and gets one of the other bouncers to cover for him so he can check on Soda. He comes up behind Soda and is like “Hey kid, you alright? Need me to call your parents for you or something?” and Soda just laughs bitterly and gestures to his face and says “Nah, dad is aware of the situation” and DB gets it and is just, boiling with rage. He tells Soda to hold on, and goes to tell the bar owner the situation. It’s like a week day and the bar is slow so the owner says Soda can hangout in the kitchen or something for a while if he needs to, and DB goes to get him. Soda’s just super confused and like “wait, but you know I’m underage? Why are you letting me in?” and DB’s like “1. A kid freezing to death outside the bar would be bad for business, 2. We’re still not gonna let you drink so don’t even try, and 3″ he sits soda down on a chair in the kitchen and looks him in the eye “I’ve been where you are before, and I get that sometimes you just need a place to wait out the worst of it for a few hours.” He like smiles and ruffles Soda’s hair and pretends not to notice when Soda starts crying a little.

After that Soda occasionally comes by just to try his luck with the various bouncers, but they know who he is, so even if he wasn’t so obviously underage, he’d have no hope of getting in for a drink. On nights where Soda’s dad is being violent, they let him in the back door to hang out in the kitchen till the morning, and he eventually starts killing time back there by fixing little things like leaks and whatnot as his way of saying thanks. They don’t really talk about his situation much, but eventually the whole staff knows about the pink haired kid with the shitty dad and none of them bat an eye when they find him sitting in the kitchen anymore.

Once he turns 16 the owner hires him on as a dish washer (not sure if that’s how it works in Japan, but 16 year olds were allowed to cook and clean in bars where I grew up so shhh work with me). He doesn’t really have regular hours and when he shows up the owner usually has him doing maintenance instead of dishes, but it gives them something to point to if people ever start wondering why there's a kid in the bar. DB is sure to check in with him occasionally (How’s school? You eating enough? Got yourself a special friend at school yet?) but never presses him about his dad.

One day Soda shows up and he’s really beat up again. DB and some of the other staff members talk it out and decide they could pool enough money together to get Soda a shitty apartment nearby. DB lets him know and Soda is incredibly grateful for the offer but declines (I don’t want to be in debt to you guys, besides, I’m getting better at getting out of the house before dad goes off, I was just being stupid today). DB is like “Okay little dude, if you’re sure. But there’s no expiration date on the offer. We’re here for you cus you’re part of the family now.” and Soda starts crying cus it’s been a long time since hes felt so loved and that’s probably the moment DB starts filing adoption papers in his head haha.

One day DB brings his husband to the bar for a date night and Soda’s mind is just blown because up until that moment he just thought every gay guy had to be super effeminate but DB and his husband are both buff as hell and super masc? He does a lot of thinking after that and probably has a couple conversations about it with DB where he thinks he’s being subtle but DB knows exactly what’s up and is super supportive of Soda exploring his sexuality without ever pressuring him to come out.

(The day Soda tells him he’s bi, DB is just so excited and he’s accidently calls Soda his son while telling him how proud he is of him. They both laugh it off and it becomes a joke around the bar that Soda is DB’s son from a fling he had way back before he realized he was gay)

When Soda brings Gundham to the bar and introduces him as his boyfriend the whole staff just loses their minds. Lot’s of them congratulate him on his new goth BF, but plenty of them are warning Gundham about what DB will do to him if he hurts Soda. Gundham is legitimately a little scared, and when Soda introduces DB as his “dad who isn’t shitty” Gundham is confused and terrified and just does his best to act polite. DB starts with the whole “If you ever hurt my son...” shovel talk thing but Soda eventually stops him, insisting that Gundham is a good guy and also that he doesn’t need protection. DB is in full dad mode so he just says something like “You better be using god damned protection.” and bursts out laughing. After that everyone chills out a bit and welcomes Gundham like he’s already part of the family.

The insane party they throw for Soda’s 20th birthday is only ever out done by the one they throw for his and Gundham’s wedding lol (DB walks Soda down the aisle of course)

[downwiththeficness]

A Need So Great-Chapter 8

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count: ~7,100

Warnings: Drugs, smut

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand

Okay, so I know that this isn’t exactly how a contact high works, but I wanted the funny moment. Suspend your disbelief a little further than it already is for me.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.5, 9, 10, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

“No,” she said, jabbing a finger at Javier, “I’m not doing this.”

“C’mon,” he replied, gesturing with both hands, “It’ll be a half hour, max.”

She sneered, occupying her hands with packing her bag instead of punching him like she wanted to. He was smiling in that way he did when he knew that he would get his way.  A self satisfied smirk that made her want to throw something at him.

“A half hour of your time. You’ll walk in, look around, walk out.”

Eva glared at him, “I have plans.”

And, she did. Though his evenings were often spent working into the night, Eva had been out with him several times over the last few weeks. She was looking forward to yet another night checking herself for talking too much and watching him smile wide enough that she could see his dimples.

“Push ‘em back.”

She scoffed, “I’m not pushing back plans to work in the field, which you remember that I’m not supposed to be doing.”

He waved her off, “It’ll be fine.  You’re walking into a bar, looking around, and walking out.”

“I’m not walking into any bar!”

“Well, that’s a shame.”

Eva spun around, letting out a breath as Horacio slowed to a stop, his jacket over one arm.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a hitch pitched wheeze. “I’m just gonna...finish packing up.”

He eyed the others in the room, “What’s going on?”

Steve, who had been silent for nearly the whole argument, pushed from his position against his desk, “We got a lead on a back end shipment of drugs—low level, nothing serious. And, we thought since Eva is so good at sniffing these things out, she could maybe stop by the bar and see if she could pin point where they were stashing them.”

“So basically,” Eva added, sarcasm in her voice, “They want me to do their job for them.”

Javier ran a hand over his face, “That’s not what we’re asking you to do.”

Eva glared at him a second time, one hand on her hip.

“You are good at it,” Horacio offered.

She turned her glare on him, “You’re on their side?”

He held up a hand defensively, “I’m not on sides, just stating facts.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Okay, listen. Eva, you just go in, look around, leave. You don’t even have to order a drink. Half an hour, tops.”

Her mouth thinned as she looked at all three men, who were apparently agreeing with one another. Although they’d had plenty of arguments, it was the first time they were all on the same side and it was...disconcerting.

Horacio slipped his arms into his jacket, “Half an hour. And, she gets the day off tomorrow.  Javi, you’ll cover for her. Tell them you sent files to her apartment or something.”

Okay, maybe he was a little on her side.

Javier nodded, “Done.”

“Good, what’s the address?”

Eva blinked, wondering what the fuck had just happened. She watched as Horacio listened to the address, grabbed her purse, and guided her out of the office.  It took her until they were on the road for her brain to finally catch up.

“Did you just negotiate a paid day off for me?”

He glanced over at her and smiled, “You need it. They’re working you too hard.”

“You’re one to talk about working too hard.”

This was true.  Even when he was supposed to be relaxed, his mind would still wander away to work periodically. She could by the way his eyes went just a little cold. There was nothing to be done about it. This was the toll the work took on a person, no matter how strong.

“Point taken,” he retorted, pulling into a parking lot.

The bar looked like any other, populated by locals, busy. She squinted at it, wondering how they got shipments in and out.

“Listen,” she said, reaching out to touch his forearm, “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. I was frustrated that I keep getting pulled into these things, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it, “You’re fine. And, you should be frustrated because you’re right. You’re doing their leg work.”

Eva turned her gaze back to the bar, “I don’t actually mind doing a little reconnaissance, but I’m supposed to be spending time with someone I like, not warding off advances from drunk assholes while I try to figure out where the drugs are coming in at.”

Horacio’s grip on her hand tightened a fraction, “I think I can help with that.”

She looked at him, intrigued, “Yeah?”

He hummed in assent, turning her hand over and pressing his mouth the inside of her wrist. Eva felt her breath stutter as he kissed it gently, his eyes finding hers and holding. He rolled his tongue over the sensitive skin, tasting. Her breath stopped entirely. He gave her wrist another little kiss, then reached for her other hand. He was marking her and she was letting him. It surprised her how little that bothered her in that moment. She was even excited about the thought of carrying his scent with her into that bar. There wouldn’t be a single man in there, alpha or otherwise, who wouldn’t know she was with someone, despite the fact that she was clearly unmated.  

Eva shivered, her mouth parting on a soft moan. Unable to stand it a moment longer, she leaned over and kissed him. The position was a little awkward, the console digging into her hip, but well worth the discomfort.  She started to pull back and he stopped her.

Against her mouth, he said, “Half an hour.  After that, I’m coming in after you.”

Shaking her head, she teased, “Won’t that be a little suspicious, me coming in, looking around, and leaving with the police. You’re like a minor celebrity here, you know.”

He lifted a brow, “I’ll make it look like an arrest.”

At this she laughed, leaning back into the seat, “You just want to see if I can still get out of the cuffs.  Admit it.”

Releasing her, he regarded her with a curious gaze, “I admit that I really want to know how you learned to do it.”

Eva opened the door, saying over her shoulder, “I’ll never tell.”

She caught him saying ‘we’ll see about that’ as she shut the door and headed for the entrance. The place was pretty standard, as far as bars went.  There was a band playing, so she could count on almost everyone being at least a little distracted by the music.  At least, distracted enough not to notice that she wasn’t drinking and wasn’t dancing.  She made a circuit around the room, trying to think of how she would have hidden an illegal shipment back in the day.

It certainly wouldn’t have been at a bar. Josh had been against establishments like this, thought they were places for degenerates. Fifteen years later and she could finally roll her eyes at the hypocrisy of his entire personality. It felt like a big middle finger to even the memory of him to be frequenting bars—it was one of the first things she did when she was released.

But, where would she hide something she didn’t want to be found in a place like this.  Not behind the bar. Bartenders couldn’t always be trusted, too much turnover, too easy to buy. Not in the store room, too much traffic. Eva made another lap, pretending to be looking at the art on the walls. There had to be an office.

She went to the back and had to dodge one of the staff by stepping into the bathroom. So she had time to think, she went into one of the stalls and sat. The place looked clean, at least from the outside.  She couldn’t even find an entrance that would support a trailer backing up to it to move the goods. Although, it would be smart to access from underground...

Standing, she gave the toilet an unnecessary flush and left the bathroom, moving further down the hall. The office door was open a crack, and she took a moment to check to see if anyone was watching before she touched the door to open it further. Empty. Empty and boring.

With a huff, Eva stood next to the emergency exit and leaned against the wall, staring at a picture of a dog. Just an ordinary dog standing at attention. It looked...bland. Like it had been purchased at a big box store and hung without ceremony. Which, made her think it was odd.  The rest of the art in the place was from local artists, price tags written in neat handwriting beside each one.

The dog was looking at something out of the frame. Eva followed the direction of its snout to...a window. It was covered in a frosty film to obscure the outside. She stood on tip toes to see if she could see where it was pointing, both hands leaning into the sill—which moved.

Did everyone have a thing about hidden doors in this country?

Looking over her shoulder, Eva stepped inside.  She was not alone. The room was small, basically a cupboard, but it led to another room where a pair of men were talking. Talking and toking. The smell of weed was pungent enough that her nose wrinkled. Although Eva had been pretty well inured to pot while she was with Josh, she hadn’t had a moment that she didn’t feel watched by her superiors since she’d signed the contract. Any opportunity she had to partake was overshadowed by the possibility of a drug test. Every breath she took made her want to cough. She held it in before taking deep breaths in an attempt to keep her cover.

She couldn’t understand a word they were saying, but Eva was able to duck down enough that she could see inside the room they were talking in. They were sitting in lawn chairs, passing a blunt between them, the smoke billowing out towards her due to the fans that were running lazily nearby.

Eva squinted, they were...thawing ice.  Gigantic ice cubes sat on a table, little kiddie pools sitting below them to catch the runoff. She stared at them and almost laughed. They’d frozen the weed into ice cubes in an attempt to mask the smell. That was definitely new. She sat for a few minutes, trying to see if she could spot a company name that they were shipping under. She got nothing.

Knowing that she was on borrowed time, Eva backed up and peered out into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear before she stepped out of the little cupboard and closed the door behind her. She exited the bar in the least suspicious way she could manage, finally giving in to the urge to cough as she made it outside.

Across the parking lot, she could see that Carrillo was watching for her. With quick steps, she headed for him, climbing up into the truck.

“You see anything interesting?” he asked as she pulled the seat belt over her torso.

Eva nodded, “Let’s maybe get a few blocks from here before I start explaining.”

He turned the engine over, “Javier and Steve are not too far away.”

“Good,” she said, wondering why her eyes were so damn dry. “They can write up the report.”

Eva rubbed carefully at her eyes, trying not to disturb her mascara. She just felt...dry. Her eyes, her throat.

