#so it comes down to being mad at the door handle for catching your coat when youre rushing

[fushigurro]

𝙎𝙊𝙍𝙍𝙔'𝙎 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙀𝙉𝙊𝙐𝙂𝙃.

𝗗𝗘𝗡𝗞𝗜 𝗞𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗔𝗥𝗜 𝗫 𝗗𝗢𝗠!𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗕!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / oral (reader receiving) / mention of m!masturbation / hair pulling / a singular little slap

You can hardly wait to get back home after a long and aggravating day, looking forward to being with Denki after a particularly spicy string of text messages had passed between the two of you earlier. It had left the both of you heated and wanting for more, to say the least.

You’re a little later than usual, but it was out of your control; besides, it only causes the anticipation to continue to build within you oh so deliciously. You’re only that much more excited to walk through the door of your home, predicting that Denki will be just the same.

However, the visual you’re immediately met with causes your jaw to drop.

Denki's on the couch, legs spread, breath hot and heavy, and looking like a complete disheveled mess. The waistband of his pants is only pushed down enough for his cock to have been pulled out, t-shirt bunched up with a free hand so that his stomach and chest are the canvases for his drying cum rather than the fabric.

Apparently he was impatient enough to jerk himself off before you got home. And only moments ago, it seems.

He looks at you, wrecked, panting, and remorseful, already aware of your disappointment. “I-I’m sorry, babe… I couldn't take it anymore.” His cheeks are red as he swallows and fights to catch his breath. “You were taking forever and… I just thought I'd blow off some steam real quick and then be ready again when you got home! Please don’t be mad!” He apologizes and hopes his excuses erase the displeased look in your eyes, but oh, are his hopes ever in vain.

˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

You’ve lost track of time after your third orgasm.

Denki’s on his knees in between your thighs, mouth slaving away at your cunt as you’re spread bare in that very same spot on the couch. You’d decided that since his cock had become worthless after his little solo venture, you’d put him to work in other ways in the meantime.

Your fingers grip at bright strands of hair, keeping him in place, but you allow him a brief moment to come up for air. His lips and chin are coated with your slick, and he’s even more of a mess than he was before.

“Babe, can I take a break? Pretty please? My jaw’s getting tired.” He has the audacity to whine and complain, using a spare hand to squeeze the base of his hard cock.

Oh, so now he wants to fuck you? That only makes you tighten your grip in his hair, causing him to twitch and whimper with a soft ‘a-ah!’

“Not tired enough to shut up, apparently,” you respond coldly. “Maybe you should’ve thought a little harder before deciding to fuck your own fist before i got home.”

“I said I was sorry!” he desperately reiterates with a pout as his hips ever so slightly rut against nothing.

“I know, baby.” you slide your hand down to cup his cheek and offer a small, faux smile. “But sorry’s not enough. You gotta make it up to me, right?” You wipe some of the wetness from his chin with your thumb.

Denki closes his eyes and softly nods in agreement despite his anguish. The guilt washes over him once more. “Yeah, I guess so.”

This deeply amuses you. “Good boy,” you say, giving his cheek a light slap so that it turns as pink as the tip of his weeping cock. He swears he could bust just from the way you handle him.

“Now, keep going,” you continue, grabbing a fist full of his hair once more. “I'm not done using you yet.”

[knowltonsrangers]

exile

SOL!Paul Revere x reader

[a/n: in which the reader finds of Paul’s mission and the midnight ride.]

In a vulnerable moment, you pause, hand settled on the doorknob but not quite ready to make the next move. It laughs at you, beckoning you to twist it, howling at the fact you just can’t bring yourself to.

It’s a miserable stalemate, eyes roaming to your left where the hallway candle began to flicker. The world would continue to rotate, and yet, you felt as if it halted in your mind.

“y/n?”

It’s quiet, a mumbled question full of so much and nothing at the same time. Suddenly provided with no other options, you feel your stomach twist, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you release the door knob.

“Are you alright?”

His tone is worried, just a bit, taking in the fact that you’ve yet to turn around to greet him. It’s suspicious, though, it’s likely he’s startled you from coming up so quietly.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

There’s a pregnant pause, one that you take a heavy deep breath in and then release.

“Sorry, I’m fine, I—“

For once, you started a sentence and had no idea where it was going.

You were on autopilot, words tumbling easily from false and flawed lips, ready to sober up from the depressive symptoms of the night.

“That was hardly convincing,”

You turn, back to the door, blinking wildly as tears begin to form. It’s hard, but you manage to bite them back, if so just for a moment.

To save any dignity you had so desperately attempted to salvage.

With a watery smile, you spin around, palms splayed flat against the door as if you were hiding something so precious behind them.

“And you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,”

A mildly confused look passes across Paul’s features, brown eyes searching for something deeper in yours, when suddenly, the corners of his lips twitch into a deep frown.

“You heard, didn’t you?”

“Heard what?”

You foolishly hum, attempting to catch the grumble of his voice as it fades into the summer night, echoes of crickets and the occasional shuffle of shoes along the cobblestone.

“I purposely…I wanted to tell you myself.”

In all the years you’ve known and come to love the man, you’ve never once heard Paul actually falter in his words.

“And you have.”

You manage, but it’s not enough to keep the conversation moving along.

“y/n, it’s not really up for debate, I’m due back at Warren’s in a few minutes. I said I would stop home to get my coat.”

He’s being brash because the longer he stalls, the harder it’ll be to leave.

“Very well.”

You choke, stepping aside from the bedroom door, allowing him free passage to retrieve his article of clothing.

Though, he never moves. He’s starting, intently, at you, strong features illuminated by flickering lanterns and dying candles.

“Come back to me, Paul.”

It’s a whisper, and it’s all you can offer.

“I intend to.”

Paul finally reaches the door knob, hand on it, similarly to how you were when he had found you.

“Dawes will be with me.”

He grips the handle harder, knuckles turning white, and when he looks to you, your eyes are trained on the floor.

“Dammit, y/n, scream, yell—get mad at me! Why are you so quiet? It’s scarin’ the hell outta me!”

Your gazes lock, and offering a soft smile, a single tear rolls down your cheek, the back of your hand catching it before it meets your chin.

“There is no force on earth that could stop you when you have your mind set, Paul.”

It’s difficult, but it had to be said, it’s the most truest statement you could ever face.

“I am standing face to face with a losing battle. The only thing I can do is watch you go, and await your return.”

Paul opens the door, accepting your defeated words with a irritated sigh, and then as you go in the other direction towards the foyer, you are startled once more by the slam of the door and heavy boots parading across the floor.

Gasping, his hands firmly, yet with as much gentleness you’ve ever known, grasp your wrists, spinning you around so you have no choice but to glower up at his face.

“I am comin’ back. And, when I do, you can bet your ass I’m tellin’ you, I told you so.”

Swiftly, before you can even get a word in, he leans down and steals a kiss off your lips.

“Go. Dr. Warren is probably looking for you.”

Hands on his chest, you gingerly push the brunette away, but not before kissing his cheek softly.

“Fine.”

He’s upset because you are, and it does nothing to quell the fear that raged in your chest, but it made you realize that maybe there was some benefits to be gained being at the end of a losing battle.

“Be well,”

You watch from the front door, once he’s gotten his coat and boots.

“I’ll be back.”

Paul mounts his horse easily, raspy voice a whisper in the distance.

“I’ll be here when you return.”

You don’t miss the smile he throws you over his shoulder as his horse weaves down the cobblestone streets of Boston.

[genshinwritings]

Pregnancy Headcanons || Zhongli & Diluc

Thank you guys a lot for loving the other pregnancy headcanons ♥ I hope this satisfies your needs, haha~ 

____________________________________________________________

Zhongli

 Zhongli knew that there was something wrong with you. You were avoiding him almost strategically. Whenever you had to meet up with him you made sure that another person was around so you would not have to talk to him about private things. He often pretended that everything was fine in front of other people but deep inside he was longing to know what was wrong with you. Usually you would come around in the morning or in the evening to visit him but within the blink of an eye everything had changed. He didn’t see you daily anymore, whenever he came you left right away. He didn’t know what he had done or said to you that made you react like that but he surely knew that his heart shattered whenever a day passed where he did not talk to you.

 He had thought about the circumstances of your relationship and the possibility of anyone threatening you to stay away, yet he could not think about anyone who would profit from keeping you away from him. He felt devastated and he did not know what to do, he had handled a lot of situations with women before but never in his life had his partner avoided him without having an obvious reason to do so.

 It was late at night when you returned home, a small shock running down your spine as you felt another presence in your flat. You knew that it was him right away. You sighed defeated as you stepped into the living room, Zhongli neatly seated in the arm chair while sipping on a cup of earl grey. “Guess you’ve been expecting me..” You mumbled as you kicked off your shoes, an uneasy feeling tumbling in your stomach.  Zhongli’s eyes focused on yours as you nervously fumbled with your fingers, knowing that he was going to confront you now about the way you behaved the last couple days.

 “Would you mind sharing your knowledge with me as of why you are avoiding me?” He spoke low and calmly before blowing cold air to his tea, taking a sip while his eyes never left yours. You had been trying to avoid this conversation with him rather than you had tried to avoid him in general, yet you knew that you had to talk to him about what was going on. “I’m sorry when I hurt you with ignoring you.” You started to whisper, your gaze falling to the ground. “I did a mistake, a pretty big one and I did not want to bother you with it. I’m stupid and you’re going to hate me for it.”

Zhongli raised an eyebrow at your words, placing the cup of tea down on the wooden table in front of him before standing up. He had to admit that he was severely confused upon hearing your words, not being able to think about anything you could have done wrong.  Nevertheless, a mistake that would make him hate you. The thought of you being unfaithful crossed his mind, yet he knew that you would never do that, he trusted you too much. “Hey..” He whispered softly, firm hands placing on your shoulders as he leaned down to press a loving kiss to your forehead. “I can’t think of any reason that would possibly make me hate you and I’m sure whatever you have done is neither worse than the things I did in the past..” His voice was calm and soothing your nerves, a small relieved sigh slipping past your lips as your arms wrapped loosely around his middle, leaning your forehead against his chest.

“I’m pregnant..” You whispered into the fabric of his coat, your arms around him tightening as the fear of him pushing you away spread in your stomach. You could feel your heart clench as seconds of utter silence passed, almost feeling like an eternity. You had been more than afraid to see his reaction when you told him, after all he had been with several other partners before who did not let a mistake like that happen.

Zhongli was shocked by your words to say the least, never in his life had he expected this to be the reason why you had avoided him for days. He had prepared himself for the worst already but this was far from what he had expected.

 “First off..” He spoke calmly while his arms wrapped around your body to pull you close, one of his hands finding its way to the back of your head to reassuringly caress you hair. “The amount of love I carry in my heart for you makes it impossible for me to hate you. Whereas secondly, there’s always two people involved when it comes to this..” He leaned down to press a small kiss to the side of your head, his strong hand running over your back. He felt your body shivering and trembling in his arms, pulling slightly away from the hug before lifting up your chin between his thumb and index finger to look at you. He saw the sorrows in your eyes along with the fear of rejection, his heart craving for you to understand that he was not mad at all. “I love you, I really do. How could I ever thank you for a surprise as magnificent as this one?”

He smiled softly as he leaned in to catch your lips in a gentle but firm kiss. Even though he had never thought about becoming a father himself, the idea of it sounded more than tempting, especially with you as the mother. He could feel the warmth in his heart again as you relaxed into his touch, a small chuckle leaving your lips as you parted. “I know you’re far from being overly excited but- I love you too and I hope you know that I’m more than happy.” You hummed sweetly, pressing another kiss to his lips.

 Zhongli is going to spend all the free time he has to be by your side, always making sure that you’ve got everything you needed. Whenever he can’t come around or has to stay away from you for a while, he will tell the old people in the village to come and look after you. He does not trust a lot of people when it comes to knowing about your pregnancy, he does not want you or your unborn child to be exposed to unknown danger, trying to keep the possibility of anything happening to you as small as possible.

With time he will slowly get used to the thought of becoming a father, often talking to you about the things he’s going to do when your baby was finally born. He bought a lot of children’s books, telling you that he’s planning to read them a bedtime story every night so they might become as interested in books as he is. He will tell you how he’s going to teach them about the culture in Liyue and how he can’t wait to take them out, to show them the most beautiful places. Whenever he is talking about the future and about your baby, you can see a sparkle of happiness in his eyes and you can hear how proud he is from the way he speaks.

Diluc

 Everyone knew that Diluc was not the most sincere person when it came to talking, especially not when they were involved with the Knights of Favonius. With you it had always been a different thing, you had gotten to know him when you first arrived in Mondstadt, even before you had made up the thought of joining the Knights. It was a quiet evening when you sat at the bar of Mondstadt’s tavern, Diluc casually working while he was, of course, not the best partner for a conversation. He had told you about some of the people in the city and recommended who you could talk to and who you should avoid if possible. You noticed his disliking for the Knights of Favonius right away, yet you did not dare to ask him about it back then. You visited him frequently at the tavern, pretending to be there for personal reasons rather than only to talk to him. Even after you had joined the Knights, Diluc still treated you the same as before. He told you that he did not like your decision but he somehow found a liking to talk to you which was the reason why he would ignore that small fact about you. After meeting up in the tavern for weeks, he had invited you to go on a date with him or asked you whether you wanted to at least meet him somewhere more private.

 You had spent a lot of time with Diluc over the next few months, always making sure that you would stop by at the winery when you were around or him visiting you in town when you returned from a mission. You never needed words to describe your relationship, the both of you just knew that you belonged together. Whenever you were around Diluc was happy, outgoing and almost a man with a soft side. He made sure to never show this side of himself to anyone but you though, always making you laugh when he switched from being soft to being a meanie.

Diluc noticed it quickly when your behavior around him changed. You weren’t as outgoing anymore, often canceling your missions shortly before departing or asking someone else to go for you. It got to the point where even Kaeya asked him what had happened to you that you were often trying to avoid your responsibilities as a Knight. It was slowly getting to Diluc’s nerves, you suddenly changing this much and more than that, you not being around as much as you were before.

He had told his brother that he wanted to talk to you at the winery, for once finding it okay to ask Kaeya for a favor, something he would never usually do. You were surprised as the Cavalry Captain told you about his brothers message for you, a small shock running down your spine. You had tried to avoid to talk to Diluc for a while, yet you knew that he was far from being stupid and that he would see through your act right away.

Diluc was relieved to see you when you arrived at the winery in the evening, a soft smile planted on his lips as he welcomed you at the door before taking you up to his private apartment. You could feel your heart jump with joy upon seeing Diluc’s smile, the last few days had been unbearable as you had tried to stay away from him. Being able to look at him again, to feel his rough hand in yours as he led you through the building, it all made you feel utterly happy.

“I was almost afraid that I did something wrong that you weren’t visiting me anymore.” He spoke lowly before chuckling softly, squeezing your hand in his. “Would you like to drink anything?” He asked you as he let go of your hand, a small smile on your lips as you followed him through the apartment to the kitchen, your arms crossing in front of your chest. “I’ll be fine with grape juice.” You spoke as you leaned in the doorframe, Diluc stopping in his steps upon hearing your words. He looked at you confused and raised an eyebrow, tilting his head lightly to the side. “You sure you want no wine? It’s unsual for you to be satisfied with only juice..” He laughed shortly. Whenever you two met, wine was your usual go to drink but right now you didn’t think of it as properly and appropriate for your situation.

“Well, it’s not allowed to drink any alcohol when you’re pregnant, so I guess.. I have to go with grape juice.” You shrugged your shoulders playfully before taking the glass from his hand, his eyes growing big. He stood there dumbfounded, not knowing whether you were joking or not, stupidly both suited the situation. “Are you joking right now?” He almost whispered, his eyes focusing on yours as a bright smirk formed on your lips. Diluc could feel himself growing mad on the inside because you were playing with him but at the same time he felt a deep hope in his heart that you would tell him that you were not joking.

“I’m not joking, you’re going to be a father..” You mumbled, the smile never vanishing from your lips. You knew everything about Diluc’s complicated past but you also knew that he was going to be an excellent father no matter what. Adding to that he had often fantasized about becoming a father since your relationship had become more serious. He could feel his heart skip a beat as he listened to your words, placing down his glass before cupping your face in his hands, leaning in to quickly press a kiss to your lips. “I love you.” He whispered softly in between multiple small kisses, one of his arms wrapping around your hips to hold you close. “Thank you so much, my love. For everything. For coming into my life and changing everything to the better.”

 Diluc is going to be as caring as he always is when it comes to you. Always making sure that he was around when you woke up and when you fell asleep. During the day he was often occupied with his own work but whenever you felt bad or asked him to stay with you, he did as you wished. He was more than happy about your pregnancy, the proud feeling of soon becoming a father storming through his veins. Whenever someone asked him about your pregnancy there was always warm smile on his lips as he stayed silent about the circumstances. He had no problem with letting anyone know about it as long as it did not put you into danger somehow. 

[helliontherapscallion]

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Thursday (Part 2)

Monday     Tuesday     Wednesday     Thursday (Part 1)     Friday     Saturday     Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: panic attacks, swearing, puking, concussions, mentions of injuries/bullying, homophobia

Word count: 5,138

After school, you were sitting on the couch as you furiously typed on your keyboard at an extremely fast pace. You were on a roll with these essays, they were probably going to be finished by the time you had to go back to the school to get on the bus with the team. You figured that you could even finish Annie’s essay and get started on Sammy’s US history presentation on the sociopolitical climate of the United States in the mid twentieth century to today. However, instead of covering a variety of topics like the rubric requested you to do, you were only going to talk about the significant events that happened to the LGBT+ community starting with Stonewall and going to Obergefell v. Hodges. You were also going to go in depth about how even if there are more opportunities available and more laws set in place to protect for LGBT+ people in the present then there were in past, members of the LGBT+ community still suffer heavy discrimination in the workplace and in the public. With receipts of course, the assignment required a minimum of three pictures per slide, and the group chat was a perfect source.

After that was done, you would email Sammy’s teacher (you had her last year for US history and you knew that she had a son in the grade below you currently transitioning from female to male) that you were the one that did her project and send screenshots of Sammy calling you slurs. Luckily for you, you had receipts of her being transphobic in the past that you could also send. Everything was effortlessly falling into place for you today. 

As you were typing, the front door swung open and two overly excited fifth graders ran into the house and up the stairs. A tired Schlatt followed them. “I will never know how the hell Phil keeps up with them.” 

“I dunno, maybe because he’s already raised three kids before.”

You watched as your uncle jumped and whipped his head over towards you, his hand clutching his chest. He lightly glared at you, “christ kid don’t do that, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

You smirked at him before turning back to your laptop to continue typing the essay. You were almost done with the conclusion paragraph on Annie’s essay and you wanted to get to Sammy’s presentation as fast as possible. As you were typing, you felt a warm air fan across your neck and your uncle’s voice right next to your ear, “whatcha typin?”

You lept off the couch and almost fell into the coffee table before steadying yourself and deadpanning at Schlatt. “I was typing an essay before you interrupted me.”

He snorted, “it looked like you were on a roll, just thought I’d see what my beloved niece was writing. Can I read it?” 

Your eyes lit up as an excited grin split your cheeks, “yeah, but lemme catch you up real quick. Adrian, Sammy, and Annie got mad at me a few days ago and wanted me to do some homework for them as a sort of payment. But after they pulled that little stunt in the lunchroom yesterday, they decided to be little bitches to me and call me slurs. So naturally, I decided to change the essay prompt into an in depth analysis about discrimination LGBT people face from their peers on the daily. My english teacher’s really against homophobia and the project’s worth twenty five percent of our overall grade, so it’s perfect.”

While you were rambling on and on about your detailed plot for revenge, Schlatt couldn’t help but be proud of the person you’d become. A major part of him was impressed that you came up with a detailed plan so quickly, that meant that his cunning nature was rubbing off on you and that made him ecstatic. Sure you mentioning not being straight was new to him, but he was prepared to accept you for whatever you identified as. He didn’t care how people identified, he just cared if they were good people. And his niece was one of the best kids he knew. He’d let your slip up slide for now until you felt comfortable enough to properly come out to him. 

“That an amazing plan, fuckin brilliant. Though, you could do more.”

That piqued your interest, “I’m listening.”

“Do you have any blackmail?”

Your eyes glinted with sudden understanding, “why yes I do, uncle dearest. I just so happen to have thousands of texts from them talking shit about each other and basically the entire school. And them being incredibly racist. They would be destroyed if that came out.” 

“Two things. One, never call me that again. Two, perfect. Keep it as leverage if they try to do something. You don’t pull out all the good cards in the first round, you wait for the right moment to strike so you can win. You need to constantly defend yourself against other players and anticipate their every move. If you leak everything right now, you won’t have anything to use against them if they have something up their sleeve you didn’t know about. Patience is key in things like this.”

You absorbed every single word that came out of his mouth like it was the holy gospel. Although he was your uncle and you loved him with all your heart, but he was a sly bastard when he wanted to be. He knew his way around fighting and manipulating people just right, so you were incredibly happy that you were on his good side and he absolutely adored you. Though questionable and morally gray, he was giving you advice because he cared about you and you’d be an idiot to not heed his advice. 

“That’s genius, Uncle Schlatt. What would I do without you?”

“You’d get along just fine without me, you would’ve gotten there eventually. You’re smart. I’m just givin you a little push in the right direction.”

“I honestly would’ve never thought about waiting, I was so dead set on getting revenge that I would’ve just leaked everything all at once. I want them to feel how I felt when they were around me. I-” you paused. Would this make you the same as them? You’d be screwing up all their grades, Adrian’s job, and Sammy’s athletic career. You came to the chilling realization that you’d be the same as them. You’d be as manipulative as they were. “...Uncle Schlatt, would that make me the same as them?”

“Fuck no! You’re always gonna be better than them no matter what. When they’re at their best, you’re always gonna be a whole lot better than them. They deserve what’s happening to them, it sounds like they put you through so much shit the past few years. I actually think you could do a whole lot worse to them if you’re willing to put more work in, but it’s your plan and if you think that what you’re doing is too much,” he darkly chuckled, “you wouldn’t like my idea.”

“You’re right, they deserve everything I have planned for them. God, I don’t know what I was thinking, ‘would that make me the same as them,’” you mocked what you said earlier, “what a load of shit. Anyways, thanks Uncle Schlatt. I’m gonna get back to writing this. They’re due tomorrow and I wanna finish as much as I can before I have to go.”

“Alright, whaddya want for dinner? Phil’s gonna be like thirty minutes late from work so I’m cookin tonight.”

Oh no. No, no, no, no. That man can barley cook boxed mac n cheese, let alone anything else. He’d burn down the house if you left him alone in the kitchen with the stove. “On second thought, why don’t I help you with dinner? We can make some chicken alfredo.”

“Awe, you’d rather hang out with me than finish your homework? Ya really do love me. C’mon let’s start.”

The process of making dinner was… interesting. Multiple times, Schlatt almost spilled boiling water on himself and he even managed to burn the pasta while it was in the water. How he even managed to do that you’d never find out, you had your back turned cutting up vegetables and herbs at the time. That was when you subtly started to take over in the kitchen, giving him smaller tasks while you handled everything else. You felt bad for Tubbo, his father can’t cook for shit. 

By time you finished, about an hour passed and Philza had come home and changed out of his work clothes. The two adults sat at the table discussing something that you didn’t pay attention to while your brothers and cousin were in the living room waiting for you to finish dinner. Finally, you set the table and it was time to eat. 

Because you couldn’t have many fatty foods before any matches or practices, you had made a separate plate for yourself that only had plain pasta, chicken, and broccoli. You were surprised with how well it turned out, you were following an iffy recipe you found on the first link Google brought up. 

After dinner, you went upstairs to put your uniform on and pack a little bag full of things you might need: a small blanket, some snacks, a water bottle, and a portable charger. Oh, and fuzzy socks and a pair of crocs. You could never go wrong with fuzzy socks and crocs. Feeling a vibration in your pocket, you pulled out your phone.

Hales : )

(Y/n), I’m omw to your house

Gonna give you a ride to the school

(Y/n)

Hales you don’t have to give me a ride, I can drive

Hales : )

Don’t care

Omw, be there in like 7 mins

You swiped out of yours and her conversation and opened up the family group chat

(Y/n)

I don’t need a ride to the school, Haley’s giving me one

She’s gonna give me a ride home too

Dadza

Alright, thank her for me

Tell her I said good luck too!

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

Dadza

(Y/n), do everything he wouldn’t do

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Fuck you I’m a good influence

Dadza

You’re really not

Wilby

^^^^

Technology Sword

^

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Fuck all of you 

You heard Haley’s car pull into the driveway and dashed out of your room with your bag. Just as you put your hand on the doorknob, a hand stopped you.

“Coat.”

You grumbled as you reached past Philza to grab your coat. After you slipped it on, you were pulled into a hug. “You’re gonna do great out there. I know you’re gonna win this, we’ll be watching in the stands.”

“Damn right she’s gonna do good, she’s my niece after all.”

Schlatt pulled you away from your father’s hug and tried to ruffle your hair before you swatted away his hand, “don’t. You have no idea how long it took me to get a perfect ponytail. I have an ungodly amount of hairspray and bobby pins in my hair right now.”

“Fine. You’re gonna kick their asses tonight.”

Tommy and Tubbo pushed past Schlatt and both tackled you into a hug making you stumble slightly back. 

“Kick their asses good (y/n)!” Tommy cheered, making you crack up before one stern glance from Philza completely stopped you. “Tommy, don’t say that. (Y/n), not funny.”

“Alright, Haley’s waiting for me. I gotta go, love you guys!” As you turned to walk through the door, you could hear your family following you and shouting “good luck”. You felt heat creep up on your cheeks as Haley rolled down her window and wove at your family with the biggest grin on her face. 

“Thank you! We’re gonna take home the gold for sure!”

You hopped in her car as she rolled up the window and chuckled. “I love your family, they’re always so full of energy. It’s refreshing to see compared to how boring my family is.”

You glanced at your entire family gathered on the front porch. Tommy and Tubbo were practically vibrating with excitement, Wilbur and Techno calmly smiled and wove at you, Philza was grinning widely at you as you saw his mouth forming words that you couldn’t hear or read, and Schlatt was grinning cheekily at you. You raised your hand to wave at them as they vanished from view when Haley pulled out of your driveway. You smiled softly, “I love em too.”

The car ride was relatively quick with the same soft indie pop music floating from the speakers and an easy going conversation with Haley about the match tonight. You both thought that you could beat the other team if everyone focused 100% and played exactly like you guys did in practices. If everyone did that, you would be unstoppable. 

Luckily for you and Haley, you were the first ones in line to board the bus so you two got the back seat with Zara and Jazzy sitting across from you guys. The hour long bus ride passed quickly and lively with you four passing around your phone and playing some mad libs, you were sure that by the end of the last game you four were laughing and crying. Sometime in the middle of the trip, you noticed that Haley would start to lean on your shoulder and continuously glance at you as she laughed. You desperately wanted to believe that it was because she liked you, but she was straight and she was your best friend. She was probably trying to make sure you were having a good time. 

When the team had gotten to the opposing school and left the locker room to stretch in the gym, you could hear your family start to scream your and Haley’s names from the front row next to you, Tommy and Tubbo being the loudest amongst them with Philza trying to get them to quiet down so you could focus. You felt your cheeks heat up as you smiled at them and Haley wove enthusiastically back at them. Zara was laughing at you two. Stretching went by in a flash and before you knew it, you were on the court facing the opposing team. 

The first match was won by the opposing team by five points. The second match stretched on and on until it was won by your team narrowly by two points. The team was going to have to shape up in the third match if you guys wanted a chance at winning, the opposing team was good. Before the third match started, Coach Williams called for a time out so you guys could talk about strategy. Before Haley could go back onto the court, you pulled her aside.

“Hales, we need to do what we practiced. The other team won’t be expecting it at all, I’ve been setting you up this entire game. They’re never going to expect you setting me up for a spike.”

“When are we going to do it though? We need a better plan.”

“I’m sure the opportunity will come and both of us will recognize it. We just can’t do it too early in the game though, that’ll ruin their surprise.”

“(Y/n), I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“When do I not Hales? We gotta get gold this year.”

The third round went by with both teams constantly swapping places until you both were tied fifteen to fifteen. You saw the ball flying towards Haley, giving her the perfect opportunity to set you up for a spike.  “HALEY NOW!” 

You watched as her face hardened in determination as she pretended like she was going to spike it by jumping high in the air and stretching her arms back, making the opposing front row players all gather in front of her. Much to their surprise, she launched it towards you as you leaped up and went for the kill. The stinging of the ball hit by your wrist and the smack sound the ball made when it slammed onto the open gym floor was something you’d never forget as the crowd around you went wild over the unexpected play. You could hear the high pitched screaming of Tommy and Tubbo over everybody else. Glancing at them over your shoulder, you saw them jumping up and down on the gym floor and looking at you with awe filled eyes and gaping mouths. The rest of your family looked at you with similar expressions, their cheers echoing in your mind. Winking at them, you turned back to your team and went straight to Haley. Clapping a hand on her shoulder, you pulled her into a quick hug, yelling over the raving of the crowd. “HALEY WE NAILED THAT!” 

“HOLY SHIT I DID NOT THINK THAT WAS ACTUALLY GONNA WORK!”

“You have such little faith in your setter! You wound me Hales.”

“Well, I would have more faith in you if you weren’t chaotic on the court, sweetheart.”

You felt yourself surge in happiness at the nickname, but you couldn’t afford to focus too much on it. Your team only needed one more point to win best in the state and go to nationals. It would be the first time in your team’s history if you reached national level, and you’d be damned if you were the one to screw it up for them. 

The last rotation went on for a while, each team fighting tooth and nail for the state championship title with clashing determination. You tried your best to block every hit and try to set Haley up for a spike, and you were successful for the most part, only missing a few blocks. You saw the setter adjacent to you set the spiker up for a spike and jumped up in time to try to block it, your arms stretched upwards and your palms out. Only, the ball didn’t hit your hands. It collided painfully with your nose, ricocheted off your face with a thwack and sailed over to the other side of the court. Your head whipped back as your body followed suit and flew backwards onto the floor. Without giving you any time to react, your head bounced back and cracked against the polished hardwood floor of the gym. Everything went black. 

“...(y……”

“..(y/n)......”

“(Y/n).”

You faintly heard someone calling someone’s name over the continuous ringing noise. Was it your name? It felt right, so it had to be your name. You peeled your eyes open to see a blurry figure hovering over you. It was swirled with tans, browns, and backs. After a while of the figure repeating your name, it slowly became more recognizable, albeit appearing twice in your vision. It took you a while to figure out who this was before your muddled brain recognized Haley.

“Hales! There’s two o’ya. Twice as beautiful babe…” You slurred out as you attempted to smile at her.

“Oh thank god, PLEASE WE NEED A DOCTOR SHE HIT HER HEAD!” Her usually angelic voice gritted against your brain like sandpaper making you cringe as pain exploded in your head.

“God babe you’re so loud, why’s so bright? I-wha's goin on?” You blearily tried to move your head to look around only to be stopped by a pair of large hands on each side of your head gently holding it in place. You moved your laggy eyes around to look at the figure. He was a blonde man with blue eyes and a hint of stubble on his chin. His eyebrows were knitted together and he looked… he looked… your brain worked to figure out why he looked how he looked. Who was he?

“Please don’t move hun.” His muffled voice was baritone. You squinted at him trying to figure out who this man was.

“Who th f-fuck… why?”

“I’m your dad hun. Do-do you not recognize me?” You made a noise in the back of your throat as your stuffy brain finally put a name to the face.

“Dad- wha’s goin on? I’on feel so good…”

“Shh, I know, I know. Just stop moving and talking. Everything’s fine. I’m here. You’re okay.”

“Mmk… Dad, where are we? I’ont know- you’re so quiet.”

“Stop moving so much. You’re on the floor in a gym. You just won your team the state championship. Now stop talking please.”

Huh. So that’s why everybody seemed to appear from above you. You strained your eyes to look around you, but you could only see your dad’s face hovering above you. “Shit I- who’s aroun’ me? Where’s Hales?”

“I’m right here sweetheart. I got the doctor, Mr. Minecraft.”

Your dad’s face moved away from your vision so fast that it made your head spin and your stomach twist. Another face appeared above you that you once again didn’t recognize.

“I’m Doctor Martin, can you tell me your first and last name?”

“Uh, (y/n) Minecraft?”

“Good, what month are we in right now?”

“Nov-November?”

“Close, it’s late October. Can you tell me who this,” he pointed to your dad, “is?”

“S’my dad Phillip.”

“That’s your dad Philza.”

The questioning stopped as he suddenly shined a blinding light into your sensitive eyes. You hissed as you tried to move your head away from the offending light only to be held in place by your dad’s hands. Your head spun as you moved too quickly and a wave of nausea hit you, making you groan and move your arm to cover your eyes. Your hand was stopped by something warm and soft wrapping around it and holding it tightly. Everything was so overwhelmingly and painfully bright and loud. You wanted to make it stop. 

“Mr. Minecraft, your daughter appears to have a concussion. I don’t have the tools on hand to determine the severity of it, but it’s worrying that her pupils are asymmetrical, she’s delirious, and has slight memory loss. I understand you live about an hour away from here, and it’s alright for you to take her to a hospital closer to your house. Make sure you keep her alert.”

Your delirious mind only registered about half of what came out of the doctor’s mouth. You mumbled gibberish as you once again opened your eyes to look around. You were only briefly able to crane your neck to the left. Several figures large and small were standing behind your dad. Your family, your mind supplemented. Slowly, your mind was starting to recognize your surroundings even if there was currently double of everything and everything was blurry.

“I’m going to help you stand up. Do ya think you can do that?”

“Yeah Dad.” You lifted your upper body off from the ground with a gentle hand on your back helping you sit up. Fighting the wave of nausea that slapped you in the face, you reached up to rub at your eyes. A hand once again stopped you. You peeked your eyelids open and lightly glared at whomever stopped you. “Hales you’re lucky you’re so cute I woulda slapped you. I like holdin but you’re bein annoying. Stop.” You attempted to make your voice sound firm, but the words that came out of your mouth were slightly slurred.

She was silent as she helped her dad haul you to your feet. Once on your feet, you saw the room spin and felt yourself start to sway slightly. An arm wrapped itself around your shoulders and pulled you close to them so that your weight was supported. They were a little taller than you were making it easy to lean on them. 

“...Can you walk?” A deep, monotone voice rumbled the chest of the person you were leaning against. 

“Mhm. ‘M not weak.” Though your limbs felt like they were made of molasses, you placed one foot in front of the other slowly. The person moved alongside you, “you’re doing so good, keep going.” That sparked familiarity in you as you stopped in your tracks and tried to look up at the person you were leaning against making the person tighten their arm around your shoulders when you almost fell over.

“Tech?”

“Yeah, it’s Technoblade. Just focus on walking. You’re almost out of the gym.”

When you realized that you were out of the gym, you sighed in relief. It was so much quieter and darker. Though it was still relatively bright, it was better than the gym. 

“S’better.”

“When we get her to the car we can give her some sunglasses or something if it’s still too bright for her.”

“Wilbs-”

“Focus on walking.”

You huffed in irritation, “don’ tell me what to do bitch.”

You felt Techno’s body jolt slightly as he chuckled, making your head throb at the sudden movement. “Just walk.”

When you walked outside, you shivered as you felt the cool air nip at your exposed skin. Right, you were in your volleyball uniform. “I’ll go pull the car around, you guys stay with her.” 

You saw a tall brunet start to walk away from you. Uncle Splat? Uncle Schmat? Whatever his name was, you were sure he was your uncle. You tried to snuggle closer to Techno, craving warmth but never being satisfied. Where was your uncle? 

After a while, you saw a car moving towards you and blinding light pointed right at you making you cringe away and groan. Techno started to slowly walk towards the car. “C’mon (y/n), you’re almost there. When you’re in the car you can relax.”

“Tommy, Tubbo, and Techno, you’re in the back row. Schlatt can drive and Wil, you’re taking the passenger seat. I’ll stay with her in the middle row so she can have some room to lay down.” Tommy and Tubbo were with you? Why weren’t they talking, they usually were very vocal.

“Tom, Tubbs didja like the game?”

They didn’t say anything as they climbed into the car. Did they not hear you? 

“They’re just… tired (y/n).” Your dad’s voice reassured you as he took Techno’s place holding you up. 

“I wanna nap. ‘M so tired.”

“You can’t sleep yet. We gotta get you to a doctor first.”

“Mm. Makes sense.”

“Let’s get you in the car hun.”

As he helped you climb into the car, you felt an overwhelming wave of nausea wash over you making you lose your balance and almost faceplant into the cloth seats. You felt yourself being gently, yet urgently taken out of the car and led to grass as you felt your esophagus shorten. Something burning made its way up your throat and spewed into the grass. You felt someone rubbing your back as you puked up your dinner. 

When you were done, you reached up with a shaking hand to wipe your mouth. “You feelin better? Think you can get back into the car or do you need to sit down for a bit?”

“Car.”

After some difficulty, you were successfully in the middle row of the car laying down with your head on Philza’s lap. Soon enough, your shoes were taken off and a blanket was draped over you. 

“(Y/n), what do you remember?”

You scrunched up your face as you squinted at Philza’s face. “I remember playing volleyball with Hales. She’s so pretty, she’s straight though. I remember the other team hitting the ball, me jumping, then nothin. Wha’ happened?”

You watched as Philza winced, “well, you got everything right so far. You got hit in the face with the ball so you fell and hit your head on the floor. You were passed out for a minute before you woke up. It was a pretty nasty fall, we’re going to the hospital now. How’re ya feelin?”

“Head hurts, ‘m seein two of everything, an I can’t think.”

“Do you know what a concussion is?” You nodded in his lap slightly, “you probably have one.”

After a while of talking, you were slowly starting to come to your senses and your speech was clearing up, but your head was still too stuffy to think about what you were saying before you said it. You didn’t have a filter.

“Do you wanna tell us about your week so far? Do you remember most of it?”

“Mhm, it was shit. On Monday I had a panic attack and Adrian, Sammy, and Annie were being bitches to me all day. They fucked up my back. On Tuesday, they got mad at me for ditching them and they had me do their homework, had another panic attack, and Haley told me that someone took pictures of our boobs ‘n stuff and they were gonna leak it to the school if Haley didn’t stop hanging out with me. Haley and I almost kissed, but she’s straight. Pulled an all nighter and Wednesday I accidentally came out to Tech and Wil and had another panic attack. Annie, Adrian, and Sammy took more pictures of me through my window, Annie outed me to the entire school and slapped me. Another panic attack, skipped the last two classes and felt like shit the entire practice. Today Adrian and Sammy told me to kill myself and I had another panic attack. ’S about it.”

As you were going through your week, the hand that was previously gently stroking your hair had frozen as the car was enveloped in a tense silence. Luckily, Tommy and Tubbo were passed out in the back seat so they didn’t hear how bad your week was. Everyone awake knew that you had a few bad days this week, but they didn’t know the full extent of it. You watched as Philza’s expression had turned downright murderous, but you didn’t really care. You were busy talking about your week.

For the rest of the car ride, Philza asked you simple questions like what your favorite color was, your favorite animal, basically your favorite everything. Eventually, the car pulled into the hospital parking lot and Philza helped you get out of the car. “Schlatt, can you take the boys home so they can get some rest? I’ll stay with her.” 

“Yeah, I’m on it. Don’t cause too much trouble (y/n), we all know you can raise hell.” He watched you for a reaction, but when you didn’t react, he coughed. “Well, I’ll see ya later kid. Good luck.”

The car drove off leaving you and Philza at the front of the emergency room building. “It’s gonna be a long night (y/n).”

“I gotta finish Annie’s essay and Sammy’s presentation though.”

“No you don’t, I’ll email your teachers.”

You two checked in with the front desk before moving to sit on the uncomfortable chairs. It was going to be a long night. You were so tired.

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[panda-noosh]

something gained {george weasley x reader}

  words: 13.8k

  summary: you’re a beater on the slytherin quidditch team, so naturally, george weasley is your worst enemy.

   genre: fluff

   notes: masterlist - ask me about commissions! - enjoy my good pals. 

----

  the crowds are loud this morning.

   much too loud for a nine am rise, in your opinion, though you appreciate their enthusiasm. the bellows echo through the changing rooms, rattling the walls, poking at your nerves like a teenager prodding a zit.

    you sit on the floor, your back against the wall. around you, your team buzzes, making battle plans to defeat gryffindor, but you can barely hear them over the paired chorus of the chants outside and your own heartbeat. sweat rushes to your palms, and you gingerly wipe them on your quidditch gear.

    “we’ve got this one in the bag,” marcus flint says for what must be the seventeenth time since you first laid eyes on him this morning. “they’re not getting away this time. if we have to get violent, we will.”

   “and start the season off with a disqualification?” you pipe up. “wonderful game plan. very well thought out.”

    “it’s you who needs to listen up the most, l/n. you’re a beater - i want to see you causing damage.”

   you roll your eyes. “i cause damage every bloody game, flint. you don’t have to tell me how to do my job.”

    flint’s lips curl into a frown, his dark eyes glaring at you. you refuse to meet them, instead picking up your beaters bat from the side and getting to your feet.

    “the match starts in two minutes,” you point out. “are we gonna keep talking shit or are we gonna get out there and beat gryffindor?”

    much to flint’s dismay, it’s your tiny little speech that seems to get the slytherins riled up. they cheer, stampeding from the changing rooms, each giving you a warm clap on the shoulder on their way past. flint stays behind, glaring daggers into your head.

   you nod at the open door. “after you, captain.”

    and so, despite the hidden rivalry you and flint have with each other, you walk out onto the quiddich pitch together. the cold air immediately sets you off, a feeling of dread settling in the pits of your stomach; it’s always been easier to play in the warm weather, when the risk of rain is minuscule and you don’t have to worry about obtrusion's. now, however, the sky is overcast and threatening. frost coats the grass beneath your feet. you have to rub your hands together to bring feeling back into them.

    the gryffindors are already there, as you expected. oliver wood stands tall in the centre of the field, his team crowded around him. they all look so confident, a feat the slytherin team have yet to master; your people walk onto the field with heads held high and shoulders drawn back, but the tension between them is always so tremendously obvious that it takes away from the confident aura they’re always trying to convey. it’s not something you’ve ever tried to fix, because there’s only so much you can do.

   you and marcus wade to the centre of the field, giving each other a brief nod before taking your places, marcus right in front of oliver, and you stood by his left shoulder. 

    madame hooch addresses the two captains, ordering them to shake hands before the game begins. as soon as she blows her whistle, you kick off and soar into the air.

   the cold is immediately a disadvantage. it whips at your cheeks and claws at your throat until your eyes are watering, definitely not a good thing when you have to keep an eye out for a two ton flying ball coming right for you.

   you do what you’ve always done, though, and fight through it, blinking the tears away at any moment you are given. as the match progresses, however, those moments get few and far between, the tension rising between the two teams.

    you stop paying attention to the score board, because you have to. already your mind is racing, focusing on a million different things at once. you have to keep an eye on all the gryffindor players, make sure you know where they are so you can knock them from their brooms - and you do. with the skills of a world cup player, you pummel the gryffindor players into the ground one by one, repeating the process when they clamber back onto their brooms.

    “doing well, l/n!” flint cries, whizzing past you at lightening speed. you give him a thumbs up, distracted for only a second, but it’s a second too long.

   you know of the weasley brothers, the beaters on the gryffindor team. they’re good. they come from a family of decent quidditch players, and their childhood training shows through. you’ve played them a handful of times, and they’ve always been equal competition.

    they take your distraction as an opportunity.

    the bludger is whizzing towards you before you can even drop your hand back to your brooms handle. you hear it, the screech as it races in your direction. you cry, slamming your hands into the front of your broom in any attempt to do a downwards dodge, but the bludger catches the rear end of your broom and sends you spiralling towards the ground. 

    your feet slam into the mud and you stumble. pain spears through your ankles and legs, making you whimper, but the anger and determination chases the feelings away, increased only when lee jordan calls out, “gryffindor scores!” over the loudspeaker. 

    you growl, low in your throat, and remount your broom. you kick off with renewed vigour, heading straight for the weasley twins. they circle the pitch, darting to and fro with a synchronisation you and the other slytherin beater could never emulate. it makes you mad. it makes you so, so mad, because this is a competition, and how are you ever meant to win a competition if your team won’t even cooperate? 

    “oi! goyle!” you yell.

    goyle spins in midair, scowling the minute he meets your eyes. “what the hell do you want? we’re in the middle of a match!”

    “i want you to do your fucking job!” and just to demonstrate your point, you slam your bat into a bludger heading right for goyle’s distracted mug.

   he whirls back around, gets ready to scream at you, but you’re already whizzing towards the centre of the pitch. the crowd is louder than ever now, but you have to ignore them, you have to keep going, you have to do some damage, just like flint told you back in the changing rooms. 

   your arms ache. your ankles throb. your fingers are numb, wrapped around the handle of your broom, but you push past all of it. you become a monster, unrestrained as you chase after the bludgers, catching them with your bat, speeding them at gryffindor flyers with a ferocity you have never before showed in a match. 

     one of the bludgers smacks george weasley right in the face. you hear his nose crunch from halfway across the pitch.

    you punch the air. “take that, asshole! woo!”

    the game continues, brutal by the end of it. your nose bleeds when oliver wood catches you with his arm; you get a free hit for the penalty, though, so you’re not even mad. george weasley’s own nose is broken, dribbling blood throughout the remainder of the match. multiple players have nose-dived into the grass.

   but at the fifty minute mark, lee jordan has to grudgingly call out, “draco malfoy has the snitch, the little pest-”

    and that’s the game over. a win for slytherin - first win of the season.

    you zip to the floor to an immediate group hug. it’s uncomfortable, with none of the slytherin players really knowing how to handle affection, but your own excitement chases away the awkwardness. you bundle draco into your chest, one hand in his hair, the other shoved in the air in a pose of victory that the gryffindors scowl at.

   you meet the eyes of george weasley. he cups his nose in one hand, holding his broom in the other, and never before have you seen such malice in someone’s expression. it sends excitement coursing through you. you give him a grin, a sarcastic little wave. he scowls, turns on his heel, and follows his retreating team back to the changing rooms, where they can wallow in their loss for the rest of eternity for all you care.

    ---

    in all your years at hogwarts, never before have you seen the gryffindors and the slytherins more hostile towards each other than they are after the match.

    you tend to stay out of house confrontations. you don’t see the point in them; you’ll play a little dirty during a quidditch match, but you won’t be caught dead sneering at any other houses on your days off. it’s pointless. it’s a quick way to get into some not needed trouble.

    but things are being taken a little too far now, and you’re struggling to keep your nose out of it.

    everywhere you go, a gryffindor has something to say. a puny little first year will yell insults at you as you walk to class. a third year will throw something at you in the dining hall. fellow fifth years will make it their life’s work to make your days a collage of living hells, just because your team managed to beat theirs during a quidditch match.

    “it’s getting quite ridiculous now,” you say into the fire, the head of your father bobbing up and down within the flames. “the match was a week ago, and the gryffindors still haven’t got over it.”

    “so quidditch is still as competitive as it was back in my day then, eh?” your father says, before breaking into a fit of coughing that you have learned to ignore over the years; he hates it when you bring up his peaked appearance, or the way his eyes sometimes roll into the back of his head without warning.

    “i suppose so,” you mumble. “i don’t know what they want me to tell them; i’m just the beater, for christs sake.”

   “hey,” your dad scolds. “everyone in a quidditch team is important.”

   “yeah, but i’m not the one who handed their arse to them on a plate, am i?”

   “you helped with the process.” your dad smiles, tilting his head a little bit; he looks at you like this sometimes, like you’re holding the world in your hands. you suppose it comes with you being his only child, his last remaining family. he is yours, as well, though neither of you ever talk about it. 

   after your mother died, it was just the two of you. at ten years old, you were too young to do much in terms of helping, but then you aged and got your acceptance letter to hogwarts, and for a long time, you were fully prepared to ignore it, pretend you never received it and get on with the faux muggle life you had been trying to settle into these last few years. however, your father has always been a smart man, and even after he started getting sick, he was always telling you to go ahead and do it - go to hogwarts like you were supposed to, like you had always dreamed. 

   and now here you are, miserable.

    “i miss you,” you say when the silence gets too much. you can hear his heart monitor over the crackling flames, and it puts you on edge. “how are things at home?”

   “oh, the usual,” he replies. “days are boring without you, love, but i’m cheering you on. you’re making me so proud.”

   you smile. “i try, dad, i try.”

    “well-”

   before your father can finish his sentence, however, the door to the slytherin common room bursts open. a group of three stampede into the centre - draco, goyle, and crabbe.

   you frown. “do you lot not see i’m a bit busy?”

    draco spins. his hair stands on end, and black soot covers his face. his eyes are startled but wide with a fury you have seen far too often on the young boys face - it still makes you snicker.

    your dad sighs. “i suppose i should let you handle this.”

   “talk to you later, dad.”

   his face disappears up the chimney, leaving you alone with the three panting boys.

   you stand, wiping your hands on your robes. “what happened to you?”

   “those bloody weasleys!” draco exclaims. “oh, i’ll get them. i’ll get them back, i swear to it!”

   you raise a brow. “the weasleys? you’re gonna have to be more specific.” 

   “well, who else?” draco gestures to his soot-stained face. “them filthy twins think they’re soooo funny with their little jokes, but wait till my father hears about this! they’ll be out of this school before they can even blink!”    

   you raise a brow. “is this about the fucking quidditch match?”

    “yes,” draco snaps. you can see the tethers breaking away, his temper rising as he trails his fingers through his hair, breathes heavily through gritted teeth. “of course it’s about the bloody quidditch match. them gryffindors wouldn’t know fair play if it hit them in the face; they just can’t accept that the better team won.”

    you bite your lower lip. it’s been days of this exact same behaviour, these childish pranks just because the gryffindors are mad that the slytherins finally had a taste of victory.

   it makes you mad.

   you curl your fingers into your palm, gazing down at the three younger boys as they pace back and forth, treading ash in their wake. you’ve never been overly fond of crabbe and goyle, but you’ve always looked out for draco - call it an older sibling kind of thing, but you’re always the one sitting next to him when he has something to rant about, always the one rolling your eyes and putting him in his place, because you’re the only person in the world he will actually listen to.

   your protective instincts flare up before you have a chance to stuff them back down again. 

    “i think i need to have a chat with the weasley twins,” you say.

   draco’s head snaps around. “what?”

    but you’re already grabbing your cloak, dragging it over your pyjamas. 

    “y/n, what are you even going to say to them?” draco demands. when you don’t respond, he groans and grabs your arm. “if they do anything-”

    “they’re not gonna murder me, draco.” you shake him off, offering a warm smile. “i might murder them, though. we’ll have to see.”

    draco doesn’t argue. he watches you go, open mouthed and exhausted. you crawl out of the slytherin common room and into the hallways, thankful that curfew has yet to appear - you can march through these corridors with as much anger radiating off of you as possible, and filch can’t say a damn thing.

   that’s exactly what you do, because your fury only builds the longer you walk. it’s one thing for you to be harassed in the corridors by angry gryffindors; you’re a fifth year, and you’ve been through this many times. it’s a completely different thing to go after draco.

   and you understand, of course, that draco malfoy is hardly someone who needs to be protected, covered in bubble wrap for fear of shattering. he’s a little shit, and you’ll admit that as soon as the next guy.

   but he’s like a little brother to you in the sense that he was the only person in the world who knows about your fathers illness, and he hasn’t told a single soul.

    you round the corner, and that’s when you see him. it’s one of the rare occasions the weasley twins aren’t joined at the hip, because as far as you can tell, fred is nowhere in sight. george stands - alone - at the top of the stairs, waving goodnight to a group of gryffindor girls. there’s a slight red tinge to his cheeks, like he’s been running through wind, and you hate how adorable it looks.

   you push aside this thought, replacing it with the anger settled in your system. you march right up to him, grab his arm, and shove him up against the wall with the strength built from years of being quidditch beater.

    he stumbles, eyes widening a fraction before he realises what’s happening. his hand doesn’t even stray to his wand when he sees you, which just makes you mad; you want him to put up a fight. you want him to do something, anything that gives you an excuse to draw back and punch him in the nose. 

    “l/n,” he sneers instead. “what a pleasant surprise!”

    “you really are a piece of shit. you know that, right?”

    he laughs. it’s so jovial, so easy.

   you hate it.

    you shove his chest, willing his attention back to you. “i’m being serious! why can’t you and the rest of your slimy gryffindors just accept the fact that you lost? just because you’ve been lucky with potter on your team, doesn’t mean you’re exempt from losing.” you lean forward. “which, just to remind you, is what happened - you fucking lost, so suck it up and deal with it.”

    george blinks. that stupid grin is still on his face when he says, “christ, y/n, i haven’t even said hello yet!”

   you groan, stepping away from him to trail your hands through your hair.

   george points, squinting one eye in your direction. “draco does that all the time. is it a slytherin thing?”

    “what’s your obsession with draco?” you spit. 

   “he’s a tit. never leaves my brother alone, so he doesn’t.”

   “and is ron not capable of fighting his own battles?”

   george scoffs. “oh, he is, but being the amazing big brother that i am, i like to take the burden off him sometimes.”

   you scowl. george grins.

    “pathetic,” you grumble. “all of you. absolutely pathetic. when the next quidditch match comes around, you’ll be forgetting all about this one.”

   “ah, but the slytherin’s won’t, will they? you lot will be basking in your only victory in three years for as long as you can.”

    you growl, lunging for him. george laughs, placing his large hands on your shoulders to keep you at arms length, and you’re honestly not even sure what it is you plan on doing - scratching his eyes out? punching him in the face? some muggle fighting tactics you don’t understand?    

    “this is adorable,” george comments, casting a glance over his shoulder to where a painting of Sir Edmund Christo hangs behind him. “isn’t this adorable, Christo?”

    you groan, step away from him, shocked at how angry he can make you in such little time. his eyes glint in amusement as he stuffs his hands back into his robes and says, “finished?”

    “go to hell, george weasley,” you spit.

   his eyes pop open. “oh, look at that! you can tell me and fred apart!” 

    “leave draco alone,” you growl. “or next time i’ll put my hexes to good use.”

    ---

   the threat was idle. you weren’t actually going to hex george, or any of the gryffindors for that matter. you love draco dearly, but risking expulsion for him was not something you were willing to do.

    nonetheless, george seems to take your threat seriously, as he leaves draco - and the rest of the slytherin quidditch team - to their own devices. at one point, you even notice him telling ron to stop glaring over at your dinner table, and ron actually listened.

    “this might be the first time in hogwarts history the slytherin and gryffindors haven’t been at each others throats constantly,” says blaise, taking a seat next to you.

    draco scowls, still glaring over at the gryffindors despite your previous scoldings. “it’s weird. i don’t like it. they’ve got something planned.”

    “okay edge lord,” you grumble through a mouthful of yorkshire pudding. “this is literally why we can’t have nice things; you ruin it with your pessimism.”

   “coming from you, that means nothing.”

   you slap the back of his head. draco swats your hand away.

    “look, we don’t have to worry about the gryffindors any more,” you continue. “it was one quidditch match - they can’t hold a grudge forever.”

    “quidditch is a serious game,” blaise says through a snicker, because he’s never understood the fascination, no matter how many hours you and draco spend explaining it to him.

       “serious, but not enough to start a bloody house war.” you tap draco’s hand. “now stop staring and eat your roasties; you’re starting to look desperate.”

   draco scowls, but prods his fork into a roastie nonetheless.

    but now your attention is caught, no matter how much you want to forget all of it. the gryffindors aren’t worth your time and attention. they’ve done nothing but make your life a living hell these past few days - most of your hogwarts experience, actually - so why give them even the tiniest bit of your attention?

    you glance over to the gryffindor table. george is already looking at you.

   it’s reflex when you scowl. your eyes meet his, and you remember the night before when he was laughing, teasing you for your anger, and with those memories comes a surge of fresh anger, all pointed directly at him. you wonder if he feels the same, if he perhaps shielded his own frustration with humour; you don’t know an awful lot about the weasley twins, but from what you have gathered, that seems to be a common theme. they play pranks, and they tease people, and deep down, they are most likely dying inside.

    dying because they lost a fucking quidditch match.

    you look away when george sends you a grin. “idiot.”

   draco looks at you. “huh?”

    “nothing.” you stand, brushing your hands down your robes. your dinner was finished a long time ago; you were only staying seated to make sure draco didn’t throw himself into further conflict - not after you smoothed things out the night before. “i’m off to the library for a bit. you-” you poke draco in the cheek. “stay out of trouble, alright?”

    draco stares after you; he knows what off the library really means, and you appreciate that he isn’t blabbering the truth to the entire table. you give him one final smile before walking off, heading straight for the slytherin common room.

   it’s empty when you clamber inside. slytherin’s don’t spend an awful lot of time in the common room - that means socialising with one another, sharing pleasantries, and none of you are particularly fond of that kind of thing. you don’t mind, hating the faux pleasantries yourself, but it also gives you free rein to use the fireplace whenever you please.

  you sit on your knees and pull your wand out. it takes a bit of memory power before you can utter the spell your dad has illegally been trying to teach you since you left for your fifth year at hogwarts, but you eventually manage it. your body shrinks - at least, that’s what it feels like - and before long, heat is clawing at your face, and you’re staring into the family living room.

   what used to be the family living room. now, it’s empty besides your dad, curled up in the arm chair, watching the muggle news. he doesn’t notice you at first, giving you the time to analyse his form without him putting on a brave face. 

    he looks sick.

   very, very sick.

    you swallow thickly. his hair is thinner today than it was yesterday, if such a thing is even possible. his baby bird bones are tangled upon the arm chair, covered by an exceptionally thin blanket that makes you hope with every fibre of your being that he has the heating installed, running at full blast. his lips are chapped, and his eyes are bruised from lack of sleep, and just seconds before he turns to see your head bobbing in the fireplace, he coughs blood into a light blue handkerchief.

    his eyes widen when he spots you. he quickly shoves the handkerchief into his back pocket, stumbles from his arm chair and drops to his knees by the fire.

   “y/n!” he exclaims. “goodness, you could have made a little bit of noise. i didn’t even notice you!”

    “hi dad,” you reply quietly. “how are you?” 

    “very well.” he grins, grabbing the thin blanket you suddenly despise. “i’ve been crocheting, finished this a few nights ago. i was thinking of sending it to you, but the owl isn’t back yet, so you’ll have to wait a little longer.”

   you force a smile on your face. it must be a family trait, all these forced smiles. “that’s great, dad. you’re getting good at those.”

    “yes, well, i’ve got a lot of time on my hands now that i’m not running after you.” he scowls, but it lasts only a second before his expression breaks into a grin. “but enough about me; how are things with you? hogwarts treating you good? are those kids still giving you a hard time?”

   “dad, we spoke yesterday. how much do you think has changed?”

   he waves a dismissive hand, dropping his chin upon a shelf made by his interlocking fingers. “each day is a chance for new experiences, my dear.”

    “i nearly got in a fight with one of the beaters from the gryffindor team.”

   your dads eyes widen. “love, what have i said about using violence as a way to solve problems?”

    “i said nearly!” you exclaim, folding your arms across your chest, and even though he can’t see your arms, you know for a fact he is imagining you in this very stance, so familiar from your childhood. “he’s a real pain in the arse, dad, you don’t even understand. he winds me up something shocking.”

   “who is this boy anyway?”

   “one of the weasleys,” you grumble. “george.”

   your dads eyes pop open. for a brief moment, there is a flicker of life back in his body, startling you. “a weasley? goodness, y/n, i remember that family well! molly and arthur were in my year at school!”

    “yeah, well, george and fred are in my year at school, and they’re a set of bastards.”

    your dad chuckles, because that’s what he does when you get like this; he laughs, and he shakes his head, and he pretends you have the potential to be a Hufflepuff, just like he was back at hogwarts. 

    “i’ve never met them personally,” he says. “but i’ve never met a bad weasley in my life; some could be a bit overbearing, but they always had good intentions, and i think that’s what matters.”

    “i don’t think george has ever had a good intention in his life.” you slump forward, propping your chin on your palm. “all he cares about is quidditch and making people’s lives a living hell.”

    your dad frowns. “oh, love, i don’t think that’s true. i think you’re just angry at him. what did he actually do?”

    “he’s been tormenting draco since the quidditch match.”

   “is draco your little successor?”

   you scowl. “draco’s a little shit, and i’ll be the first to admit that, but george and fred are just taking the piss now. the match was a week ago. they need to get over themselves.”

    he hums in response, looking thoughtfully into the fire. “well, i hope you don’t mind me saying, love, but you’re quite competitive when it comes to quidditch, too.” 

    “not that competitive. i’m not a sore loser, that’s for sure.”

    “listen, i’ve never been an avid quidditch player, so i don’t know what it feels like getting sucked into that environment, but i’ve seen you get into some pretty deep dramatics over it. maybe george is just doing the same thing.” he shrugs. “nobody likes losing.”

   you scowl; sometimes you hate your dads ability to make sense, to explain every situation like it’s the worlds fucking philosophy. huffing, you cross your arms and lean your head upon them, staring at your dad with a disproved expression.

    he meets your gaze and laughs, raising his hands in faux surrender. “i’m just saying, love. i’m happy you’re sticking up for draco - god knows that boy needs a friend - but i don’t want to be receiving any owls from your teachers informing me about your expulsion because you’ve got in some fight with a boy in your year.”

     “i can’t make any promises on that, dad.”

    he rolls his eyes, no malice in the action. “whatever. just be a little wise, alright? you’ve got exams coming up, and i don’t want you flunking over something like this.”

    the mention of exams makes your stomach churn; through all the drama taking place these past few days, you had forgotten all about the end of term exams, approaching much quicker than you’re prepared for.

    dad smiles, as if reading your expression. “you’ll do great, love. i know you will.” he glances over his shoulder, spots the clock hung on the wall before turning back to you. “you should get going. it’s getting late.”

    you raise a brow. “will you be alright on your own?”

    “i’ve been on my own for a while now, sweetheart - i’ll be fine.” he smiles, blows you a kiss before swiping his arms through the fires flames, sending you back to the common room before you can even blink.

   ----

    christmas settles amongst the hogwarts students, and exams are dangerously close.

   quidditch must be set to the back burner, a fact that leaves you slightly depressed as you wade through what feels like a hundred hours of classes you have no interest in. revision piles up around you, leaving with you very little sleep and very little patience.

   call it a slytherin thing, but the desperate need to succeed has overtaken your entire being these past few weeks. you haven’t even spared george weasley - or any of the gryffindors - a glance, too absorbed in spell books to pay attention to their continued jeers. 

    george doesn’t go near you.

   you find it weird, of course, but that tiny voice in the back of your head scolds you any time you think too deep into it. you have to remain focused on exams, and exams only, because you have not left your dying father on his own for so long just to come home with no O.W.L’s. you have to succeed for his sake, to show him these difficult few years have not been for nothing.

   you’re in the library with draco on this particular day. outside the high windows, snow drifts pleasantly from the sky, and you can imagine the quidditch pitch in that moment, beautifully blanketed with little snowflakes that you will have no access to, because you’re stuck in the stuffy library with a slytherin fourth year who wouldn’t know the meaning of concentration if it struck him in the face.

    “why are you even here?” you snap, just as draco makes another comment about a passing gryffindor fourth year.

    draco raises a brow. he’s leaned back in his seat, so casual, textbooks open in front of him, though he pays them no attention. you don’t think he’s even glanced at one since he sat down. “what do you mean?”

   “i’m trying to revise.” you tap the front of your potions book to exaggerate your point. “in case you’ve forgotten, our exams start in a week. i don’t have time to sit here and scowl at gryffindors with you.”

    “i never invited you to scowl at gryffindors with me.” he throws a pencil across the room, just missing a distracted first year. “i can do that perfectly well on my own, thank you very much.”

   you slap his arm down, giving him your customary grimace. “wind your neck in, draco. how many times do i have to tell you you’re not special just because you’re a malfoy?”

    he opens his mouth to respond, but takes one look at your deadly scowl and goes quiet. he huffs through his nose, folding his arms over his chest as he leans over his textbook and gets to reading.

    you join him, tracing your wand over the words that are failing to embed themselves in your mind. why you ever decided to take potions - with snape as a teacher, no less - will forever be beyond you, and one of the greatest mistakes you have ever made in your hogwarts life. nothing he says makes any sense, and although you’re in his house, he still derives great pleasure in seeing you suffer at the hands of-

    “malfoy! are you studying?”

   your head snaps up. draco joins you.

   walking through the doors, and the most likely suspect of the jeer, is george weasley.

   your heart barrels into your stomach, a fresh surge of anger coursing through you at the mere sight of him. he’s done so well keeping himself to himself these past few weeks, and seeing him now - right back to square one - makes you want to punch him in the face all over again.

   because he strolls towards your table with that stupid little grin on his face, the evidence of a smirk taking place upon his face, and you hate that it suits him so well. you hate that you can’t even bring yourself to deny his attractiveness, no matter how hard you try.

    you slam your textbook closed. “let’s go, draco.”

   “what does he want?” draco stands and calls over to the approaching weasley twin. “where’s your dumb little sidekick, weasley? got lost in the halls?”

    “oh, would you-”

   your protest is cut short by george’s laugh. “actually no. he’s got a revision class with professor sprout, so i thought i’d come in here and check on my favourite beater.” he looks at you, smiles. “got a minute?”

   “no.” you scoop your textbook into your arm and stand, grabbing draco’s collar. “let’s go, draco. one more wrong move from you, and mcgonagall might not be so nice.”

    draco thrashes against your grip, grabbing the table to prevent you from dragging him right past the grinning weasley and into the hallway. “what do you want with y/n?”

    george raises a brow. “why would i tell you?”

   “because i’m their friend, and last time i checked, you’ve done nothing but torment them since that bloody quidditch match.”

    you groan. “again with the quidditch match? i thought we dropped that ages ago!”

    “apparently malfoy here holds grudges.” george turns to you again, ignoring malfoy’s disgruntled protestations. “i literally just want to have a chat; no funny business.”

    “no funny business?” draco screeches. “don’t listen to him, y/n. anything he wants to say to you, he can say in front of me.”

    a burst of affection blossoms in your chest. you push it down, turning to draco. “i can handle this, mate. you just go and find pansy or whatever it is you do. i’ll catch up.”

   draco narrows his eyes, going still in your grip. “you’re sure?”

   “when have i ever not been able to handle myself?”

   he pauses. “good point.” giving george one final warning glare, he straightens his robes rather theatrically and strolls from the library like nothing happened, like he hadn’t just made a massive scene on your behalf.

    with draco gone, you and george stare at each other. he’s got these pretty brown eyes, a little wide, a faux play on innocence. you see right through him, though. you recognise the glint of mischief he does nothing to hide, dancing behind those pretty brown eyes.

    finally, he says, “got yourself a little body guard, have you?”

   “draco’s protective.” you gesture towards his discarded chair. “take a seat, i guess.”

   grinning, george sits. you follow his lead, scooching your chair back a little bit; you have no idea what he has up his sleeve, and you’re not willing to find out.

    “what do you want?” you ask.

   “i know you and i didn’t exactly hit it off when we first spoke,” he begins.

    “that’s not my fault.”

   he pauses. “i think it was, but that’s not why i’m here.”

   you scowl, folding your arms over your chest. “you were the one being a dick to draco; you started it.”

    “i started it? you were the one pushing me up against a wall! and not even in a good way!”

    “because you were-”

   “being a dick to draco, yes, i heard you the first time.” george shakes his head, trails a hand through his hair. “now you’ve got me off track and i haven’t even been sat for two minutes.”

    “i don’t want to hear any apology - i know you don’t mean it.”

   george scoffs, glancing at you without entirely looking up, which is a look you never thought you would find attractive, but here you are. “i didn’t come here to apologise. in case you didn’t catch on, i don’t think i did anything wrong.”