“You okay?”

She blinked, “Yeah, I’m okay. Allergies.”

He was right, Javier and Steve weren’t far away, a matter of a few blocks and one four way stop. They were sitting at an outdoor cafe, drinking beer. Eva took the one that was offered to her, drinking deep.  It was a moment before she realized that they were waiting for her to talk.

“Oh, right,” she said, setting the bottle down. “I mean, pretty simple operation. They’ve got a false door behind the window in the back by the picture of the dog.  They’re putting the product in ice to conceal the smell, although I don’t know that it would fool a trained dog. Back room is where they melt it down, probably where they weigh it, too.”

Javier stared at her, “That’s it.”

She frowned, “I’m sorry, has it escaped your notice that I’ve now found two caches of illegal substances? I know you were looking for coke and not pot, but ‘That’s it?’ Seriously?”

Even Eva could admit to herself that she was snapping at him, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. This would have been a perfect night for a date. A little balmy, warm enough that she didn’t need a jacket.  She could have gone to that bar to dance with Horacio, but no, she went to sneak around. The whole thing annoyed her.

Javier rolled his eyes, “Thank you.”

“That was really sincere. I appreciate the sincerity,” her tone was biting.

He frowned, “What is with you today?”

Eva breathed deep and dropped her head into her hands. Horacio’s scent was still there, a warm, sweet thing that mellowed her ire. She inhaled it in an attempt to distract herself.

“Nothing,” she said, eventually, “Just, forget about it.”

And, that seemed to satisfy him, if no one else at the table.  Steve was eyeing her with that curious expression he used when he wanted to ask a question, but wouldn’t. Beside her, Horacio laid a hand on her hip with just the slightest pressure. She leaned into it, grateful for the support.

“We could raid it tonight,” Javier said as he lit a cigarette.

Dear God, Eva thought with ire, I might as well go home now. Any hope she might have had of picking up their date was gone. At least she’d get to sleep with his scent wrapped around her, if not his body. He’d make sure she got home, kiss her goodnight, and then go off to raid a bar. She’d be a little lonely, but that stupid hope for a better tomorrow would be there. It would have been sad, except this same situation had happened once before, over and over when she’d been married—different players, same game—and Eva found that karma was certainly one hell of a bitch.

It said something for her state of mind that she didn’t realize she was laughing until her stomach started hurting. She drew in a breath, dropping her hands to the table.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she breathed, “I’ve just had the worst case of déjà vu.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, “You want to share with the class?”

Eva shook her head, “Nope.”

It was then that Eva knew something wasn’t right. She usually wasn’t this argumentative—stubborn, yes, but not outright argumentative. She had better manners than that—oh, fuck. Eva closed her eyes and tried not to freak out. It was just a tiny contact high. She could manage it—in front of a high ranking police officer and two DEA agents. This was doable. She kept her head down, just in case.

“You want to make the call?” Javier said when she didn’t elaborate.

Horacio shrugged, “I’m off tonight. It’ll be there tomorrow.”

Eva could tell by the way Javier’s eyes narrowed that this was an unusual response. Hell, she was even surprised by it. Her sense of karma evaporated as quickly as it came and she had to keep herself from staring open mouthed at him. Javier threw back the rest of his beer and stood, walking away without saying anything.

Steve rolled his eyes, “We’ll call you in the morning to work it out. Thanks, Eva.”

“No problem,” Eva called out, waving as she watched him walk off. Then, “I think you pissed him off.”

Horacio shrugged, “I’m not wrong. It will be there tomorrow.”

“I didn’t say you were wrong,” Eva replied, “But I am surprised by it.”

He helped her to stand, leading her back to the truck, “Which part?”

“Hmm?” She was distracted by the feeling of his hand guiding her to where he’d parked.

“Which part are you surprised by?”

She leaned against the side of the truck, looking him over, “You’re a get up and go kind of guy. You don’t put things off until tomorrow.”

He quirked an eyebrow, “You’re right, I don’t.” Then, he added, “In the interest of not putting things off, do you want to tell me what that was back there?”

Eva could feel the blush heat her cheeks, and she couldn’t keep her mouth from smiling stupidly. She looked down, trying to cover it.

“No,” he said, stepping forward and grasping her chin. “Don’t start doing that. Is it an inside thought?”

She giggled, “No. Its not an inside thought.”

“Then, what?” He caught her eye, saying her name in a slow, cajoling tone, “Tell me.”

Huffing, Eva bit down on the inside of her cheek, “They had a lot of pot in there. I mean, a metric fuck ton.”

She tried to go on, but found the explanation that formed in her mind to be too stupid, even internally. How was she supposed to verbalize it without it sounding equally stupid?

His pulled back a bit, analyzing her expression with half a smile, “I haven’t seen you this flustered since that meeting in the conference room. Its cute.”

“Oh, don’t call me cute,” Eva bit out, but she couldn’t maintain the facade of anger, devolving into little giggles as he looked at her in wonder. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

She inhaled, letting her head fall to his chest, her hands running down his arms to thread her fingers through his.

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

“I promise.”

“In the bar, while I was scoping out the back, I had to sit there for a few minutes. And… there was a lot of smoke.”

She hated the way her voice pitched upwards at the end of the sentence, as if it were a question. She hated even more that she couldn’t look at him when she said it.

It started with a blown out breath and then he was holding his breath for several beats.  Even with her forehead resting against him, she knew that he was working to hold off a laugh.

“I knew it,” she cried out, looking up at him, “I knew you would laugh. I have a contact high and you’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing,” he said as he definitely laughed.

“You are,” Eva shot back, crossing her arms.

He cupped her cheek, “Don’t pout.”

She tilted her face up when he drew her in for a kiss, arms wrapping around his middle to keep him close. He kissed her softly, and she could feel him trying not to smile into it. Feeling not a little vengeful, she nipped at him, soothing it just a little with a swipe of her tongue.

“Its late,” he said between kisses, “Let me take you home.”

Eva was grateful that she was leaned up against the truck, her balance a little off, which was par for the course whenever they kissed.  It was like as soon as their lips touched, she got a sudden rush of wild vertigo that made her dizzy in the best way. She hoped that feeling never faded. A stupid, unrelenting hope.

As they drove through the streets, she watched the buildings pass by, the wheels of her mind working.

“I can hear you thinking over there,” he said at a stoplight, looking over at her.

Eva ducked her head and blushed, “Yes, I’m thinking.”

“What about?”

The light turned green, but his eyes stayed on her and his foot remained on the brake.  She glanced behind them. The road was empty.

“Um,” she began, “I was thinking that sooner or later we should probably acknowledge the obvious.”

He turned a little, resting his forearm on the console, “What is that?”

“That I am an omega and that you are an alpha. That just about any time I spend with you drives me absolutely crazy.”

He observed her with a curious look in his eye, “Is this good or bad?”

She smiled, “Good, very good. At least I think so.”

He regarded her curiously, “Then, why would we need to acknowledge it.”

Eva leveled a sardonic look at him, “You marked me today, Horacio. You knew what you were doing when you did it.”

“I did.”

It relieved her that he wasn’t going to evade the conversation. She’d never done this before, and his straightforward attitude made her push forward despite the unsteadiness in her voice.

“I was brought up to believe that...meant something.”

She felt herself holding her breath a little. Eva had been out of society on and off since age fourteen, she hadn’t bothered to really learn the ins and outs of these kinds of relationships. She hadn’t thought she would need it.

The light turned yellow, then red.

“Is this the weed talking?”

Eva barked out a laugh, one hand coming up to cover her mouth, “No, no. It just got me thinking, that’s all.”

She’d given him an out, and part of her hoped that he would take it.  Another part of her hoped that he’d at least give her some idea of what this was.

“Eva, do you remember what I said when we met at the church? That I couldn’t breathe when I first met you?”

Nodding, Eva kept quiet, barely managing to quash the feeling bubbling up inside her. She needed a clear head for this, needed to make sure she didn’t allow herself to get carried away.

He licked his lips, his eyes searching her face, “Do you know what I also felt? When you were telling us about your husband? I felt rage. Sitting in front of me is the most delicious omega I’ve ever met and someone thought they could lay hands on her.” His hand flexed on the wheel, his scent sharpening. “And when you said you’d killed him for it, I thought to myself, ‘she doesn’t need protection’.”

The light turned green and he let off the brake, the car picking up acceleration.

“But, I wanted to give it to you, anyways.”

Eva searched for words, finding nothing.  She settled on, “Really?”

He nodded, reaching over to take her hand, “Then, you saved my ass in the bar fight.”

“I think that was more of a gunfight,” she commented, feeling warm all over.

“It was both,” he asserted, giving her hand a little squeeze, “You still kept me from getting shot.”

Eva scoffed, “I also threw a Molotov cocktail and set the place on fire.”

Horacio laughed, releasing her hand to pull into her neighborhood.  He took it back almost immediately, “That was inventive.”

She shrugged, “I wouldn’t have done it if I thought the table would hold.”

He rolled a shoulder, “That table was not going to hold. It was basically plywood.”

“You’re right,” she agreed as her apartment building came into view, “It was shit.”

He parked, got out, and circled to open the door for her. She tried not to smile too wide when he held her hand up to her door. She reached into her purse and pulled out her key, opening the lock.

“Do you,” she started, fortifying her courage, “Want to come in?”

He tilted her chin up, looking at her for a few seconds. Eva’s eyes narrowed in confusion before she scoffed, pulling her chin away.

“I’m fine. I was the smallest bit high for, like, fifteen minutes. I’ve got full control over my faculties.” A moment later, she amended, “Well, as much control as I ever do around you.”

When he didn’t answer, she touched his chest, “Listen, if you don’t want to, I understand.”

His hand came up and gripped her wrist, “I’ve told you before that you shouldn’t mistake restraint for a lack of want.”

“Okay,” she breathed, “So, are you going to follow through on that want?”

Horacio pushed her back into the apartment, closing the door behind him. She went willingly, dropped her bag to the side. She sighed into a welcome kiss, draping her arms over his shoulders.

Pulling away, he held up a finger, “One thing: I need you to let me lead. I’ll make sure you feel good, but let me set the pace.”

Lips parted, Eva felt a kind of fervent gratitude that quickly morphed into affection, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

He watched her for a second before he leaned down and kissed her again, their tongues tangling together. Eva felt her body go lax, most of her weight leaning into him. She let him lead her backwards, his hands pulling her close. The steps were small and slow, interspersed with deep, lazy kisses.

As they moved down the hall, he pulled her blouse up and out of her skirt, slipping his hands underneath. Eva groaned as he cupped her breasts over her bra, kneading the flesh. He was taking his time with her, his touches patient, thorough. It was driving her crazy.

Maneuvering her into the bedroom, Horacio finally pulled her blouse over her head, tossing it aside. He gripped her hips, eyeing her skirt.

“You’ve worn this skirt before,” he said raggedly, “I’ve had dreams about this skirt.”

Hands moving quickly, he pulled the zipper down and pushed the fabric to the floor. Eva, in an attempt to quell the little bit of nervousness that she was feeling, tugged at the polo he had tucked into his pants. She struggled to get it up and over his shoulders, too preoccupied with the way he was palming her ass. Taking pity on her, he reached behind him and pulled it up and over his head.

Oh, that is not fair, she thought, her mouth suddenly dry. The man dressed like a middle aged dad, halfway to a mid-life crisis—all khakis and variations of a polo shirt—and it was hiding such a strong, sensuous body.  Eva knew he was powerful, had felt the firm press of muscle when he held her, but dear God, he was gorgeous all over.

Helping her down to the bed, he knelt in front of the mattress, kissing up her stomach as his fingers unsnapped her bra. It went the way of her other clothing, followed by her panties.

“Lean back,” he said in a voice not much louder than a whisper.

She slowly let her weight fall to the bed as he parted her thighs. There wasn’t much light in the room, just what was filtered in from the open door to the hall and the streetlights from the window. But, in it, she could see him staring at her, tongue rolling over his bottom lip. More than a little self conscious, she tried to close her legs, eyes diverted.

Fingers tightening on her knees, his eyes flicked up to her, “No.”

A simple directive. An order from an alpha that Eva had no hope of disobeying.  Her hips opened and her legs fell to the side. If she wasn’t anticipating his next move so much, she might have had it in her to figure out a way to wipe the smirk off his face.

It faded soon enough. The first touch of his mouth on her shocked Eva so much that she jerked, her hips pulling back. Making a sound of displeasure, he grabbed her hips and pulled her to the end of the bed, hooking her legs over his shoulders. His hands pressed onto her stomach, holding her still as he laid his tongue flat against her, licking from bottom to top in one long stripe. Eva tried to calm her breathing, her fingers digging into the comforter below her. The heat of his mouth coupled with the confidence in every movement made for a heady combination.

Moaning lowly, he sucked each of her lips in turn, moving back and forth, tongue dipping inside before starting again. Over and over in slow, meticulous succession, until Eva was rolling her hips up, trying to get more friction. His thumb moved to circle her clit, rubbing around it, avoiding the tightest bundle of nerves.

She whined, carding her hand into his curls, trying to wordlessly urge him to give her more. He seemed to hear her—in the next second, he was pushing two fingers into her in one slow, careful thrust. Her breath caught in her throat, releasing on a high pitched moan when he shifted up and gave a firm suck to her clit. And then another. And another. Her eyes closed, losing all control over her body. Her heels dug into his back as she used as much leverage as she could to get closer.

Nose pushing into her pubic bone, Horacio added a third finger, the stretch burning despite how obscenely wet she was. Eva’s eyes rolled back, the orgasm clenching down on him hard. She cried out, a hoarse sound that he echoed as he buried his face deeper between her thighs, tongue rolling over her folds eagerly.

He eased her legs down, lightly massaging her thighs before he rose to lean over her.  Eva was still catching her breath when he kissed up the column of her throat and over to her scent gland, sucking gently on it. She gave a reedy moan, body curling up and around him.

He shushed her, easing her back down onto the bed. More kisses, a gentle massage against her folds that had her already simmering arousal making a slow ascent upwards once more. Needy and wanting more, Eva grabbed the back of his neck, arching her body into his. It was then that she realized he was still wearing the goddamned khakis. She pulled away, pushing her fingers beneath his belt buckle, pulling the leather through the bar and managing to get the it loose before he grabbed both of her hands.

“I told you that you needed to let me lead, Eva,” he grumbled, looking down at her with censure.

She bit her lip, fingers curling into little fists as she waited for...she didn’t know what. Would he stop?

Making a soft tsking sound, he pushed her hair from her face, “I’m going to get you ready, okay?”

Eva laughed softly, “I just came, Horacio. I think I’m ready.”

Shaking his head, he pulled one of her hands down, flattening her palm against the fly of his pants. She let him hold her there, curving her fingers over the shape of him. Her smile faded just a little as the mapped him. Although she might say that he was average in length, in width—well, fuck. Her body clenched as she thought about how tightly he would fill her up, how he might not even fit.

In a rush of determination, Eva slipped the button of his fly loose and pushed her hand down between his pants and underwear. He hissed as she gave him a slow, firm stroke. Her original assessment was correct, he would fill her absolutely to the brim. The thought intimidated her as much as it excited her.

Leaning down next to her ear, he asked, “Do you understand why I need to lead this?” His grip tightened ever so slightly, “I need to make sure you’re ready.”

He pushed her hand away, resting his weight on one arm so that he could open her back up to his touch.  Carefully, Horacio slipped two, then three, fingers inside her, spreading them to stretch her folds open. She groaned at the feeling, eyes closing. The gentle exploration quickly grew in intensity, his thumb giving a firm stroke to her clit with every thrust. Eva writhed in the sheets, unable to stay still. The feeling built upon itself, spiraling up and out of her. It was harder than the first, deeper in a way that had her gritting her teeth.

Sweat had pooled over her chest and hips, her heart hammering in her throat. She felt too wound up and boneless at the same time. His fingers slipped from her sopping folds as he shifted to the side. He placed little kisses over her skin, eyes looking over her body with something akin to pride.

“Good?”

She nodded, not quite able to speak, lips dry. As she gained some feeling back into her body, Eva rolled a little and hooked the fingers of one hand into his pants, tugging at them. He took her meaning and slipped them off leaving him in boxer briefs that were damp with precum. She kissed his chest, tracing the pad of her thumb over the crown of him. He only let her touch him for a short time, the muscles of his body tight with restraint. When she wriggled her hand inside to get at skin, he stopped her.

Holding both wrists down beside her head, Horacio rolled atop her, settling his hips between her thighs. Eva wrapped her legs around his waist, letting him sink as deep as possible to the cradle of her hips, a welcome weight.

He kissed her briefly, “Condom?”

Eva nodded, pointing to the nightstand. He was all perfunctory movements as he opened the drawer, pulled out the condom, shoved off the last of his clothing, and rolled it on. She was glad for it as it gave her an excellent view of him fully naked for the first time.

Wanting to touch him, she sat up and brushed her hands over his strong thighs, filing away the image of sitting atop them for later. He cupped the back of her neck, kissing her as he urged her to lay back, his body covering her.

“Slow,” he said between kisses, “We go slow.”

Eva was absolutely on board for that, still feeling a little timidity about the size of him. She hadn’t been with anyone since coming to her new assignment, so she knew she’d need a little time to adjust. Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, Eva forced her body to relax.

“Slow,” he reiterated as he lined himself up.

The first push made her rethink her choices that night, and she couldn’t keep from closing her eyes against the burn. Fuck, but she wanted it. She tucked her chin into the curve of his neck, breathing long, slow breaths.

Groaning, Horacio adjusted his weight and pushed a little deeper. Just when Eva thought she couldn’t stretch any further, there was more of him easing inside. Though she tried to stop it, a little sound escaped her throat.

He stopped, lifting just a bit to check her expression, and she could see him working to make a decision, strain behind his eyes. Then, he pulled out and rolled over to his back.

“C’mere.”

Though she was still a little shaky, Eva crawled over him, straddling his hips. He helped her tilt up and then back down again. Using her hands on his chest for balance, she tried to let gravity ease her down. Despite how wet she was, she could only take a few inches before she had to stop and focus on her breathing.

“I don’t think I can,” she admitted after a few shallow thrusts.

He rose and wrapped his arms around her, “You can, you can.”

When she faltered, he buried his nose in her hair, cradling most of her weight and taking the motion from her. Up and down. Nice and easy. Just a little more every time. With every stroke, the burn eased just a little, until she was giving him tiny rolls of her hips, until tingles of sensation overcame the stretch of her body. Needing to, she kissed him, sighing into his mouth when she sank down so smoothly that the little gains that they had been making suddenly became one generous thrust.

Eva gasped, hips swiveling.

His eyes widened as he looked down at where they were joined, “Good?”

She nodded, “I’m good. So good.”

Another rise and fall, and she was gripping the back of his neck, widening her stance to take him all the way to the base where she ground down hard. He hissed, arms tightening so that there was not an inch of space between them. It stunted her movements, and Eva found herself wanting desperately to keep the steady rise of pleasure.

Small, but growing whimpers sounded from her lips, her body’s movements liquid and burning. She wanted more, and she wanted it now. Horacio’s hold on her kept the pace maddeningly slow, but so goddamn steady that it anchored her to him.

“I’m so full,” she bit out, her head dropping to his shoulder in near defeat, “You fill me up.”

Below her, he let out a harsh breath, followed by a sharp inhale and long, agonized groan. His hips pushed up hard, just once grinding into her before beginning that steady pace again, if only a little faster. She was glad he had some control because her mouth had started up and there was no hope that she was going to be able to stop it at this point.

“Fuck, you feel so good inside me,” she said on an exhale, her voice cracking.

He kissed her hard, bracing one hand against the mattress, to get more leverage, hips arching off the bed. The release of his hold gave Eva all she needed to begin meeting him in the middle. With a low whine, she angled her hips and drove down on him, her jaw loosening when he hit every spot inside her that made her squirm.

His forehead pressed against her, nose pressed into her cheek, Horacio swallowed audibly, saying, “Mmph—fuck, slow. Eva, slow.”

The words seemed forced out of him, his voice hoarse. Eva kept going, pulling away to get a good look at his face. His brows were drawn together, mouth open and wet, sweat on his temples.  He looked...fucking wrecked. She could see in that moment how hard he was trying not to come, and it made a shot of determination zing through her. He could have made that directive an order, could have asserted himself as the alpha, but he hadn’t. This gave her an opening that she was all too eager to take.

Kissing him, she pushed at his shoulders, following him down and slowing the drive of her hips.  She gave him sweet, lazy kisses until the tension in his body lessened enough that she felt confident he believed that she was listening to him. Then, she sat up, and called on the last remaining vestiges of her energy.

She started with slow undulations that ended with that little grind that he favored. But, Eva was not a patient woman, and she was soon riding him as she had been before. His hands flew to her hips, but he didn’t stop her. Just the opposite. He pulled her down to meet him, head thrown back to expose the strong column of his neck—a staccato ‘ah, ah, ah’ sounding each time their hips met.

Impossibly, he hardened further, until his grasp tightened to bruising and she felt him pulse inside her. He groaned in the back of his throat, eyes shut. Eva smiled down at him, thinking that he was gorgeous even when he was coming, especially when he was coming.

After a few more shallow thrusts, she eased off him and to the side, watching him catch his breath as hers returned to normal. Reaching down, he slipped off the condom, tying it off and leaning over the bed to toss it in a waste basket she kept nearby.

Eva didn’t touch him when he laid back down, though she wanted to. She wanted to lay her head on his chest and hear his heartbeat, curl up next to him while they dozed. A much stronger part of her kept her hands to herself, not knowing what he wanted.

Horacio leaned his weight on an elbow reached out to tucked her sweaty hair from her face. Charmed by the gesture, she turned and kissed his palm, holding it to her briefly before letting go. He shuffled closer, gathering her to his body, the backs of his fingers tracing one long line down the length of her.

On the upstroke, he slid them between her legs, brushing against her, “Are you hurt? Sore?”

She mentally reached out to her body, feeling for injury, “No, but I’ll probably be a little sore in the morning.”

After a few moments of silence, Horacio helped her stand and took her to the bathroom where he turned on the hot water. They showered a little awkwardly, the space too small for both of them. His hands never really left her, though, lingering over her body in a way that spiked a surprising return of her arousal. He laid kisses all over as he dried her off, haphazardly running the towel over his hair and body before tossing it aside.

When he laid her back down in the bed, he kept her near. Naked, warm, and clean, they laid together, talking about nothing at all. And, all the while, he would lean down and press a kiss here, a lick there, just skirting the edge of what she might consider seduction. And yet, her body began to respond as if he’d just started touching her. The fog of her exhaustion gave her a temporary reprieve, lifting just enough that she felt her thighs clench together—or, they would have, if he hadn’t kept his hand right where it was.

Pushing her to her back, Horacio shifted his arm beneath her neck, the other laying across her body, fingers running up and down her slit, circling at the top.

“You took me so well, Eva. I knew you could,” he murmured in her ear. “Made me come before I was ready.”

He alternated between focusing on her clit and rubbing sensuously over her opening. The touch was light, but focused enough that soon enough her hips were tilting up, searching for more stimulation.

“Are you going to come for me again?” He asked, heat lacing every word, “I think you’ve got another in you.”

Unbelievably, it appeared that she did, in fact, have another in her. Though he hadn’t penetrated her, Eva felt the orgasm build and pulse through her. Thighs jerking, she gasped against his mouth as he worked her through it.

With a low hum, Horacio slowed his touch, kissing down her jaw to her neck where he nuzzled against her. Though she’d been granted a short respite, Eva felt the need for sleep come crashing in. Eyes drooping, she shifted to her side and curled into his body.  She fell asleep to the feeling of him lazily tracing the contours of her shoulders and back.

[amanda-teaches]

Til Death Do Us Part? (8)

Series Summary: At a work party with your best friend, Dean, you panic when your new boss asks if you’re couple. Lying to protect your promotion, you wind up fake engaged before you can take it back. When Dean agrees to go along with your lie for a weekend retreat, you end up finding something neither of you had bargained for: love.

Chapter Summary: Now that you’ve finally found what you’ve been looking for with Dean, the two of you decide to take a little time to enjoy it, starting with a little surprise.

Pairing: AU Dean x Reader

Square filled: Free Space for @spndeanbingo​​​ and Picnic for @spnfluffbingo​​​

Word Count: 1174

Warnings: All the fluff, minimal swearing and nakedness.

A/N: Well, here it is everyone, the final chapter. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without every single one of you. Thank you all for your support through this whole adventure. It’s because of that support that I was able to officially finish a series for the very first time! I decided to write this last chapter more from Dean’s POV, so you all could get a little peek of the depth of his love. I really hope you love the ending these two characters have found as much as I do.

Til Death Do Us Part? Masterlist

Dean awoke with a start, his chest tight and heaving, but when he felt the weight of your body lying next to him, the panic instantly lifted. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, and everything from last night came flashing back.

You were really here. It wasn’t a dream. You were still here, loving him back.

How the hell did he get so lucky?

He leaned over you and placed a tender kiss to your forehead, lingering there before rolling back over and glancing at the clock. 10:42.

Nearly checkout time. Choosing to let you sleep, he stood up, pulling on a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He took another look at you and smiled, heading downstairs to the front desk.