    “no, you never do.”

    “but, i did come here to talk to you about something. just something i heard on the grapevine.” 

   you pause.

   george smiles, but it holds none of his usual playfulness. this smile actually looks genuine, maybe even a little soft.

    “so i was walking through the corridors - all on my lonesome - the other night, when i came across the slytherin common room.”

    you blink. you don’t know what else to do, having no idea what he even means. 

   he continues. “the door was left open, which i thought was a little weird; usually them things just close over by themselves, and you’ve got all the passwords and protection spells and stuff keeping peeping toms out, isn’t that right?”

    “what are you-”

    “does anyone else know your dad is sick?”

   you honestly would have preferred it if he had just drop kicked you then and there.

    you stare at him, waiting for a punchline that very clearly does not exist. you can scarcely believe your ears, let alone come up with a decent response to such an obtrusive, confusing question. confusing only because you have no idea how he could have ever found out, no idea how he just managed to peek his head into the slytherin common room when every enchantment claims it impossible.

    george stares back at you, his smile still present. it’s still soft, like he’s trying to test the waters, but you see no kindness in it now. 

   you push your chair back, very nearly stumbling over its legs in your haste to get as far from him as possible. that grin fades, his eyes narrowing as he tries reaching for your robes, but you pull away before he can get too close.

    “you nosy little shit,” you hiss, voice trembling. “you nosy, disrespectful little bastard!”

    “hey, hey, hey!” he stands, palms up in surrender. “i’m not teasing, i’m genuinely curious! you never talk about it, so-”

    “i never talk about it because it’s nobody else’s business. especially not some filthy little gryffindor who thinks he’s owed the god damn world!”

    george’s eyes widen. “that was so uncalled for. i was giving you someone to confide in!”

    you laugh, bitter and harsh. it makes george flinch. “and you think that person should be you? after everything? go to hell, george weasley.” you turn on your heel, not even bothering to gather your textbooks, or your quill - you’ll get them later. “and keep your massive nose out of things that don’t concern you!”

    and before george can say anything, you’re speeding out of the library, trying desperately to halt the tears threatening to pour down your face.

   ----    

    “i don’t understand how he found out. how could the door just stay open?”

    you keep your voice down, terrified of the other slytherins hearing what you have to say; the changing rooms are already packed, people fighting over garments and equipment, marcus already mouthing off about the lack of preparation the team had for this game due to exams.

    draco sits beside you, knees pulled to his chest. he stares out at the open space, kneading his bottom lip between his teeth in that thoughtful way he always does. his brows are furrowed, eyes narrowed.

   “it doesn’t make any sense,” he says at last. “the entrances to the common rooms have enchantments and all that stuff on them. sounds to me like he’s lying through his teeth.”

    “but then how else did he find out?”

   draco hollows out his cheeks and shakes his head. “beats me.” he turns to you then, slaps a hand against your knee. “but we can’t focus on that just yet. we have a match today.”

    you sigh, tilting your head back against the wall; your energy has long since been sucked out of you, a week straight of exams not leaving you in the best state, though the excitement of finally being back on the pitch drives you to stand and join the rest of the team.

    slytherin versus hufflepuff today; should be an easy enough win. 

    you mount your broom and get started as soon as the whistle is blown. 

   soaring through the air, your adrenaline kicks back in. for the time being, you are able to ignore the anxiety throbbing in the back of your head, focusing only on the task you have been given. a few hufflepuff’s are wiped out in as little as ten minutes into the match; the slytherin’s in the crowd are howling their excitement, jumping up and down with fists in the air. 

   you look down, meaning to wave at blaise as he jumps up and down in the stands, but it is not blaise your eyes immediately land on. 

   you spot the shock of red hair almost immediately, sitting in the stands with his eyes trained on you. you’ve seen him at these matches so many times - and why wouldn’t he be? a player on the qryffindor team, an avid quidditch player. why shouldn’t he be watching you play right now?

    despite this, his presence distracts you. 

   “y/n!” draco shrieks, before a bludger whizzes past you. goyle, the god send, just manages to knock it away before it slams into your ribs.

   you spin, gasping. goyle sends you a dark look as draco calls out, “you okay?” you give him a shaky thumbs up, take one final look at george in the stands before whizzing across the pitch, determined not to let your attention slip again.

    but he’s there. he’s there, and there’s no way you can ignore him after yesterday. that smile of his, those big brown eyes, his confusion when you lost your mind and started yelling at him. it just felt like the right thing to do, and even now - after having a bit of time to think about it - you’re still angry. what draco said was right - george was probably lying through his teeth when he-

    “y/n!”

    goyle isn’t on the ball this time.

    you spin just in time to get a bludger straight to the chest.

   it knocks the air out of you, sends your broom spiralling to the floor. your fingers - surprisingly numb - slip from the handle, and you crash into the grass, flat on your back. 

    “mother of god,” you groan, rolling onto your side as madame hooch blows the whistle for a time out.

    draco is first by your side, slipping to his knees. “are you daft?”

   “no, i’m winded.”

    “bloody hell.” he grabs your arm, rolling you onto your back. you stare at the sky, disoriented. “can you keep playing?”

   “yes.”

   “are you just saying that?”

    “probably.” with one hand curled round your middle, you push yourself up. draco helps you to your feet, hands you your broom, and before madame hooch - or madame pomfrey for that matter, who is yelling at you from the sidelines to go over for a check up - you mount your broom and kick off again.

    your entire body screams in protest the entire time, ribs burning, chest tight. it takes everything in your power not to slip into unconsciousness. black dots sneak into the edges of your vision, but you push them away and keep playing.

   you keep playing, but not necessarily well.

    you make a hit for a bludger with your bat, only for marcus to curse you out for nearly taking a swing at his head, instead. your broom spirals in all different directions, you suddenly unable to keep it under any resemblance of control. your hands tremble against the handle, eyes slipping, slipping, slipping-

    the whistle blows again. you open your eyes. you’re on the ground again.

    “someone get them to the infirmary!” madame hooch screeches. “the match will commense with the sub - where’s crabbe? crabbe!”

    “no,” you grumble. “no, i can play. i’m fine.”

   “you’ve just passed out, you idiot.”

   george’s voice startles you back to reality. your eyes snap up, meeting his just as he puts an arm beneath you and hauls you off the floor. 

    and you could protest. you want to protest, because george weasley - of all people - should not be the one carrying you to safety, but your chest aches, and all your muscles are on fire, so you don’t even move. you just flop against him, trying desperately to keep consciousness as long as possible.

   it doesn’t work out that way, though. the black dots take over your vision before you’ve even reached the infirmary, the last thing you see being george’s furrowed brows and worried scowl.

   ----

   you wake up to darkness.

    curtains drawn, a quilt tucked beneath your chin, body comfortable against a soft mattress, you’re half tempted to just roll over and go back to sleep.

   that thought is squashed when you look to your side and spot george sat by your bedside.

   he’s fast asleep, head drooped, arms folded across his chest. he looks peaceful, though his hair is mussed, like he’s trailed his fingers through it numerous times.

   you push yourself onto your elbows and glance around; you’re in the infirmary, your body feeling good as new with whatever spell madame pomfrey put on you. clearly she thought you needed the rest, as it is now pitch black outside, and the curtains around your bed have been drawn to separate you from the other patients.

    you grab your wand from the bedside table and whisper “lumos.”

    george jerks awake.

    his chair screeches against the floor, making you wince with the volume. it sounds particularly loud when you’re in a room with people fast asleep, and apparently george thinks the same way. he squints into the darkness, before his eyes pop open at the sight of you.

    “you’re awake!”

   “what are you doing here?”

    in all honesty, you don’t mean to sound so harsh. it just kind of happens, a reflex when it comes to george weasley.

   he frowns. “i came to make sure you didn’t choke on your tongue in your sleep. i know how you slytherins can get.”

    “what happened?”

   he settles back in his chair, regarding you with a tired expression, though his raised eyebrow and wild hair make him look oddly attractive beneath the pale wand light cast upon his face. “you don’t remember?”

   “i remember. . . bits and pieces.” you wince. “we lost the match, didn’t we?”

    george smiles. “it was bound to happen. hufflepuff still had a full team by the end of it, and i think diggory was using slytherin’s weakness to his advantage.”

   “but we had crabbe as a sub!” 

    “crabbe is god awful. goyle’s on thin ice. you’re the only beater on that team keeping things going.”

    you scowl, slumping back against your pillows. it’s not like you had desperately high hopes for slytherin to win, but the fact that it was you who forced the loss upon them makes you angry - and a little bit embarrassed. 

   you flick a glance at george. “is flint mad?”

    george scoffs. “who gives a shit what flint thinks?”

   “i do. he’s the teams captain.” you close your eyes, throw your head back. “he’s gonna give me such a bollocking when he next sees me.”   

    “you were a little distracted up there.” george leans forward. “what happened?”

    and then you remember.

   that moment, just before the first bludger was barrelling towards you. you’d spotted george in the crowd, that shock of red hair, and his eyes had met yours, and you just zoned out. it was uncontrollable; once it started, you couldn’t drag your mind away from it - the fact he was there, the fact he was looking right at you, the fact you kind of wanted to talk to him.    

    “it was nothing,” you grumble, awkwardly picking at the quilt covering your legs. “i just felt a little ill, that’s all; not really the day for a match, was it?”

    george scoffs. “i’ve seen you play brilliant games of quiddich in blizzards, y/n. don’t sit there and tell me a little wind put you off your game this time around, because i know it’s a lie.”

   you scowl, but make no attempt to correct him. there isn’t really any point when he’s looking at you with that grin on his face, an eyebrow raised, a silent dare for you to go against him right now.

   you look back down at the quilt. “i could have carried on playing, you know. i was fine.” 

   “you fell unconscious when i was carrying you to the hospital wing.”

    “that doesn’t mean anything. my body gave up because the adrenaline stopped, but if i’d have just carried on playing-”

   “you probably would have broken a few more ribs.” george taps your nose. “and we can’t be having that.”

   you swat his hand away, scowling. “i still hate you, you know.”

   his smile drops, and for the first time since you woke up, he actually looks upset. he stares at you, those doe-like, mischievous brown eyes forcing you to look away, because you can’t stand them for very long without getting all giddy. it annoys the hell out of you.

    slowly, he leans back, fingers clasped in front of him. “is it because of what i said about your dad?”

   you close your eyes. “i was hoping you wouldn’t bring that up.”

   “but that’s it, isn’t it?” he pushes. “you think i was out of line for asking you about it. you think i was teasing you, or something.”

    “it’s not exactly far-fetched though, is it? you’ve dedicated your entire life to taking the piss out of people from slytherin, so why should i think i was any different?” 

    “because you are different.” george grits his teeth, like the words have caused him physical pain to admit. “i wasn’t - christ, y/n, i wasn’t making fun of the fact your dad is ill. i’m not that bloody cruel.”

    “with the way you treat draco? had me fooled.”

   george’s nostrils flare, lower lip disappearing behind his teeth. “are you and draco a freaking couple or something?”

   “no.”

   “then why do you feel the need to stick up for him every two seconds?”

   “because he’s my friend, george, that’s why!”

    george rolls his eyes, like the mere idea of draco malfoy having friends is unbelievable to him. 

   “what?” you push, leaning forward to meet his eyes. “why is it so difficult for you to wrap your head around the fact i’m friends with malfoy?”

    “because you’re so much better than him.”

    he says it like it hurts, teeth gritted, eyes refusing to meet your own. he says it like the walls are crumbling and this is his last chance to admit the truth. he says it like he hopes you don’t hear him.

    you stare, unable to comprehend his words, because they don’t really make any sense to you. “no i’m not.”

    george stiffens.

   you barrel on, suddenly passionate. “no, i’m really bloody not. i got sorted into slytherin for a reason, george, just like you and all the other weasleys got sorted into gryffindor. draco and i, we think alike. we deal with problems the same way.”

    “that’s bullshit,” george scoffs, finally looking up. “you keep malfoy in check, because you know the difference between right and wrong.”

    “i keep malfoy in check because i’m not an idiot. just because i stop him from doing daft things, doesn’t mean i don’t agree with his intentions.”

   george swallows. you watch his throat bob, the emotion slipping into his stomach, forcing that mask upon his face that you saw disappear for only the briefest of moments during this confusing conversation.

   finally, after a moment, george claps his hands to his knees and stands up, not unlike how your dad rises from his arm chair on his particularly bad days. all huffs and puffs, grunts of discomfort, bones creaking from lack of movement.

    “alright then,” he says simply. “i’ll leave you to it then, shall i? you can get back to - i don’t know - plotting doomsday or something.”

    you growl. “grow up.”

   he gives you a wave, sarcastic, over-the-top just to make you mad. you don’t humour him with a response, instead just watching him leave with your arms folded over your chest, anger seeping into every inch of your freshly-healed body.

    it’s crazy how he can do that to you so easily, how he can wriggle his way into your brain, convince you he has good intentions, only to leave you feeling angrier than when he first walked in.

   ---

   you get out of the infirmary that day, having fully healed thanks to madame pomfrey’s magic. you thank her, offering to send some flowers up to her room as soon as possible. she smiles and says, “just like your father.”

    you manage to avoid flint for most of the day. him being the year above you, it’s easy to miss him in the hallways, and you certainly have no classes together. however, you were a fool to think he wouldn’t be tracking you down any time he possibly could, because as soon as you sit down at the slytherin table that evening, he is right beside you in seconds.

    you glare at your mashed potatoes, speaking through gritted teeth. “don’t wanna hear it, marcus. really, really don’t wanna hear it.”

    “and we didn’t want to lose the match, but here we are.” he shoves your tray away; your food lands on the floor. none of the other slytherins look up. “you gonna explain to me what happened?”

    “why do i need to explain anything to you?” you shoot back, before gesturing to your upturned dinner. “get up there right now and get me a new plate, or so help me god-”

   “you’ll what? sabotage another match?” 

   your eyes widen. “sabotage? i didn’t take a bludger to the chest on purpose!”

    “explain your little performance with weasley then, huh?” flint leans forward, so close you can smell the peppermint on his breath. “has he finally got in your brain, yeah? managed to turn you against us. i don’t forget that your dad was a hufflepuff. and what was your mother?”

   you scowl. “keep my parents out of this.”

   “oh yes!” he exclaims. “a gryffindor! funny how that works, isn’t it? i can imagine you have a soft spot for the enemy, growing up with one and all that.”

    fury erupts in your chest. you stand, nostrils flaring, fingers curled into fists at your sides; so easily you could draw back and punch him, flatten him on the ground of the great hall in front of everyone. so easily you could make him pay for throwing your parents into this.

    but you don’t. you’re tired. you remember your dads voice, his silent plea for you to just take things easily this year. he isn’t well enough to handle any more trouble you may bring to his doorstep.

   and so, it’s with hesitance that you step away from the slytherin table. you lean down, lower your voice to an almost deadly whisper when you say, “i’d sleep with one eye open, you little shit.”

    you turn on your heel and start towards the door, starving but you don’t care. you have to get out of there before you lose your temper even further, before you banish the sound of your dads voice and make a mistake.

   ----

    draco finds you a few hours later, because of course he does.

    he probably heard all about your little altercation, and you have no doubt in your mind that it’s made him mad. you’re protective of him, but it works both ways, and draco has proved that on multiple occassions.

    the door to the common room bursts open, revealing a brief glimpse of the lunchtime crowd finally emerging from the great hall. you look up from your textbook, squinting at the sudden onslaught of light. draco stands in the doorway, nostrils flaring, eyes firm on you.

    your lips twitch, an attempt at a smile. “hello.”

   “what did he say to you?” draco demands. “if he said anything about your dad, y/n, i swear to-”

    “calm down,” you grumble, slumping into the arm chair. “you know how flint gets; he doesn’t know when to hold his tongue.”

   “yeah, well, he’s going to fucking learn, isn’t he?”

    you look up, because he must be joking. draco might be intimidating to some, but it all comes down to a name at the end of the day; he couldn’t hurt a fly even if he tried. he certainly couldn’t go up against marcus flint.

    but the rage in his eyes leaves little to the imagination about what he wants to do. he turns on his heel before you can even stand up, fleeing the common room in search of marcus flint.

   “draco!” you stumble up, dashing after him. “draco, stop. what the hell are you even going to do?”

   “have a little chat with him.” he picks up his pace, as if afraid you’re going to stop him. you have to start jogging, pushing past fellow confused students in your haste to grab draco before he does something stupid.

    but the world is plotting against you, it seems, as draco rounds the corner and comes face-to-face with the slytherin quidditch team captain as he makes his way to his next class.

    both boys freeze, and for a moment, you think draco’s respect for the older man might just break through. for a fleeting, hopeful moment, you think draco will come to his senses and turn away before any real damage can be done.

    and then he punches flint right in the face.

   you cry out, stumbling over your own two feet in your haste to get to draco before flint - stunned and confused - can come back around. even draco seems shocked at his own actions, staring at his fingers with wide eyes, face paling.

    “idiot!” you hiss, grabbing his arm and dragging him back, but marcus is already regaining his composure, looking at draco with nostrils flared.

   you raise a hand in marcus’s direction, trying in vain to drag draco behind you. “alright lads, lets calm down, yeah? we’ve got classes to get to!”

    “get out of the way, y/n,” marcus growls.

    “don’t talk to them like that,” draco snaps, lunging forward. you try in vain to keep the smaller boy from doing any further damage, but he’s determined, and you know how draco gets when he’s determined. he fights against your grip like a snarling dog, spitting curse words in flint’s direction, half of which you don’t even pick up on.

   you’re too busy staring at marcus, silently daring him to do anything.

   because, the thing is, marcus knows you just as he knows every person on his quidditch team. you’re the beater that keeps the team upright, the only one of the three beaters he can actually trust to win them a match. you’re the one he’s studied for years as you play the game by his side, and he knows you won’t take any shit.

    but either will he. that’s the beauty of being a slytherin. you know that as well as anyone.

   and that is why you can do nothing when marcus dives forward, malfoy having just called him some awful name, and grabs the younger boy by the front of his robes. he shoves you out of the way, your shoulder crashing into a passing first year. you hastily apologise, stumbling upright, trying to get between them as draco yells and makes a fuss, and marcus keeps so calm and collected, it’s almost scary, a scene you don’t know how to handle-

    marcus is pushed backwards.

    he falls on his back. you hear his wand snap in his back pocket, quills and parchment flying left, right and centre. draco stumbles, gasping for air, pressing a hand to his throat; his eyes snap to you, but you pay him no attention as you stare at george weasley, now standing guard over the younger malfoy boy.

    he glares down at flint, fingers curled into fists at his sides. the crowd stand shocked, some of them whispering “is that fred or george?” but you pay them no attention. your heart is racing. you’re so confused.

    marcus blinks. “what the fuck?”

   “why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” george snarls. 

    “i can handle myself, weasley!” draco barks, and that snaps you out of your reverie.

    you march forward and grab draco by the ear. he cries out, but you don’t pay attention to his pleas as you drag him through the hall, yelling out, “nothing to see here people!” over your shoulder. draco kicks and whines, but you’re furious - furious that he would put himself in such danger, furious that he couldn’t even finish the job he started, because george weasley - of all people! - stepped in to save his ass.

     you push draco into the nearest empty classroom you can find. “you idiot.”

    “he deserved it!” draco exclaims, rubbing the reddened tip of his ear. “jesus christ, y/n, let me help you! why do you let people like him get away with stuff like that?”

    “i don’t!” you bark. “i don’t let them get away with it, draco, because i handle it on my own! you don’t need to protect me!”

   draco scowls, folding his arms over his chest.

   you sigh, running a hand down your face. “you’re like a little brother to me, do you understand? if you get hurt one of these days, i’ll never forgive myself. it’s better if you just let me deal with things like this.”

    “why do you get to protect me all the time but i can’t protect you?”

   “because i can protect myself.”

    “or george weasley will do it.”

    you purse your lips, glancing over your shoulder as if george himself will be stood in the doorway; part of you kind of wishes he was. 

    “i don’t know why he did that,” you mumble. “he hates your guts.”

   draco scoffs. “yes, i’m aware of that. but i think it’s pretty obvious why he decided to step in.”

   you raise a brow, a silent question. 

    “that boy hasn’t stopped gawking at you since the first quidditch match,” draco explains. “don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. and also don’t pretend like he wasn’t the reason you got so distracted during the match against hufflepuff.”

    you blink, heat clawing to your face. of course it’s true - you never denied that to yourself - but hearing draco say it out loud, like it means something, makes your stomach curl. 

    draco chuckles, still rubbing his ear. “i must say, y/n, i’m surprised by your pick, but whatever makes you happy.”

    “george is...” you falter, the acidic adjective balancing on the tip of your tongue, just enough of a lie to leave you hesitant. “george is a. . . interesting character.”

    “all the weasleys are,” draco agrees. “but not all the weasleys have caught your eye, have they?”

   “shut up.” you fold your arms, biting your lower lip. “i don’t feel anything for george. nothing nice, anyway. he annoys me.”

    “he annoys you, does he?”

    “you know he does!”

    “i also know you’re getting very flustered right now.”

   you scowl, quickly turning away before draco can gather any more evidence of your true feelings through your appearance. “go to hell.”

    “tell me i’m wrong. tell me he wasn’t the person who distracted you during that match.”

    you open your mouth, ready to lie. you’re a slytherin. lying comes easily when it works in your favour, but you glance over your shoulder, and you spot draco’s raised brow and amused smile, and you remember that he is a slytherin himself, a slytherin who knows you better than anyone else in this damned school. he can read you like an open book, a skill he is clearly using to his advantage now.

   you grit your teeth, turning back around. “it was an accident. i just wasn’t expecting him to be there.”

    “the weasley twins never miss a game!” draco exclaims, a burst of laughter mingling with the words, like he can’t believe you’re even attempting to lie. “honestly, y/n, who do you think you’re trying to fool? the entire school saw how george reacted to you falling-”

   “how he reacted?”

    draco’s smile fades. “oh, of course.” he shakes his head. “of course, you wouldn't have seen him, probably wouldn’t have heard him, either.”

    you raise a brow, heat crawling up your face again. “what are you on about?”

    “y/n, when you fell off your broom that day, george bolted. he nearly gave colin creevey a bloody concussion, shoving his way through the stands. professor mcgonagall tried to stop him from getting on the pitch, but he wasn’t having any of it. even mcgonagall backed down when she saw his face.”

   oh.

   oh, oh, oh, that wasn’t what you were expecting to hear. not at all.

   the blood thrums through your veins, louder than it has ever been. you can’t respond, can’t even think straight, trying to remember that day and what happened during the moments before you fell head first onto the pitch.#

   but you remember nothing. you opened your eyes, and you were on the floor, and george was stood over you, calm as anything. not once did you think he may have actually went against the rules to get to you.

    “that doesn’t make any sense,” you mumble.

   draco raises a brow. “why doesn’t it?”

    “because george and i hate each other.” 

    and draco laughs. he laughs, head thrown back, loud and obnoxious. you stare at him, but you’re not even angry. you’re still in shock, overcome with a sudden need to find george and ask him about whatever draco has just tried telling you.

    because it can’t be true. george and you don’t get along. he’s the guy who hates draco, the guy who knows about your dad, the guy who does your head in more than anyone else in the world.

    he’s also the guy who carried you to the hospital wing when you were on the brink of unconsciousness.

   he’s also the guy who knows about your dad, yet hasn’t told a single soul.

    he’s also the guy who just saved draco’s ass, and maybe you’re thinking too much into it, but did he only do that because you made it so clear that draco is your friend?

    you swallow thickly, trailing your hands through your hair. “oh, draco.”

   “oh, indeed,” draco replies, still grinning. “here i was thinking you were smart.”

    “i have to talk to him.”

    “yes, well, go ahead.” draco places a hand on his forehead. “i’ll stay in here until flint calms down; i’ll be fine on my own.”

     usually, you would ask him if he’s sure. you might not even leave, instead choosing to sit with draco, sharing sweets, insulting each other’s life choices.

    but right now, you don’t stick around long enough for him to change his mind. you whirl on your heel, pure adrenaline thumping through your veins as you throw open the door and dart out into the hallway.

     george is in class. he has to be in class, because that’s where you’re supposed to be right now.

    you dash down the hallway, no longer caring about the teachers walking back and forth, all of whom are probably wondering what on earth you’re doing out of class right now. you pay them no attention, instead making a direct line for potions, where you know george is currently seated, probably bored out of his mind.

    you halt at the window of the potions classroom and peek over the top of the sill. there he is, seated at the back, chin resting on his palm as he stares at nothing in particular. at the front, snape paces back and forth, slapping a wooden ruler against the blackboard, a noise you are all too familiar with. 

    you grit your teeth, wave your hands back and forth, anything to get his attention. finally, however, it’s fred who sees you, and his eyes - identical to his brothers - immediately widen, a grin appearing on his face.

    you point to george, and fred gets the memo. he nods, gives you a thumbs up before tapping george on the shoulder and pointing in your direction. you make a come here gesture, to which george raises a brow, motioning to snape at the front of the classroom. impatiently, you tap your wrist, signalling to him that this is the one chance you’re going to get to talk to him, and you need to do it now.

    george rolls his eyes before throwing his hand in the air. 

    snape pauses his lecture. “yes, weasley?”

   “can i use the bathroom, sir?”

    “you can wait.”

    “no, sir, you don’t understand. i had one of hagrid’s fish suppers earlier, and-”

   snape slaps his ruler against the desk. “i don’t want to hear it! off you go, but be quick about it. any catching up you have to do can be done in my classroom during lunch.”

    “you’re the best, professor!” george stands and all-but runs to the door.

   as soon as he’s thrown it open, you grab the front of his robes and drag him down the hall, to a place where neither of you will be heard by the potions master.

    george stumbles after you, laughing louder than you’re comfortable with when the two of you are skipping class. you shove him into yet another empty classroom, closing the door and casting a quick spell to lock it.

    you spin, and as soon as you lay eyes on him, the speech you had planned dies in your throat.

    you just stare at him, because that honestly feels like all you can do. you’re struck by how gorgeous he is, those brown eyes you have never ignored, the messy mop of ginger hair, the chiselled cheeks and lanky body. all of it combined makes george weasley him, and it’s enchanted you quicker and more unexpectedly than you’ll ever be willing to admit.

    george raises a brow, folding his arms over his chest. “is this important, or am i risking a detention with snape for no reason?”     

   you blink, suddenly aware that you did not plan this out as well as you probably should have. what do you even want to say to him? what point do you want to get across?

   george tilts his head at your silence, leaning forward teasingly. he’s still got that smirk on his face, the one you refuse to acknowledge, because he’s only doing it to annoy you, and he looks so good whilst doing it. 

   you scowl in response. “you know flint is going to kill you next time he sees you, right?”

    surprised, george recoils. “that’s what you wanted to say to me?”

    “i’m giving you a warning. i know marcus flint really well, and he’s not going to let this slide. you should probably start thinking about leaving hogwarts next year, just to give you a better chance-”

    “y/n, for christ’s sake.”

    you deflate. your shoulders slump, the energy seeping from your body in one clean swoop. you groan, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes, as if doing so will push the stress and confusion from your brain.

    “i don’t know how to do this,” you grumble. 

    “don’t know how to do what?”

   “say thank you.” you drop your hands; george has stepped a little closer. you inhale sharply, ready to recoil, but those brown eyes of his keep you trapped.  

   he raises a brow. “you want to say thank you?”

    “i know you don’t like draco,” you mumble. “you didn’t have to stand up for him back there, but you did anyway. god only knows what would have happened to him if you hadn’t stepped in.”

    “he needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.” george shrugs. “but he’s still the year below us. flint should have handled things better.” 

     you nod, pursing your lips. it’s the gyryffindor mindset, a mindset you will never properly understand, but a mindset you grew up witnessing, because your mother always had the same one. whilst you were usually all for getting revenge, your mother always calmed you down by telling you that, sometimes, it was better to take the high road. sometimes, you needed to protect people weaker than yourself.

    “plus,” george is quick to add. “he pushed you. that was a step too far for me.”

    startled, you look up. “that was a step too far? you don’t even like me, george!”

    george’s smile slips. his brows furrow, pinching in the centre in a most adorable way. outside, students bustle back and forth, class ending; you’ll have to deal with snape, and so will george, but right now, neither of you really care. george just stares at you, and then he starts shaking his head, and then he’s laughing.

    you recoil. “what’s so funny?”

   “you really are daft,” he says. “absolutely daft in the brain.”

    “what are you talking about?”

    but he only continues to laugh, throwing his head back. he turns on his heel, hand inches from the door handle, ready to leave this conversation at that, but your eagerness to know more drives you to stop him. you grab his robes and pull him back, stumbling just enough to push him against the wall, your chest inches from his own.

    his laugh dies, breath catching in his throat as he stares down his nose at you. “not this again.”

    “what are you talking about, george?”

    he smiles. slowly, he lifts his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your heated cheeks. you’re startled by the touch, half ready to pull away from him, but you stay frozen, trapped in his gaze.

    “i don’t hate you, you know,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “in fact, i think i’ve actually grown quite fond of you these past few weeks.”

   it doesn’t make sense. none of it makes sense. in your head, you replay the relationship formed between you and george, the constant bickering, the harsh words, the dire need to be as far from each other as possible - a need that was never met, because somehow, you always found yourself drawn to him, even when you convinced yourself he was the last person you wanted to see.

    you swallow thickly, trailing your hands down his robes, flattening the creases you made in the material. he watches your fingers as they graze over the collared shirt he is wearing, lingering just by his stomach before you flinch away and step back, chewing your bottom lip.

    george grins again. he’s always grinning. you don’t want him to ever stop grinning. “you alright there?”

    you nod. “fine. why wouldn’t i be fine?”

    “i don’t know, but you look a little shell shocked.”

   you scowl.

    his grin widens. “there’s that look i’m so familiar with!”

   you roll your eyes. “go to hell, george weasley.”

    ----

     last quidditch match of the season.

   slytherin versus gryffindor.

   marcus is all but foaming at the mouth.

   you and george are making faces at each other from opposite ends of the pitch.

   draco nudges your arm as madame hooch goes through the rules. you glance at him, raising a brow in silent question.

    “stay focused, please,” he whispers, nodding at george who is busy giving goyle the middle finger. “i get you two are friends now, but this match is important to us. get your head in the game.”

    you scoff. “when have i ever not had my head in the game?” 

    draco raises a brow.

    you scowl. “that was one time, alright? i’ve got it this time. them gryffindors aren’t gonna know what’s hit them.”

    and so, the game begins. 

    it’s a dirty game. blood makes an appearance a few times. one of your hands get crushed by a bludger that goyle failed to block, so your knuckles are bloody throughout the entire match.

   and then there’s george.

    he circles you, singing ‘happy birthday’ at the top of his lungs. he smacks a bludger in your direction, but you dodge it and smash it back at him; it hits off the end of his broom, sending him swirling through the air. 

     he rises again, however, and joins your side. the two of you speed the length of the pitch, shoving and grabbing at each other’s brooms, laughing the entire time.

     “just give it up, l/n!” he jeers. “look at the state of your hand! there’s no way you can win this game now!”

    “piss off, weasley!” you yell back, before slamming your bat into an oncoming bludger, sending it straight for harry potter. 

    “oh, you cheeky git!” george exclaims, whizzing after the bludger to direct it elsewhere. you laugh, whizzing as high into the air as you can possibly go before madame hooch blows her whistle and scolds you. 

    the gryffindors start to struggle. you see it in the score board, how fast slytherin are catching up to them. harry is whizzing around like a madman, searching left, right and centre for the snitch that draco is also on the prowl for. you, however, keep your eyes on the bludger, every now and then diverting your attention to the ginger boy who keeps blocking your path.

    “you think this is a kids game, y/n?” he calls, snatching at the bristles on the back of your broom, yanking you back in a way that would usually deliver a penalty, but everyone’s eyes are on draco and harry, so nobody spots the discrepancy. 

    “oh, definitely not!” you yell back. “watch out, georgie; looks like goyle’s put himself into high gear!”

    you do a loop in the air, giving george no time to even process your words before the bludger goyle whacked in his direction crashes into his back, knocking him straight off the front of his broom.

   you would be lying to claim there was not a moment of worry, a moment of genuine contemplation to follow him to the ground, make sure he’s alright. however, that moment is short lived when george gives you the finger, clambers right back on his broom and continues the game with more brutality than you’ve ever seen him possess.

   you’re panting by the end of it, sweat dripping from your brow, seeping into the thin cloth of your quidditch robes. you’ve screamed yourself hoarse, throat aching and raw, but you manage to still scream victory when the final whistle goes off and lee jordan is forced to announce slytherin’s success over the loud speakers.

     you crash to the ground, immediately joining the group hug, draco in the centre.

    “that’s my boy!” you yell, ruffling his hair. “you absolute fucking legend, draco malfoy!”

    draco scowls, shoving your hand away. “don’t know why any of you are surprised.”

    you flick his chin before pulling him back in for a hug. 

    once the team celebrations are over, however, you turn your attention to george. you’ve been doing that a lot more often these days - looking for him in a crowd, wanting to share your joy with him, even when your joy swipes his own from right under his nose.

    you spot him in an instant, because - as always - he’s already looking at you. he’s scowling this time, but that doesn’t stop you from dropping your broom and skipping over to him.

    “we won! we won! we won!” you jeer, grabbing the badge on your robe and shoving it in his face. “see that, weasley? that’s the crest of a winner! that’s the crest of the best house in this fucking school!”

    george folds his arms over his chest, staring as you jump up and down in excitement. 

    he lets you continue until you tire yourself out. you laugh tiredly, pleased to see the tiniest twitch of george’s lips as he glares down at you. 

    finally he says, “finished?”

    “oh, don’t be a sore loser!” you throw your arms over his shoulders, because you’re tired and you don’t really care about anything right now. “tell you what; i’ll celebrate with you later on.”

    george recoils, arms still folded over his chest, making your embrace slightly uncomfortable, though you refuse to let go. “why would i want to celebrate with you?”

   “listen mate, take it or leave it; i have an entire team i could be celebrating with right now.”

     george stiffens. you lift your head, leaning your chin against his chest. he glares down at you, and before you can grasp what his intentions are, he leans down and pecks you on the lips.

    just like that. no explanation, no warning. the kiss lasts no longer than two seconds before he pulls away, breaks out of your embrace and says, “go celebrate with your slytherin friends.”

    he turns, starting up the field. for a second, you just stare after him, shellshocked, but then the scene replays in your head, and you’re suddenly overcome with the need to repay him.

    you dash after him, despite the ache in your legs and the exhaustion in your bones. you grab the back of his quidditch robes, spin him around, and it’s like he expects it - he drops his broom, stretches his arms out and catches you the moment you leap into his embrace and slam your lips to his.

   and it’s so strange, but so perfect, so relieving all at the same time. he holds you tighter, one hand coming up to cup the back of your neck whilst you busy yourself with trailing your hands through his thick, messy, windswept hair. 

   behind you, you listen to draco groan out the words, “now?” but it does nothing to deter you from the moment. 

   you pull away first. “i’ve changed my mind.”

    panting, george says, “about what?”

    “you should come celebrate with me,” you reply. “i don’t want to celebrate with my slytherin friends any more.”

     george laughs. in the background, you hear draco telling the other slytherins to just head up to the common room - you won’t be there for another few hours. 

[hizashis-lil-bunbun]

No Rest for the Wicked- HardDom!Dabi X Fem! Brat Reader

Prompt: Dabi just wants to take a nap but everything goes wrong

I asked a friend in one of my discord groups for a random writing prompt when I was up late. Something about this one activated my inner ✨brat✨

Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.3k

Kinks/Warnings: brat taming, degradation, pain play, spanking, belting, mild dacryphilia, bondage, edging and denial, hints of dubcon

Banner made by the always lovely @ladyshinigami!

••••••••••••••

Exhausted.

That was the best way to sum up Dabi’s mood as he trudged through the bar fronting the League’s headquarters. Shigaraki had sent him out on a mission with orders to “stake out and take out” a small band of up-and-coming heroes. It had been easy enough to find them (newbies can never resist being flashy), but making sure they were all disposed of was another matter. A matter only made more complicated by a few rogue civilians that happened to spot him. It had taken him two full days to track everyone down, leaving him covered in blood, soot, and burns. In short, Dabi needed a break.

“Well, well, well.” Came the nasally voice of their fearless leader, “The prodigal son returns! Took you long enough, Dabi. Hope that means you didn’t fuck up the mission.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Dabi snaps back, too tired and sore to care about his tone. Not that he’d be any kinder to Shigaraki if he wasn’t. “I did what you asked and left no witnesses. Now piss off before I turn you into a smoldering pile.”

Shigaraki didn’t rise to Dabi’s bait, opting to simply flip him the bird before going back to whatever game console he was currently obsessed with. Dabi returns the gesture in kind, glowering as he disappears behind the bar and into the League’s living quarters. Their warehouse provides more than enough space for everyone to have their own room, and the boss even allowed them to decorate and furnish them as they pleased. Wasn’t that generous? Dabi plods down the hallway to his assigned room and kicks open the door only to find it was occupied. By you.

“Dabi?” You question for a moment before your eyes light up with excitement. “Dabi! You’re back!”

As a fellow Stain devotee, you’d sought out the LOV and been initiated as a member a mere six months ago. And two months later, you’d been initiated into Dabi’s bed. You wouldn’t exactly call yourselves “lovers.” Love was few and far between in a hornet’s nest of villains. But you’d certainly become something more than the occasional lay.

He grunts as he stalks into the room, shedding his coat and boots as he went. Dabi was never big on grand displays of affection. And in his current state, that small show of acknowledgment may as well have been equivalent to a bear hug.

“I missed you.” You chirp back, undeterred by his gruff response. “How was the mission?”

“Long and shitty.” Came his terse reply as he strips off the rest of his clothes and grabs a towel from a nearby wall hook. “I need a fucking shower.”

He wraps the towel around his waist before he sets about searching for body wash and a first aid kit. Greedy eyes roam the plane of his toned torso, eager to touch the scarred and stapled flesh you’d spent many a night mapping out. Before joining the League, you’d never had an opinion one way or the other on touch or physical intimacy. You didn’t dislike it by any means; it was just something people did, fuck buddies or otherwise. But now that you’d shared a bed with Dabi, your perspective had changed. His rough touch was your drug of choice, intoxicating in all the best ways. And with him being gone for almost 72 hours? It was safe to say you were jonesing for a hit.

“Oooh, sounds like fun.” You purr, sprawling out on the mattress in a catlike stretch. “Want me to join you? I think we could use a little… quality time together.”

He snorts derisively at that, straightening up once he’d found his supplies and fixing you with a deep scowl. So pretty even when he’s pissed. You bat your eyelashes in return.

“Don’t get cute, dollface. Once I get cleaned up I’m passing out for the next century.”

Before you can shoot off another coquettish remark, he turns on his heel and marches out the door in the direction of the communal showers. You huff and clamber out of bed to follow him, determined that he wouldn’t get away so easily.

“C’mon Dabi!” You whine, trotting along behind him as he stalks down the hallway. “I haven’t seen you in days! Are you really just gonna give me the cold shoulder?”

“Yup.” He snaps back, shooting you a harsh glare over said shoulder before barging through the bathroom door. From the other side you can hear his bark of “Move it, psycho!” followed by an indignant squeak from whom you can only assume to be Toga. You huff and stamp your foot like a petulant child, turning on your heel to flounce off in the direction of the League’s bar front.

“Bastard.” You seethe under your breath, “Who does he think he is, ignoring me like that? It’s his fault I’m so pent up. If I tried ignoring him when he was all hot and bothered–!”

You pause for a moment as a lightbulb goes off in your head. A single impish thought flashes through your mind and it causes your lips to curl into a Cheshire grin. He wants to play games? You’ll give him games.

You continue your trek into the dimly-lit, woodpandeled speakeasy, a renewed vigor in your stride as you make a beeline for the bar top. Kurogiri is standing behind it as per usual, wiping out a pint glass like the faithful bartender he pretends to be. You sidle up to the bar and place both hands on the oaken surface, adopting a sweet, too-innocent lilt to your voice.

“Kuro-baby.” You purr, the cutesy pet name causing the misty specter to look up from his task. “Can I have a glass of water, please? With lots of ice, if you don’t mind.”

Wordlessly, Kurogiri sets down the glass and picks up a shorter one, using it to scoop up a generous portion of ice from the freezer below before filling it nearly to the brim from the tap. If he has any suspicion of you, he’s very good at hiding it. The same can’t be said for Shigaraki, sitting a few stools down from you and still tapping away at the buttons of his console.

“Fucking with Staples again?” He questions disinterestedly, followed by a hiss of annoyance when the game lets out a series of gunshots. He must have gotten himself killed again.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You shoot back airily, swiping the glass from Kurogiri’s outstretched hand and hopping off your own barstool.

“It’s your funeral!” He calls after you, waving you off with one hand. You snicker as you march back into the living quarters, one hand wrapped around the chilled glass and the other flattened over the top to ensure you won’t spill a drop along the way. Soon you find yourself back in front of the bathroom door and, suppressing the urge to giggle, you slowly push through it and into the steamy room beyond. In spite of the hideout’s outward appearance, the place is surprisingly clean and well-kempt (all thanks to den mother Kurogiri). Two sinks stand against the left-hand side of the wall, with two doors opposite them leading to the toilets. Next to the sinks are the showers: three open-faced, tile cubes barely covered by flimsy plastic curtains. Toga is standing in front of the nearest sink, wearing a skimpy pair of Hello Kitty pajamas and washing the blood and goop from her latest transformation out of her navy, pleated skirt. She looks up at you when you enter and you quickly put one finger to your lips, smirking as you point between the glass and the running shower beyond. Toga lets loose a sadistic giggle of her own before hastily shushing herself when you hear Dabi’s bark of “Pipe down out there!”

As you move past her, you can see her mouth the words, “You’re so dead, big sis.”

You can feel a jolt of adrenaline course through your veins as you sneak up to the edge of the tiled wall separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom, the glass in your hand shaking briefly. A small amount of water sloshes over the rim and spatters onto the floor, the sound barely overshadowed by the shower.

“Doll?”

His low, rumbling voice coming from the other side of the curtain sends another shiver down your spine.

“What are you up to out there?” He growls dangerously, as if he has a sixth sense when it comes to you and your shenanigans. For just a moment, the rational part of your brain takes over and makes you question your actions. Dabi’s already in a foul mood, and getting worse by the second by the sound of it. Maybe if you hold off and behave like a good girl–

Your body seems to move of its own accord. The next thing you know, the contents of the glass are sailing through the air, arching high over the plastic curtain rod and landing with a messy splat onto your unwitting victim on the other side.

“What the fu–!” Dabi’s curse is cut off by yours and Toga’s mad giggling as you sprint out of the bathroom and down the hallway. Passing by a very confused-looking Spinner, you dart inside Dabi’s room and slam the door, locking it for good measure. Seconds later, he’s pounding on it, using enough force that you’re convinced it might splinter and break off its hinges.

“Open this door right now and make this easier on yourself!” He roars, furiously jiggling the handle.

You let him pound away for a few more seconds, in part to allow yourself time to catch your breath but mostly to delay the unenviable punishment. With a deep, steadying breath, you plaster on a mildly amused expression, undo the lock, and pull open the door. Dabi is visibly seething, water dripping from his hair and cascading in rivulets down his toned chest onto the towel slung low on his hips. His brows are knitted together in rage, turquoise eyes flashing dangerously while one hand is still raised in a fist.

“Oh hey, babe. Done with the shower al–?”

His hands are around your throat before you can blink, your sassy remark devolving into a high-pitched squeak.

“You little bitch.” He spits at you, forcibly backing you further into the room as he advances. “Was that your idea of a joke?”

“N-no.” You gasp in response, voice slightly raspy from the pressure on your jugular. “I just thought–“

“Thought what exactly?” Dabi growls, kicking the door shut behind him with one foot before giving your shoulders a hard shove and pushing you onto the bed. You land with a slight bounce, the momentum giving you just enough time to prop yourself up on your elbows.

“Well?” He hisses, venom dripping from the word as he glares down at you.

“I was worried.” You start slowly, tone almost loving as you gaze up at him with big, doe eyes. “You seemed so tense when you got back. And don’t think I didn’t notice those new burns on your arms. So I thought, since the mission was so hard on you…”

Your face suddenly splits into a shit-eating grin.

“I thought you might need to cool down for a minute.”

Dabi blinks for a second, seemingly struck dumb by your remark. And then his hands are back on you in an instant, roughly flipping you over to lie chest-down with your legs hanging off the edge of the bed.

“Of all the stupid–“

Your shirt is ripped over your head from behind.

“Immature–“

There goes the bra, clasps and straps lost to a wildfire of blue flames as it falls away from your body in a charred heap.

“Bratty little schemes.”

Your leggings and panties are harshly yanked down, slipped off, and discarded into some unknown corner of the room. You feel cool air hit your legs and backside, moments before a harsh slap lands on your right cheek. With a yelp, you cast a wide-eyed glance over your shoulder at the menacing presence behind you; a pillar of rage and sadistic urges looming over your naked form.

“You wanted my attention that badly, dollface? Well I’m sorry to say you’ve got it now.”

Before you can react beyond a pained, needy whimper, Dabi hooks his right arm under your thighs to haul you up and onto the bed. He lays his full weight across your back and reaches around and underneath the farthest edge of the bed to produce a simple, black cuff, attached to the nylon spreader running along the underside of the mattress. Giving it a few cursory tugs, he grabs ahold of your right wrist and yanks it towards the corresponding corner, attaching the device with practiced speed and precision. You continue to writhe and pant below him, muttering a litany of curses and “no’s” as he does the same to the opposite side. You’re now bound by both wrists, unable to do more than thrash wildly on the mattress in a humiliating, spread eagle position.

“Seems like you need a reminder of who’s in charge around here.” He snarls in your ear, pushing himself off of you and marching over to his discarded pile of clothing. You can hear the soft rustle of fabric, followed by the telltale clink of metal on metal that makes your eyes go wide.

“Y-you wouldn’t dare…” You start breathlessly, just before the first blinding sting of leather greets your exposed skin, right at the juncture where the soft swell of your ass meets the tender flesh of your thighs.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Dabi says mockingly, his tone dripping with false pity and saccharine sweetness as he takes his place at the edge of the bed once more. “I don’t have any problems dealing with a mouthy… little… brat like you.”

His words are punctuated by three more vicious blows, this time striking the meatiest part of your ass and sending the pliant flesh jiggling. The metal rivets in his belt only add to the pain, biting into your rapidly heating flesh and causing tears to prick at the corners of your eyes. Shifting your hips in a futile attempt to get away from Dabi and his newfound torture device, you roll partly onto your side and look over at him with watery, pleading eyes.

“S-sir… Dabi, please!” You sputter out, voice already wavering as your resolve crumbles beneath the stinging sensation. But Dabi’s not in the mood for bargaining. Instead, he growls as he wraps an arm around your waist and shoves his left knee underneath your belly, hiking your ass further into the air.

“Hold still!” He barks at you, another crack of his belt sending a fresh wave of searing pain along your already raw skin. You scream in agony, unable to do more than wriggle and squirm against his hold.

“Start counting, brat.” He demands huskily, your only warning before the next punishing spank meets your burning flesh.

“One!” You gasp out, “I’m sorry! Please–!”

Another blow lands, somehow harder than all the others, revisiting the spot where ass and thigh meet and causing you to wail in pain.

“Too late for apologies, dollface. The only thing I wanna hear from that slutty little mouth is counting. Understand me?”

The arm looped around your waist tightens in warning, and you hiccup before sputtering out a shaky, “T-two.”

“That’s more like it.”

He continues spanking you at a steady pace, the only respite coming when he pauses to hear you choke out the next number. By ten strokes, you’re bawling. By fifteen, you’re practically brain dead, unable to quell the sobs that wrack through your body or think beyond the next count. He mercifully stops at twenty, dropping the belt and loosening his own grip on you. All you can focus on is the burning pain radiating out from your tanned backside, sobbing as you bury your face into the pillow below you for comfort. Dabi’s own breathing is heavy and ragged, and he takes a few deep, measured breaths to steady himself. After a few moments, that hand that once held his belt is carefully laid on the curve of your ass, and you gasp both at the gentle touch and the shock of prickly pain it brings. Judging by the way he strokes the heated flesh, you’re sure the silver eyelets have left a series of bruises behind.

“S-s-sir.” You blubber, “I’m... I…”

“Shhhh, quiet down.” He says softly, voice uncharacteristically tender as he runs his hand along the width of your heated cheeks. “It’s over now. You did so well.”

The unexpected praise makes you whimper beneath his affections, devolving into a quiet moan as his hand travels even lower, fingers coming to rest at the entrance to your heated core. He begins to gently massage at your folds, middle finger slipping inside to find you impossibly wet and clenching around the digit.

“You filthy little thing…” He breathes out on a chuckle, “Are you really that turned on by me beating the hell out of your cute little ass?”

His finger delves deeper, pussy eagerly sucking him in as you keen below him. His free hand begins to lightly scratch up and down your back, goosebumps rising in the wake of each careful caress. Without thinking, you shift further onto your knees, fighting through the pain to push against his hand.

“Please, Sir.” You moan wantonly, “More. Please.”

With another dark chuckle, Dabi slips a second finger inside of you and begins to languidly pump them in and out. Pain and pleasure meld together in a sinful symphony, pants and whimpers coming from you as you rock your abused body against his own scarred flesh. He adjusts the angle and crooks his fingers downwards, curling them just shy of that sensitive bundle of nerves you know would have you seeing stars. Your back arches as you hungrily push against him, dignity forgotten in the face of pure, carnal desire.

“Getting impatient, are we?” He growls teasingly, fingers suddenly slipping out from your sopping core and wrenching a high-pitched whine from the back of your throat. He moves off the bed entirely, ordering you to stay put as he walks over to the nearby dresser and opens up the top drawer. Like the cuffs would allow you to do anything otherwise.

“Ah, here we go.” He says after a few seconds of rummaging, striding back over to the bed and taking up residence behind you. You feel the mattress dip under his weight seconds before his hands find your hips, roughly hauling them upwards and forcing your face further into the pillows. You shriek as he grabs ahold of your left cheek and squeezes harshly, pain shooting up your spine like a bolt of summer lightning. Something hard and cool prods at your quivering entrance, briefly brushing against your clit before being plunged inside of you. The sudden stretch feels at once too much and deeply satiating, sending burning, pleasurable heat licking across your oversensitized nerves. Once the toy is sunk to the hilt, Dabi gives a short grunt of satisfaction before sliding off the bed and circling around to lean over your quivering form. You turn your head to face him and he smirks at the sight of your fucked out expression: eyes red and puffy, cheeks streaked with half-dried tears, lips swollen from the bluntness of your own teeth.

“Aren’t you a sight?” He hums lowly, brushing away an errant strand of hair to plant a condescending kiss to your temple. “Such a needy little slut for me.”

With another dark chuckle, Dabi pats your cheek, straightens up, and turns towards the door.

“Wait!” You squeak out, squirming against your restraints as you watch his retreating back. “You’re just gonna leave me like this?”

“That’s the plan, dollface.” He shoots back, casting you a wicked grin over his left shoulder as he pulls the door open. “At least until I finish my shower.”

[chaoticminhos]

priceless

priceless; adjective; so precious that its value cannot be determined.

pairing: bang chan x reader

genre: angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, rich kid! bang chan au

warnings: none, lowkey sugar daddy channie but nothing is sexual

word count: 14.3k (oh my god)

a/n: this is a super long one, i’m sorry! i got a bit carried away 

christopher bang. chris. bang chan. he was a boy with the whole world at his fingertips, diligent and hardworking. the kind of boy you could bring home and your mother would adore him. your father couldn’t dream of a better boy to date his daughter. 

at least, that’s how everyone else would describe him. but you? no, to you, he was nothing but an arrogant asshole.

he flaunted the trophies and medals he won from swimming like they made him the most important man alive. he never missed a chance to point out that he was top of the class, even with being in sports. he could handle it all, such a balanced and sturdy young man, all of his teachers said.

people called him modest, but you couldn’t see it. not even a peak coming out from under the obnoxious fancy shirts he wore to school every day just to show that he had enough money to own that many different name brand clothes. your school didn’t even have a strict dress code, who the hell in their right mind would wear button up and dress pants in place of hoodies and sweats? a fucking prick who needs to prove in every way possible that he is better than everyone else, that’s who. he was mister fucking perfect and he never, not for one second, let you forget that.

you begrudgingly stepped into your first hour class and made your way to your assigned seat, groaning at the fact that in just a few minutes, the school bell would ring and you’d be forced to sit right next to chan for the whole 45 minutes the class lasted.

honestly, you thought your teacher was fucking insane for placing you and chris next to each other. and in a corner spot, no less! chris was pinned in between you and the wall, the only person other than you in direct line of contact for him being the two seated ahead of you. but that didn’t stop chan, no, he yelled over you to his friends as if you weren’t even there and it pissed you off. you’d offered to swap seats so you wouldn’t have to deal with his yelling over you, but he denied, saying that he didn’t want to get in trouble with the teacher.

“they’re assigned seats, y/n,” he’d said, “the whole point is we can’t just swap.”

students filtered in and, per usual, chan was one of the last to enter. he was almost always just on the edge of being late to the first hour, him and his friend hyunjin. they had before school swim practice and apparently it would kill their coach to let them off 10 minutes earlier so they wouldn’t be late to class. it didn’t matter though, the teacher waited for them every day. god forbid golden boys chris and hyunjin miss the first minute of class.

chan walked behind you to his seat, bumping into the back of your chair as he passed. asshole. there was plenty of room for him to get past you easily, he didn’t need to shove your chair.

the teacher began class just as chan plopped his bag onto your shared table, the straps from it falling across your notebook on your side of the table.

you brushed them off, pushing his bag further away from you. he sent you a look and threw his hands up in the air like you’d just ruined his bag.

“what’s your problem today?”

you looked up at him, breath slightly catching at his damp hair. he showed up to class like this every single day, with his hair pressed to his forehead and his shirt pressed close to his body, still damp from the pool and showering off, but that didn’t change the fact that every single day, he still took your breath away.

as much as you hated him, he was strikingly attractive. it’s a shame that people can’t have both good looks and a good personality. 

you put a forced smile on your face, “same as always, bang. you.”

your argument was cut short by your teacher sending a small glare towards you, a silent order to be quiet.

that’s another thing that pissed you off. he had started the conversation, but you were always the one who got in trouble for talking. not once did the teacher scold him for talking in class, only you.

“you’ll be working with your table partners today--“

you didn’t even bother to listen to the rest, groaning and putting your head in your arms on the desk. you had requested not to always be partners with your desk mate, stating that you and chan didn’t get along that well, but your teacher insisted.

“chris is a wonderful person to be partnered with, y/n.”

and of course chan wouldn’t back you up on the request of different partners. he didn’t want to be your partner in everything, god no, but it simply wouldn’t look good for him if he complained about another student.

you looked back up when chan snapped his fingers right next to your ear, causing you to jolt up and send a glare at him. he pointed to the paper that your teacher had placed on your desk.

“we’re supposed to brainstorm together.”

“can’t we just do it separately and say we talked the questions through?”

he put a fake pout on his face, “you don’t wanna share your ideas with me?”

a grin spread across his face as your jaw clenched in frustration. 

“i don’t want to interact with you, period.”

“i'm just as excited as you are--“

he was cut off by the sound of your stomach growling. you groaned, you hadn’t had time to get dinner yesterday and you couldn’t afford to buy breakfast this morning.

“someone’s hungry.”

“i didn’t have breakfast.”

“why, slept in?”

“couldn’t afford it.” you mumbled, not thinking much of your words, just letting them fall from your lips.

he laughed lightly, “couldn’t afford breakfast?”

your eyes slowly lifted from the paper to his face, casual mood from just seconds before long gone.

“not everyone was born on a pile of money, chan.”

“sorry, it was just a question.”

it wasn’t even 9 am and you already wanted to rip his head off.

“fucking forget about it, let’s just get this done so you can fuck off.”

he nodded in agreement, pressing his lips tightly together to bite back a response before reading out the first question before stating his opinions on the matter.

he didn’t bother you much more for the rest of the class period, just focusing on the work ahead of you two. he didn’t bring the breakfast issue up again, which honestly surprised you. it had obviously gotten a rise from you, you expected him to milk that for as long as possible.

you didn’t see him again until lunch, where your eyes were glued to the back of his head as you angrily went over the start of your day to your best friends.

“he fucking made fun of me for not having money.”

“he’s such a prick.” sooyeon said through a mouthful of chips, turning to show one of her friends something on her phone. she wasn’t really listening. she never did when it came to you complaining about chan.

sooyeon was your best friend along with jisung, but she has lots of friends other than the two of you. she was an easy person to be around, you understood why everyone liked her:

“i agree,” jisung said as he sat himself down next to you, “i don’t get why you’re so obsessed with him when i’m literally right here.”

you hit his arm, causing his tray to shake as he set it on the table, some of the chocolate pudding falling onto the table.

“i am not obsessed with him, jisung! it’s just hard not to think about him so much when he makes it a point to be a cock every single fucking time we interact.”

jisung ignored your reply, scooping up the pudding you caused him to spill and plopping it onto an empty place on your tray.

you moved to shove him again, but he instinctively reached his hands to your arms to stop you, coating your sleeve with the pudding that he had yet to clean off of his hand.

“jisung!” you shouted, unable to keep a smile from breaking out on your face. there was no real reason to be mad, it would wash out, but you wanted to give him a hard time for it anyway.

“you ruined my favorite sweatshirt!”

you grabbed his wrist, pressing his still dirty hand against the chest of his own hoodie, giving it a stain to match the one on your arm.

“what the fuck?” he called through a loud laugh.

“it’s payback, you dickhead.”

he wiped his hand off on a napkin before standing up and motioning for you to do the same. he packed the apple and chips from his lunch into his bag for later tossed out the rest.

“you are so lucky i have extra clothes in my gym locker.”

you followed him as he started through the cafeteria, “i’m lucky? you’re the one who got pudding on me first!”

“i don’t recall that ever happening. obviously it got on you when you were brutally attacking me.”

you hit him again, laughing as he led you out of the food court and to the gyms.

you hadn’t realized, but you’d walked right past chan and his friends as you were leaving. he observed the interaction between you and jisung and let out a nose laugh at the childishness of it.

he got up and tossed his tray. he’d heard jisung mention the locker room and it reminded him he needed to grab his math textbook from there, he’d left it there after practice that morning.

chan expected you to be in the girls locker room changing or waiting outside of the boys locker room for jisung to bring you a clean shirt, so he thought nothing of stepping into the locker room himself. what he did not expect was to be met face to face with you as you slipped one of jisungs hoodies over your head, chans eyes barely catching the bottom of your bra as you pulled the cloth down.

jisung was still shirtless, digging through his locker for a shirt that didn’t have pudding on it and didn’t smell distinctly of sweaty boy. he looked up upon hearing the door open, nodding to chan as he entered.

he didn’t acknowledge jisung, instead keeping his attention on you.

“you do know this is the boys locker room, right?”

your eyes widened in mock surprise, “really? i thought this was the music department. no wonder there’s no piano.”

he huffed as he walked past you and to his own locker where his book was sat on the bench beside it.

“why are you in here, anyway?” he continued.

“jisung is a dumbass.”

the boy in question turned to you as he slipped his own sweatshirt over his head, “you’re being quite an asshole to me considering i just gave you the one actually clean sweatshirt i had on hand.”

“maybe if you hadn’t gotten pudding on the one i was wearing i wouldn’t need to steal yours.”

chan cut in, “don’t you have your own clothes to change into?”

jisung responded for you, “she doesn’t have gym.”

chan nodded, “not surprised by that.”

he’d mumbled it, but you heard. first he’d made fun of your economic status, now he was going to take a jab at your body?

“what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

you took a step towards him and he put his hands up in defense, “you don’t seem like the sporty type.” 

your eyes narrowed and he seemed to get what you had been thinking.

“no, oh my god! i’m not that low.”

you scoffed, “but you’re low enough to tease someone for being poor? come on jisung.”

you bundled your dirty sweatshirt into your arms and swung your bag over your shoulder before leaving the locker room with jisung hot on your trail.

when you entered your first class the next day, you were met with a plastic wrapped muffin sitting on the table of your spot. 

you figured someone had forgotten it there from the day before and no one had noticed to move it. you inspected the wrapper, it was still fully sealed. deciding whoever left it there probably forgot about it and remembering you hadn’t been able to get breakfast that morning either, you unwrapped the muffin and took a bite.

and damn, muffins hit different when they’re the first thing you’ve eaten since dinner time the night before.

you were about halfway done with the tasty treat when chan found his way to his spot beside you. he was wearing a plain white button up that day. water droplets from his hair had fallen onto his shoulder and collar, making small see through patches across his collar bones. you caught yourself staring before he did, thankfully.

he pointed to the muffin in your hand, “you got yourself breakfast this morning.”

you nodded, providing no verbal response, just taking another bite of the muffin.

the bell rang and the teacher clapped to get the classes attention, stating that you’d be continuing the discussion activity you and your partner had started the day before.

you looked over to chan with wide eyes. it was supposed to take two days? the two of you had gone through most of the questions the day before.

“did we miss something?” he started, reaching across the table to drag your paper closer to him so he could see it. you sighed, he had his own sheet. it would have taken literally five seconds for him to get his own instead of hijacking yours.

“i think my brain is just too good for her assignments.” you shrugged as you took the final bite of your muffin, crumpling the wrapper in your hand.

“your brain? please,” he leaned back in his chair, turning his body towards you, “i’m obviously the powerhouse of this duo.”

you raised your eyebrows with a smile, “then what am i? the hot eye candy?”

he pretended to think for a moment, “no, i think that one's me too...”

your smile grew, the words were teasing but not in a bad way. you could not believe you were having a civil conversation with bang chan, let alone an almost friendly argument.

you tossed the rolled up muffin wrapper at him, hitting him right in the cheek. he scrunched his nose, “you’re fucking terrible.”

the words weren’t anything different from what you would expect him to say to you, but the tone was lighter than usual. almost playful. still, they seemed to snap you into reality. bang chan was not your friend.

you reached to the paper he’d taken from you and glanced at the last few questions, pointing  to the next in line and reading it aloud.

“is it unethical for heinz to steal the pills for his dying wife?” (look up the heinz moral debate if you don’t know what i’m referring to)

he thought for a moment before responding.

“no.”

“why?” you prompted him to continue.

“it says he tried every ethical and legal way, he has no other choice. he doesn’t have the money to pay for the pills, stealing is the only option he has left.”

you nodded, making a slightly surprised face.

“what?”

“nothing. i just took you for the kind of person to be all, i don’t know, fuck the poor.”

you scanned his face and he looked almost offended at your remark.

“of course not, everyone deserves the same opportunities when it comes to things like this.”

the rest of the hour went the same, pleasant way. you had to keep reminding yourself every couple of minutes that he was not your friend. he was being oddly pleasant to be around that day, but he was still an arrogant prick.

you were met with another muffin on your spot the next morning. and the morning after that. and the one after that, too. and the next one, and so on. it became clear to you within the first few days that it couldn’t be a coincidence, someone was leaving muffins there for you every morning. you found it kinda weird at first, considering you couldn’t think of who could be doing it. if it was jisung or sooyeon they would just hand it to you, they wouldn’t go through the trouble of sneaking into the ethics classroom before school started to put a muffin on your spot. neither of them even got to the school in time to do that. but after a while, you just accepted it. you appreciated the little snack every morning, it gave you something to go to school for and it assured you that you’d be able to eat something, even if you were short on money.

after a while, you stopped finding it weird and started to find it cute and endearing.

jisung and sooyeon were convinced it was a secret admirer, that someone had a crush on you and didn’t know how to show it. you didn’t believe that idea, no one even knew you even existed other than the two of them and a couple other friends. still, you honestly couldn’t think of another reason. 

either way, it changed your first period class from being something to dread because of the boy seated next to you into something to look forward to. that, and chris had been more bearable. he was still an obnoxious asshole and he didn’t deserve half of the positive attention he constantly had, but not every conversation with him was full of angry words and snappy remarks anymore. you were starting to realize that maybe some of the things he did weren’t really mean or annoying and it was just you finding different excuses to be mad at him, but you’d never admit that out loud.

 you still didn’t call him a friend, and he didn’t call you one either. he would probably be embarrassed to call someone like you his friend. he still annoyed the living hell out of you, but you couldn’t make yourself have an undying hatred for him anymore. just a strong disliking. 

but he was not your friend. he was still the same dickhead he had been the whole time you’d been in school with him. he wasn’t a nice person.

you still didn’t like him. 

you seemed to repeat that to yourself quite a lot.

you smiled as you picked up the muffin from the table, you’d lost count of how many had been left for you by now. you unwrapped it and started eating, you’d stopped checking the wrappers for holes after the first few. it was silly, but you trusted whoever was leaving them for you.

hyunjin and chan walked into the room just as the bell went off. chan was laughing at something hyunjin said, his dimples showing. they’re something you’d grew to really like about him. you didn’t even know he had dimples before, he never smiled at you up until a couple weeks ago.

the teacher waited for them to reach their spots before beginning the lecture, talking for a while about something or another. you didn’t really pay attention, zoning out as you finished your muffin and tossed the wrapper at chan like you’d made a habit of doing with every wrapper you had.

it was funny, you thought. every single day, even though he complained about it, he would pick up the wrapper from wherever it landed and deliver it to the trash himself. he tried to make you do it originally, but you refused.

“you’ll be working with the same partner you’ve had all semester. i have rubrics up here if anyone wants a paper copy.”

you tuned in to the last bit of what your teacher said, catching on that she was assigning another partner project, and your partner would be the same as always- chan.

both of you pulled out your laptops and pulled up the work. neither of you complained about always being partners anymore, the same argument over and over again did no one good. plus, it’s not like he was the worst partner to have. because of his position as golden boy, he always did good on his work, assuring you that you’d have a partner that would do their share.

the project consisted of you drawing a topic from a hat the teacher passed around and finding the other group with that topic. you would be debating against that group on whatever topic you and chan had drawn. 

chan let you be the one to draw from the hat and you drew ‘the morality of euthanasia (anti)’ 

you laughed at it, “kill the old, eat the rich.”

chan raised an eyebrow at you, laughing at your response.

“we’re supposed to be against it. don’t kill the old, no eating the rich.”

“you’re just saying that because you don’t want to be eaten.”

“oh, you got me. i don’t want to be cannibalized, how dare i.”

you were paired to debate against two boys, kim seungmin and lee felix. they were chans friends. they didn’t swim with him, but they sat with him at lunch and hung out with him a lot, you’d saw them around him enough to get that.

you spent the rest of the period doing general research on the topic. it wasn’t biased, so you were able to work with seungmin and felix on it, too. they were actually pretty fun to be around. you expected them to be stuck up and bratty like chan, but they weren’t. seungmin was really sweet and felix was super funny.

“i’m telling you, eat the rich.” felix spoke.

“that’s what i’ve been saying!” you called out, reaching your hand out to give him a high five.

“felix, you’re literally rich.” chan pointed out.

“no, channie, my parents are rich. i am simply living off of their rich people money.”

you checked the clock, realizing class would be ending in a few minutes. you packed your things back into your bag before turning to chan.

“she said we’d need to work outside of class. does the library after school work?”

he sharply inhaled, “i have practice and by the time it’s over the library will be closed. if you’re okay with waiting we can go to my house after practice?”

you were slightly taken aback by the request.

“uh, sure.”

“you can watch practice if you want, or even just sit in the pool room doing homework or playing on your phone or something and then i can give you a lift to my place.”

that solved the issue of finding a ride there and you figured he couldn’t live too far, you’d be able to walk home, so you agreed.

the last bell rang and you lifted yourself from your chair and headed to the hallway, meeting jisung and sooyeon by their lockers.

jisung raised his keys, “ready to go?”