Once he got there, it was easy for him to charm the clerk into granting you two a late checkout, buying you a few extra hours of sleep. His next stop was the lounge, where he ran into the rest of your group, preparing to leave. He said the goodbyes for the both of you, and once they were gone, and he was alone, he started to think of what he could do for you with the extra time.

When an idea hit him, he smirked, knowing he’d found just the thing. You were going to love it.

By the time you woke up, Dean was back in your room, propped up on a pile of throw pillows next to you, smiling sinfully. “Mornin’, baby.”

“Dean?” You sat up, running your hand through your hair. “Oh, son of a...did I oversleep again?”

He grinned, resisting the urge to laugh at the flabbergasted look on your face. “Hey, what’re vacations for if not sleeping in?”

“Ugh,” you moaned, face-planting back down and pulling the pillow over your head. “Did we miss our checkout?”

“Don’t worry,” he announced, pulling the pillow off of you as he jumped up, holding his arms out wide. “I’ve got it all handled. Got our checkout extended, everything packed up, and a special surprise planned for you.”

That got your attention, and you sat up straight, gripping the sheet to your chest with a grin. “A surprise?”

Dean knelt down by the bed, tossing a wink your way. “What, did you think last night was the only time I was gonna be pulling out all the stops for you? Not even close, babe. You’re my girl now. Get ready for some sweep you off your feet romance.”

The beaming smile on your face made him smile in return, and he took your hand, pulling you gently to your feet. He couldn’t help but steal a kiss when you were standing this close, running his hand down your still naked body to cop a feel. You squealed against him, playfully pulling away, and he lightly smacked your ass, pushing you across the room to get ready.

Once you were dressed, he entwined his fingers with yours, leading you out of the room and down to the elevators. Dean had already slipped a $20 to the bellhop to get your bags out to the car, so there was nothing left for you to worry about other than enjoying the surprise he had planned.

Making it outside, Dean made you close your eyes, slowly guiding you around the building towards an enclosed space of grass at the edge of the garden. With a flourish, he had you open your eyes, revealing an elaborate picnic spread laid out in front of the two of you.

“Dean?!” you gasped, your hand flying to your mouth. “You did all this?”

“I told you, baby, romance,” he teased, helping you down to the blanket. “I’m gonna give you the world. You like it?”

“I love it,” you whispered, looking at the contents of the blanket with awe. “When did you have time to do all this?”

He popped the champagne, pouring out two glasses. “While you were sleeping. After I got us the late checkout and got the clerk on my side, it was easy. I said goodbye to all your bosses and had the staff help me set this up.”

“Speaking of them,” you mumbled, drawing his attention. “What am I going to tell everyone when we get home about the engagement? I mean, I know we’re together now, so I can’t say we broke up, but they all think we’re engaged.”

He smiled, grabbing your hand and holding it close. “Maybe we don’t tell them anything. A lot of people don’t wear their rings at work.”

“It’s not that easy, Dean. We can’t keep pretending we’re engaged. What happens when we never get married?”

“Who’s to say we won’t?” His face lit up, hope filling him for the first time in a long time. “I’m in this for the long haul, Y/N. Let’s give us a chance. If they ask, you can just tell them we’re enjoying being together and putting off the planning. We can see where this goes and cross that bridge when we come to it.”

You grinned, nodding your agreement. “Okay. I say we give us a chance, too.”

Dean beamed, moving on in his mind by turning to the food, but when he saw you playing with your ring, or rather his mom’s ring, he hesitated. “You okay?”

“Yeah, but…” You paused, slipping the ring off your finger and holding it out to him. “I should probably give this back to you in the meantime, right? You know, since we’re not actually engaged. After all, it is your mom’s.”

He smiled softly and took the ring back from you, placing it in his pocket, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t stay off your finger for long.

Now that he had you, he wasn’t ever planning on letting you go.

“Come on,” Dean announced, changing the subject and pulling the pie out of the basket in front of him, drawing a chuckle from you. “Let’s get our picnic on.”

“Shouldn’t we start with the healthier food?” you laughed, but he shook his head resolutely, taking a large forkful of pie.

“Always start with the pie, babe.” But, instead of eating it, he fed it to you, slowly placing the fork in your mouth. After you’d swallowed it, he leaned in and kissed you, his tongue running along your lips. “Mmm, tastes perfect. Just like I thought it would.”

You pulled him close, kissing him passionately, and he breathed you in, feeling like the luckiest guy in the world. He never would’ve dreamed that agreeing to be your fake fiance for the weekend would have led to this, but he was eternally grateful that it had, that, somehow, you’d given him your heart.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You grinned again, pure happiness radiating out from you, and he felt his heart soar in response. All it took was a simple smile from you, and he was putty in your hands. “I love you, too, Dean.”

And, he knew this was only the beginning.

[thejolexgroupchat]

the one where they met in med school - part nine

The secret is out

If you haven’t read parts 1-8, check out our master list!

two chapters in less than twenty-four hours??? happy thanksgiving to all of our American friends!

happy birthday @choosingmywife​ !!! this one’s for you :)

(July 2007 cont.)

Alex had just sat down with his lunch, ready to enjoy a silent 30 minutes to himself when three trays clattered down on the table next to him. A groan left him as he looked up at Izzie, Meredith, and Cristina, all of whom were now sitting at his table and glaring at him.

“What did I do now? Did I look at my intern for three and half seconds too long,” Alex rolled his eyes as he set down his burger, looking to the women who were still glaring silently at him. “Oh come on, you guys can’t seriously be that invested in my relationship can you?” “You said your girlfriend is moving here soon, we just want to make sure you’re thinking straight is all,” Meredith shrugged as if the statement was casual, but her facial expression told a different story. “All you could talk about for the past year was Dracula and now that Wilson showed up here we haven’t heard a single thing.” Struggling to hold back his laughter, Alex looked between the three again, realizing that they were serious, “Guys come on, you can’t actually think I’m cheating on my girlfriend with a hot intern.”

“So you think she’s hot! I knew it, you guys have been way too flirty for just friends,” Izzie’s accusatory tone made Alex laugh out loud, her eyes narrowing in his direction. “You think this is funny? Do you really wanna throw away a perfectly good relationship for some on call room hookup?”

“No because I’m not,” Alex stood up, grabbing his tray and turning to leave his friends. If he were honest, he was getting kind of annoyed with their prying and prodding into his relationship with Jo. “Keep your noses out of my business, I’m a grown up and I can handle myself.”

Izzie, Meredith, and Cristina watched Alex leave the cafeteria, anger clearly visible on his face. Once he was out of earshot, Cristina spoke up, “He can’t be that angry over nothing, he’s gotta be hiding something to be that upset that we talked to him.” “Talked to who?” All three sets of eyes turned to Jo, who was now standing next to their table. She’d overheard the tail end of Alex’s conversation with the women and decided to do some investigating of her own. She knew that the constant questions from his friends were bothering Alex, but he wasn’t going to say anything to her about it.

“Hairball, come sit with us,” Cristina’s voice took on an unusually peppy tone as she smiled up at Jo. “Tell us, how are you liking being on Evil Spawn’s service? Is he… nice to his interns?” “He’s okay, not the douchebag that people make him out to be,” Jo shrugged as she sat in the seat Alex had just vacated, popping a fry into her mouth. “He’s a very… hands on teacher.”

The look that spread across Cristina, Meredith, and Izzie’s faces was priceless. It took everything for Jo not to laugh at them, instead she waited for Meredith to speak, “Interesting… he’s seemed distracted lately, his girlfriend was in town last week.”

“Wait. He has a girlfriend?” Jo asked, pretending to be surprised by the information. “I did see a little something on the side of his neck. Was it a hickey?”

The shocked expressions turned to confusion as Izzie prodded more, “Hmm yeah that’s why we call her Dracula. They’re very committed to each other. It’s kind of disgusting how much he talks about her actually.” She said, having another bite of her lunch. 

“Dracula? Huh, makes me wonder why he never mentioned her,” Jo’s pager went off, making her stand from the table in a rush. “I have to go. Hope we can finish this conversation with you some other time” she said before leaving. 

“He didn’t say anything about his girlfriend to her?” Meredith opened her eyes in shock. “He always talks about his girlfriend to anyone who’s willing to listen.”

“Was that Karev’s intern right there?” a voice behind them said, making the three women turn around to find Bailey standing there holding a tray. 

“Yeah. Wilson. She’s on his service,” Izzie explained, grabbing another fry and putting it in her mouth. She didn’t have to talk if her mouth was full. Bailey sat down, joining them. 

“That man has been acting too suspicious for my liking when someone mentions that girl,” their mentor said, shaking her head. “I don’t like it.”

“Right? I saw the two of them practically walk into an on call room together. Tried to get in, he would not let me through the door,” Cristina said. 

“That can’t be good. Especially now. I bet his girlfriend is moving here just because of him, and he’s just messing around with that girl? Now? When he is this close to having a normal life with his girl again?” Bailey put her fingers together in exaggeration. “You three better keep a close eye on him. Men are stupid. Make sure he is still using his brain to think and not other body parts. If you know what I mean…” she raised her eyebrows, making the trio laugh at her expression.

“I’m serious,” Bailey narrowed her eyes at the women. “Karev is a couple drinks away from making a very serious mistake… his poor girlfriend isn’t even here to defend herself or see what’s going on. So as women who support other women, it’s our job to make sure that he doesn’t do something that will hurt his girlfriend.” 

***

Two days later, Jo had finally had enough. She’d been standing at the fourth floor nurses’ station updating some of Alex’s charts when she saw him walking out to the waiting area with Dr. Torres to update a patient’s family. From her spot behind the desk, she stared at him longingly for a few moments. He really looked great in his scrubs, and it took everything within her not to want to pull him into the nearby conference room. 

She had been watching for a few minutes when someone came up behind her and breathed into her ear, “Don’t waste your time on him, hairball.” 

Jo turned to see Cristina Yang standing there with an unimpressed look on her face, “I’m serious. Alex doesn’t date. He doesn’t sleep around. He’s got a girlfriend who’s moving here very soon. So, don’t waste your time trying to get into his pants because it’s not going to happen.”

Jo huffed in annoyance. His friend’s concern was nice and all for the first couple weeks, but now it was just getting old. She wanted to be able to look at her boyfriend without someone accusing her of trying to get him to cheat on his girlfriend. Jo looked around and realized that everyone seemed to be watching her exchange with Yang. Stevens and Grey were whispering to each other in the background, Bailey stared at the two of them with wide eyes, O’Malley and Sloan gave the pair sideways glances, and Lexie was trying her best not to laugh. 

Seeing that he was walking in her direction, Jo stood up from behind the desk and mumbled to herself, “Oh, screw it.”

Jo rounded the desk and stood in front of Alex, who smiled at her, “Wilson, what can I do for you?”

“Just one thing,” Jo wrapped her arms around Alex and pulled him down into a kiss. She heard the gasps around them as she kissed Alex and couldn’t help but grin mischievously. 

When they pulled apart, Alex looked at her with raised eyebrows, “Oh, so we’re doing this now?”

“I got tired of hiding it,” Jo shrugged. She looked around at the shocked expressions of everyone surrounding them, watching in anticipation for Alex’s reaction. “I want to be able to kiss you when I want to kiss you.” 

Alex’s face broke out into a large grin. He scanned the room and decided to hell with the secrecy. He could care less what people had to say about him. All that mattered was that she was here and willing to come clean. That’s why he had no qualms about bending down and kissing her back, sending the spectators in a frenzy. 

When they finally separated, Alex let a chuckle out, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “This was unbelievably hot and if we weren’t in public I’d do so much more than kiss you. So just so you know, I’m gonna have some fun with you tonight.” 

Staring up at him coyly, Jo responded, “Can’t wait.”

Walking away, Jo sent a satisfied smirk in Cristina’s direction. As soon as she was out of sight, Izzie, Cristina, and Meredith practically jumped on Alex, all talking at once. 

“What in the hell is wrong with you?!”

“In the middle of the hallway? Have some self respect.”

“Oh I knew you were up to something stupid.”

“Calm down,” Alex rolled his eyes. 

“Calm down! Calm down? You want us to be calm after what we just witnessed?” Izzie glared at him angrily. 

“Yes.” 

“Don’t be an ass,” Meredith said, pushing against his chest lightly. She grabbed a hold of his scrub top. “Look, we all have to get back to work but this conversation is not over. You are coming over to the house tonight and we are going to talk about this, or so help me God, Alex I swear I will fly to Boston and tell your girlfriend of your stupidity myself.” 

“Whatever, fine. I’ll be there,” Alex pulled her hands away from his shirt and smoothed it down. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to check on my patient in post-op.”

***

The rest of the day was… interesting, to say the least. News of Jo and Alex kissing spread through the hospital like wildfire. Everywhere they went, someone would send a look of disapproval their way. Jo felt like a pariah, like she had a scarlet letter attached to her scrub top. Alex kept getting glares and looks of disdain anytime he’d pass by hospital staff. 