“actually, i’m staying to work on a project with chan, i forgot to tell you.”

“you’re getting awfully close with him recently.” sooyeon teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

you would have hushed her just as you did every time she even dared to mention you and chan becoming closer, but jisung cut you off.

“here?”

“no, at his house.”

“do you have a ride there and home?”

“yeah,” you started, “he’s driving me there and i can just walk home.”

“walk?” jisung frowned, “how far away is his place from yours?”

you shrugged, “can’t be that far.”

he shook his head, “not happening. text me his address and i’ll take you home when you’re done.”

there was no point in arguing with him. he got super protective over you and sooyeon when it came to stuff like this. he said it wasn’t safe for you to walk home alone, that’s the whole reason he drove you and sooyeon home every day. 

you barely had time to promise jisung you’d let him drive you home before someone was calling your name from down the hallway.

“y/n! chan said you’re watching practice?”

you looked at the source of the voice, hwang hyunjin. since when did he talk to you? or even know your name?

“yeah,” you replied, “i’m coming.”

you waved goodbye to your friends before jogging to meet hyunjin at the end of the hallway, letting him lead you to the practice rooms. you’d been in them before, you went to a fair share of sports games and meets, but it felt weird being in it with it so empty, especially alone with a boy you’d barely ever talked to. he noticed the tension.

“sorry, i’m hyunjin. chan’s been mentioning you a lot lately so i figured i should make myself present.”

“oh,” you laughed, “it’s not a big deal. we aren’t really close or anything.”

hyunjin raised his eyebrows and a smirk played at his lips, “so you’re not dating or anything like that?”

your face flushed red, “god, no. i don’t have a boyfriend.”

his smile grew, “good to know.”

your face grew even more red as the door to the locker room opened and chan stepped out. 

“stop flirting with y/n and go get changed.”

hyunjin turned to him, “you seem to have forgotten that i am the captain of this team and i do not take orders from you.”

he punctuated the last word with a finger to chans chest as he passed him and entered the room to get ready for practice.

“how’d you know he was flirting?” you laughed.

“it’s all he does.”

chan stepping closer to you in his shirtless form did nothing for your blushed face. he was actually in more than he would be during meets, considering it was just a practice so he was allowed to wear swim trunks, but it was still a lot more of him, or any boy for that matter, than you were used to seeing.

to your dismay, he noticed how your eyes avoided him as he stepped closer to you.

“what, not used to shirtless boys?” he teased.

“unless it’s jisung, no.” you replied, eyes trained on the pool behind him.

he raised an eyebrow, “i thought you said you two weren’t a thing?”

“we’re not. he just has stupid high body heat and strips randomly in the middle of movie nights.”

he nodded, taking a step closer to you.

“you’re so flustered when it’s just me out here, are you gonna be able to handle the whole team?”

you stepped back, “i’ve watched swim meets before chan, it’s fine. it’s just weird because we’re alone right now.”

as if on cue, the door swung open and the boys streamed out of the locker room, hyunjin last. you didn’t really recognize anyone on the team but chan and hyunjin. they made their way to the edge of the pool and chan jogged to join them, pointing at the stands near the pool for you to sit down at.

the boys started to warm up and a small crowd of girls built up on the bleachers around you. none of them seemed to notice you until the coach entered and scanned the small crowd.

“you’re new a new addition.” he pointed out.

you were gonna reply that you were just there for the one day when chan cut in for you with a smile on his face, “i invited her, coach.”

the coach looked in between you and chan with a small smile. 

“oh, you did?”

you didn’t know what it meant but his words had been laced with a teasing tone and it made yours cheeks heat up. did it matter that chan had invited you and you hadn’t just randomly showed up?

apparently it did. you got a tap on your shoulder and you turned around to face the person who did it.

“did chan really invite you specifically to watch?”

“i mean, yeah.” you began, “i’m going to his place after so he said i could just wait here.”

her eyes widened, “he invited you to his house?”

you grimaced, this was drawing more attention than you wanted, “it’s nothing like that, we have a project to work on.”

she hummed and nodded, focusing her attention back on the boys.

you thought you’d get bored during the practice and end up scrolling through your phone, but you didn’t. something about the way they moved so fluidly and easily in the water was captivating to watch. your eyes kept mostly to chan, but they drifted to hyunjin a lot, too. watching him, you understood why he was captain. he had such control of his body even under the pressure of the water, it was like it was moving according to what he willed it to.

practice ended and all of the boys jumped out of the pool and grabbed a towel, heading straight for the locker room. everyone but chan. he dried his hair off before slinging the towel around his neck and over his shoulders and walking up to where you were sitting at the bleachers. he leaned against the cold metal as he spoke to you.

“i just need to shower quick and get changed then we can go. i won’t be long.”

you nodded and gave him a soft smile. most of the girls who’d came to watch the boys swim had left already, but the few who hadn’t began whispering after seeing your and chans interaction.

you didn’t know why it was such a big deal, you were his partner for a project. 

high school dynamics always confused you.

after a few minutes of mindlessly scrolling through your phone, chan pushed the door open and stepped out, calling to you to follow him out. he lead you through the school and outside to the parking lot. it didn’t take much for you to find his car, you guessed it was one of the few that looked like they cost more than you were worth. no doubt the other ones belonged to his friends.

to say you were surprised when he jogged ahead of you to open the passenger side door for you would be an understatement. he really had changed a lot from a couple weeks before. or maybe you just started seeing things differently.

he frowned slightly at your confused face as you approached the car.

“what?”

“i didn’t take you for the gentleman type.”

“how would you know? you’ve never gone out with me before.”

you shrugged, he had a point.

he slipped into the driver seat and put the key in the ignition. the startup was so quiet you wouldn’t have even known it was turned on if he hadn’t shifted gears and started to drive. you were so used to clunky old cars like the one your family had or the one jisung drove around in.

speak of the devil, your phone lit up with a message from jisung.

sungie🤢💗: at his place yet?

you: headed there now

sungie🤢💗: address ??

you: one sec

you lifted your eyes from your screen to look at chan, “hey, what’s your address?”

he looked confused, “why?”

“jisungs gonna pick me up when we’re done.”

he glanced at you before training his eyes back onto the road, “no he’s not, i’ll take you home.”

“sung already said he could.”

“i thought it was a given that i’d give you a ride home since i was the one to invite you out?”

you laughed, “since when is that an unspoken rule?”

he shrugged, “it’s just good manners.”

you leaned back into the seat, sending jisung a message than chan was giving you a ride home. 

who knew bang chan even knew what good manners were.

you were right about his house not being far, he was pulling his fancy car into the fancy driveway of his fancy house within just a few minutes. 

although you knew it was normal life for him, you were amazed that he could step into such a pretty house so casually. you felt like if you touched anything, it would shatter.

he slipped off his shoes at the door and you did the same, following him up a large set of stairs and into what you assumed was his bedroom.

you’d expected it to be neat, but it was the exact opposite, clothes tossed randomly on the floor and open chip bags laying around. you laughed at the condition of his room and he pouted as he hurried to try to clean up some of the mess.

“don’t make fun of me, i didn’t expect company.”

“who knew that you, bang chan, were so messy.”

“i’m a high school boy, what did you expect?”

“yeah, but you’re also the pride of the school.”

he huffed, plopping down onto his bed after deciding cleaning was no use, “i’m still just a kid.”

you sat yourself down next to him, pulling your laptop from your bag and opening it. you were immediately faced with the issue of not having wifi connection.

“chan, what’s your wifi password?”

“it’s super long,” he mumbled as he reached across your lap and took the device from your hands, “i’ll just type it for you.”

you didn’t have the time to scold him for just taking it from you, you were too busy trying to convince yourself that you did not feel butterflies in your stomach when he had gotten that close to you.

you just weren’t used to boys other than jisung being so casual around you, that’s all.

he handed your laptop back to you and rose to his feet, getting up and doing something behind you for a few seconds. you didn’t pay attention, already getting to work on research. 

a few seconds later, you felt the bed dip beside you and chan was pulling his legs onto the bed and sitting with them crossed and his own laptop in his lap, his loose button up he’d worn all day now replaced with a plain black t-shirt. 

your face flushed red when you realized he’d just changed his shirt with you in the room, not that it was a big deal. he was a swimmer and he was used to people seeing him shirtless, it didn’t mean anything to him, but it was still odd for you. 

the two of you worked in silence for about an hour before he fell onto his back, closing his laptop and tossing it onto the bed beside him.

you let out a small laugh, “what?”

“it’s boring.” he groaned, “let’s get food.”

it didn’t take much for him to convince you to ditch schoolwork and get food instead. he led you back down the stairs and into a kitchen that you swore was bigger than your whole house, opening the fridge door and leaning down to look at its contents.

he shut the door and let out an obnoxious groan, “i don’t want any of this,” his eyes locked with your and a grin appeared on his face, “let’s go somewhere for food.”

you gave a skeptical look before a small smile took over your features, “okay.”

he walked up to his room with you and you grabbed your bag before the two of you slipped your shoes on and you hopped back into his car, him rushing ahead to open the door for you once again.

you buckled your seat belt, “where are we going?”

he shrugged, “what are you hungry for?”

“you’re the one who wanted to go out for food.”

“and now i’m asking you to choose.”

you huffed, “i don’t know, anywhere.”

he hummed and nodded his head, “the diner a couple blocks down from the school?”

you perked up at the suggestion, that was your favorite place to eat.

“oh my god, please.”

he laughed at your reaction, pulling the car from his driveway and starting the route to the small diner. as the building came into view, you wondered why chan even knew about this place. he could afford so many more fancy restaurants.

he held the door open and you stepped into the small place with a smile on your face, you hadn’t been able to come here for a while. 

chris let you choose where to sit before grabbing a menu from the stack on the table and shoving it in your direction.

“get whatever you want, i’m paying.”

you tried to object, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. honestly, you didn’t fight too hard, either. it saved you from the trouble of finding the money to pay for it.

you still didn’t want to make him spend a bunch on you, so you decided to just repeat the name of whatever he ordered to make sure you didn’t get anything too expensive. 

he ended up asking for a classic, just chicken strips and fries. you silently thanked him for ordering your favorite meal, repeating the same thing when the waitress asked what you wanted. 

“would you like any sauce with that?” 

you nodded politely, “barbecue, please.”

chan scrunched his nose and made a sound of disgust across the table, “barbecue is gross.”

you tried to hold down a smile as you glared at him, “says the one who ordered ranch! who the fuck eats ranch with chicken?”

“i do.” the waitress giggled, and you jumped. you’d kinda forgotten she was still there.

“oh, i’m sorry!”

she laughed, “it’s okay. what can i get for drinks?”

��i’ll take a chocolate shake, please.” chan answered first.

“i’ll take a chocolate shake, too.”

you folded the menu in front of you, content with your order.

“aw, come on.” chan made a sound of disapproval, “get a different flavor. if you want some chocolate, you can have some of mine.”

you felt a blush creep onto your cheeks, “um, okay, i’ll take strawberry then.”

the waitress clicked her pen shut with a smile, “i’ll have those out as soon as possible.”

you waited until she was out of earshot before speaking again.

“still think you’re fucking gross for eating chicken with ranch.”

he chuckled, pausing for a moment before responding. 

“do you come here a lot?”

you shrugged, “i used to. i don’t too much now though,” you debated telling him the truth, you couldn’t afford to eat out much, but opted not to. you were still upset with him for his response the last time you mentioned your money issues.

“too busy.”

he nodded in understanding.

“what’s your favorite thing on the menu?”

you let out an unamused laugh, and it sounded a lot more harsh than you’d intended it to.

“why are you asking so many questions?”

he frowned, “just friendly conversation.”

you leaned back in your seat, “we’re not friends.”

you could have swore you saw something like hurt flash across his features before you were interrupted by the waitress setting your milkshakes in front of you. 

you took a sip of your strawberry milkshake and any grumpy feelings you had for chan making you order it went out the window. it had been so long since you’d had a strawberry milkshake, or any kind other than chocolate. you always took the safe bet and got a chocolate shake, knowing you liked them, but you’d forgotten how good strawberry was.

you almost regretted snapping at chan as the two of you sat in uncomfortable silence waiting for the food to arrive. luckily, it didn’t take long, considering it was sort of late in the evening and there weren’t many other customers.

you made a gagging sound as the waitress placed a small container of ranch on chans plate.

the playful interaction seemed to give him the confidence to pick up conversation again.

“i used to come here all the time when i was little. me, hyunjin, felix, and seungmin got ice cream here practically every day in the summer.

you hummed in response, taking a bite of your food. the two of you ate in comfortable silence until both of your meals were complete. you shook your head lightly when chan motioned his chocolate shake to you, silently offering you to have a drink. you finished off your own shake with a sigh, leaning back into your seat.

“ready?” chan asked and you nodded in agreement, lifting yourself from your seat to stand.

you followed chan to the counter where he payed, leaving a generous tip for the kind waitress. 

you watched as he opened the car door for you yet again and made a secret promise to yourself to beat him to it next time.

wait, next time?

you shook the thought from your head as you fastened the seatbelt across yourself. 

you gave chan directions to your house and helped him find each turn along the short drive. it wasn’t far, you really could have walked home.

you couldn’t help but feel slight embarrassment as he pulled into your driveway. his car was probably worth more than your entire house. 

you half expected him to make a rude comment about it, but instead he mentioned the small garden you had planted in the front yard, barely visible in the dark. it was lit up by your porch light.

“what do you plant?”

“huh? oh, flowers mostly. i might plant some tomatoes to throw at you though.”

he laughed as you stepped out of his car. he waited until your front door was shut behind you before pulling out of your driveway and making his way home, where he immediately found his bed.

he frowned when he saw two computers on it, you must have forgotten to put yours in your bag before the two of you left to get food.

he packed both of the devices into his school bag before getting ready for bed and crawling under the covers. 

although he knew you’d only agreed to hang out for the project, he was glad you had. it seemed like he was finally breaking your shell of whatever you seemed to have against him.

you were digging through your book bag the next morning, muffin in hand, when chan and hyunjin strolled into the classroom, borderline late as always.

your eyes went to chan as he called your name while making his way towards you, lifting a laptop up in the air.

that’s where your laptop had disappeared to.

“you left it at mine last night.”

you thanked him as he set it in front of you, ignoring the whispers that erupted when chan announced that you’d been at his place the night before. 

everyone in this class of all people should know it was just for the project.

he pulled his own out of his bag and typed in the password, getting right to work.

the class was quiet, no conversation between you and chan really happening other than when he cursed you out for throwing your muffin wrapper at him and as everyone was packing their things moments before the bell rang.

“my house again tonight to go over what we researched?”

you sharply inhaled, “i promised jisung and sooyeon i’d go to the basketball game with them.”

he shot you a skeptical look.

“i already told you i watch sports sometimes.”

“i’ve never seen you at a basketball game.”

“were you looking for me?” you teased.

he shook his head, “i’ve never seen you at swim meets either.”

you stood as the bell sounded, “i go to sports games, chan.”

he put his hands up in defense, “i never said you didn’t! just making observations.”

you hopped back into jisungs car after dropping your bag at your house, scolding sooyeon for stealing the shotgun seat while you were in your house.

the three of you had killed some time driving around in jisungs car and screaming the lyrics to whatever song came on, so the game was due to start in just about 40 minutes. you waited patiently in the like to get tickets, joking around with sooyeon and jisung to pass the time. 

your turn came to purchase tickets.

“$5 a person, please.” the lady handing out tickets smiled sweetly. you assumed she was one of the players mothers.

sooyeon and jisung handed her their money as you checked your pockets for your wallet. where the fuck was it?

“y/n?” jisung questioned.

“i think i left my wallet at my house.” you said.

“i only brought enough for me.” sooyeon chimed in.

“me too.” jisung seconded.

you were getting ready to tell them to enjoy the game without you and tell minho you were sorry you couldn’t make it, that you’d just go home, when someone reached their arm around you, handing a $10 bill to the ticket lady.

“for her and me.”

you knew that voice.

“i don’t want your fucking money, chan.”

he raised an eyebrow, “sweetheart, you’ve been in my house. you know i can spare $5.”

sweetheart? where did that come from?

you huffed, allowing him to lead you out of line to give the people behind you a chance to get their tickets. sooyeon and jisung followed as you stepped into the gym and scanned the bleachers for seats.

“you actually came.” chan started again, “i thought you were just using it as an excuse not to hang out with me.”

“it’s not hanging out, it’s for school.”

“you’re saying you didn’t enjoy the diner yesterday, then?”

you gave him a light shove towards where you noticed hyunjin and felix sat down, “shut up.”

your friends followed you as you made your way up the bleachers and to the highest point, just a few feet from where chan was sat, sitting down in a big opening.

“excuse me,” jisung began, “what diner?”

you shrugged, “we got food after working for a bit, it’s not a big deal.”

“like a date?”

you slapped jisungs arm harder than you probably needed to.

“it was not a date.”

“did he pay?”

“yeah?”

he turned to sooyeon, lowering his voice, “it was totally a date.”

you shoved him again, “jisung, it was not a date!”

your eyes glanced towards where chan was sitting, surprised to see him already looking at you with a smile on his face. 

oh my god, he heard them teasing you about him.

your immediate reaction was to flip chan off, which just made him laugh and turn back to his friends.

“you absolute cock,” you lowered your voice at jisung, “he heard you call it a date.”

he shrugged, “yeah, and he smiled about it.”

you ignored him, turning to face the court where the game would be starting soon.

“i’m just saying,” jisung continued, “would it really be that bad if you liked him?”

you didn’t answer him, keeping your eyes trained to the court and pursing your lips together in annoyance.

you didn’t notice that chan had overhead what jisung asked, something in his stomach dropping when he saw your negative reaction to the question.

he returned his focus to his friends, joining in on whatever conversation felix and hyunjin were on about. he tried to focus on them, but he couldn’t keep you off his mind, stealing glances at you every few minutes and hoping that maybe you’d be looking back.

he’d honestly hoped you’d sit with him during the game. there was enough room where he was seated for you and your friends to join, he didn’t get why you had to sit somewhere else. was he really that unbearable?

the game was just a minute away from halftime, the scores tied. you and everyone else in the crowd were on their feet, cheering on their respective teams. 

you weren’t the biggest when it came to school spirit, but you were friends with a couple of the players. lee minho was someone you’d known for a long time, he’s actually the one who introduced you and jisung. you didn’t know whether to slap him or thank him for bringing the boy into your life, but either way, you always loved seeing the smile on his face when his team won.

minho had the ball in his control with the seconds ticking away at the timer. he passed it to someone else on his team, moving a few feet before they passed it right back to him. he was lined up perfectly for a three point shot.

you glanced at the scoreboard. 10 seconds until halftime. 

he lined himself up to shoot and you cheered him on.

“you got it, min!!”

he released the ball from his hands and it went smoothly through the net just as the buzzer sounded, pausing the game with your team 3 points ahead. 

although the gym may have been too loud for minho to have clearly heard what you said, chan heard it loud and clear. 

min? you must be pretty close with him to call him that nickname, right? but chan had never heard you mention being close with lee minho before, so it couldn’t be anything serious. of course, he thought, with a twinge in his heart, you probably wouldn’t tell him if there was anything going on. as you’d made very clear the day before, you were not friends with him. 

he watched as you rose from your seat and called to minho, stopping him from following the rest of his team to the locker room for a break before the second half.

he turned towards your voice, smiling when he noticed it was you. jisung and sooyeon followed you as you made your way across the gym and to him. 

chan couldn’t hear what was being said from the other side of the gym, but he could see the way minho smiled down at you and wrapped you in his arms. he could see how you didn’t even complain about being pulled into the sweaty hug. if chan dared to hug you in that state, you’d probably kill him right then and there. on second thought, if he hugged you at all you would probably snap his neck.

without really thinking, he stood up and told hyunjin and felix he would be back soon. they exchanged a knowing glance as he crossed the gym to you, locking eyes with minho as he called your name.

he noted minhos arm hung loosely around your shoulders. 

“i’m getting concessions. come with?”

minho raised his eyebrows at you, as if to ask “since when were you and chan close?”

“i don’t have money, chan, you know that.” you deadpanned.

“i know.” he rolled his eyes, “i’m buying.”

you were about to tell him to go on his own when minho spoke up, turning his face to you with his arm still around your shoulders. 

“you go ahead, i should probably join my team.” he removed his arm from you, heading the direction of the locker rooms, “talk more after the game?”

“only if you win.” you teased.

“guess i got something to win for then.” he laughed, turning his back to the four of you.

chan unconsciously clenched his jaw at the interaction, motioning for you to follow him.

“you, too.” he pointed to jisung and sooyeon, “i’ll buy.”

jisung, never one to turn down free food, agreed immediately. you sent a glare in his direction, for all of the complaining you did about him, jisung seemed pretty pro-chan.

while waiting in line, jisung decided to start conversation.

“you’re actually kinda chill, y/n always makes you out to be an asshole.”

you hit jisung and chan let out a small laugh, one that could have easily been taken as amused if you didn’t see the hint of sadness lacing it.

“i can seem that way if you don’t know me.” he glanced at you before returning his eyes to jisung, “she’s getting to know me, though, so hopefully that changes.”

jisung nodded, motioning chan forward where it was your turn to order. 

chan politely asked for just a sofa before stepping aside slightly to let you three order.

in natural jisung fashion, he ordered a soda and two pizza slices. sooyeon stuck with just a soda, and you got a soda and a small pack of m&ms. 

chan payed for all of you before stepping out of line and sliding his wallet back into his pocket.

you all thanked him for paying as you headed back to the gym.

when you entered, he made his way back to his spot beside hyunjin, glancing back to see if you would follow. to his slight surprise, you did. you placed yourself on the bench next to him, jisung and sooyeon following suit.

his plan had worked, you had just sat down beside him willingly.

felix greeted you with a small wave, introducing himself to your friends. hyunjin did the same before a sly grin crossed his features as he pat his lap.

“i have a better seat for you, y/n.”

you reached across chan to playfully hit hyunjin, telling him to stop being a pervert, but neither he nor chan missed the blush on your cheeks at the comment.

you chatted a bit as a group before the alarm sounded, indicating that the game would be starting up again. 

chan smiled in amusement at how into the game you got. he’d notice when you were sat a couple seats away from him, but he noticed it even more so now. he really had been wrong about you not caring about sports.

he watched as you clenched your fists every time the ball got stolen from someone on your team and cussed out the opposing teams members when they shoved one of your boys.

he chuckled as the same thing happened but with someone from your team shoving a boy from the opposing one, but you did not have the same sympathy when one of their teammates fell.

“get up, you’re fine!” you called, eyes following the ball.

you cheered whenever anyone from your team had the ball or scored, but you seemed to cheer a little harder every time it was minho in question. it made sense, you were friends, but chan couldn’t shake the frustrated feeling in his stomach every time you called minho's name.

by the time the game only had a few minutes left, the home team, your team, was up by enough points that it would take a real comeback for the other team to win. 

they knew they had the game in the bag, swapping their normal varsity players like minho out with people who didn’t tend to get as much varsity playing time.

chan half expected you to lose interest in the game now that minho wasn’t on the court, but you remained just as invested as before, cheering on the younger players.

unsurprisingly, when the buzzer sounded, you were up by quite a few points. the whole of your schools team jumped up, congratulating each other on their win. 

as everyone in the crowd rose and made their way out of the gym to head home, you stood, but remained in the gym. 

after sitting with chan, felix, and hyunjin for the past half an hour, it didn’t strike you as odd when they stayed behind with you, sooyeon, and jisung as you waited for minho to shower off and meet you.

“y/n, chan,” felix singled you two out, “how’s that debate coming? pretty sure me and seungmin got this one in the bag.”

you stepped up a level on the bleachers to face felix, motioning between you and chan.

“we’re pretty confident.”

chan laughed, “are we?”

you shot him a glare for breaking your ruse, a laugh erupting from his throat. you took a small step to readjust your position, but your foot slipped off of the edge of the bleacher, causing you to lose balance. as you fell backwards, chan reacted quickly, wrapping his arm around your waist and planting his foot on the bleacher you’d slipped on to secure the both of you from falling.

you’d mentally prepared yourself for the impact, letting out a soft sound of surprise when it never came. chan helped you balance again and loosened his grip on you, keeping one hand on your waist as the other flew up to push your hair out of your face.

“you alright?”

you nodded, violently aware of his hands on your body but not really thinking anything of the interaction until you heard felix and jisung let out snickers.

you brushed chans hands off of you, “what?”

“oh, nothing.” jisung said. 

just then, you heard the door to the locker room open and minho stepped out into the gym, changed out of his basketball attire and into some comfy sweatpants and a plain white shirt.

you hopped off the bleachers to go meet him, chan following immediately beside you.

you missed felix and jisungs snickers behind you, “he’s so whipped.”

minho glanced between you and chan again as you approached him. seriously, when did this happen? the last time he’d heard, you had nothing but dislike for him.

he nodded his head to address you, “dinner and ice cream?” he directed the question towards you, jisung, and sooyeon, turning to the others as an afterthought. 

“you guys are welcome too.”

you smiled and accepted his offer, trying not to show that you really wished he hadn’t invited the other three. more specifically, chan. you still did not like him, you told yourself.

the more those words passed through your mind, the less truth you felt behind them and the more it felt like an empty phrase.

“where to?” jisung questioned as you all headed for the door to the parking lot.

“that diner a couple blocks away?” hyunjin suggested.

chan shook his head, “me and y/n just went there yesterday.”

you shrugged, “i’m fine with going again if you are.”

chan shrugged back, “it’s decided, then.”

you rode with sooyeon in jisungs car, you didn’t know exactly how the others pooled other than chan was driving, you recognized his car behind jisungs.

jisung parked the car and you stepped out, waiting for the others to arrive and join you before entering the small place.

when you did, you were greeted by the same woman who had served you and chan the night before. she looked between the two of you.

“back again? weren’t you just here last night on a little date?”

your face flushed red and you glanced at chan, his was bright red as well.

he started to politely deny but you broke in, “that was not a date.

she shrugged with a teasing smile, “you sure acted like it was.”

your mouth fell agape as you let her lead you to a table big enough to fit all of you, “no one tip her.” you joked, eliciting another laugh from her.

chan was surprised you’d been so calm about denying it, honestly. he’d expected a huge show, you making a point to make sure everyone in the restaurant knew you were not dating him. 

he sat down and you,once again to his surprise, slipped in right beside him.

he frowned, it was like you said one thing but acted out another. you always made a point verbally to tell him and everyone else around you weren’t close but then you did things like that, deliberately choosing to sit next to him when you could have easily waited and positioned yourself between sooyeon and jisung or minho.

minho slid in next to you, jisung and sooyeon after him. felix and hyunjin sat on the other end of chan.

you opened your menu even though you were probably going to order the same thing you always did and a red flag shot off in your mind as your eyes locked with the prices. you’d forgotten you didn’t bring your wallet. you looked at your two friends, either they hadn’t realized their issue yet or just assumed someone else would pay for them.

you folded the menu back up and set it in front of you.

chan raised his eyebrows, “already decided?”

you nodded before softly speaking, “i’m not hungry.”

he frowned, “wanna just get a milkshake or something?”

you shook your head, playing with your hands in your lap.

he nudged you with his shoulder, “hey, my treat. get whatever you want.”

you looked at him with wide eyes, “you’ve already spent so much on me today.”

he waved you off, “$10 is not a lot, sweetheart. plus, i remembered you didn’t have your wallet when i agreed to come. i intended on paying for you anyway.”

you nodded, face flushing at his comment.

you’d be blushing if anyone called you by that nickname, you told yourself.

you made no move to grab the menu again, you would just opt for your usual. 

the waitress arrived and took everyone’s order one by one. you decided to get another strawberry shake. after having the one yesterday, you remembered how good they were. 

a few minutes later everyone’s drinks arrived, the waitress stating that the food would be done shortly. you took a sip from your milkshake before glancing over at chan. 

“does the offer still stand from yesterday?”

he frowned and you gestured to the milkshake, indicating you wanted a sip.

he nodded, pushing it in your direction. you took a drink of the chocolate milkshake and then frowned a little, taking a sip of your strawberry one before tasting the chocolate again.

chan laughed, “what are you doing?”

“deciding which one i like more.”

he chuckled, reaching for your shake and doing the same.

“i think they’re pretty equal. both good in different ways.”

you agreed, saying they both had their own charms.

the waitress finally brought the food out and you had to bite back a remark as she set the ranch down on chans plate again. he noticed the look on your face as you eyed the sauce.

“are you going to fight me about my ranch again?”

you were going to reply, but minho cut in.

“i’m sorry y/n, do you have a problem with ranch?”

you looked between the two, “yes, actually, i do. who the hell eats it with chicken?”

the rest of the table caught wind of the conversation and joined in.

felix pointed at your plate, “barbecue all the way.”

jisung and hyunjin agreed, sooyeon stating that she liked both.

“okay,” jisung prompted, “but which ones better?”

“i swear to god if you say ranch we’re replacing you with felix.”

hyunjin pouted in faux hurt, “why not me?”

you shrugged, “or maybe hyunjin, i don’t know yet. we’ll hold a challenge to decide.”

she laughed, “not necessary, i’ll keep my spot. i gotta say barbecue over ranch.”

minho and chan groaned, they were heavily outnumbered. 

“her opinion doesn’t count,” chan grumbled, “she’s not even eating chicken right now.”

you laughed and for a moment chan thought he was in a dream. the way your lips curled into a smile and your eyes shined while you laughed made his stomach do flips, the fact that he was the one causing your laughter just making it all the much better.

the meal was pleasant, fun and casual conversation flowing between everyone as you ate. the time to pay came and the waitress approached the table again, gathering the empty plates and glasses.

“how should i split the bill?”

chan spoke up first, gesturing between you and him.

“we’re together.”

felix scanned the table, “anyone need someone to cover them?”

both jisung and sooyeon timidly raised their hands, felix telling the waitress to but then on his tab. hyunjin and minho both payed their own.

as you all got out of your seats and headed for the door, jisung spoke to you.

“y/n, we should hang out with your rich friends more.”

chan heard the words leave jisungs mouth and prepared himself for your reply, but you didn’t say anything along the lines of what he’d expected. you would have. in fact, the words were just at the tip of your tongue.

“they’re not my friends, jisung.”

but as they almost left your lips, they didn’t taste right. 

instead, you gave a small laugh, “or you could get a job and use your own money.”

“nah,” he waved a hand in dismissal, “who would drive you around then?”

you waved everyone goodbye as you hopped into the back of jisungs car, letting sooyeon take the front seat because you knew you’d be getting dropped off first anyway. 

a week went by and it was finally time for the debates to start. each debate would take an entire class period, so you and chan didn’t have to go until the thursday of the week. you ate your muffin as quickly as you could, silently pouting to yourself that you would have to throw your own wrapper away today without even having thrown it as chan. what a waste.

you’d dressed up a little bit more than normal being that you knew it impacted your grade. you stood at the front of the room with felix and seungmin waiting for chan to arrive so you could begin. 

he and hyunjin entered the room seconds before the bell rang, chan not even bothering to go to his seat to put his bag down, just laying it near the door.

you let out a small laugh at the way you, seungmin, and felix were dressed so much nicer than normal, but chan looked just as he did every day.

“you look nice.” was the first thing chan said to you.

you thanked him just as the teacher introduced who would be debating and where each team stood on the topic.

you and chan were set to give the first opening statement, which you’d both agreed you would say. but as the teacher gave the good to go, you found the words stuck in your throat.

chan noticed your nervousness, gently placing a hand on the small of your back and rubbing soothing circles with his finger.

if you’d been told a few weeks ago that chans hand on you like that would calm your nerves, you would have punched whoever said it in the face.

but now, as you focused on the way his hand felt against your back through the thin fabric of your outfit, you felt the anxiety lessen slightly. it was still there obviously, but you were able to get the words past your lips with a tone that made it sound like you were confident. 

chans hand remained on your back until the opposite team's opening statement was completed and it was his turn to speak, getting into your first argument. 

he’d taken a chance by touching you, but now he was glad he had. regardless of what you said, the way you reacted to his touch proved to him that you didn’t hate him. at least not as much as you claimed to.

the debate was rounded off and there were still a few minutes left of class. there would be no actual decided winner, just a grade to mark how well your teacher deemed your performance. 

still, that didn’t stop you from arguing with felix that you’d obviously beat him and seungmin.

“we demolished you, lix.”

“you so did not,” he laughed back, “we actually had to go easy on your guys because we felt bad.”

the four of you argued playfully until the bell rang, releasing you to your next class. chan stopped you just outside the door.

“hey, y/n?”

you turned to him, humming to acknowledge you’d heard him.

“i’ve got a meet tonight, do you wanna come?”

you were taken aback by the question.

“oh, um, where is it?”

“it’s home,” he replied, “just a couple hours after school gets over, so you could probably just wait here if you wanted, we’re not really going to be practicing anyway.”

“i’d have to see if jisung can give me a ride to my house so i can pick up my wallet...”

“no need!” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small card, “use this.”

you frowned slightly at the piece of plastic, it was his fan pass, a free ticket for one person of each swim team members choice to get into every meet for free. each person only got one a season for the sake of still gaining profit, and chan was giving his to you?

you hesitantly took it from his hand, sliding it into your own pocket.

“are you sure?”

“yeah!” he beamed, “you’re the only one i could really think of who i’d want to have it.”

you felt your heart swell at his words, watching as he turned from you and headed to his next class. 

you couldn’t fight the stupid grin from climbing onto your face and the giddy feeling in your stomach. chan wanted you at his games, more than anyone else. enough to give you his fan pass to make it easier for you to afford to come.

your heart did a summersault before dropping in realization.

you had been so focused on making sure you didn’t have any platonic feelings for him that you’d completely ignored the possibility of a different kind of feeling.

you had fallen for bang chan.

you didn’t mention your realization to anyone, not even jisung or sooyeon. the only mention of going to the swim meet was when you asked them if they wanted to go with you. sooyeon had to go to work, but jisung said he’d try to make it, letting you know minho would be there even if he himself couldn’t go.

they all went home to drop their stuff off before the meet, but you denied jisungs offer to give you a ride home. instead, you headed to where you the boys would be, as chan put it, not really practicing.

you entered the pool room and saw that he was not joking around, they really weren’t practicing. they weren’t even in swim gear, all just sitting in a circle on the concrete next to the pool and chatting. you noticed a pile of backpacks near the door and you added yours to it before stepping in further. 

you weren’t sure whether to approach them or not, they didn’t seem to be doing anything serious, would it be okay for you to join them?

as if reading your mind, chan called you over to sit beside him, sliding closer to one of his teammates you didn’t know the name of to make room for you.

“who’s this?” one of his teammates asked with a curious smile.

“his girlfriend.” hyunjin piped up, earning a chorus of cheers from the rest of the teams. your face flushed red and chan waved his arms to calm everyone down, “y/n is not my girlfriend.”

you swallowed thickly, just a week ago you would have jumped to agree with those words, but now they made your stomach hurt. when did this change even happen? you couldn’t pinpoint it.

he noticed your discomfort, placing a hand on your knee to calm you down, hoping you would have the same positive reaction to his touch that you had that morning.

noticing the action, one of his teammates spoke up.

“not your girlfriend my ass.”

instead of responding to his teammate, chan directed his attention towards you.

“the meet starts in about two hours. i’ve gotta go in one to get ready, do you have someone to wait with you so you’re not alone?

you nodded, “i know minho is for sure coming, jisung might too.”

he wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of minho coming, but at least he knew you wouldn’t be sitting alone.

you thought it would be awkward sitting with chans swim team for an hour, especially considering how much they’d already teased you, but it was actually pleasant.

the group of you talked about random stuff, laughing and joking around. you’d even learned some of their names. jeongin and changbin were the two you spoke to most, aside from chan and hyunjin.

the time came when they had to go prepare for the meet and get changed and you waved them all goodbye, pulling out your phone to text minho and ask if he’d gotten to the school yet. 

he responded almost immediately that he had just parked and would be in in a few minutes. you walked out to greet him by the ticket booth where there was already a line forming.

you slipped into line beside him and started casual conversation. 

“do you come to sports stuff alone a lot?” you asked, referring to the fact that if you hadn’t been asked to come he would have been sitting alone.

he shrugged, “i guess. you don’t need someone with you to enjoy a sport.” he send a wink your way as he lightly pushed you with his shoulder, “everything is more fun with you, though.”

you laughed, stepping ahead to show the woman taking money the pass chan had given you. before you could get it out of your pocket, minho was thrusting a $10 bill to the ticket taker.

you stopped him, pulling the card from your pocket and showing it to both him and the ticket taker.

“i’ve got this, you don’t need to pay for me.”

he furrowed his brows in confusion, “chan gave you his fan pass?”

you nodded, a blush forming on your cheeks.

he nodded, swapping the $10 for a $5 bill to avoid getting unnecessary change.

you walked into the room and caught sight of your backpack. it was alone on the floor now, all of the boys had taken theirs with them when they went to get changed. you moved to pick it up, pausing when you noticed a sticky note on top of it.

paper clipped under the note was a small amount of cash, and scribbled across the piece of paper was a small note. you knew the handwriting right away, you’d been forced into too many ethics projects with chan not to recognize his handwriting by now.

“forgot to give you this! for if you get hungry :)”

you didn’t notice the smile on your face until minho commented on it.

“what, he’s your sugar daddy now?”

you shoved him lightly, laughing at his joke.

you swung the bag over your shoulder and pocketed the money along with the note (it was cute, you wanted to keep it).

being there so early, it was quite easy to find a good spot. chan had told you which lanes and pools he’d be racing in so you knew where to sit to be able to see him, too.

deciding to finally ask what changed between you two, minho spoke up.

“didn’t you hate him like less than a month ago? and now you have his fan pass?”

you shrugged, “he got less annoying. started acting like a normal person instead of an asshole.”

minho frowned, “he seems the same to me.”

you shrugged, “he probably acts different around different people.”

“so,” he continued, “are you two like...”

you shook your head as your face flushed pink.

“no, no. he just didn’t have anyone else to give the pass to.”

minho raised his eyebrows but hummed and accepted your answer anyway.

you hadn’t noticed time ticking by and the area growing more crowded as you talked until a man stood on a high platform near the center pool with a microphone in his hand began to speak, welcoming everyone to the meet.

the races began and chan wasn’t in any of the starting line ups, but hyunjin was. being the only other person you really knew, you focused on him. 

watching swim was different than watching a lot of other sports, but you enjoyed it anyway. there was no fighting for a ball or scoring goals, no ball to follow, but it was just as entertaining to watch the way the water worked with every swimmer.

you were still amazed with hyunjin’s movements. you weren’t surprised in the slightest when his race ended with him being the first to complete the set. 

as much as you found hyunjin interesting to watch, you couldn’t help but be happy as the first round ended and the second began, the first chan would be competing in.

you watched as he stepped out to the edge of the pool, scanning the crowd for you. he smiled and sent a small wave in your direction before getting into position to dive.

you ended up not using any of the money chan had given you for drinks and snacks, not even when minho got up to go get some food of his own. you stayed planted in your seat the whole time matches were occurring, always either trained on hyunjin or chan. there were the occasional time that neither of them were racing in any of the pools, but it wasn’t often and rounds were never long enough for you to leave without missing anything.

at the end of the night, the added up scores were close, but chan’s team had won. you weren’t as caught up on the scoring system of swimming as you were of other sports, but you didn’t need to know. the announcer let out the final scores of each team, your schools team coming out on top.

people stood and began to leave as the swimmers began towards the locker rooms and the team managers started cleaning up the pool area and covering the pools again.

chan waited for you before leaving to change, allowing you to congratulate him on the win.

minho said a quick goodbye, stating he had to get home and do some work before it got too late, leaving you and chan alone.

before really realizing what you were doing, you wrapped your arms around chan and held him in a tight hug. he faltered for a moment before wrapping his arms securely around you, holding you close to him. you moved to pull away, but he kept you locked in his arms.

“chan, let me go! you’re still soaked!”

“you hugged me first, you asked for this!”

your hands found his chest as you planted your palms there and pushed him away from you, suddenly very aware of the way his bare chest felt under your hands.

you retracted your hands from his body, wiping them on your pants to dry them off.

ignoring your thudding heart, you spoke.

“now i smell like chlorine.”

a sly smile spread across his face, “no, now you smell like me.”

you blushed and he took a step closer to you, closing the distance between the two of you and holding your elbows as he kept you close to him.

“thank you for coming.”

you smiled up at him and teased, “i only came because you asked me to. i really hated it.”

he gasped in faux hurt, “you mean to say you didn’t enjoy watching me shirtless for three hours?”

you shook your head, “hyunjin looked pretty good though.”

he chuckled and you felt his grip on your arms loosen as he moved one of his hands to your face, cupping your cheek. 

the next thing you knew his lips were on yours and for some reason, that didn’t upset you in the slightest. you kissed him back, his lips were so soft for someone who spent half of their time in chlorine soaked water.

he pulled away and scanned your face for any sign of discomfort, a big smile covering his face when he found none.

“i’m not going to lie,” he chuckled, “i kind of thought you’d punch me when i did that.”

you laughed, raising your eyebrows, “i still have time to.”

he removed his hands from you and held them up in defense, taking a step back from you. you laughed even more at his reaction, surprising the both of you and closing the gap, hands going to his neck as you pulled him down into another kiss. 

the moment was cut short as the locker room flew open and hyunjin stepped out, pausing in the door when he saw the scene taking place in front of him.

a smile crept onto his features and he spoke with a teasing tone, “i thought she wasn’t your girlfriend.”

you both laughed softly before chan responded, “she wasn’t.”

“is she now?” hyunjin prompted.

chan looked at you with his brows raised as if to ask “i don’t know, are you?”

ignoring the furious blush across your cheeks, you replied, “i mean, yeah.”

hyunjin clapped just hands loudly, “fucking finally.”

“language, hwang!” the coach called from across the large room.

“my bad,” he yelled back before directing his words towards chan, “you should get changed.”

chan nodded, sending one last smile in your direction before walking into the locker room and leaving you and hyunjin.

“when you realize i’m way hotter than chan, give me a call.” he sent a teasing wink in your direction and you laughed as he left the room, leaving you alone. 

you waited patiently for chan to come back from the locker room, scrolling through your phone. you debated texting your friends the new update, but you figured you’d just tell them the next day. 

despite being the last to go into the locker room, chan was not the last out. he came back to you just a few minutes after leaving.

he held his keys up, signaling it was time to go. you followed him to his car, letting him pull open the door for you. you slipped in as quickly as possible, slamming the door shut behind you and pressing the button to lock the doors. 

chan sent a small glare in your direction, but you could see the smile threatening to poke through.

he held up his key fob, clicking his own button to unlock the doors. he made a move to open the drivers side door and pulled on the handle just as you clicked the lock again. you repeated this a few times before letting out a loud laugh and finally allowing him to get into his car, tossing his things into the back seat.

“we’ve literally been dating for less than an hour and you’re already terrorizing me.” he grumbled.

he paused for a moment before continuing, “straight home or are you hungry?”

you shrugged, “whatever you want.”

he nodded, pulling the car out of the parking spot, “food it is.”

he didn’t bother to ask what restaurant you wanted, heading to the same little diner a few blocks away he’d taken you to before.

you laughed as you entered the diner to see the same waitress that had served you the last two times you were there.

“do you ever go home?”

she laughed, “do you two ever eat anywhere other than here?”

“touché.”

you chose your spot before ordering almost immediately, you’d learned that chan also tended to stick with the same choice every time.

“hey,” chan called to the waitress before she could walk away, “guess what?”

“what, dear?”

chan reached across the table and grabbed your hand, “it’s an official date this time.”

she broke into a big smile, “i knew it was only a matter of time.”

you sat down at your spot the next morning with a pout on your face. for the first time in about a month, there was no muffin on your spot. 

it wasn’t like whoever put them there was obligated to give you one every morning, but you’d gotten so used to it.

you looked ahead at who would be debating today, you couldn’t recall any of their names. 

chan walked through the door earlier than normal due to the fact that there hadn’t been practice that morning because of the meet the night before. you smiled at him as he approached your table, but the smile dropped into a look of confusion as he placed a muffin ahead of you before slipping behind you.

he sat down, “morning, baby.”

when you didn’t respond, a concerned look crossed his features.

“what’s wrong?”

you held up the muffin, “you’ve been giving me these?”

he shrugged, “yeah. i remembered you saying you didn’t always get breakfast.”

as he smiled at you something clicked in your brain.

minhos words from the night before repeated themselves in your head.

“he seems the same to me.”

that’s because he was the same. that was it, he hadn’t changed. he never stopped being an asshole, he just never was one in the first place. he wasn’t ever a prick, you just had your heart set so strongly on hating him that you saw everything he did in the worst way possible. the things he used to do that annoyed you were now things you grew fond of. the way he bumped your chair sometimes in the morning used to make you livid, but now it brought a smile to your face. you used to want to rip his head off when he hummed while working, but you adored the sound now, even going so far as to not put in headphones so you could hear him. he was the same boy he’d always been.

he didn’t change, the way you saw him did. 

but just as quickly as these became things you loved about him, they fell right back into being annoying habits.

[writingtoforgetreality]

I Remember (Malcolm Bright x Reader)

Request: uM hi saw ur request post while i was scrolling through malcolm bright x reader tag lol so may i request an x reader w malcolm where reader's gil's niece or smth so she and mal know each other before he joined the team- and one day where mal was being a dumbass and reader was told to drive mal home and when she was securing his restraints he jokingly asked her to sing to him aNd she did sing and fell asleep on the bed by opposite mal aND he got a good amount of sleep like no night terrors and next day he accidentally slipped that reader ''slept'' w him and gils just like excuse me wtf?? Djkdkdlsjsjs idk i got this idea when i was staring at the ceiling at 4 am instead of doing my essays that were due in the morningxD sorry its p long. Thanks and have a good day/night (by @iwillboilyourteeth), [Prodigal Son-Masterlist]

Summary: Malcolm got hurt again. What a surprise. And, as always, you were right there to take care of him. Tonight, though, things took a turn. For the better or for the worse? Only the future would tell.

Words: 2,142

Warnings: language, love me some sarcasm, fluff, so much fluff, I love writing for Prodigal Son (keep the requests coming)

Song used: “I Remember” by Jason Manns

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

You were sitting in your apartment when your phone started ringing loudly, interrupting your movie marathon. Sighing exaggeratedly, you checked who decided to annoy you at this time. It was not too late but you liked your alone time a lot. Gil. Oh no. That could never be good.

“Uncle Gil. I hope whatever you’re about to tell me is more important than Harry Potter.” pausing the movie you were currently watching, you did not even give him enough time to greet you. A loud sigh could be heard over the phone. One, that made you laugh.

“(Y/N).” his voice was stern & you knew better than to mess with him. Yet, you could not help yourself.

“Yeah, that’s me. You called me, after all.” joking to ease the tension, your giggling was cut short by his next words.

“Malcolm is a dumbass.”

“What a revelation.”

“He’s hurt.” Gil stated. Throwing your head back in frustration, you knew he only called you if he knew it was not too bad. But bad enough to need your help. “I need you to come get him.” it was not even a question, more like an order. Immediately, you grabbed the stuff you needed & headed out of your apartment towards your car.

“Can I yell at him for being reckless?” opening the door, you got inside but before you started the engine, you waited for the call to end. Could not risk getting youself hurt. Malcolm was the stupid one, not you.

“I already did that but I’m sure he’ll appreciate to hear it again.”

“Good.”

“Drive safe.” Gil noted.

“See you in ten.” & with that you drove to the precinct where he would most likely wait for you.

Growing up, you spent a lot of time at Gil’s. Malcolm was there almost always, so you got to meet each other pretty early on. Deep down, you cared for him. More than you should care for a friend. And because of him being a profiler, you were sure he picked up on that as well. Malcolm was just nice enough to not comment on it. Besides, he would tell you that he was too broken anyway. The thing was that it never scared you away. It did the exact opposite, actually. It only made you want him more.

Did you ignore almost every speed limit? Possibly. Your knuckles were white because you had gripped the steering wheel so tightly. One of these days, you would kill Malcolm. He kept getting himself hurt & you were tired of being the one to drive him home afterwards. Of course, you knew Gil only called you because Malcolm trusted you enough but that did not change the fact that you were exhausted.

“What happened?” approaching Gil, your eyes looked around for a sign of Malcolm. “And where the hell is he?”

“Bathroom.” his finger pointed over. “He didn’t call backup & thought dealing with it alone would turn out fine.” Gil was, you could tell, almost as tired as you. Not only of Malcolm acting recklessly but also because of a long day at work.

“What a surprise.” your sarcasm got the best of you. But it helped you coping with your feelings sometimes. “Uncle Gil?” his head snapped up when you said his name.

“Yes?”

“Go home & get some sleep. I got it from here, promise.” your sweet smile was convincing enough & with a nod, he turned around & walked away.

“(Y/N)?” Malcolm noticed you when he walked out of the bathroom. His face was covered in bruised & by the way he was limping, you were sure that his entire body had to be sore. “Where’s Gil?”

“I sent him home.” shrugging as if it were nothing, you gave Malcolm a look. He knew what it meant but apparently, he wanted to play dumb.

“What?” his head tilted slightly & if it were not for his damn puppy eyes & for the fact that he was hurt, you would be the cause of his bruises. Not quite literally but still. Rolling your eyes at him, you crossed your arms over your chest.

“You’re stupid, I hope you know that.”

“I do, but we caught the killer, so it was worth it.” he casually stated.

“Is it really worth risking your life, Mal?” shaking your head shortly, you were not in the mood to discuss this any further. A simple gesture of your hand was enough to show him that you wanted to get going. “Come on, I’m gonna bring you home.”

“You’re mad.” Malcolm noted when the both of you walked outside back to your car. Sighing loudly, you stopped for a brief moment.

“Yes. I’m mad because I can’t even count how many times we’ve been in this exact situation anymore. And it sucks. Because every single time Gil calls me, I think he’ll tell me that you didn’t make it out like you always do.” Malcolm’s eyes widened when you explained how you were feeling. Your body brushing past his made him turn around & follow you without another word. It was silent between you two until you arrived inside Malcolm’s apartment.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).” he spoke up, his voice much softer now. When you saw him struggling to pull off his coat, you walked over to him to help him out.

“You don’t owe me an apology, Mal.” your back faced him when you went to put his jacket away.

“I do. You always take care of me when shit like that happens. And I wanted you to know that I don’t take that for granted. If I were you, I would’ve stopped caring a long time ago.”

“You know as much as I do that this won’t ever happen.” & it was true. Malcolm could mess up over & over again. Could get himself hurt & all that. But you would always be here to catch him, no matter what.

“I don’t deserve you.” his eyes bore into yours & by the look he gave you, you knew he was not talking about you taking care of him when he was hurt. He was referring to you as a person. Basically, he wanted to make you understand that he was not worthy of your love. Which was bullshit to you.

“You deserve so much & it hurts that you don’t see it.” the conversation dropped for the time being. Navigating your way through his apartment, you looked for something he could wear to bed. Soon enough, you found something suitable & when you walked back into the room ,you found Malcolm already sitting on his bed, head hanging low. He stopped you when he noticed your hands grabbing the shirt he was wearing. Sending him a confused look, your eyebrows raised in question.

“I think I can handle it from here on.” taking the clothes from you, he went to strip himself out of his workwear. Surprisingly, he could not move his body enough to achieve anything.

“Yeah, I can see that. Come on, don’t act like that, Malcolm.” it was not the first time you had helped him undressing. As mentioned earlier, the two of you had been in this situation too many times to count.

It did not take long & he was wearing comfortable clothes. After asking if he needed anything else, you went straight to his restraints & helped strapping him in. It amazed Malcolm how you were not weirded out by the fact that he had to be held down in order to have at least a few hours of sleep.

“(Y/N)?” his voice was barely above a whisper but your humming let him know that you heard him. “Can you sing something for me?” it was meant to be a joke, he simply wanted to ease the tension between you guys. Thinking about it for a second, you came to the conclusion that it would not hurt to do that. Maybe it would help him fall asleep? Malcolm eyes widened when you actually started singing quietly. It was soothing & he closed his eyes to focus solely on your voice.

Hey you, when I saw you walk in there

And I couldn’t help but stare

At the way you move your hands

‘Cause it’s the little things you do that drive me crazy

And now, let’s forget about the crowd

And just concentrate on us

So that you can know what I want you to know

 I remember how it started

You had everything I wanted

I was helpless to resist

But I didn’t want to

 Only if you would hold me tight

As we talked all through the night

About those things you won’t tell no one else

I know that we’ve got long ways to go

But I want you to know

That I’ll be there till the end, so don’t you worry

 I remember how it started

You had everything I wanted

I was helpless to resist

But I didn’t want to

‘Cause I fell in love with you-ou-ou

 After you finished, Malcolm still had his eyes closed, he just laid there for a while, recalling the words of the song. He knew what you were trying to tell him but if he had to be honest, he was scared. If the two of you were to try something, he thought you would leave him the moment you realized his demons were too much for someone to handle. Malcolm did not hear you leave his apartment, neither did he feel a movement. Opening his eyes slowly, he found you sound asleep right next to him. Your peaceful form made him smile brightly. Contemplating if he should wake you up, he decided against it in the end. Deep down, he knew you would not judge him he if he had a night terror next to you. And if he were honest, having you with him made him incredibly calm. That night, he fell asleep almost immediately, without any nightmares invading his dreams. The reason for it was you. Only you.

Malcolm woke up early the next morning. Work called. Okay, maybe Gild had told him to take a few days off but everyone who knew Malcolm, knew that he did not listen to such orders. Or any orders, in general. You were still asleep when he loosened his restraints. He left you a note behind before leaving his apartment for work.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay at home?” Gil questioned the second Malcolm entered the office where the rest of the team was already up & working.

“You did but I’m fine.” Gil rolled his eyes at his words. Usually, whenever Malcolm insisted on being fine, he was everything but. Examining his face closer, Gil was shocked to see him so…well rested?

“Wait. How much did you sleep last night? You look unusually awake.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s because I slept with (Y/N) last night.” Malcolm spoke casually & went to examine the pictures that were displayed on the table in the middle of the room. Gil’s eyebrows raised at that. Dani only sent him a weird look & JT almost choked on his coffee at Malcolm’s confession. There were some things he did not want to know & his love life was one of it.

“Excuse me, what now?” Gil was the first one to press the topic further. Everyone knew how protective he could get when it came to you, his niece. When Malcolm turned around, he found three pairs of eyes looking sternly at him. Wait, what did he say? Realization washed over his face & he only now noticed how wrong his words sounded without any given context.

“No, wait…That came out wrong.” closing his eyes briefly, he prepared an explanation for his confused co-workers. “(Y/N) drove me home yesterday & she helped me with my restraints & all. She fell asleep & I didn’t wanna wake her up.” Malcolm’s hands gestured wildly, not wanting to give them the wrong impression of last night’s events. JT pretended to understand what he explained even though he had no idea & frankly, he did not care too much. Malcolm had lost Dani’s interest a while ago, she continued working on the next case. Only Gil was left. He gave Malcolm a knowing look, went over to him & patted him on the shoulder.

“You better take care of her, Bright. Or you have to deal with me.” his threatening smile creeped Malcolm out but he knew Gil was only trying to keep you safe. Maybe you were the right one for him. Last night was proof enough. It was scary to take that next step but on the other hand, he wanted to take that risk. He wanted to give it a try. For the both of you.

Published (04/20/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @octopus5555 (thanks for your support <3)

[tetsurouskuro]

Fire in His Eyes

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol, swearing, dom!kuroo, fireman!au haikyuu, smut, unprotected sex, shower sex, mirror sex, dirty talk, fluff 

word count: 5,193

a/n: this is my submission for the Haikyuu Headquarters NSFW server collab using the prompt mirror fuck! 

the whole masterlist can be found HERE by the amazing @animewh0re​!

a huge thank you to my wifey 💖 @guessmqnster​ who made this amazing banner! everyone go and give her a follow!

also a huge thank you taylor aka @deathcab4daddy​ for helping me with beta-reading and grammar issues! super thankful 💖

now, enjoy and as always, feedback is appreciated! <3

Synopsis: Kuroo is a fire fighter and your best friend. When your apartment building catches fire and burns up, Kuroo offers to let you stay at his place until you’ve found a new apartment.

MASTERLIST!

≫ ----- ≪·•♕•·≫ ----- ≪

The background music in the small bar could be heard while other people were chatting away and making conversation. You were sat in between one work colleague and your best friend who you have known since you were a kid: Kuroo Tetsurou.

A laugh escaped his lips as he speaks to one of his friends from work. The way his eyes close and his mouth opens, and he throws his head back, in pure bliss. A smile forms on your lips as you take a sip of your drink. Pulling the straw into your mouth and sipping, feeling the sweet mix of liquor and soda hit your tongue and throat.

Just as you set your glass down on the table you feel Kuroo’s arms around your shoulder pulling you towards him. You let out squeak as he did that which made him chuckle. The faint smell of his body wash hits your nose, but also the sweet smell of his body sweat.

“Kuroo, let me go!”

“What why? I need my cuddle bear,” he chuckles again and hugs you tighter towards his own body. Your front is pressed to his side as he holds you in place or trying to. You’re a wiggling mess trying to break free from his hold on you.

“Kuroo- I- Let me go!” Your palms press against his rock-solid body and push away making him release you. Your hair got a little ruffled and you give the tall man at your side a pout.

“Aw c’mon princess, don’t give me that pout.” Princess. The nickname he has called you since you were kids. Ever since the both of you used to play prince and princess with Kenma being the bad guy.

“You’re an ass, Kuroo.”

“A sexy ass, right?”

You just roll your eyes at his comment and he smirks at you while taking a sip of his beer. The glass bottle reaching his lips as he takes a chug, and you watch as his thick throat moves as he swallows. You bite the inside of your cheek and take a sip of your drink as well, trying to contain your “innocent” thoughts of Kuroo Tetsurou.

You had always had an attraction for the tall, black-haired man and the fact that he decided to become a fire fighter didn’t make it any easier for you.

The amount of times you had seen him work out with the boys, especially Bokuto didn’t make it easy on you. The man himself was well built and he knew it. Everybody knew it. He often had a girl on his arm and for tonight at this little get together you could see the many women ogling at him, wanting some of him and the thought alone of Kuroo leaving the bar with another woman makes you anxious, jealous, and sad. Sad that you can’t have him that way.

“Oi, earth to (y/n).”

“Hmm? What?”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, tired. I think I’m just gonna head home early.” Kuroo watches as you stand up and start gathering your stuff, which isn’t a lot. It’s a small handbag and your coat.

“I’ll walk you home,” he offers himself and stands up, his tall frame standing by your side as he chugs the rest of his beer down and picks up his phone and wallet that’s left on the table. “Let’s go.”

You both say your goodbyes and exit the bar, Kuroo’s body close to yours as he guides you with one of his hands on your lower back.

Once outside, his hand doesn’t leave your back until you both stop near the traffic light, waiting for it to turn green so you can cross over. There’s silence surrounding both of you, neither of you talking. The sound of the light turning green makes you perch your head up and walk ahead, Kuroo following suit. Once over the very well trafficked road you turn right, towards your apartment.

“You’re quiet.” Turning your head, you see Kuroo watching you, his eyes scanning you as if he’s trying to read you.

“J-Just tired.”

“I don’t buy it, but if you wanna talk I’m here,” he smiles, and you return it. The walk to your apartment goes by fast, way too fast for your liking. You both stop at the entrance to your apartment building, turning around to say goodbye to Kuroo.

“Thanks for keeping me company, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. I don’t get to see you pretty and lame face that often anymore.”

“So mean,” you pout again and turn to open the door.

“Kidding, I’m kidding,” he laughs. “I have the next weekend off, wanna hang at my place? Kenma is coming over too.”

“Wait, Kenma is back?”

“He arrives Thursday night.”

“Oh, cool. I’ll make sure to be available.”

“Good. Goodnight (y/n).”

“Goodnight Kuroo.” He turns and walks away. You stand and watch as he walks away, missing his presence already. Wanting to spend time with him, but also not. Being in love with your best friend is awful.

≫ ----- ≪·•♕•·≫ ----- ≪

The sound of something beeping wakes you up from your slumber, the smell of smoke filling up your nostrils. You open your eyes to your dark bedroom; still half asleep you turn on the light on your bedside table. Sitting up on the bed you head to the living room and then to the small, narrow hallway. The smell of smoke is getting stronger and you stark coughing. As you reach your front door, your right hand goes to grab the door handle but soon pull back as it’s burning hot.

What’s going on? you ask yourself and touch your wooden door, feeling it burning hot too. Then it all clicks; the building is on fire.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, what do I do? What can I do? I’m on the 8th floor. Is what’s going through your head. You then remember Kuroo’s words, what he taught you in case a fire were ever to happen. You start pounding on the door, yelling for help. The smoke was getting heavier, you could feel your lungs working hard getting oxygen. You could feel your energy slowly disappearing and your thought becoming more and more foggy. You back away from the door, your back against the wall as you slowly slide down and sit on the floor. Closing your eyes, you, fearing what might happen.

Kuroo, please save me.

“(Y/N)!!!!” A voice screams, or are you imagining things?

“(Y/N)!!!!” This time you perch your head up and look towards your door, just in time for it to break down and a familiar face pops up.

“K-Kuroo?” You cough and he looks serious, and angry.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” another cough. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine. Damnit, why did you stop yelling?”

“Y-You heard me?”

“Of course, I heard you princess, come here. Quickly!” You try to stand up, but your legs give out. Kuroo is quick to catch you in his arms. “God, I am so mad at you right now.”

You stay quiet as you curl your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face into his chest. He hugs your body close to his as he carries you bridal style out of your apartment. The smoke is heavy, and you start to cough some more, your eyes watering from the smoke burning in your eyes.

“Hold on, we’ll be outside soon,” Kuroo explains. Suddenly, there’s a cracking sound and a loud thud. Kuroo wobbles a little but continues to carry you until you reach outside. Fresh air fills your lungs and you pull your head away from Kuroo’s chest and are met with the sight blue and red lights. Fire trucks, ambulance, police, a lot of people in uniforms as they patrol the area.

Kuroo walks you towards an ambulance that is the closest to the two of you and sets you down on the ramp of the ambulance. His body pulls away from yours, and you already miss the warmth from him. You’re only wearing a thin tank top and some short pajama shorts and it being a cold summer night made you freeze, your arms wrapping around your body.

“S’cuse me, do you have a blanket for her?” You hear Kuroo ask one of the ambulance nurses and soon there’s a blanket wrapped around your freezing body. You hug it tightly to your body as Kuroo walks away and talks to what looks like his squad captain. You see Bokuto there as well. Kuroo then takes off his helmet and ruffles his hair. The sight of his crazy bed head always brings a smile to your face.

You can see how there’s a discussion between the three men, Kuroo nods his head a couple of times and points towards your apartment building, or what was your apartment.

Oh shit, all of my stuff. My phone, my ID, my wallet, my laptop. Everything is gone.

You slowly start to panic, but not for too long as a nurse starts to check up on you. How you’re oxygenating, pulse, blood pressure, respiratory rate, temperature, and then some questions. Everything turns out to be normal and the nurse lets you go. You stand up with the blanket still around you and start to walk closer to your burnt down apartment building, only then noticing that you’re barefoot.

“(y/n)?” You turn around and are immediately embraced by strong arms, the familiar scent filling your nostrils. You take a step back to look at your savior only to be met by strong, angry yet mesmerizing gaze.

“You are so lucky you’re alive. God woman you could’ve died. I thought you had already gotten out of the building.”

“I-I’m sorry.” Kuroo embraces you once again and holds you close, his chin on your head. You can feel and hear his heartbeat through his thick uniform, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

“I’m glad that you’re safe. Have you already been checked you out by a nurse?”

“Y-Yeah. They checked me a minute ago. Everything was normal so I’m good to… Oh god, Kuroo my building is gone. Where the hell am I gonna live? I have no money to pay for a hotel or- “

“Whoa, okay take a deep breath (y/n). You can stay at my place.”

“I-I can. Really?” You feel yourself calm down, knowing Kuroo is offering his home to you for a couple of days, at least.

“Sure. You can pay the rent later,” he smirks, and you roll your eyes, but smile.

“Thank you.”

“No worries princess. I’ll drop you off at my place and then I need to head back to the station to work out some stuff, I’ll be home later.”

“Okay.”

≫ ----- ≪·•♕•·≫ ----- ≪

“Oh, you’re still up?” Two hours had gone by as Kuroo finally returns. He’s wearing a pair of black slacks and a black tee.

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep,” you answer him as you’re cuddled up on the sofa watching the news on his TV. Kuroo’s long legs carry him towards you and takes a seat beside you on the sofa. You immediately get butterflies in your stomach.

“Do you want to take a shower?”

“No. I’m too tired for that.”

“Alright, well I’m gonna take one. I smell like smoke and sweat.”

“Yeah you do, I could smell your stank all the way from the elevator,” you smirk and can see Kuroo raise an eyebrow at you and then his lips form into a smirk too.

“Watch it, or I might force you into the shower with me.”

“You wouldn’t.” At those words, Kuroo suddenly has your body over his shoulder and is carrying you towards his bathroom. “Kuroo, oh my god I was kidding. Let me go.”

“You started this, now you’re gonna get it.”

“No, no, no, no. Please. Let me go.”

“I don’t think so.” Kuroo continues walking away from the living room until his feet arrive in his big bathroom, with a big shower. Glass walls covering a big space for the big shower, it could easily fit two people which made you more eager to get down and away from both him and the room.

You start to wiggle more but his grasp on you is firm; he is not letting you go.

“Kuroo. Okay, I’m sorry. I was only joking. You don’t stink, you smell nice actually. Just- NO! KUROO! AAAAAAH!” Kuroo has thrown you into the shower and started the big shower head, cold water pouring on you, hitting your head and then running all the way down to your shoulders, chest and further down.

Your hands immediately go to cover your body as you try to get away from the water. Kuroo’s tall frame is making it hard for you to escape, and he is laughing at you now.

“Kuroo.” You say his name sternly, but he doesn’t budge. He stops laughing and smirks at you. His eyes slowly trailing down your body. Kuroo watches as you tremble from the cold, he can see your nipples peeking through the thin material of your tank, your arms pushing your breast slightly upwards as you try to warm yourself up.

Kuroo gulps as he watches your body shake, his eyes fixated on your breasts. He turns around and walks to his sink. You watch as he opens the cabinet underneath the sink and start pulling out a big fluffy white towel. You just stand still and watch his back muscles work as he gathers yet another towel and places them on the sink as he stands straight again.

Kuroo turns and you lock gazes. The temperature in the shower has turned warm and you’re no longer covering your body. You’re watching him, he is watching you.

“Fuck this,” you hear him say underneath his breath and walks into the shower and pushes your body against the cold tiles making your back arch. His lips crash against yours, his tongue quickly invading your mouth. His large hands gripping your shoulders, his long fingers digging into your skin.

“Kuroo,” you moan against his lips, them never leaving yours. Your head spinning from all the endorphins that are flooding your system. Both of your eyes closed, tongues dancing with each other; feeling, loving, tasting.

Your hands grip his now wet shirt while his hands have moved to your waist, his soft hands holding you in place, as if he’s afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear. His lips then decide to pull back and you open your eyes to gaze into his hazel orbs; they’re darker than usual. Kuroo’s eyes have always had some light in them, but tonight, they’re different.

His forehead goes down until you can feel it make contact with your shoulder.

“Kuroo- “

“I want you. Fuck I want you so bad. I’ve wanted you for years and now that you’re wet and almost naked in front of my I can’t control myself,” he confesses and all you can do it stand still and listen, feeling like everything you’ve ever wanted is in front of you and now, finally you can grasp it.