By the time Alex climbed in the car, all he wanted to do was go home and take a shower. Instead, he’d have to explain to his girlfriend that they would be stopping by Meredith’s house for what could only be described as an intervention. 

Jo entered the car about three minutes after he did, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Alex gave her a small smile. “So… my friends want to kill me. Thanks for that.” 

“I’m sorry. I know I probably shouldn’t have done that the way I did it, but I meant what I said. I’m tired of hiding, Alex. I want people to know that we’re together and we’re in love. I don’t want to worry about entering and exiting the hospital separately so that no one knows. And, I’m really tired of hearing the interns say how hot you are.” 

Alex chuckled, “I’m tired of it, too. My friends are right. I can’t go more than twenty minutes without talking about you or thinking about you. I want them to know you, and I mean really know you. You deserve to be shown off, not hidden away like you’re some dirty little secret that I’m ashamed of.” 

“So, now what?” Jo asked. 

“Now, we are going to Mer’s house because she has put together a group of people that are going to chew me out because I cheated on my girlfriend, blah, blah, blah,” Alex began to pull out of the parking lot. “Except, they are going to get the surprise of their lives when you show up with me and I tell them that it’s been you all along.” 

“You know, I don’t think I’m going to stop them from beating you up when you tell them,” Jo chuckled, her fingers moving to caress Alex’s thigh. “But promise we’ll be quick, I really wanna go home and jump into bed with you.”

The drive to Meredith’s was short, Alex and Jo both climbing out of the car and hesitantly stood on the porch together. It took him a minute to gather up the courage, but he finally rang the doorbell, grimacing at Meredith’s angry expression when she saw Jo. 

“Before you flip your lid will you just let us in,” Alex pushed Jo in front of him, looking at Meredith pointedly as he did so. “I’m not going in unless she does.”

“Fine, but I’m voicing my displeasure about Wilson being here,” Meredith sent one last glare towards the couple before allowing them to walk inside. 

Spread across the living room were Cristina, Izzie, George, Callie, and even Bailey who all began to loudly complain at the sight of Alex and Jo standing next to each other. Meredith quieted them down, rolling her eyes as she sat next to Cristina, “He wouldn’t come in without her, trust me I tried.”

“No offense Hairball, but we’re kind of having this meeting because of you,” Cristina glared at Jo, crossing her arms across her chest. “That doesn’t give you an invite.”

“Will you guys settle down, you’re being insufferable,” Alex took a deep breath, looking to Jo before quickly turning back to his friends. “I love that you guys are concerned about me and that you’re worried about my relationship, but you have nothing to worry about. My girlfriend already moved to Seattle, a few weeks ago actually.”

“That doesn’t make anything better. In fact that makes it worse,” Izzie exclaimed as she gestured to Jo. “You’re screwing an intern while your girlfriend is waiting at home for you! Alex what the hell?”

Ignoring Izzie’s outburst, Alex slung his arm around Jo’s shoulder with a crooked grin, “Guys, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend Jo. You know the one I’ve been dating for three and a half years? This is her.”

All six people stare gape mouthed at Alex and Jo, both of whom were grinning widely. Jo leaned over to Alex, dramatically whispering to him, “I think you stunned them, maybe tell them again so they understand what’s happening.”

“No no, I heard you loud and clear,” Bailey looked between the two, shaking her head as if she’s trying to get the thought to settle into her mind. “I just can’t believe that Karev would date someone so… normal.”

The living room erupts into chaos then, a mix of profanities, disbelief, and countless questions flying through the air as Jo and Alex stood unfazed by the happenings around them. More than anything, the two were excited to not have to sneak around anymore. 

“Hold on, how the hell did this happen? How did we not figure this out,” Izzie let an exasperated sigh out as she leaned her head against the back of the couch. “This is insane!”

“I told you guys, I met Jo in med school. Actually Lexie introduced us,” Alex looked to Meredith, who wore an angry expression as she stared him down. “I didn’t know she was your sister until about 24 hours before you did, don’t look at me like that.” Cristina looked between the two with a bewildered expression, her eyes trained on Jo, “I still don’t understand how the hell you decided to date Alex of all people. Were there no other male suitors? Is this Stockholm Syndrome? I need answers.”

“Well he slept with all of my friends first, then we got closer and I realized he wasn’t a total douchebag,” Jo blushed, leaning her head against Alex’s shoulder. “And then we went to visit his family for Christmas one year and things just… kinda fell into place.”

“Well as horrifying as that is, it still doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell any of us that your girlfriend was an intern,” Callie pointed out. “She’s a badass on her own, she doesn’t need your reputation to help her Karev.”

“I know that, but I wanted you all to figure that out on your own without seeing her as just my girlfriend,” Alex grinned, excited that his friends saw just as much promise in Jo as he did. “And now that you have, I can show her off like I’ve wanted to for the past three weeks.”

“You know what the most ridiculous part of this is,” Meredith gestured to Jo, a smirk on her face. “Wilson’s the one that’s been giving Alex those insane hickeys! She looks so innocent.”

“Listen I would love to stand here and be mocked by you guys for longer, but my girlfriend will kill me if I don’t get her home soon,” Alex waved to his friends as he pulled Jo out of the room, both of them running out the door in a fit of laughter like excited teenagers. “Well… that was fun.”

“Yup and I’m gonna leave a huge hickey on your neck tonight,” Jo smiled as she pulled Alex down into a kiss. “Just cause I can.”

[lukneetoonz]

Ghost of You Part IV

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Summary: You were the greatest thing in Katsuki’s life…. now you’re gone.

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, graphic descriptions of medical stuff, cursing, mentions of cheating.

Word Count: 1,845

A/N: Hey everyone, so this is it, the end! I’m a little- I don’t know. I don’t condone cheating in ANY WAY, so writing this I kinda wanted something that made people happy.

NO ARTWORK POSTED IS MY OWN AND IS FOUND ON PINTEREST

—————————————————————————-

How did it all go wrong? Not even wrong, how did it go from bad to worse? You were breathing, you had a steady heart rate. How is it you can go from somewhat peaceful, to being crowded by hospital staff as they did whatever they were doing, supplies being screamed for, lights going dim, and rushed hands moving about your body. You were supposed to be okay- so why were you suddenly not okay?

Bakugou Katsuki looked into your room, time almost slowing down as his face held no emotion, he swore that even his own heartbeat started slowing down as he looked on. Kirishima tried talking to his ash blonde friend, only to be completely ignored, almost like he wasn’t even there. The flowers that were in bakugou's hand, dropped to the floor, and without another word, he started walking away.

He had gotten a bouquet of your favorite flowers, he thought maybe they’d brighten up the room a bit, maybe even hide the sterile smell. But coming back to this- it made him realise he needed to stop pretending. Even if you lived, you would never take him back. Why would you? He did the one thing he swore he wouldn’t do; break your heart.

*•*

Voices were loud and clear, they were- panicked? No, they sounded rushed. Almost like they needed to do the task at hand or something bad would happen. Everything slowly started coming back to you, and then you realized you were choking? Why were you choking? What was happening? Panicked, you started freaking out, strangled cries coming from you as you finally opened your eyes, only to be met by multiple faces staring down at you.

“Push a sedative into her IV, she’s becoming fully aware” A deep voice called for someone, before a finger was waving in front of your eyes, “Y/N, can you hear me?” You gave a meek nod, coughing as you felt something being pulled from your throat, leaving a sore feeling behind. “Good… good. Can you please follow my finger with just your eyes?” As you hacked up- god knows what, you did as you were asked and followed the gloved finger, making sure not to move your head.

“Lungs sound good, so does her heart.” You were met with relieved smiles, a couple of the people exiting the room as your bed was moved to sit up, a cup of water handed to you and you didn’t hesitate to grab it. Starting to look around, you were met with a very bleak room, and it didn’t take a scientist to figure out you were in the hospital. “Hi, Y/N? I’m Dr Deyoung, can you tell me everything you remember? I can come back if you need?”

Shaking your head, you tried speaking, only to cough and need a drink. After a minute, you opened your mouth and started speaking, your voice raspy and hoarse. “I- there were villains, wanting us to give them the information on pro hero’s. They knew we had it because we are a support agency” Slowly, you started remembering more and more, eyes going wide, you looked up and around, “Katsu- Where's katsu?”

Before you could get a response, kirishima came barging in, a thankful smile spreading across his face. “oh thank god-” Running to your side, kirishima pat your head, happy tears streaming down his face. “Thank you for not dying.” A laugh escaped you, making you slightly cough again, but you brushed it off. As happy as you were to see the red hero, you wanted to see another hero- one with ash blonde hair.

“Is he here?” Kirishima slumped, scratching his neck he avoided your gaze, “h-he was… but when he thought you were crashing he left. He hasn’t left your side though, like at all…” Nodding, you slowly processed what the redhead just told you. “I- can you tell him I’m okay? But… I don’t think he should come back… at least- for now… I need some time to think.” Kiri nodded, quickly ruffling your hair before he walked out, planning on finding his explosive friend.

Bakugou was outside sitting on a bench with his head in his hands, trying his best to get the image of you in that bed removed from his memory. He heard the running footsteps towards him, but he simply ignored them. Katsuki knew it was probably his friend, but he just wanted to be left alone, and he also didn’t want to hear how you were gone forever. Soft pants left kirishima as he sat next to the ash blonde, “She's awak-” something set Bakugou off as he heard the words he’s been waiting to hear, yet for some reason he was pulled down by kirishima.

“Let me finish…. she’s awake, but she said she needs time before she sees you. You owe her that.” That’s right… you weren’t his anymore, he wasn’t entitled the right to see you. Why did he think that when you woke up it would be like a dream and he’d get to hold you again. Katsuki took a few steps back before gulping, forcing himself to look at the ground, “I- I understand… see you later kirishima.” A hoarse whisper left the red eyed hero before walking away.

*•*

When you were released from the hospital, you went home to a small get together filled with your friends and loved ones. Even if you were out, you still had a gloomy feeling around you. You knew that you would have to talk to Bakugou at some point, because honestly you didn’t like how it ended nor did you like not having him in your life.

Bakugou was a mess, once again. His apartment was in the worst state it had ever been, he only drank alcohol, and he stopped taking care of himself. Yet he kept in mind on how you were much better without him in your life. You said you’d talk to him- but after two months, he gave up on the hope that he had. Once again you stopped talking to him, just like that you were out of his life. If it wasn’t for him stalking your social media, he would have thought you never existed…

3 Years Later

Red eyes followed your form that walked down the aisle dressed in white. Bakugou had to tear his eyes away or else he would have cried, he even might have ran up to you and kissed you right there. But he couldn’t, he could never do that to his best friend. The one that was waiting for you to say ‘I do’. Katsuki couldn’t even be upset, because kirishima asked him a million times if it was okay and apologized when the relationship started because you kissed him suddenly.

Even if Bakugou wanted to scream out and say no, tell him to back off, he couldn’t. He refused to be the cause of another heartbreak for you, plus never did the ash blonde think it would have led to this. You walking down the aisle with him standing at the altar, but merely standing behind the actual groom. As you arrived to stand before everyone, kirishima took your hands and kissed your knuckles, a shining smile on his face as you both stared at each other with love.

When the priest started talking, Bakugou toned out every word, the words now mere background noise to the nightmare he was living. “Does anyone have any objections for why these two shall not be married? Speak now or forever hold your peace” shaking out of his thoughts Bakugou looked over Kirishima's shoulder to be met by your eyes, holding an emotion he couldn’t quiet. He may have been a pro hero, one that was constantly thrown into terrifying situations, but this was the scariest thing he has ever done.

“Me. I-I object.” Bakugou never whipped around so fast to see Kaminari Denki holding his hand up. To say that the explosive hero had wide eyes would be an understatement, jaw dropping as he quickly turned his head to look at you with a confused written expression. Kirishima blushed, his face now matching his hair as he looked to the ground, scratching his neck, “I- Y/N…” as he tried to form words, he just couldn’t, Kaminari now stepping to be in front of kiri grabbing his hands. “Please… choose me. I’m begging you Eijiro, you can’t possibly sit here and say that we aren’t worth fighting for.”

Your eyes quickly scanned the two men before you as you started laughing, rubbing your hands over your face as you simply took off your heels and started walking away, “even if you said no, I’m not gonna marry you and see you unhappy Kiri… you deserve to be truly happy.” Even if you didn’t turn around, Bakugou could tell you were starting to cry, because he’s heard that tone of voice before. Kirishima tried forming words but he only looked away ashamed, “Y/N, I never meant to hurt you… I’m so sorry”

Bakugou was in such shock he didn’t know what to do, but before he decided he was already running after you, trying to reach you before it was too late. Bursting through the doors he squinted his eyes from the shining sun, blinking a couple of times to find himself laying on the ground and looking at Kirishima and Kaminari looking down at him with worried faces. “Bakugou? Can you hear me? C'mon bro you can’t not be okay, Y/N needs you.” A shaky voice that belonged to his best friend made Bakugou try and focus better, groaning as he rubbed his head.

“What the fuck is going on?” Going to sit up, Kirishima put his hand on bakugou's shoulder, “Take it easy… there was a villain with a powerful nightmare quirk and it was crazy, you wouldn’t respond to anything but passed out after an hour.” Soaking in the new information, he was confused. What the hell was he just living in?

“I need Y/N… where is she?” Kirishima laughed, shaking his head, “Don’t worry, she’s at her job. We texted her already and she said she’ll be on her way soon…” Bakugou nodded slowly, taking a deep breath in, “Good… good.” A frown appeared on the red head's face, “That villain really did a number on you huh?” The meek nod from Katsuki only made Kirishima frown harder, “It’s okay man… it wasn’t real. It wasn’t real….”

Taglist; @katsukiswhore @leeeah-loooser @do-not-talk-to-me-i-am-awkward @desia2 @katsukiwonu @xxlushika @lov4kbg @aj-1154 @six-piece-chicken-mcnobody @nekee-lilac02

[croissantconnoisseurdinosaur]

Coping with 285, Pt. 3

Deku was the first to wake up in the hospital.  He was followed closely by his teacher — hospital had staff informed him — about 30 minutes later.  When he asked the nurse about Kacchan, she informed him that he was still out cold.  Izuku’s heart pounded in his chest as dread swept through his body with a freezing chill.  

Deku had been discharged and released from the hospital yesterday, but Kacchan still hadn’t woken up.  He’d been battling high fevers for days, in and out of consciousness, but never lucid either way.

Izuku had actually gone into his room that first night at the hospital, against doctor’s orders.  He’d pulled himself up onto his shaky legs, and dragged himself and his IV bags to Kacchan’s room in the middle of the night.  He’d stood in the doorway listening to the various beeps and hissings of the machines hooked up to Katsuki Bakugo.  Eventually, Izuku had gained the strength to venture fully into the room.  He’d pulled up a chair and sat next to Bakugo, just watching him.  He spoke to him occasionally, but it didn’t really matter, he couldn’t really hear him that well anyway.  He’d stayed so long he’d accidentally fallen asleep, and hospital staff had to walk him back to his own room and get him back into his own hospital bed.  

Now here he was, sitting in the lobby of the hospital with everybody else, just as his friends had done every single day since they’d all been admitted.  It started with the entirety of class A, but day after day the group had thinned, and now only a few remained.  Kacchan’s parents had been waiting there nonstop for the first two days, but eventually they both had to go back to work, and doctors promised to call them once he was awake.  It broke Deku’s heart that more didn’t stay for Kacchan… 

“I’m going to the snack machines you guys want anything?”  Kaminari asked, attempting to bring some lightheartedness to the situation.  A few agreed to go with him, a few declined politely.  His golden gaze shifted over to Kirishima.  “Dude, come with us.  You look like you could use a distraction right about now.”  Kirishima shook his head, a look of absolute hopelessness etched onto his face.  Kaminari frowned, “come on.  You’ve been sitting there all day and you haven’t moved, not even once.”

“I don’t want to,” Kirishima uttered in a dead voice.  It was such a departure from the usual ray of sunshine that Kirishima was. 

Kaminari gulped and turned towards Sero for help, who’s sad eyes were glued to Kirishima’s expression. 

“Please?”  Kaminari tried.  “I’ll buy you a soda or something.  You can’t tell me you don’t need the caffeine.”  Kirishima’s hardened expression remained steady as he nodded, conceding.  “Ok, buddy,” Kaminari smiled sweetly, tapping Kirishima on the shoulder as he stood.

The small group had just wandered off when an excited nurse came buzzing into the room.  

“Visitors of Bakugo, Katsuki?”  Those remaining in the lobby perked up in anticipation.  “He’s awake.  The doctor says it’s ok to visit with him now.” 

Izuku Midoriya had rocketed himself out of the chair and zoomed down the hall towards Bakugo’s room as fast as he could.  He could just barely hear All Might asking the nurse to inform those who had left for the vending machines once they get back.  Deku rounded the corner and skidded to a halt — grabbing onto the door frame for support and slamming into it painfully with his shoulder.  Bakugo looked at him and kind of snickered at the ridiculous injury.

He’s okay… HE’S OKAY! 

Deku ran the rest of the way into the room, laughing and crying as Todoroki and All Might trailed in behind him.

“KACCHAN!  You… YOU’RE… YOU’RE OKAY!”  Deku’s hands kind of flew all over the place — covering his mouth as he cried, hovering all over Kacchan’s general vicinity without actually touching him (fearing the consequences if he did).  His hands both finally landed on the top of his green head as he let out a high-pitched laugh of pure relief.  It felt cathartic to finally laugh again.  

Todoroki was just staring at Bakugo, grinning at him silently as he took in the sight of his friend, alive and well. 

“Young Bakugo… you certainly had me worried there for a while,” All Might chuckled uncomfortably, eyes swimming and filling with tears. 

Bakugo grinned at his mentor and personal hero, determination burning in his eyes as he scoffed.

“Worried?  About me?  …What for?”  Bakugo smirked charmingly.

All Might guffawed.  “You’re entirely right.  I should have known a fighter like you would not be taken down so easily.” 

Bakugo pretended he didn’t feel a swell of pride in his chest at All Might’s words. 

All Might ruffled Bakugo’s hair, proud tears pouring out of his sunken eyes.

“You really are a true hero,” he grinned like a proud father.  Bakugo looked up at him with wide eyes, an almost childlike expression.

A sniffle brought Bakugo’s attention back to Deku, standing behind All Might, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“S’wrong with you?”  The blond growled from his hospital bed. 

Midoriya shook his head back and forth, taking a deep breath before he spoke, gravely.  

“I just can’t believe you protected me… I’d be dead now if it wasn’t for you.”  He whispered, darkly, in awe at the thought that his life could have ended, if not for Kacchan’s selflessness. 

Kacchan’s eyebrows stitched together for a moment, before neutrality flattened his expression again.

“Of course I did it… you really think I’m gonna let you die right in front of me?  No freaking way…” 

Normally, he would have said that with some sort of snarl or smirk, but there was nothing.  Izuku’s childhood friend set his jaw firmly and stared off to the side with a hint of embarrassment.

Deku smiled at him, tears steadily falling from his eyes as he continually wiped at his face. 

Kacchan turned his attention back to Midoriya with a half-hearted scowl, “what the hell are you smiling about, huh?” He growled, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.  Deku chuckled melodically.  His green eyes shed a few more tears as he grinned back at the boy who had sacrificed himself for him: his friend.  

“Just… thank you, Kacchan…”  

Bakugo stared back with an indiscernible expression, before he finally clicked his teeth.  

“Tch.  Stop crying, Deku, you’re gonna dehydrate,” Kacchan snarled with a sarcastic roll of his eyes.  That wasn’t surprising.  What was surprising was what followed: a smile.  It started off as a taunting smirk, but it softened into one of those rare smiles that Deku had only ever seen a handful of times (and never directed at him.  They mostly happened when Kacchan didn’t even know Deku was looking, and they were mostly only directed at—). 

“BAKUGO!”  

Kirishima burst into the room, followed closely by Kaminari, Sero, and Ashido.

The front runner ran right up to the hospital bed, and wrapped his arms around the startled patient. 

“OW!”  Bakugo snarled at him, loudly.

“CAREFUL!” Came dual shouts from both Kaminari and All Might.

“Sorry!” Kirishima whispered, adjusting his hold, but refusing to let go.

“Get off me, shitty hair…” 

There was no movement from the red head. 

“Kirishima…” Bakugo grumbled in protest.  He raised his right hand, as if to push Kirishima away, but he hesitated.  Instead, he simply rested his scarred palm against his shoulder and held it there.  When the redhead didn’t pull away, Bakugo jostled his shoulder just slightly.  “Kirishima…” he sighed, slightly annoyed. 

It was then that it became clear that Kirishima was crying. 

A small sniffle escaped, muffled against Bakugo’s pillow.  Red Riot’s shoulders began to tremble as his breathing hitched quietly.  Bakugo’s hand lifted off of him in shock.  He’s… crying?  After a moment, Bakugo lowered his hand, slowly, resting comfortably against his dyed red hair.  “Eijiro…” he whispered, tenderly.

Silently, All Might ushered the rest of the kids out of the room.  Bakugo didn’t even notice they were gone. 

“You almost died…” came the broken whimper from Kirishima. 

Bakugo gulped reflexively.  “Yeah, but I didn’t…” he snarled, almost like he was challenging death. 

“I almost lost you…”   

Bakugo froze at that.  He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what to do. 

A snarky, ’Why would you care?’ Was almost his first response.  But that would’ve been stupid.  Of course he cared.  The spiky haired embodiment of the color red had only been following him everywhere since he’d first arrived at UA.  You could even say they were… friends… 

And if the roles were reversed…

Bakugo couldn't even lie to himself.  Of course he would care, too, if it was he who had almost lost the one trembling in his arms.

He almost couldn’t imagine that reality.  He didn’t want to.

Bakugo closed his eyes and tilted his head towards Kirishima’s — hand still resting heavily against the back of his head.  

“You really think I’d let myself die before I got the chance to be number one?  No.  Don’t be stupid,” Bakugo drawled with a determined grin audible in his voice.  

Kirishima chuckled in what felt like the first time in days.  Then he laughed louder.  He just kept laughing until he finally released his hold on Bakugo, tilting his head back and laughing boisterously until his entire body shook from the effort.  He was soon wiping happy tears from his eyes instead of anxious ones.  

Midoriya heard the commotion from just outside the door and peeked his head in, out of curiosity.  He half prepared himself for Kacchan to realize, and yell at him for spying from the doorway like a creep, but the blond never even noticed him.  That’s not where he was looking.

That’s when Izuku saw it: that smile, bigger and brighter than ever.  

His green eyes shined happily as he watched him from afar.  

Upon hearing laughter erupting from the hospital room, Kaminari took it upon himself to enter the room again. 

“Kacchan!  Glad to see you’re in good spirits!” Kaminari teased him, walking in with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed in a happy display of lightheartedness. 

“Tch,” Bakugo’s smile tilted into a good-natured scowl.  

The group stayed in that hospital room as long as they were physically allowed.  Then, when the nurse came in to announce that visiting hours were over, All Might had convinced her to let it slide, just this once.  She let it slide because, well… it’s All Might.  

Eventually, it got so late that most of them had said their goodbyes and left.  All Might had just dismissed himself, departing with a loving ruffle of Bakugo’s hair, and encouraging words of pride. Now it was only Kirishima and Izuku, but the latter figured that the injured patient would need rest, so he tapped the redhead on the shoulder, and nodded towards the door.  

Midoriya was about to walk through the door when Bakugo’s voice stopped him. 

“W-wait!”  He stuttered in a panicked voice.  Kirishima and Midoriya turned around to see Bakugo scowling at his hands, as if scolding himself for speaking up.  He finally looked back up at them, grabbing the hospital remote from his nightstand.  “Do you losers wanna watch a movie?” 

So they did. 

Eventually, Deku had fallen asleep.  He awoke around 3 am, when his back began aching from the hospital chair he was slouched in.  The tv was still on, playing some other movie now, and he suspected the one they had been watching had been over for a while now.  

He should probably turn off the tv.  Where was that remote?  Izuku was the last to have it, so he searched around himself and under the bed, with no luck. 

“Kacchan, where—”  Deku’s words stopped short at the sleeping sight of the other two.  

Kirishima had fallen asleep with his head resting on the hospital bed, right next to Bakugo’s lap, head tilted so he could still see the tv.  Bakugo was still lying on his back, but his head was lulled to the side towards Kirishima.  What had made Midoriya freeze in his tracks however was Kacchan’s hand — turned palm-up, next to his side — with Kirishima’s own scarred hand resting on top, both of their fingers curled around the other’s.

He stared at them in shock for a moment, before a smile softened his freckled expression.  He was vaguely reminded of the events of Kamino: the look on Bakugo’s face when he’d seen Kirishima calling to him from the sky; the way Kirishima kept reaching for Bakugo’s hand even after the fact, just needing to know he’d had Bakugo safe in his hand, despite being rejected every time… 

Izuku decided to pretend he’d never woken up.  Let them stay like that for a while longer.  He climbed back into the chair, curling up in a more comfortable position, and drifted back asleep.   

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alright well there you have it.  This part is definitely more Fanon than canon at this point, but I still tried to make it kinda possible.  