Placing both hands on Kuroo’s wet chest, feeling his hard and solid chest underneath the wet material that’s hugging his body.

“Don’t hold back.” Just as you finish this sentence, his hands quickly tear your tank into pieces and squeezed both of your breasts in his palms. His mouth is back on yours in a second and you throw your arms around his neck. Pulling him closer to you, making him press both of his palms between your head, keeping you caged.

But he composes himself quickly and pulls back but only to throw his wet shirt off him. You scan his beautiful and well sculptured body and drink him in, just this makes your pussy throb for him.

The wet shirt lands on a pile next to your torn tank. Kuroo’s large hands palms your face, his lips crashing onto yours once again.

The now warm water is crashing against your head, drenching your hair further. Your whole body is wet, a pool of wetness has formed in your panties from the small action of kissing Kuroo.

His lips start to kiss their way down, stopping at your chest to give your breasts some attention. His tongue circling around your nipples, making you throw your head back and moan. Fisting a handful of his wet locks in your hands.

His lips continue their way down, his index and middle fingers grab the waistband of your pajama bottoms and drag them down your legs, along with your panties, throwing them to the large pile of wet clothes that has formed outside the shower.

He stands up and throws off his slacks and briefs in one go. His semi-hard cock slaps against his lower abdomen, your eyes locked on his member that has made an entrance.

“My eyes are up here princess,” the nickname he always used on you hits different now when you’re both naked in front of each other. It feels more intimate and you love it.

You pull your lower lip in between your teeth, biting down on it as you look up and meet his gaze. His eyes are watching yours, his hazel eyes filled with lust, his mind has only one thing on his mind and that is having his hard cock in-between your folds.

Kuroo takes two steps forward and now he’s in front of you, you’re eyeing his chest, but he lowers his upper body, so his face is right in front of yours.

“Be a good girl and do as I say princess.”

“O-Okay.” Kuroo lowers himself so he’s on his knees, right in front of your private parts. You feel slightly ashamed and try to cover yourself but Kuroo slaps your hands away.

“Don’t. I’m about to have my meal, don’t interrupt me princess.” With your back against the wall of his big shower, he grabs your left leg, his hands on your thigh as he throws it over his right shoulder. You lose balance for a second but regain it quickly by grabbing onto his hair.

“Hold on tight,” he throws your right leg over his other shoulder and holds your weight up with his shoulders. This makes you let out a squeal, but you are quickly silenced as his lips wrap themselves around your clit. You let out a moan and look ahead of you and to your surprise you see the both of you in his bathroom mirror that almost cover his whole bathroom wall.

You see Kuroo sucking on your clit in the mirror, his tongue leaps out now and then and flicks on it. The length of his tongue even going so far back and start to flick on your opening.

“Oh, Kuroo,” you moan. You tilt your head down and see him watching you as he continues to suck on your sensitive bud. He pulls back slightly and then spits on your clit.

“You taste so good princess,” and his mouth and tongue’s back on your cunt, sucking up all your juices. “So sweet. I’m hungry for more and I’m just getting started.”

“Fu- Kuroo. I- Shit.” His tongue licks you up and down your slit. He stops when he after some time reaches your clit and with the tip of his tongue, starts flicking it fast.

Still having all of your weight on his shoulders, he pushes his index finger inside your folds, and you can’t help but clamp around him. He adds another finger and starts thrusting them with an even tempo. His lips sucks on your bud and you feel the pressure in your abdomen increase. You’re fisting two handfuls of his hair in your palms, eyes closed, head tilted back and your back arches as you feel yourself come closer and closer to a release.

“Cum for me princess. Cum all over my tongue.” You open your eyes and look into the mirror and watch yourself cum, making a lewd face. You cum all over his tongue, filling his taste buds with your juices and Kuroo drinks you all up.

The water has made his hair all damp, it falls over his face as he stands up straight. Your legs barely holding you up after the orgasm you just experienced. He pushes his hair back and smirks at you, his hazels looking at you as he sucks the rest of your juices from his fingers.

“You taste fucking delicious,” he speaks. His voice hoarse and raw. “C’mere.” You step forward until you’re in front of him. He grabs your left arm and pulls you forward until you crash against his naked chest and his lips are instantly on yours, capturing and captivating you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and lips.

He holds you in his arms as he turns you around and starts walking forward, making you walk in reverse. You crash against something cold; he turns you around and you see that he has led you to the sink. Your back is against his front, he is holding your shoulders in place. He lowers his face close to your ear, and softly speaks: “Did you like watching yourself cum in the mirror princess?”

His words make your whole-body shudder and you can’t help but moan. You love this man with your whole mind, body and soul and would do anything for him, and you’d let him do anything to you at this moment.

“I’m gonna fuck you in front of this mirror and you’re gonna watch me, my cock thrust inside that tight cunt of yours.”

“Mhm, Kuroo please.”

“Please what, kitten?” This new nickname has shivers covering your body and you groan, wanting his cock inside you.

“Please, I want your cock, Tetsurou.”

“Fuck (y/n),” Kuroo groans and hitches your right leg up, flashing your private parts to the mirror. “Watch as I fuck you.”

From behind Kuroo fists his cock in his palm, centers the head of his cock between your folds and lubricates both you and him with your juices.

“Kuroo, just fuck-oh!” Without warning he pushes his length inside you. His cock is big, he’s bigger that what you thought. There’s a slight burning sensation as he stretches your walls. He has stopped his motions, waiting for you to get used to his size before he starts moving.

Kuroo’s other arm goes around your body and towards your face, turning it so you’re facing him. His eyes are lust filled and he leaves a soft kiss on your lips.

“You’re so tight princess,” he grunts.

He slowly thrusts out of you only for his hips to collide back with your ass, the friction of his hips hitting your bare skin making a loud smacking noise to echo in his big bathroom. The feeling of his large cock going in and out of you has you whimpering; you want more.

“Look into the mirror and watch as my cock pushes in and out of your beautiful cunt.” His cock is sliding in and out of your folds so easily. You turn your face forward and look at your crotch and see the way he is thrusting his erect member inside of you. Your cheeks are heating up with embarrassment, you feel exposed but still there’s something intriguing with watching someone, and that someone being Kuroo fuck you in front of a mirror this way.

His right arm hitches your leg up higher, opening you up wider. His left hand goes up towards your face and holds your jaw in place. Your eyes scan his face in the mirror, he’s watching you. The pleasure in your expression as you feel him fucking you like you’ve never been fucked before. You let your gaze settle where the two of you connect and you see his cock, covered in white cream.

“You’re so wet (y/n), fuck. It’s like your cunt is pulling me inside you, like a vortex.”

“K-Kuroo, fuck me harder.” His hips still and he watches your face in the mirror, covered with your lewd expression. To Kuroo, you look like a horny slut that needs to be roughly fucked. Kuroo has never seen you look like this before and it’s killing him from the inside. Just watching your face has his cock twitching in excitement.

“Oh?” His cocky smirk erupts, and he placed your leg down, your warm foot making contact with the cold floor. “Bend over.”

Bending over and arching your back you hear his breath hitch at your action. He’s drinking in your nakedness. His eyes are looking at your cunt, where his cock is buried deep inside you and he can see and feel how you’re clamping around his shaft.

“Fuck princess, you look so sexy like this. Bent over with my cock deep inside of you.” His hands grab your hips as thrusts hard into you. You watch him in the mirror, his mouth slightly open, eyes closed and the two veins popping out from his neck. His pecks glistening from the water and sweat that has formed and you could just cum from the sight that you’re beholding.

His nails dig into your hips as he thrusts harder into your cunt, his cock filling you all the way. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the new position that he has you in, he is devouring your cunt with his large cock and Kuroo doesn’t care either, he is completely drunk on the pleasure from fucking you. He’s ramming into you from behind, he’s no gentlemen.

“Shit princess,” he moans, throwing his head back. His hips slamming into yours, you watch him in the mirror. Your tits bouncing, your mouth open as loud moans escape. One of his arms goes to palm your breast as his other goes to grab a hold of your wet hair, pulling it back, exposing your throat to the mirror.

“Next time I fuck you, I’m gonna fuck that pretty throat of yours.”

“Mhm, please.”

“Look at you princess, begging for my cock like a whore,” he grunts as he continues to ram into you like a wild animal. Your eyes are watering from all the pleasure you’re receiving. You close your eyes for a second, drowning in the way he’s fucking you. He’s hitting your g-spot so delicately and you can feel the pressure in your abdomen returning.

“Eyes on me kitten. Oh fuck, I wanna watch you cum,” his palm collides with your ass, giving it a hard smack. You open your eyes and lock eyes with him, his hazels are watching your (y/e/c)’s. His eyes hardly concentrating on yours and he quicken his pace, his hips slapping and hitting yours hard and you see his muscles twitching and flexing.

“Cum kitten, Cum for me, fuck cum!”

“T-Tetsurou,” you moan out loudly. Your arms going forward to grip the sink, to help you with your balance as your legs starts to shake and you can feel your muscles giving up, but Kuroo is fast to hold your hips in place with his arms as he leans closer to you, his front against your back as his hips still thrusts into you.

“I-I’m gonna cum (y/n).”

“Cum inside me Kuroo.”

“F-Fuck princess I- I’m cumming. FUCK!” Kuroo’s hips still and he grunts and moans in your ear as he cums and you join him. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you yell out his name. His cock is twitching inside of your cunt, he’s milking you with his seed. Your legs are shaking, and you feel like you’re gonna fall.

“I gotchu princess,” his voice comes out softly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m not letting you go,” he places a soft kiss on your cheek and then trails down to your neck.

“Now or in general?”

“Now and in general stupid,” he bites down on your shoulder and it makes you squeal and giggle. Kuroo laughs at your reaction and pulls away. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Kuroo pulls out of you and grabs the nearest towel he can find and starts to clean you up, a smirk on his face. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know what he is thinking.

A blush creeps up on your cheeks and you watch him throw the towel into the washing bin. He grabs your hand and leads you out of the bathroom, turning off the lights. You reach his bedroom and he turn on the lights, a king size bed in the middle of his room.

Kuroo lets go of your hand and walks to his closet. He grabs a black tee and two pair of briefs. He turns around and walks to where you’re still standing and gives you the tee and a pair of briefs.

“I know you don’t like sleeping naked so here, put them on,” he smiles softly and takes the other pair of briefs and pulls them up his legs.

“Thanks,” pulling on the tee and briefs you let out a breath you’ve been holding, it turns into a yawn and you feel exhausted.

“Let’s sleep princess.”

“Okay.” Kuroo pulls away the duvet and takes the right side of his bed, climbing in. You do the same on the other side. You settle in bed and see him reach for a button on his side of the bed, turning the lights off making the room pitch black.

Minutes pass and there’s an awkward tension in the room. Neither Kuroo nor you have spoken about what happened in the bathroom, but you remember his words that keep echoing in your head: I want you. Fuck I want you so bad. I’ve wanted you for years and now that you’re wet and almost naked in front of my I can’t control myself.

Kuroo has wanted you for years, he confessed to you and he still doesn’t know you feel the same.

“I have loved you since we were 15,” you finally confess, your eyes watching the ceiling. “I still do.”

Kuroo’s head quickly turns to watch you, the light from outside illuminating your soft skin, especially your beautiful face that he can’t keep his eyes off. He is watching you with adoring eyes, his chest feeling heavy and his belly fluttering from your confession.

“I have never loved someone as much as I love you Kuroo. My heart is yours if you’ll have me.” This time you turn your head to watch him. His expression hard to read.

He turns his body towards you and with one arm pulls you towards him, your faces only inches apart.

“I love you too (y/n),” he kisses you softly and you welcome it. “I’ll have you in any way I can have you. You’re mine now princess.”

“I am yours Tetsurou. Please take care of me.”

“I already did, or do you want more?”

“You know what I mean dumbass,” you giggle and feel happy and content. The fire in his eyes burning with passion and love for you.

You’ve found your prince and him his princess, for real this time.

[sitaarein]

None Stand Equal In This Dark World

A/N: Officially my largest ever fic so please. Just read it and be nice sob because I’m kinda proud of some of it

Written for @grishaversebigbang 2021!!!

Corporalki: @homicide-depot​

Materialki: @generalnabri (x), @kolarpem (x), @aivicart (x), @maximumbluebirdpatrol , @niadrawing (x)

 (Summary: A murder mystery AU featuring Zoyalai, twists and turns, moral dilemma, and then some more

Read on AO3

Chapter One

The apartment door was wide open.

 In retrospect, that alone should have set off the alarm bells in Zoya’s head. No one left the door to their place wide open. She can’t imagine why she simply dismissed it. 

 Scratch that, she knew why. She’d been tracking this idiotic Grisha for a month now. She was tired and desperate. 

 But it appeared that- who would’ve thought- not being at the top of your game has consequences. 

 Consequences like staring down a man who’s been tied to a chair and gagged in the middle of, what Zoya guesses is, the lounge, eyes wide with terror.

 Zoya is mad at herself for not managing to guess it was a red herring- the damn door - and very, very mad at the Grisha who has, once again, slipped right through her hands. 

 She nods to one of her men, and he immediately drops to the man’s level to untie and presumably interrogate him. Zoya doesn’t stick around for the details- she trusts her people to give her good reports. Instead, after a cursory look around, she tips her head back to face the ceiling, taking in a deep breath, and leaves the apartment. 

 The weather outside took a dramatic turn in the fifteen minutes she was inside- it had been sunny before, or at least as sunny as Ravka ever could get. But now, the sun has all but ceased to exist, and the bitter cold is back once more. 

 Zoya prefers the cold. 

 (She doesn’t, not really, but no one needed to know that.)

 Zoya starts walking, pulling her coat tighter around herself. Her mind races, trying to connect all the dots, trying to figure out where her investigation had gone wrong. Start from the beginning. Don’t miss anything. The most minor of details are the most important.

  The beginning. A woman showed up to their headquarters about her missing family. Those cases were usually dismissed completely, handed over to the police forces- Zoya’s force was Grisha-centric, other cases, no matter how large or important they were, did not concern them. But this case was different.

 The woman was Grisha. 

 Her family weren’t, evidently- and neither did they know that she was. They’d been missing for six weeks, and the odds were pretty heavily stacked against them still being alive. The woman was detained (she was Grisha, this was Zoya’s job ) and a group of officers were dispatched for a search and rescue.

 The officers never returned.

 Alarm bells were now ringing, and the General assigned Zoya to the case. In the time since she officially took over, twenty more disappearances were documented, and all of them in Os Kerva alone. Saints knew what was happening in the rest of the country.

 But Zoya had never believed in Saints, so she found out what was happening in the rest of the country.

 The total number of disappearances in all of Ravka that had this case’s signature mark- an eclipsed sun left wherever the victims were seen last- was an estimated three thousand . Zoya couldn’t believe no one had connected the dots before her. Then again, the entire of the force were filled with incompetent idiots, so maybe it shouldn’t have surprised her. 

  The series of events . Zoya travelled up and down the country with the best of her underlings, talking to anyone who knew the victims, searching their last known places with tooth combs, building up working hypotheses, using all the resources they had available. Zoya was not an idiot. She knew exactly how capable she was. 

 And she also knew when she was fighting a losing battle.

 And so, when she got a call from one of her top detectives about a confirmed Grisha she’d been trailing for some time now who’d begun suspicious activity, she was clutching at straws and willing to take anything that came her way. She met up with her agent, and a few days later, they got the address of the apartment she was currently pacing in front of.

  The present . This part could be summed up fairly quickly. Zoya is, once again, at a fucking dead end . 

 Before she can kick something (or someone) out of frustration, A faint ringing reaches her ears, and frowning, Zoya stops in her tracks. Her phone is never not on silent. Calling Zoya Nazyalensky for anything was utterly pointless- she never picked up. 

  But the GIA has ways of getting into contact with its members regardless.

 Muttering a curse, Zoya digs around her pockets, looking for the infernal device with its grating, high-toned ringing. Finally locating her phone, she jabs the answer button without looking at the caller ID.

 “Yes?” she asks bluntly. 

 “Zoya,” Alina’s voice greets her.  

 Zoya immediately forgets everything that had been on her mind. When Alina calls, it’s rarely for a friendly chat. 

 “What’s wrong?”

“You need to get back here. As soon as possible.”

 “Understood. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

 Alina hangs up immediately, and Zoya pockets her phone, mind racing.

 She orders one of her lackeys to send her a report when they're done, grabs the keys for the van they’d used to get to the apartment from a rather distracted officer, taking off.

 Zoya reaches the Grisha Investigation Authorities in approximately half the time she’d given to Alina, and she may or may not have disobeyed quite a few traffic laws to get to her destination as quickly as she did, but that was frankly unimportant. 

 She strides through the doors, not bothering to acknowledge the many who’ve halted their paths to nod to her or, in the case of a few particularly stupid (or courageous, however you wanted to see it) people, attempt to strike up a conversation with her. She didn’t break her pace even once, until she’d reached the door to the meeting room they usually used to meet up for serious issues. After taking a moment to compose herself, Zoya pushes the door open.

 Inside, she finds all of her fellow Commanding Officers assembled- Adrik, Leoni, Alina, and Genya. Frowning, Zoya scans their faces, and mentally shifts whatever’s happening even higher on her scale of terrible shit to take care of immediately.

 Because not even Leoni, who can find positivity at a funeral, is smiling right now. There’s barely a hint of her optimistic and eternally cheerful personality in her countenance. 

 Zoya carefully takes the seat left for her around the circular table. Her gaze flits from one worried face to another, and she decides to be direct.

 “How bad is it?”

 The question seems to jolt Alina out of her reverie. She looks up, and Zoya feels her breath catch, because she looks so… helpless. Terrified.

 Genya takes it upon herself to answer Zoya’s question with another question, her mouth set in a grim line. “How’s your investigation going?”

 “We lost the suspect,” Zoya admits, her earlier frustration returning with the reminder of the infernal case. “We’re right back to where we started- but without the hope and the general idea of where to start.”

 “I’m not surprised,” Adrik mutters. “Considering who your delightful suspect is…”

 Zoya furrows her brow, and glances back at Genya. “Explain.”

 Genya looks as if she would rather do anything else, but after coming to the realisation that no one else is about to, she sighs and does so.

 “I’m presuming you remember Alina’s case that went cold about two years back?”

  A little too well. Even years later, that case haunts her- the truly horrific killings, from corpses with their body parts stuffed down their throats, to children who had clearly been still alive when burnt, the utter dead ends, Alina’s far too close brush with death, and… the person behind it all.

 “You don’t think it’s the same person??” Zoya demands, horror spreading through her veins.  She can not handle another Kirigan. 

 In lieu of replying, Genya nods to Leoni, who pushes forward a large envelope. Dread pooling in her gut, Zoya opens the package to find pictures from Alina’s investigation.

 “We revisited these when your disappearances started,” Genya says. “And… found more similarities than we’re frankly comfortable with.” 

 Zoya shifts the photos around, and then freezes at one, having caught sight of a mostly blurry but still distinctive calling card. “That’s…”

 “The eclipsed sun,” Adrik provides grimly. “You’re screwed.”

 “Hey, now,” Leoni protests. “We don’t know that.”

 Adrik snorts. “Don’t we? Need I remind you of the damage this person wrecked to the GIA and our country?”

 “How do we know this isn’t just a copycat?” Zoya breaks in. “None of the bodies of the victims this time around have been discovered,”

 “Copy cats still tend to have their own twists on kills, a signature, a mark that’s theirs. While none of the killings for either case have many similarities, they also don’t vary in terms of said signature.” Genya says.

 “Killers are proud creatures,” Adrik inputs.

 “And this one’s no exception,” Leoni says, eyes grim. 

 Zoya looks up. “What do you know?”

 Leoni hesitates, but then gives in. “We got a note this morning. A photocopy should be in the envelope too.”

 Zoya overturns the envelope, and sure enough, a piece of paper falls out. She picks it up, reads it, and crumples it up. 

 “You’re sure this isn’t a stupid joke?”

 “It was in the Director’s office.” Leoni says. 

  Shit.  Zoya glances back down at the crumpled mass she’s still clutching. You will burn on your mistakes. What mistakes? 

 She ignores the faint voice in the back of her head. You know what mistakes.

 Zoya takes a deep breath, focuses her thoughts, and then exhales. “How’s the Director doing?”

“He’s terrified.” All of the COs seemed to be equally startled to see Alina was the one to speak. Her mouth is set in an angry line, and Zoya can guess the track of her thoughts, because they were the same ones that had crossed her mind upon hearing the words- who is he to be terrified? What right did the Director even have to feel scared, when he himself never so much as interacted with the cases???

 Adrik sighs, leaning back in his seat. “Which is what has led us to our current predicament.”

 “And what do you mean by that?” 

 Genya exhales in a huff. “He wants the Mentals on this case along with all of us.”

 “He what.” 

 Alina, lips twisted in a sardonic smile, gestures to nothing in particular. “You heard correctly.”

 “Why ??? This is my case, and I will handle it.”

 “He doesn’t want a repeat of the bad press that came with my failing last time, I’m guessing.”

 “Bad press,” Zoya spits out. “I wonder how much bad press he’ll get when I-”

 “Do not,” Genya warns. “This could be helpful to us.”

  But also a personal disgrace , Zoya finishes the sentence in her head. The Mentals were practically a legend of the GIA- they were special, elite investigators, a whole mix of people ranging from scientists to- if the rumors were correct- ex-spies, who ended up with the cases no one else in the force could solve, and somehow, without fail, solved each of them within a week at the least. 

 It was irritating as hell.

 And having them assigned on your case meant that the Director did not trust you to be successful on your own. 

 Absolutely wonderful.

 “So when are these... spectacular detectives arriving?” Zoya asks. 

 Genya opens her mouth, and then closes it, before starting, “Well-”

 “I hope I’m not too late to this marvelous party?”

 Zoya swivels to see who this truly abnormally cheerful person is, and then blinks. She turns back to face the others once more- Adrik still looks glum, Leoni is smiling her most polite smile, Alina seems to have perked up and Genya is genuinely smiling. They all look… unsurprised.

 Of course they were hiding more secrets up their sleeves.

 “ What,” Zoya finally breaks and asks. “Is the damned PR guy doing here?”

 The aforementioned PR guy pouts. “Is that really what I’m known for around here? My PR duties? That’s quite depressing. Why would you focus on that when you could talk about my stunning good looks, or my undeniable charm, or even my ability to-”

 “Nikolai,” Alina interrupts. “Shut up.” she looks at Zoya, a hint of dry amusement in her eyes. 

 “Zoya, this is Nikolai Lantsov, and he is indeed our PR guy, but he’s also… head of the Mentals.”

 Zoya blinks. He’s what??? And then, wait… they knew who the special investigators were? How long have they known? Why was I not informed?

 She doesn’t voice any of her thoughts, choosing instead to stare, unimpressed, at the blond, who grins at her in response. 

 “If I had known you possessed such astounding grace and beauty, Miss Nazyalensky, I would have made your acquaintance sooner! I’m sure these upcoming days will prove to be an absolute pleasure, provided I get to spend them in your delightful company.”

 “Saints save me,” Zoya utters faintly. “The Director assigned an idiot to my case.”

 “Hey, now!” Nikolai protests. “You haven’t even met the rest of my team yet!”

 “An idiot who talks too much,” she deplores. 

 Genya and Alina both snort at that. In fact, all of her fellow COs seemed to be taking far too much pleasure in this situation. Zoya hates all of them. 

  “Well, now that we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way,” Nikolai says, to which Zoya distinctly hears Adrik mutter “pleasantries?” under his breath, “I think now would be a wonderful time for me to introduce you to my brilliant team,”

  Genya sits up immediately, looking eager. Zoya wonders what that’s about. 

 She finds out fairly quickly.

 Nikolai ushers in a group of people, and she recognises one in particular, one who she has, in fact, known since her college years -

 David. Genya’s husband, David Kostyk, is a part of the Mentals. Harmless old David. Zoya can’t believe her eyes. 

 She scans the rest of the group, but the others barely seem familiar. The two Shu right in front of David look similar enough to be twins, apart from the height difference. Right next to David is a woman that, with a jolt, Zoya recognises as Adrik’s sister from what she’s heard and seen of her. Bringing up the rear is a man who vaguely resemblesNikolai himself, ducking his head shyly as he enters the room. 

 “Now that your merry party is all assembled,” Adrik says glumly. “Any ideas where to start?”

 “Shouldn’t we at least get to know each other first?” Adrik’s sister asks.

 Adrik stares at her. “I’ve known you since I was born.”

 “We’re not the only ones in the room, Adrik.”

 “Oh, aren’t we ? I can’t say I noticed.”

 Nikolai interrupts their glaring match to finally provide Zoya with names to all the unfamiliar faces. 

 “Tamar, Tolya, Nadia, and Isaak, meet the officers we’ll be working with for the next few weeks or longer- Alina, Genya, Zoya, Leoni, and Adrik,” he gestures towards each person in turn. Zoya briefly wonders how he already knows their names, before realising that just because the GIA didn’t know who the special investigators were didn’t exactly mean they didn’t know the GIA either. 

 “And now,” Nikolai beams. “Let’s get comfortable. It’s time to discuss our present conundrum!”

[r0tten-brainz]

hey do you want my carrie fix it au? no?

too bad!!!

Everything seemed to stop when the blood was dumped on Carrie. All the cheers and applause was cut off by shocked gasps and silence. Wide eyes stared upon the stage at their prom queen, now drenched in red sludge, her beautiful dress ruined.

Tommy Ross, the prom king, was staring at his date, some of the liquid (blood, literal blood, he realizes in horror) splashing all over his rental tuxedo. After the initial shock, anger bubbled in his chest so quickly his ears turned red and he turned to the crowd, searching for who could’ve done something so awful, his shouts of “What the hell?!” cutting through the quiet.

In the front row, George Dawson seemed to have the same reaction, he always was quick to anger but now he had a fair reason to. He was disgusted someone would do this, and almost everyone around him agreed. Almost.

It only took a minute for Norma to snort, and double over to quiet her laughter. A few others chuckled but otherwise they were alone in finding this funny.

The only one who hadn’t moved was Carrie. She was frozen, mouth agape and eyes wide. She only moved when the bucket itself came crashing down, right onto Tommy. She tried to catch him but he just collapsed onto the stage, groaning in pain.

People knew immediately something was off when she stood up straight, shoulders back and arms extending out at her sides. The ones who were laughing decided they wanted to leave, the pungent smell of the stale blood getting gross and killing their good time.

There were a few shouts of confusion and fear when the doors suddenly slammed shut and the room was flooded in red light. When one of the jocks tried to open it, he yelled in pain, like the door handle burned him.

That’s what made Tommy stir on the ground, his head aching and warmth trailing down his face. When he looked up the gym was in chaos, people screaming and trampling each other to find a way out. One guy, someone Tommy knew, had climbed up to try the window, but he was flung off like a bug. A squeaking noise made him look up and the fire sprinklers flipped on.

Murky water fell over everyone, only adding to the rotten smell permeating what with the blood also having its own stench. Tommy’s breath caught as he looked around, his eyes finally landing on Carrie.

She seemed unresponsive, barely even blinking as the chaos unfolded around her, like she was in the middle, stirring up the misfortune herself.

“Carrie- huff,” Tommy started, pulling himself up off the ground. His head spun and he nearly got sick with everything mixing around him, his stomach was never the strongest. “Carrie, we have to get you out of here.”

She didn’t move, didn’t even look at him, just tilted her chin up indignantly. The lights above them suddenly sparked, clearly not mixing well with the water. That frightened Tommy a lot, they could all die, and it seemed that’s probably what Carrie was aiming for.

“Carrie!” Tommy tried again, grabbing onto her shoulders. His breath was getting more frantic as he looked around behind him. “Carrie, listen to me. Look at me, Carrie.”

She blinked then, eyes focusing on the boy in front of her. She looked like she was on the brink of tears. When she noticed the blood flowing down his face it only made her feel worse.

“Is this why?” Her voice was quiet, if Tommy had been any further away he wouldn’t have been able to hear. “Is this why you asked me to go with you?”

A devastated look crossed over Carrie’s face. “So you could laugh at me?” Tommy gulped, really starting to feel sick now, realizing that in some sick way this was partially his fault. “She was right, I shouldn’t have come, I shouldn’t have-”

“No! Carrie, if I knew it wouldn’t have happened! I didn’t know- I swear whoever did this is dead.” He shouted, his grip on her shoulders tightening. “Please, you need to calm down. Just breathe, we can get you out of here.”

Flames caught his eye, the curtain behind them was on fire. They needed to go, now. Carrie sniffled, the tears finally falling. “They all laughed at me, they laughed…”

Tommy looked back at the crowd then back to Carrie. “No one laughed, no one did Carrie.” She let out a breath like she’d been holding it. The heat from the fire was getting unbearable.

“Do you swear?” Carrie whispered, looking up at him. She was in agony, he could see it clear on her face.

“Carrie, I swear.” Tommy holds out his arms for her, finally stepping back to lead her away from the gym. He could hear sirens approaching.

Carrie looked out a final time before the doors swung open and the students flooded out. The air was cool which was relieving to everyone. She took his hands then, and he led her off the stage out to the cool evening air.

Sue Snell pushed her way through everyone, Frank Green (notoriously known as the Beak) and George at her side, searching through the scared faces for Tommy and Carrie. “There they are!” She shouts, grabbing her friends and making their way over to the pair.

Tommy perked up at the sound of Sue’s voice, carefully leading Carrie to the grass so they could sit. Further away from everyone. Sue ran over and pulled Tommy down into a hug. Beak and George made their way over a second after, clearly left behind in the madness behind them.

Whispers were exchanged between the group, everyone sparing sympathetic glances to Carrie every once in a while. Carrie just sunk in on herself, Trying to calm herself down enough so she could walk home, figuring she messed up their night enough.

It surprised her all when they all sat around her, Tommy to her left and Sue on the other side. Beak and George settled across from them.

They didn’t talk, no one really knew what to say. It was Carrie who broke the silence. “I ruined your plans with your friends, didn’t I?”

Tommy just shook his head as he shrugged off his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders. “No,” he assured her. “You didn’t do anything wrong at all, actually.”

Carrie blinked up at him, tears threatening to fall again but she willed them away and sank into the coat. If it was salvageable before, it’s definitely ruined now. Tommy wondered if the rental place had it in their hearts to cut them some slack.

“Carrie I- we- are so sorry,” Sue spoke up, reaching to hold her hand. “I tried to stop it, if I knew they were planning something I wouldn’t have asked, that was so cruel.” She whispered the end of her apology, like she couldn’t believe it had happened.

Carrie ducks her head. “I shouldn’t have come,” she says back. “Mama was right I shouldn’t have.” The group share worried glances, but they’ll unpack that later.

George sneers. “Don’t you think like that, it was fun at the beginning right?” Carrie glances up to him and nods. “Right! Don’t you worry, whoever did this will pay.” Frank nods along beside him, patting him on the shoulder encouragingly. “So inspiring.” Beak always did like to make a joke, to lighten the mood when things were heavy.

Tommy’s arm tucks around her, pulling Carrie closer to comfort her. “Even if it all ended bad, we’re all together, right?” He looked down to her, waiting for the response. Even now he’s pushing her gently, to get her out there. Maybe this is Tommy’s super power. She had telekinesis and he was good at making anyone comfortable, even Carrie White.

“Right,” she finished for him, which made Tommy smile. In return it made Carrie smile. Sue reached and brushed some bloody hair out of Carrie’s face.

“Wow, Sue,” Beak starts. “Before too long Carrie might steal Tommy from you curled up to him like that. Sue laughed and Carrie smiled, cheeks flushing red under the caked up blood.

Tommy grinned and shot him a look. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you beat her to it and steal me yourself, smart guy?”

Beak opened his mouth but was quickly cut off by George. “Oi! Don’t be comin’ onto my man y’ hear?” He shot back, elbowing Frank with a grin.

Tommy felt Carrie’s shoulders bouncing, but when he looked to her to see if she was crying, a small grin graced her face and quiet giggles bubbled up. Despite it all she was laughing. It made something twist in Tommy’s chest, he had to make himself look away.

“It isn’t much,” Sue starts. “But if you all wanted to stop by my house to get cleaned up, maybe we could still go to the Hive.” Carrie perks up, of course Sue was invited, why wouldn’t she be?

George whooped excitedly. “You’re a lifesaver, Susan, I really need a shake after all this.” Everyone cheered in agreement.

“Carrie?” Tommy said quietly. She looked up to him, still smiling a little. “Would that be okay?” He was so patient with her.

Commotion caught her attention though and she looked past Tommy towards the gym. The flames had been dealt with it’d seem, but that’s not what she’s looking at.

Two police officers were taking Chris Hargensen and Billy Nolan out of the school, Chris kicking and shouting the whole way to the car. Miss Collins watched them go, nothing but anger in her eyes. It only made Carrie’s smile widen. She hoped she’d never have to see Chris ever again after this.

“Yes,” she finally replied. “That seems fun.” Tommy grinned and stood, offering his hands to Carrie first to help her stand, then to Sue. “No help for me?” Frank joked. “Shut up, Beak,” Tommy joked back.

The rest of the night was filled with similar jokes, everything being kept lighthearted (lucky for Carrie, she may fall apart if anything else bad happened). The Hive was so much better than she imagined. They had delicious waffle fries, and soda flavors she didn’t know existed, she and Sue even shared an ice cream. Everything was perfect. She prayed to God that come Monday morning she wouldn’t be forgotten by Tommy Ross, or any of them.

[nev3rfound]

things couples do : b.b

bucky comes to visit you after a mission to help you decorate your apartment for christmas, only to discover the job has already been completed. (1.6k) 

masterlist / permanent taglist 

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved. - thank you to everyone who helped regarding the wattpad situation, you’re all amazing)

“Do you think the compound will be done when we get back?” Sam questions, looking over to Tony who simply rolls his eyes as he checks his watch.

“It’s the second of December, Wilson.” Tony states. “If Pepper hasn’t sorted the decorations out then somethings clearly wrong.”