I hope you enjoyed my little ramblings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pt. 1: here.    pt. 2:  here

[imagining-supernatural]

The Second Check-In

Part 12 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary: You and Sebastian discuss how to handle dealing with the press and media now that word is out that he’s married, then you go to the second-check in and see how your tumor is doing.

Word Count: 2,644

The picture that was taken when you were getting into the car showed half of your face and it was splashed everywhere. It seemed like the entire world wanted to know who Sebastian Stan’s mystery wife was. You’d decided it was probably best if he didn’t take you to the hospital on Monday and he’d reluctantly agreed. So, while you enjoyed your anonymity a little longer, he had a video conference with his agent and PR team.

As you got ready to leave after your infusion, a nurse stopped you and let you know that Dr. Chowdhury wanted to see you before you left.

“I am an old man, but I do have grandkids,” he started off. It was an odd beginning to a conversation between a doctor and his patient, but your life was one whole jumble of weird, so you shrugged it off. “So I see the headlines sometime, and, if I’m not mistaken, the man who comes in with you so often has been hitting headlines lately. Or, rather, you have been.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“You don’t need to worry about the hospital staff. Patient confidentiality, you know. But the other patients are not bound by the rules we are. I do not want to cause any undue stress, but it is imperative to your treatment that you remain in a positive frame of mind. So I was wondering if you would prefer we move you to a private room while you are here.”

“I—that’d probably be smart.”

He nodded and made a note in your chart. “Good. Also, tomorrow we’ll run you through some more scans. I want to see the progress this new medication is making.”

“What if—” You really didn’t want to know the answer to this question, but you needed to ask it anyway. “What if there hasn’t been any progress? What if the tumor just won’t shrink?”

“We have one more course of action we can take should it come to that. We aren’t giving up on you, Y/N. Don’t give up on us just yet.”

“This journalist said they like my hair,” you mentioned conversationally as Sebastian puttered around the kitchen, making dinner.

“It’s good hair.”

“It is good hair, isn’t it? I’m glad neither of my treatments caused hair loss.”

Besides the photo that leaked from the Vegas wedding and the one from the diner, no other pictures or new information had come to light. So far, you hadn’t seen any outright negativity in the news regarding you or Sebastian. Mostly because the headlines were focused on you as a Mystery Woman. As soon as the veil lifted and the truth came to light, you were sure things would turn ugly. But for now, you would enjoy the neutrality.

“You haven’t read any comments, have you?”

“Nope. I promised I wouldn’t and, as Dr. Chowdhury said today, it is imperative that I maintain a positive attitude for my treatment to work,” you said, trying your best to match his Indian accent. However, much like your aptitude for foreign languages, you were downright dismal at accents.

“You talked to Dr. Chowdhury?”

“Yeah.” You set down your phone and waited until Seb looked at you. “Can you come with me tomorrow? We’re running scans and he’s gonna let me know if this treatment is actually shrinking the tumor. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go alone, considering how I reacted last time.”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “What time’s the appointment?”

“Two. I know you’re going on some talk shows here in the city this week. Will that work for you?”

He nodded. “I’m going on Late Night with Seth tomorrow. Should have enough time.” Sebastian checked on the soup on the stove before rounding the island and taking a seat next to you. “Speaking of… Have you thought any more about what you’re comfortable with me talking about on TV?”

“A little. As much as I’d love for you to veto all questions about me, I think your PR team is right. You probably should acknowledge the elephant.”

“Are you calling yourself fat?” He gasped in fake offense.

“Elephant in the room, you idiot.”

“I’m your idiot, though.”

Okay, so you knew you were technically married to the man, but it still felt wrong to feel butterflies in your stomach when he teased you like that.

Friends. That’s all you were in actuality.

“And as my idiot,” you kept it going, ignoring how much you loved saying those words, “I think you should definitely acknowledge that you’re married. I don’t think I’m comfortable with my name being out there, though.”

He nodded. “I figured that. And I agree.”

“Part of me wants to play it safe and pretend like we’ve known each other for a while. Like, long-distance relationship thing. But another part of me hates the lie. And also, as someone who grew up on Harry Potter fanfiction, this accidental marriage trope would just be eaten up by your fans.”

“Which means we’d probably stay in the spotlight longer,” he pointed out.

“Yeah. And you’d have to explain why we stayed married. Mentioning that your wife has cancer is kind of a downer for a talk show like Seth’s.”

Wife. Rather than think about how the word applied to you, you chose to replay the John Mulaney segment in your head as a nice distraction from those damn butterflies in your stomach.

That’s my WIFE!

“Do you feel comfortable with me telling everyone you have cancer?” He asked.

At some point during this conversation, you’d grabbed his hand and were now playing with his fingers. You kept your eyes on where your fingers were massaging his as you contemplated the question. It was the only one you hadn’t come to conclusion about before now.

“I don’t know…”

“Think out loud. Maybe I can help.”

“Okay, so, on one hand, if you mention I have cancer, that would be a great time to ask for privacy. You know. Play the pity card. Say how I’m going through treatment and the stress would make it harder for me. Which is the truth.”

“On the other hand…” he prompted.

“If you leave that part out I might seem less interesting and the spotlight might move on faster, you know? And I’m a private person, as you know.”

He grinned. “Oh, yes. I remember, Y/N no-middle-name Y/L/N.”

His reminder of the first day you were in the city made you laugh. It seemed like an entire lifetime ago. If only you’d known that you would be putting your entire life in his hands less than two days later…

“You know what? I trust you, Seb. The only hard line I’m drawing is my name. I want to keep that out of the light as long as I can. For the rest… you’re better at this publicity thing than I am. You’ve talked to your PR team. I trust your judgment.”

“That’s so sweet,” he cooed, freeing one of his hands to wipe away imaginary tears. “You’re making me cry, Y/N.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up and check on the soup.”

“You asked me to be here so—”

“If I’d known you’d be so annoying I wouldn’t ha—”

“Just give me your fucking hand, dammit. I’m trying to be supportive!” Sebastian scooted his chair over and grabbed both of your hands out of your lap, gripping them on the armrest victoriously. “Now I have both of your hands. Whatchu gonna do ‘bout that, huh sweetheart?”

Glare at him, was your answer, though the shock of the new pet name dampened the fire behind it. It was a few minutes after two ‘o clock and you were waiting in Dr. Chowdhury’s office. A nurse let you know he’d be a few minutes late which immediately made your blood pressure skyrocket.

And that’s how you found yourself arguing with Sebastian about him holding your hand.

You huffed, but shifted in the seat so you could more comfortably keep your hands in his.

“Glad to see you two getting along so well,” an amused British accent you hadn’t heard in a few weeks said, alerting you to her presence in the room.

“Helen!” Seb released your hands for long enough to stand, give her a hug, and shake Dr. Chowdhury’s hand before sitting back down and expectantly putting his hands on the armrest of your chair. Neither doctor said anything as you stared down your husband. It was only when he quirked his eyebrow that you sighed and gave him your hands again.

“Sorry ‘bout that. He’s trying to become the personification of the phrase way too over-supportive,” you shot both doctors a tolerant grin.

“There is no such thing when it comes to treatment,” Dr. Sharpe said, grinning as she sat next to Dr. Chowdhury behind his desk.

“Told you,” Seb muttered to you.

“Shut up, the adults are talking,” you whispered back. To the doctors, you said, “So, I don’t know whether to be scared or happy that both of you are here.”

“We are seeing progress, Y/N,” Dr. Chowdhury said simply.

“Progress,” you repeated softly. The word felt foreign in your mouth.

“What does that mean?” Seb asked, squeezing your fingers.

Dr. Chowdhury sat forward, clasped hands resting on his desk. “It means that your scans showed that the tumor is shrinking. Slower than we would have hoped, but it is shrinking.”

“And before you say anything,” Dr. Sharpe broke in, “It is enough. While the progress is slower than we planned for, we both agree that if it continues like this, the tumor should grow small enough to remove it. It just might take longer than we planned for.”

“It’s shrinking,” you whispered, still processing this good news. Despite your better mood, you’d still been expecting bad news when you came in.

“It’s shrinking,” Dr. Chowdhury confirmed, smiling.

This treatment was working. There was progress. It was shrinking.

“How much longer do you think it will take?” Seb asked.

Dr. Chowdhury nodded his approval of the question. “That is why both Helen and I are here today. You have a decision to make and we are both of different minds. As you know, I have kept Dr. Sharpe appraised of your progress during this study. We have conferred frequently, so though this is my study, her opinion is very much valid. And both options are medically sound.”

You nodded, ready to listen.

Dr. Chowdhury went first. “I would like to adjust your infusion cocktail one more time. This approach is quite aggressive, but my hope is that the tumor will begin to shrink more rapidly and you can have your surgery at the time we originally planned for.”

“I believe,” Dr. Sharpe took over the conversation at this point, “That it would be best to continue your infusions as they are. We estimate you will have to continue treatment for a month longer, at least, before surgery. But the progress you’ve made in the last week is promising, and you will not have to go through another period of adjusting to the new medication.”

“Option one is a more aggressive treatment plan that would keep us on schedule, and option two is to continue on with the current treatment and wait longer for the surgery?” Sebastian summarized. Both doctors nodded.

“One concern my doctor back home had about more aggressive treatment options was that my body would be too weak for surgery.” You looked at Dr. Chowdhury. “Is that a concern with the more aggressive treatment?”

“It is always a concern. One that I have considered. With how you’ve responded to the increased dosage over the last two weeks, I believe that you will not have to worry about being too weak for surgery. However, if I am wrong about that, there are a few courses of action I have in mind that would help so you can still have the surgery.”

You and Sebastian asked questions for a few more minutes until you felt you had enough information to continue the discussion alone. Since this decision wasn’t as time-pressing as the decision to begin treatment had been, Dr. Chowdhury suggested you two go home and come back the next day with your decision.

Before heading back to the apartment, Sebastian had Sean, your driver, drop you two off at the grocery store. There were a few things you both needed and, for the first time in a while, you felt up to walking around for a bit. So you braved being in public with Sebastian and only teased him a little for his choice of hat. Hopefully it would help keep his anonymity, and by extension, yours.

“Oreos?” You asked hopefully, knowing full well Sebastian wouldn’t say no. You were eating better, but any time you got excited over some food, you could see him mentally putting that dish on a list of meals that you were sure to eat. And even though Oreos weren’t healthy, they were food nonetheless.

“Regular? Double stuffed? Mint?”

“Mmm,” you considered, looking up at the shelves upon shelves of cookies. Your energy was slowly depleting, and you found yourself leaning against the cart more and more. Still, you were enjoying the little trip. “Regular is better to dip in milk, but double stuff is better if you don’t have milk. And you can never go wrong with mint…”

“You want all three?” He shot you a look with an amused eyebrow quirk.

“I mean, yes. But that’s a lot of Oreos to eat before they go stale. Why don’t they have a triple pack? Each row is a different kind? That would sell great.”

Surprise covered his face. “That’s… actually a good idea.”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I have good ideas every once in a while.”

“After you made me watch that one movie about the sexually transmitted demon, I’m not so sure.”

Your laughter rang down the aisle. “Okay, fair point.” Rolling the cart forward, you grabbed a pack of mint Oreos and tossed it by the boxed brownies you’d also conned him into getting. He tried talking you out of it, saying you could stop by the bakery down the street and get better brownies, but your counter point that you couldn’t eat half the brownie batter from the bakery had won you the round.

“What’s next?” you asked. “Ice cream?”

“You’re supposed to be eating healthy,” he pointed out.

“Look, can we just be happy that I’m finally getting my appetite back? You can lecture me about calories or saturated fats or whatever tomorrow.” Giving him your best puppy dog eyes, you pouted out your bottom lip. “Please? I might just wither away if I don’t have cheesecake ice cream tonight.”

He mumbled under his breath before starting to walk away.

You followed him, ignoring the squeaky wheel on your cart. “What was that?”

“If you spend more than two minutes choosing which flavor of ice cream, you’re not getting any,” he replied. That wasn’t what he had mumbled, you were sure, but you let it go.

“I’ll do you one better. If Ben and Jerry’s Strawberry Cheesecake isn’t stocked, I won’t get ice cream at all. Deal?”

“Deal. So, ice cream, produce section… anything else?”

With a head shake, you pushed forward until you were walking right next to Sebastian. He glanced at you and you gave him a soft grin. “Thank you, Seb. You’re the best.”

He tossed his arm around your shoulder and pulled you slightly closer. After pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head, he gave you a cocky grin. “I know I am, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

First in Dr. Chowdhury’s office and now here. That damn word was going to be the death of you, you swore.

Any ideas what it was Seb said under his breath?? And how do you think the interview later tonight is going to go? 

Chapter 13: The First Interview

[lesbiandipperpines]

Style oneshot bc I love my boys

Stan absolutely hated school. It was the bane of his existence, he constantly had to wear a fake smile to fit in and act as if the mental battle inside him just wasn’t happening. There was so much going on in his head, so many mental scars that add weight to his day. He looked around the classroom only to see the same people as he always did. Realistically, Stan hoped that there would be something new to look at and observe but there never was. His gaze found its way to Kyle, his best friend. There was always something about him that appealed to Stan so much. Kyle was another level of human - he was smart, helpful, caring, always there for Stan and even quite cute. Sure, there were times where they had their arguments and didn’t speak for a few days but they always patched things up. It was always the case of who would break first, who could go the longest without the other. Albeit it was usually Stan who broke first, both boys had a bond unlike any other in the quiet little mountain town.

“Oi, you are aware you’re staring at the Jew boy, right?” Eric’s voice played over Stan’s thoughts, snapping him back into reality almost instantly. Stan shook his head slightly, before glaring right at Eric. If looks could kill, this one would. “Shut up, dude, I was looking out the window.” Stan knew his excuse wouldn’t be accepted by the overweight boy sitting next to him. Eric simply scoffed before turning his attention back to the lesson at hand. Stan shifted in his seat slightly, he knew that Eric knew of his secret and that probably most of South Park did. Usually, it was easy to hide his bisexuality but ever since Eric managed to hear it through the grapevine, his life has been hell. There was always an anxious feeling in Stan’s stomach that Kyle was going to find out and wouldn’t accept who he was.

The bell rang, signalling the end of class. Students filled the hallways of the High School and made it a nightmare to navigate. Stan waited inside the almost empty class room for Kyle to finish packing his stuff away. Stan was always the type to pack his pen and notebook away halfway through the lesson, or whenever he felt bored enough to stop listening. Despite this, Kyle was the type to pay attention until the very end of the lesson, and to jot down everything the teacher says to ensure that he gets the best grades. Stan was sat on his desk with his foot propped up against what would have been Eric’s desk, his other leg just swinging back and forth aimlessly and his backpack slung onto one of his shoulders.

“Dude, I really don’t know why you pay so much attention in class, Mr Garrison hardly knows what he’s teaching.” Stan said as he and Kyle walked out the room together to join the chaotic hallways. Kyle let out a small giggle, which made Stan’s heart soar. He always thought that Kyle had the best smile and the best laugh, so he made it his mission to make Kyle laugh. “You know why, I gotta get good grades or my mum grounds me. Either that or we move back to Jersey, and that’s a definite no.” It was now Stan’s turn to have a giggle. Both the boys entered the cafeteria where they saw their group of idiots sitting at one of the tables. They were all joking about and throwing meaningless insults at one another, well mostly meaningless.

Both Kyle and Stan went to get their food, which was just processed crap that the lunch staff made. It wasn’t their fault the food tasted bad and was more unhealthy than eating literal dog food. The boys went to their table, which their friends claimed, and had a seat at either side of the table. Stan just stabbed his food with his fork as he listened to Eric speak about something or another. There was little truth to any word he spoke about anything but the others listened anyways as there was nothing better to do.

“Your foods gonna get cold, you know?” Kyle pointed out to Stan, almost starting up a private conversation between the two. Stan hummed in agreeance as he lazily chewed on the food he thought was nothing more than leftovers. With a few small bites, he had had enough food and got up to throw away what was left and leave his tray on top of the bin.

Stan travelled his way through the school. Sometimes he liked to spend some of his lunch hour alone, to figure out who he was. He went to go sit outside, on the steps by the back end of the school. He could faintly hear the music the goths played. There was something about their ways that made Stan want to sit by them, not exactly interact with them but be somewhat associated. He looked at his gloves, they seemed to be a different shade of red. Or maybe they were the same, he never knew. As he looked at them, the thoughts flooded in. He began to think of a life with Kyle, not entirely romantic but a future of some sort.

With Kyle by his side, the future didn’t appear to be as dull as he once thought. A joint apartment between them both, maybe they would get a pet or something for them to look after together. It was the perfect life for Stan, but one thing stood in the way of it all...Kyle. There was no doubt he would move on to college, somewhere out of state and far away from Stan. He could almost cry at the thought of the possibility that Kyle would leave his life. Reality sunk into Stan and he was one more depressing thought away from sitting with the goth kids again. His head fell into his hands as he began to cry at the thought of not having Kyle. Maybe if he told Kyle what he felt inside, then things might go his way. Naivety said Kyle liked him too, romantically, but narcissism said it was doomed from the moment he hit puberty.

“Stan..?” A gentle voice called out, it was Kyle. Stan sniffled a few times, wiped his nose with his jacket sleeve and turned his head to see the worried boy standing in the doorway. There was a moment of silence between the two, before Kyle instinctively wrapped his arms around Stan. Carefully, he rubbed Stan’s arm out of comfort. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Kyle asked once more, he was concerned for Stan at this point. It was rare that he said nothing in response. “Kyle, there’s something I need to say to you. And it’s quite important. And I don’t even know if i can tell you but I’m going to.” Stan’s voice was shaken and broken, his sobs engulfing him. He was unsure if Kyle even understood a word he had said. Kyle just nodded, and held Stan a little tighter in support. “Whenever you’re ready, you can tell me.” Kyle spoke gently, hoping that it gave Stan some clarity. He wanted to do anything he could to help his best friend suffer less.

“Okay, okay...so,” Stan took a moment to regain himself, compose himself into being able to say what he needed to, “I’m bisexual. And I’m pretty sure I like you- wait, no, forget that, I’m in love with you dude.” Stan looked at Kyle, with sad almost puppy dog eyes. Something inside him wanted him to believe Kyle was going to say something positive back. But Kyle said nothing, he looked shocked more than anything. “Wait, really? Dude…this is a lot to take in.” Kyle’s words sounded disconnected from him, like he was processing what Stan had said to him, “You...you love me? How long have you known?” Stan looked forwards, towards the playground, “a while. Ever since 9th grade. But before then I knew I had some sort of feelings towards you. And I get that it might freak you out but please don’t leave me, I need you. We can pretend this never happened, no one needs to know this happened, it can be a bad dre-” Stan was cut off by Kyle’s lips on his. Kyle pulled away first, only to have a small laugh at Stan. “You’re this biggest idiot I know, I love you too dude.” Kyle said, “I never spoke up about it because I thought you and Wendy were a thing still.” Stan felt stupid. He had a dumbstruck look on his face, it felt as if he tried to cheat a test and still fail. Wendy helped him throughout his whole identity crisis before he settled for calling himself bi. She gave him a good piece of advice, “a label is as temporary or as permanent as you chose it to be, you are not faking it because you discover more about yourself in the future,” and Stan had always admired her advice. “No, we haven’t dated since, like, 5th grade. She was just there for me when I couldn’t speak to you about it.”

The bell rang again, signalling the end of the lunch hour. Stan looked at Kyle, his eyes still bloodshot red from crying. Kyle took his hand and helped him up, he flung his own bag on his shoulder and picked up Stan’s bag and held it in his unoccupied hand. “Do you wanna ditch and grab some decent food? Cartman would rip you to shreds if you walked in looking like the dogshit you do right now. Still extremely handsome though.” Kyle was willing to ditch class for Stan, and he had done before. “What about your grades? I think your mum would kill you if she found out.” Stan counterpointed. Kyle didn’t care what she thought, he could handle her now. “I don’t care what she thinks, I’m all about you right now.” “Okay, let’s ditch. City Wok or Red Lobster?” “Definitely Red Lobster.” “So, are you my boyfriend now?” “Yes, Stan, yes I am.”

[imaginesforyourfandom]

Right Here - Christen Press Imagine

(Y/N) POV

I woke up feeling like complete garbage. I hadn’t been feeling good the last few days, but I was doing my best to keep pushing through during my practices. I could tell all the people around me were worried, but I didn’t feel like I could rest. The most worried was my girlfriend Christen…I understand she cares, but I need to keep going.

“Are you really gonna try this again today?” I turned my head to face Christen who was looking at me with a soft look.

I frowned at her before going into a coughing fit. She was immediately by my side as I tried to push her away a little, but she remained firm in helping me.

“I’m fine.” I mumbled picking up some water and taking a sip. She shook her head before leaving me to start getting ready.

I continued getting ready before heading down to breakfast. I sat down between Pinoe and Christen and rubbed my temples to help the headache I had.

“You know if you rested then you would feel better…” Ash said as I scowled at the goalkeeper.

“Ash don’t…” Christen said as I looked over at the forward who looked slightly irritated. “She’s not going to listen anyway…”

“Christen…” I mumbled as the forward shook her head indicating she didn’t want to talk.

As soon as breakfast was over, I made my way to the bus where we were getting ready to head over to practice. I put my headphones in and tried not to focus on the nauseous feeling that was taking over my body. There was a voice in my head telling me to stop, but all I could think about was how much I needed to keep going.

We got to the field and started doing warm-ups. I was getting suspicious looks from Dawn and some of the other coaching staff as the practice continued. At one point, I started getting really lightheaded. I was hoping it would go unnoticed, but I don’t have much luck.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” JJ asked as I stopped and swayed a little before dropping to the ground. She was by my side in a moment before some of the other girls made their way to me.

“(Y/N)!” I heard Christen as I rolled to my side. I curled up into a ball as I felt the soft hands of my girlfriend brushing hair out of my face. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

“It hurts.” I mumbled as they tried to move me.

“Come on. Be careful.” Dawn said as they tried to lift me. I groaned once I made it to my feet. Once I made it to the locker room, I was laid down as they checked me out to make sure everything was okay.

“So, it seems that you have a 102-degree fever.” Dawn said giving me a look of disappointment. “You should have sat out if you didn’t feel well…”

“I’m fine.” I mumbled going into coughing fit and curling into a ball.

“Yeah, you’re done for the day…potentially the week.” I shook my head before dropping my head onto the bed I was on. I closed my eyes and before I knew it I was knocked out.

“Baby…” I opened my eyes feeling extremely weak. I struggled to pick up my head as I saw Christen hovering over me giving me a concerned look. “Hey love…it’s time to go back to the hotel”

“Sleep…” I mumbled as she attempted to help me stand up. I leaned heavily on her before feeling another pair of arms support me.

“She is heavy.” JJ said as she continued helping get me to the bus. I was dropped softly in a seat as Christen immediately started making sure I was okay.

Before I knew it, we arrived at the hotel. JJ helped Christen get me to our room before I was laid down in our bed. I’m not sure how long I slept after that, but the curtains were draw closed and only one light was on. The room was dark and the tv had been on but was at a low volume. The bathroom light was on as Christen came out of it a moment later.

“Hey baby…” I smiled weakly at her as she came to my side. She sat down as I tried to sit up. “No, it’s okay. Just lay there…”

“I’m sorry.” I mumbled as she gave me a small smile.

“Maybe next time you won’t be so stubborn and will listen to me about resting…”

“I felt like I could do it…”

“I know, but you also have a hard time with knowing your limits.” She responded as I sighed closing my eyes feeling exhaustion take over again. “Just rest my love…”

When I woke up again, I felt just a little better. I had my arms wrapped around Christen who was looking at stuff on her phone. It was amazing that she was able to move around at all considering how much I was basically laying on top of her.

“How long are you going to continue to pretend to be asleep?”

“Until I feel like getting up…”

“You need to check your temperature and take some medicine.” She said as I groaned in protest.

“No.”

“Please don’t do this again…” she whined as I huffed and sat up. She stood up and moved around to grab the thermometer and some medicine before coming and sitting down next to me. She put the thermometer to my head as I gave her a tired look. “101.4”

“It’s better.”

“Still not low enough.” She said taking some pills out the box and handing them towards me. She handed me a bottle of water as I popped them down. “You still need to rest. I’m going to go get some food.”

“Okay.” I mumbled laying down and pulling the blanket up towards me. It was about half an hour later when she returned and gave me some food. We laid in bed watching tv before she decided to check my temperature again.

“100.3” she said as I smiled just a bit. “Still not great, but it is better.”

“Am I allowed to get up now?”

“Sure, if you want to be single.” I pouted at her as she gave me an amused smile. I fell back into the bed earning a triumphant grin from the forward.

“I don’t want to be single.”

“I don’t want you to be single either…” she said climbing back into the bed with me. She wrapped her arms around me as I snuggled into her. “I want you to rest.”

“I don’t want to rest. I’m tired of resting.”

“Well, I want to lay here with you. I want to rest with you. I want to be right here with you.”

“Ugh…fine.” I said as she smiled at me. She kissed my forehead and rubbed my back as I let myself be comforted by her. “You’re not worried about getting?”

“If I get sick from trying to help you feel better, well it would be worth it.” She said as I looked up at her with a soft smile.

“I love you Christen.” I said snuggling back into her. She tightened her grip on me kissing my forehead again.

“I love you too you stubborn baby…”

The End.