Chuckling under his breath, Steve averts his attention to Bucky who remains lost in his own thoughts. “Are you helping Y/n decorate?” Steve asks quietly, watching as Bucky lifts his head up, snapping himself from the cries of those who were lost during the mission.

Quickly, his thoughts are replaced by the faint sound of your laughter, of him holding you close in his arms as you watch a movie (despite Bucky asking twenty questions a minute) and making him feel safe.

“I’m not sure,” Bucky responds. “I, I think so?” Uncertainty laces Bucky’s tone as Steve simply nods.

It was going to be your first Christmas together, and the rules seemed a little less than clear for an Avenger who was over one hundred years old and one of Pepper’s assistants who lived in her own apartment- a civilian if you will.

“Oh, you have to, Barnes.” Sam pipes up, eavesdropping on the pair's conversation and ignores the blatant glare from Bucky. “It’s a thing all couples do, brings you closer together and get in the holiday spirit.”

“He’s right, as much as I hate to admit it.” Tony adds as he rises to his feet, heading towards the pilot to check how much longer he’d be trapped with the trio.

“You do practically live there already,” Steve shrugs a shoulder, making a fair point. “so I guess you could always help her decorate.”

Bucky nods along, still unsure. “I don’t even know if she’s got a tree or anything.” Bucky sighs to himself, wondering what he’s about to get himself into.

“It’ll be fun, you can listen to Christmas songs, dance around her apartment, kiss under the mistletoe if you’re able to replicate human emotions, cyborg.” Sam jokes, this time catching Steve giving him a knowing look. “I’m just saying, it’s something most couples do together, you’re at hers more than the compound.”

The thought lingers on Bucky’s mind as they begin to descend back toward the compound. He knows he’s home earlier than anticipated, having told you he would be gone for at least two weeks, yet here he is, a week early.

Once debriefed, Bucky gathers his things and heads straight for the lift, knowing nothing is stopping him now from being with you.

“Buck,” Steve calls out as Bucky taps his foot as he watches the elevator rise from the ground floor.

Trying not to get caught in the streams of tinsel dangling from the ceiling, Steve approaches his friend as they both wait for the metal doors to open.

“It’s fine, Steve, I’m fine.” Bucky reasons. “I’m going to see my best girl.”

The comment doesn’t go amiss by the captain as a smile forms on his face, having wondered if his oldest friend would ever find happiness again.

“Let me know how it goes, and send her my love.” Steve pats Bucky’s shoulder as he turns around, heading back to his room as the metal doors open, allowing Bucky to have a moment alone as he gathers his thoughts in earnest to see you.

*

Standing outside of your apartment, Bucky fiddles with the keys in his grip as he turns the door handle, hearing the reassuring sound of the locks sliding out of place.

As he opens the front door, Bucky gently places his bags down and locks the door behind himself.

Usually, you would stir or pause whatever you might be doing at the sound of the door closing, yet you’re nowhere to be found.

“Y/n?” Bucky calls out your name as he places his keys in the hallway as he steps forward, the faint sound of music playing in your living room.

Turning the corner, Bucky pauses as he leans against the doorway of your living room; covered in Christmas decorations including a large tree glowing with lights and baubles.

It’s a sight that Bucky didn’t anticipate walking in to, and as he steps in he admires your handiwork.

Behind him, Bucky can hear the sound of you stirring and quickly turns on his heels. “Baby?” Trying to hold back his laugh, Bucky kneels down in front of the armchair you’re in, well, stuck in for better words.

Your lap is coated in tinsel and a Santa hat you had been wearing now rests above your head instead. Yet, despite it, Bucky can’t help but love you even more.

Reaching out, Bucky removes the tinsel from your lap and you begin to wake up.

“Bucky?” You tiredly mumble as your eyes start to open as the sight of your boyfriend greets you.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky smiles as you begin to sit upright as a yawn escapes your lips.

“What day is it? I swear I just closed my eyes.” Confusion spreads across your expression as Bucky reaches for your hands, taking them in his.

“I’m home early, the mission was completed in less time than we had all anticipated.” Bucky explains, but as you focus on the small smile lining his lips you can see that pain lingering in his eyes.

Lifting your hand up, you rest it against his cheek, cradling into it as a sigh leaves his lips. “Do you wanna talk about it?” You mutter, even if it’s just the two of you.

Bucky shakes his head in response as he shuffles closer, resting his head on your lap as you run your fingers through his hair, listening as he hums contently. “There wasn’t a need for casualties, but these people, god, they were just in the wrong place.” Bucky explains quietly, seeing the looks of terror crossing their expressions whenever he blinks.

"I’m so sorry, Bucky.” You comment, pausing as you rest your stretch your arm out, resting your hand on his shoulder where flesh meets metal.

He can feel a small movement, the circles rubbing from his scar to the connection of his metal arm. “I just wish I had been faster, that someone saw them sooner.” Bucky mutters coldly, trying his best to remove himself from the situation and focus on the soft lighting and warmth you radiate.

“It’s not your fault, James.” You remind him as he shuffles in your embrace, looking up at you. “What?” You ask as he quirks an eyebrow to you.

“You called me James.” He states. “You never call me James.”

Bucky watches as your lips part, but words fail to follow momentarily. "I just, sometimes it slips out." You admit shyly. "And I think you needed a distraction too," You bite your lower lip, wondering if you crossed a line as Bucky simply looks up at you with a blank expression.

The moment is short lived as Bucky smiles up at you, that loving glint crossing his gaze. "I appreciate that, doll. I really do." Bucky chuckles as he rises to his feet, resting his hands on his hips as he looks around your living room. "See you've been busy whilst I was gone, huh?"

"Well, I needed a distraction myself." You admit, standing up behind him as you wrap your arms around his waist. "Do you like it?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky can see the empty boxes piled up that you would've gotten out on your own without a helping hand. He can see the precision of every ornament on your shelves and mantlepiece, wondering what stories hide behind each decoration he'll learn another day.

"Yeah, it's nice." Bucky mutters, but as your arms slide away from his waist, he mentally swears knowing that it wasn't quite the answer you're looking for.

"Nice?" You mimic his response as you stand beside him.

"I just, I thought it was something we could've done together, like a normal couple." Bucky reasons as he looks away from you. "That's stupid, forget I said it." He quickly adds, but you tugging his arm captures his attention.

A light laugh escapes your lips as you look up at him. "Bucky, I had no idea you would've liked to decorate with me." You cover your mouth with your other hand. "I'm sorry, baby. I just wanted it done so when you came back it was festive and we could just spend quality time together."

"I can't be mad at that suggestion." A smirk crosses Bucky's lips as he brings you into his embrace, trying to ignore you rolling your eyes as you look up at him.

"Oh, I forgot!" You exclaim, pulling away from his arms as you rush over to the pile of boxes. "It's in here somewhere," You mumble under your breath before revealing a golden star. "I, I couldn't reach the top of the tree, wanna help me put it on?" You hold the star in your fingertips.

"I'd love to, doll." Bucky walks over to your tree, meeting you there as he takes a hold of your waist, holstering you up with ease as you place the star on the top of the tree, the last of the decorations.

Lowering you down, you lean against Bucky as you appreciate your handiwork. "Would you look at that, beautiful isn't it?" You sigh happily as you admire your tree whilst Bucky admires you.

"Truly is, Y/n." Bucky mutters, turning you around as he leans down to kiss you softly.

"Merry Christmas, baby."  Muttering into his lips, you smile as you pull away afterwards, swaying in your living room as Christmas songs play faintly in the background; just as Bucky envisioned.

t a g l i s t (thank you for the support!) link in my bio and at the top of this piece to add yourself☺️(if your user isn’t tagged, it’s because nothing comes up sorry!)

@biss-stuff​ @psychicforest​  @lourightm​ @mywinterwolf​   @justsomedreaming​ @stanlux17 @smokeandnailz​ @supermoonchildbroski @xrosegoldwolfx​ @courtneychicken​ @marvelsangels​ @supraveng​ @tommy-lee-81​ @smilexcaptainx​  @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @sarge-barnes-sir​ @pleasantlysecretdream​  @decaffeinated--fangirl​ @howdyherron @kirby-boo @florencxs​  @eldahae​ @handmesomecoffee @hi-my-name-is-riley​  @dev1lbella @thanossexual​ @alissaginger @sambucky8​ @notbrooklynsblog​

[elvish-sky]

Look Back {Thorin x Reader}

A.N: A thousand thanks to @guardianofrivendell , who kinda kickstarted this entire fic with their great idea (everyone go check out their work, it’s incredible!). Quick note on character ages- after the five years later bit Sigrid is 20, Otto is 3, and Kieran of course is relative to your age. I honestly really enjoyed writing this, even the parts where it made me cry (a good emotional outlet. Send me more angsty requests!) so I really hope it’s what you wanted, Anon! 

Requested by Anon on Tumblr: Thanks for answering my ask about angst! No worries if it'll take a while, so long as you're healthy and not stressing out about it, I will wait cuz your writing is soo worth it)I was wondering if I could request an either thorin x reader(f!human) or kili x Reader(f!human) where the reader is dumped by them and she moves on (like ends up with an elf or another dwarf) and lives a happy life, and thorin or kili regrets having left them and tries to get them back but sees that they lost their One cuz of their mistake and regrets it? (Is that too angsty?? I'm so sorry if it is!)

Word Count: 4,576. The longest thing I’ve ever written is an angst fic. Huh. 

Summary: Thorin doesn’t want to push back against the council when they say you cannot be married.

Pairings: Thorin x Reader, OC (I have those now. Huh.) x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Regret, End of Relationship, Sadness, Fluff

Director’s Commentary

****

Look Back

“It is the will of the council that, since Y/N is not a dwarf, the two of you shall not be married, and cannot be together.” 

Your head jerked up. You had been expecting pushback, but not a flat-out refusal. Turning your head to look at Thorin, you saw him bow his head in defeat.

“Very well. If it is the will of the council.” 

The words hit you in the chest like an arrow. You thought he would fight for you, but no. You weren’t worth it. You rose and left without another word, slipping between the doors as the council watched you go. Balin sighed from his seat midway down the stone table, shaking his head in disappointment at the whole room. 

Arriving at your rooms, the ones right next to Thorin’s that you had been so proud of, you started shoving your belongings into a sack, leaving anything that had been given to you by your former love out. You didn’t want any reminders of him, even to see him ever again. 

Sadly, your wish to not see him didn’t work, as shown very quickly. Barely three minutes after you had entered your rooms, he came bursting through the carved double doors. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I can’t disobey the council.”

You scoffed, grabbing your few tunics and folding them into the bag. 

He continued, “You can stay, we can ask again in a few months, give them more time to warm up to the idea.”

“No. If I’m not worth fighting for now, how do I know I’ll be worth it then?”

You were drawing the string closed on your meager bag of belongings. It was rather sad to think how little you actually owned, versus what had been gifted to you by your former betrothed.

“I’m not going to risk my heart like this, Thorin. I can see that I never actually mattered.”

“Y/N-” 

You cut him off.

“You’ve broken promises before, but I never thought you’d break this one, Thorin Oakenshield.” 

You had been undoing your courting braid as you spoke, and now flung the bead at him. It fell into his hand, and you didn’t even spare a moment for the pain in his eyes as you slammed the door behind you, leaving a king with everything feeling as if he had just lost the one thing that really mattered. 

You arrived at the gates to Erebor to see something rather unexpected. The entire company was gathered there, and you stopped in front of them. They were all gazing at you with unshed tears in their eyes, and looking at them you couldn’t believe how far you all had come from that ragged company running for their lives. It made you sad to think about leaving, when the reminders of what you were giving up were all right there.

“I’m sorry about the council, lass.” Balin was the first to speak. “I tried to sway them, but it just couldn’t be done. I’ll keep trying.” 

You mustered a small smile for the old dwarf. “Thank you, Balin, but you don’t have to keep beating a dead horse. We both know nothing will come of it.” 

Each member of the company stepped forward and said goodbye, hugging you before moving back to the group. Dwalin settled for briefly squeezing you, before stepping back with a muttered, “I’ll miss yeh, lass.” You saw him surreptitiously wipe a tear from his cheek, and giggled a little.

Nori slipped a few coins into your pocket, as well as a set of lock picks. “You never know when they’ll come in handy.” 

Dori was crying as he pressed several bags of tea leaves into your hand. You sniffed them, recognizing the scent of your favorite kind.

Ori was also teary as he quickly wrapped a knitted scarf around your neck. “It gets cold out there,” were his parting words before he retreated to stand next to  Dori.

You let out a small laugh as Gloin handed you an ax. “I already have my sword!”

“Yes, lassie, but everyone knows axes are better.” There were gasps of outrage, but you were glad that the dwarf had lightened the mood, even just a little. Besides, the axe truly was gorgeous. A lovely specimen of dwarven craftsmanship, with a beautifully carved handle. 

“Is that a dragon?” Gloin nodded, and you marveled at the intricacies. 

Bifur approached next, pressing a carving into your hand. You looked at the figure. “That’s me!” He nodded, and you gazed at the detail he had worked in, even the etchings on your sword were visible in the wood. 

Bombur handed you a satchel, and you opened it. You gave the dwarf a big hug as you saw the honey-scones packing it to the brim. “My favorite.” 

“The recipe is in there too.” You couldn”t resist giving him a second hug of thanks.

Bofur came forward after his brother. “I’d sing you something, but I’m not sure I can do it without crying.” You straightened his hat, which had been set askew by your hug, as he stepped back. 

Fili and Kili were last. Fili approached you slowly, but Kili shoved him out of the way and crashed into you. Burying his face in your coat, he whispered, “I really wanted to get to call you Auntie.” 

You choked back tears, wrapping your arms around him as his brother joined the hug. 

“You’ll write to us?” Fili looked as if he was trying not to cry as well, while Kili had given up and had tears visibly streaming down his cheeks. 

“I will.” You broke away with difficulty and gave the group one last look. “Thank you all, so much.” They nodded, and you turned and walked out of the gates, leaving your old love behind. 

Thorin watched from the ramparts high above as you left. He knew he had made the right choice for his kingdom, but it hurt. The expression on your face was slowly killing him, and he knew whatever his doubts had been that you had truly loved him. He had loved you too, but he thought he loved his kingdom more. Nevertheless, he found himself hoping that you would turn around, come back, even though he knew he would have to turn you away. 

You didn’t turn around. 

You didn’t even look back.

*Five Years Later*

You shouldered the door open, arms full of papers. “I’m home!” 

“Mama!” A small shape barreled into you and you barely managed to hold onto the papers, handing them to your husband before scooping the three-year-old up.

“Otto! How was your day?” You pressed a kiss to Otto’s forehead before pecking Kieran on the cheek as you brushed by him into the sitting room. There was a fire going, smoke drifting up the chimney and you stood near it, warming hands chilled by the brisk fall air. 

“Good! Look what I made!” Otto wiggled out of your grasp and trotted over to the table, where after lots of jumping he finally managed to catch hold of something. He placed it in your lap, and you weren’t sure whether to be mad or touched. You settled for shooting a glare at Kieran before oohing and ahhing over the crudely carved figure.

“It’s you, Mommy! Like the one on the table!” 

Examining it closer, you could see something that looked like a sword. It was nowhere near the skill of Bifur’s carving that you still treasured, but it was very sweet nonetheless. 

“Wonderful job, darling.” 

“Are we going to the market today?” Otto looked up at you with pleading eyes.

“Why?” You shot a suspicious glance at Kieran, who assumed a very innocent expression.

“Because Da said that if we went to the market and got ingredients you would make the honey scones!”

“He did, did he?” 

Kieran looked guilty as you frowned at him.

“Don’t worry. Let’s put our boots on and head out!”

Otto jumped with excitement and ran to grab his boots. 

You crossed your arms and glared at your husband. “I cannot believe you let him use a knife.”

“He’s three! He’s old enough. Besides, I was watching him the whole time.”

“That doesn’t make it any better!” You threw your hands up in exasperation before kissing him. 

“But don’t worry, I still love you.”

“I love you too.” Kieran drew you in for a deeper kiss, and you responded enthusiastically.

“Let’s go!!” Your moment was interrupted by Otto, practically bouncing with excitement by the door. You laughed at him and wrapped your scarf, still holding up five years later, around your neck. Linking arms with Kieran, you giggled as Otto tugged on his hat from his perch on his father’s shoulders, and walked out the door. 

The streets of Dale were bustling, people going to the market, or the King’s house just down your street. 

Having been a hero of the Battle of the Five Armies, and one of two members of the company who had seen reason (the other being Bilbo, of course), you had a close friendship with King Bard. When you had marched into Dale after leaving Erebor, eyes still swollen with tears, he and his children had taken care of you, and it was because of him that you had met Kieran. 

Two months after leaving Erebor, you had been helping Bard train recruits for Dale’s army. Most of the men disliked being trained by a girl, but one had taken your advice and training exactly as he would a man’s. He had grown skilled, and after striking up a friendship had asked to court you. You had said yes, even though you weren’t over Thorin, but had quickly fallen head over heels in love. Kieran was perfect. He respected your fighting skills and didn’t mind your closeness to the king. He was sweet, kind, funny, and in his eyes every was perfect until proven otherwise. He always saw the best in people, never the worst. In other words, he was everything Thorin hadn’t been, and more. 

The two of you were married in a ceremony officiated by the King Bard six months after he had asked to court you, a year after leaving Erebor. Fili, Kili, and Balin had attended the ceremony, sneaking away from their royal duties for a day on the pretense of a diplomatic mission. You had kept your promise to write, and although the news of you finding someone else was hard for the two princes, they were happy your heart had started to heal. You had gotten pregnant two months later, news which was received with joy from everyone who heard. Upon reading your letter announcing the news that Fili decided to show him in the middle of a council meeting (later recognized as an extremely bad decision), Kili had let out a whoop of joy, looking guilty when everyone looked at him and promptly throwing the letter into the fire. You had laughed uproariously upon hearing this story from Fili the next time he made it to Dale. The day that Otto was born, your heart healed more. You still remembered the pain you had felt leaving Erebor, of feeling like you did not matter, but it was better now. You had been able to keep in touch with most of the company, all who had been to visit at some point after his birth. You didn’t know if Thorin knew you had moved on or had a child, but you were getting to the point where you could forgive him, just a little, for the past. 

Swinging your hand entwined with Kieran’s, you made your way through the market, stopping at all your favorite stalls to chat and pick out baking ingredients. Noticing Sigrid, Bard’s eldest daughter, picking up honey, you talked while inspecting the jars. 

“Da’s been taking half a jar to put in his tea, lately. I think he’s craving sugar.”

“More than usual?”

You laughed at Kieran’s comment. “Tell him we’re making honey scones tonight. I’ll bring some up later.”

“He’ll appreciate that, although hopefully, Bain doesn’t eat them all first like he did last time!” 

“I wanna eat all the scones with Bain!” Otto was feeling left out from his perch.

“I’m sure he’ll be pleased to have the company.” Sigrid giggled at him, passing a flower up to him before waving goodbye.

“She’s a good kid.” Kieran looked after her fondly.

“We’re not that much older than she is!” You pointed this out as you brushed flower petals out of his hair, Otto looking sad as his work was undone. 

“Now c’mon. We still need to buy more flour, especially if we’re making scones for Bard!” 

You set off again, laughing with your family as you wound through the market. You were in the middle of the artisanal section when a hush fell, the sea of people parting as something made its way through. You kept moving forward, pushing people aside to see what was happening, until you came face to face with Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain.

“Y/N.” He was the first to acknowledge you, looking as if it pained him to do so.

“Thorin.” There were gasps at your familiarity, but you didn’t care. You promptly turned around, grabbing your husband’s hand and dragging him, a silent Otto clinging to his shoulders, away. 

You didn’t look back this time, either.

“You didn’t tell me she had a child!” 

Thorin was back in Erebor, pacing around his chambers as Balin watched. He had been unable to think properly after seeing you in the market, and Fili and Balin had decided that the best course of action, or at least the one least likely to cause a diplomatic incident, was to reschedule the meeting with Bard and bring him back to the Lonely Mountain.

“You never asked.” Balin had resigned himself to having a hard conversation the minute he saw you in the market, he just didn’t know what exactly that conversation would be like. They had managed to keep the two of you apart for the last five years, but it was bound to happen sometime.

“But...she has a child.” Thorin was devastated. 

He had found out that you had kept in touch with the company six months after you left, coming across Kili reading a letter from you in the library. The fact that Kili was in the library in the first place was suspicious enough, and his doubts had been confirmed when he snuck up behind his nephew and read the letter over his shoulder. 

His gasp of, “She’s courting someone,” had been loud enough to startle half the library. Kili had jumped and tried to hide the parchment, but Thorin had simply crashed down into the chair, head in his hands. 

After taking several deep breaths, all the king said was, “She’s moved on. I have to as well,” before rising and brushing himself off, as if to brush the memories of you away. He had seemed fine, but Fili had heard the muttering coming from his room that night, of loss and grief and mistakes. 

After that, they had been much better at hiding their correspondence. The brothers had only decided to tell him about your life one more time, a year after you left, saying you had been married. He had taken that news well, it seemed, but Kili had heard the broken sobs coming from the king’s chambers late that night. 

“She cannot be happy with that- that man!” Now, Thorin seemed to be taking this news hardest of all.

“She is, lad. We’ve all seen her with them. They’re a family.” Balin was trying to calm him down, but it just wasn’t working.

“But, she’d be happier here. With me!” He was pacing the room now, raking his hands through his hair in greater distress.

“Thorin,” Balin grabbed him, stopping him so that the two were face to face, “you still love her.” 

The king staggered back, falling onto his bed. His head was in his hands again, almost mirroring how he had looked with Kili four years ago. 

“Lad?”

“Leave.” 

The one word was whispered, quieter than Balin had ever heard his king. He left, closing the door and signaling to the guard outside that the king was not to be disturbed.

The next morning, Thorin walked out of his rooms with an air of purpose about him. He was wearing an old cloak, to not be recognized as the king. Fili and Kili still managed to notice the distinct gait of their uncle and stopped him in the halls right near the gate. 

“Where are you going?” Kili looked concerned.

“Balin was right last night. I am still in love with Y/N, so I’m going to bring her back.” 

The identical looks of shock on his nephew’s face would have been hilarious in other circumstances.

“You’re still in love with Y/N?!” 

“Keep up, Kili!” Fili smacked his brother before continuing. 

“Uncle, I hate to say this, but remember how she looked at you yesterday? I don’t think she’ll be happy to see you.” 

Kili nodded at his brother’s words. “Besides, you’re the king. How are you going to convince the council when you failed five years ago?” 

Thorin looked a little surprised at that, as if he hadn’t quite thought that far ahead, but shook it off. “She will be happy to see me this time. I’m going to Dale.”

“Uncle, no!” Kili tried to block his way, but Thorin shoved past him, disappearing quickly.

“Follow him to Dale, I’ll tell Balin and the rest of the company.” Fili brushed his brother off and turned to go back to the royal wing as Kili disappeared after their uncle. 

You were making your way through the twisting streets of Dale, delivering scones to friends as you went. You had stopped at the market to give some to the honey-vendor, who always appreciated them, before turning back the direction you came. You stopped back home to pick up the basket you had made for Bard, walking in on Kieran and Otto stuffing their faces with scones and looking incredibly guilty, before continuing the walk up the hill. You were ushered in by Hakon, as usual (Bard didn’t like keeping servants, he said it made him feel “stuffy,” but a king was afforded certain privileges), and you gave him a grateful smile as he took your heavy scarf to hang up. 

“I have scones!” You entered Bard’s office, plopping the basket on his desk from which he immediately grabbed one. 

“Delicious.” 

You smiled at his praise, laughing as Bain burst through the doorway behind you.

“Did I hear scones?” He quickly dove for the basket, grabbing two.

“One for each hand!” He tried to justify this before shrugging and taking a bite, giving you a thumbs up.  

“I’ve got to go home, make sure Kieran and Otto aren’t in a food coma, but I’m glad you like them!” 

The king and his son nodded at you, waving goodbye as their mouths were still stuffed with a scone.

“And save some for the girls!” You left with that, laughing at their sad faces. 

It was pleasant out, the sort of fall day you looked forward to, so you decided that Kieran and Otto could spare you for a little while, just long enough for you to take a walk on the walls of the city. 

The view of the mountain was gorgeous from here. When you had first left, you had spent hours staring, wondering if you had made a mistake by leaving. Now, you just liked to appreciate the view.

“Want to come back?”     

You jumped, spinning to see Thorin standing behind you. You hadn’t really paused to look at him the day before, but now you noticed he looked different. Not bad, but it didn’t look as if he’d found happiness the way you had.

He stepped forward. “Y/N. I’ve come to ask you to rejoin me in the mountain.”

Your jaw dropped. “What? Do you want me to move in with my family? That seems like a bad idea.”

“No, Y/N,” he took your hand and you were too surprised to remove it from his grasp, “I want you to be my queen.”

You laughed and jerked your hand away. It wasn’t a sound of amusement, no. It sounded empty.

Hollow. 

“We saw how well that went last time.” 

“No, Y/N. This time I mean it. Come to Erebor.”

“I’m happy here, Thorin. I have a husband and a child.”

“Your child can come too, and I’m sure I can do much better for you than that man!”

Your cheeks reddened with anger as you balled up your fists, trying to restrain yourself. “I’m happy here, Thorin! I don’t need you to take me to Erebor when I have everything I could possibly want already!”

He looked as if you had physically hit him.

“Y/N, you deserve more than this, though! The council won’t be any trouble this time.”

“And you think you’re the one who can give me what I deserve?” You laughed again, the hollow sound caught by the wind.

“No, dwarf. I have everything I deserve right here and I’m not going to let you ruin it. This is my happiness, and I will be damned if I let you take that away!”

“Y/N-”

“No. I wasn’t worth fighting for then, I know I won’t be worth it now.”

“But I love you, Y/N.”

“And I loved you, once. But you’re too late.”

He watched as you walked away for the third time, knowing that this was the last.

You didn’t look back.

Kieran knew something was wrong the minute you walked through the door. 

“Otto, say bye-bye to Mama and get ready to go with Sigrid!” He strode over to you and hugged you quickly before pulling away. 

“Sigrid’s going to take Otto for a few hours.” 

“Thank you, Sigrid.” You mustered a smile for her as she tugged her boots back on. 

“Of course! C’mon Otto, Bain’s waiting!” She giggled as the child trotted out of his room, looking squishy and adorable in his winter clothes.

He ran over to you and you bent down and hugged him. 

“I love you, Mama!” 

You kissed his forehead before ushering him to Kieran, who got the same treatment before Otto trotted over to Sigrid and grabbed her hand. 

“Bye Y/N! Bye Kieran!” You lifted a hand in farewell as they left, waiting for the door to close behind them before collapsing into Kieran’s arms.

He immediately started to murmur to you, whispering reassurances in your ear as he guided you to sit next to him. He waited for your sobs to fade before speaking.

“What happened?”

“I went for a- a walk on the walls and I ran into Th- Thorin,” you choked out, voice breaking when you said his name.

You could see Kieran’s face soften in understanding. 

“Did he harm you?”

You shook your head. “He wanted me to marry him. He…” you hesitated as you saw Kieran’s eyes spark with anger, but continued. 

“He said you weren’t good enough for me. I told him you were better than I deserved.”

His eyes lightened again and he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Do you need to talk it out?” That was one of the things you loved about Kieran, he didn’t offer solutions or try to fix all your problems, he just listened. He knew that when you had an issue, you just wanted someone to talk to, not to come up with ideas but just to support you.

You nodded. “I just, I felt so bad for him. And I know I shouldn’t, but he just seems so lonely.”

“Do you want to go back? He’s right, you deserve more than me.” 

Your head snapped up. “No! Kieran, why would you think that? I’m happy here. I have the perfect husband and a wonderful child, and I wouldn’t trade any of that for the world.”

He still looked doubtful. 

“Kieran, he broke my heart five years ago, and yes, I was in love with him then, but you picked up the broken pieces and helped me heal. I’d never leave you.” 

You kissed him on the lips this time, trying to convey just how much he meant to you. “I love you,” you whispered, pulling away. 

“I love you too.” He pulled you back in for another kiss. When you broke apart you lay your head on his chest as he moved to lay down. 

“Let’s take advantage of the extra rest before Otto gets back.”

You laughed at him and felt the rumble of his chest as his breaths deepened, watching him fall asleep. As you faded into unconsciousness, you couldn’t help but think that after all you’d been through, you were so unbelievably lucky to have found Kieran. 

Thorin had never understood what people meant when they called Erebor The Lonely Mountain. Now, walking up to the gates alone, he got it. Something was missing, something that he’d never noticed before but now felt the absence of more keenly than ever. He couldn’t believe that he had failed to win you back. He hadn’t realized just how much he had hurt you five years ago, but the pain in your eyes had made it very clear. 

“I’m sorry, Uncle.” Kili appeared next to him as he walked up to the gates. 

Thorin ignored him, ignored the salutes and waves he got from his subjects as he made a beeline for his rooms, Kili dashing around in his wake to fix the wounded pride of every dwarf he ignored. 

Once Thorin made it to his rooms he locked the door behind him, taking slight delight even through his misery at the thump meaning Kili had crashed into it, before collapsing in his chair. 

He still was in shock. No, not shock, he was devastated. It had never occurred to him that you would be happy in Dale, wouldn’t want to rule a kingdom. He had thought that he wasn’t in love with you for the better part of five years, and once he realized he still was he hadn’t thought you wouldn’t feel the same. 

A knock sounded at the door. “Please let us in, Uncle.”

Thorin sighed and went to undo the bolts. 

Fili and Kili entered, both looking much more subdued than usual. Fili took in how Thorin’s coat was thrown on the floor, his boots tossed haphazardly in each direction and sighed. 

“What do you need?” Despite knowing how Thorin had hurt you, Kili couldn’t help but feel bad for his uncle. He had never seen Thorin like this. He looked broken. 

“I need to be alone.”

His nephews nodded, actually obeying him for once, and slipped out the door. 

Thorin was again left alone with his thoughts. Somehow, he had realized that you had been his One. That was why he had said out to make things better. But he had failed. He had lost his One, the only person who he could ever love didn’t love him back. 

Thorin buried his head in his hands, letting out a broken sob. For the fourth time in his life, he had failed. He was too late. 

Everything tag <3: @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @anjhope1 @boyruins

Thorin tag <3: @lathalea

[youbloodymadgenius]

Happiness is Everything (Modern!Ivar x reader)

A/N: This wasn’t requested; I needed to give my boy some love, and a strong bond with Hvitserk. It’s nothing but a silly comfort fic.

@geekandbooknerd​ - Thank you for beta reading this for me 💖

@zuxiezendler​ - Thank you 😉🌸 (and you know why)

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Ivar doesn't want any more set-ups. Hvitserk’s stubborn girlfriend disagrees.

Warnings: a tiny bit of angst due to Ivar’s temper and insecurities; an obvious lack of plot; lack of creativity; fluff+++.

Words: 2575

Stifling a hiss of pain, Ivar flops down on the couch, leaning his crutch against its armrest. 

 "Here." Hvitserk joins him, handing him a beer before gulping a long sip of his. "So, brother," Hvitserk's face is slightly crumpled as he looks at him, "There's a last-minute change." 

 With a tight-lipped expression on his face, Ivar frowns. He hates last-minute changes with a passion. "What are you talking about, Hvitserk?" He asks curtly while massaging his right thigh absently. 

 "Thora will be with us tonight." Hvitserk shrugs, his discomfort obvious. 

 "Okay." Ivar tilts his head, confused. Every Thursday night, he and his brother spend the night together. Usually at Hvitserk’s place, eating frozen pizzas – a lot of them, Hvitserk being Hvitserk. Most of the time, Thora, who enjoys spending time with her friends, leaves them alone. Sometimes she stays home though, and honestly, it's fine. The truth is, he likes Thora. She's smart and funny, and uncomplicated. Sure, he didn't warm to her right away. It took time. But now, it's okay. He probably won't say it out loud, but yeah, he likes her.

 "So…" Raising a brow, Ivar takes a sip of his beer, "It's no big deal." As Hvitserk keeps silent, Ivar scrutinizes him. His brother is clearly nervous and not at ease at all. Ivar slowly licks his lips. "What are you not telling me, brother?" He knows he's right when Hvitserk lowers his gaze.

 "Well…" Hvitserk clears his throat, "She won't be alone."

A wide-eyed look on his face, Ivar snarls, pursing his lips. "What does that mean, Hvitserk?" The icy cold tone of his voice matches his hard stare, his knuckles turning white as he clenches his hands into fists. 

 Hvitserk winces, "You know what it means, brother," before taking a seat in the armchair across from Ivar, the small coffee table between them suddenly highly appreciated. One can never be too careful when facing Ivar's anger. 

 "Are you fucking kidding me?" Clenching his jaw, Ivar bangs his fist on the table, and Hvitserk immediately leans forward, catching his brother's beer just before it falls down. 

 "I'm not, Ivar. Listen, I'm sorry but Tho–"

 Ivar cuts him off, running nervously his hands through his hair. "I can't believe it! Remember the fiasco with Thora's cousin? And then with her colleague? What was her name? Livia? Lisa? See, she didn’t even stay long enough for me to remember. Anyway, I thought I was pretty clear after that, wasn't I? Maybe you and your girlfriend should go and check your hearing, what do you think, hm, brother?" His voice dripping with sarcasm, Ivar gives Hvitserk dagger eyes, his pointer finger tapping the side of his head. "No more set-ups. That's what I said, right? Sounds pretty clear, huh? Do I need to tell it again, brother? Look at my mouth, I wouldn't want you to miss it this time,” He points to his lips then in a sarcastic manner, “No. More. Set-ups. No. More. Blind. Dates." Bottom lip quivering, Ivar, who's boiling mad, struggles to hold back his anger.

 "I know, brother…" Hvitserk swallows, rubbing his hand over his face, "but you know Thora means well, don't you? I briefly met Y/N once and honestly, she seemed nice enough. Plus, Thora's not really setting you up. We'll be together, the four of us, here, just eating pizza, it hardly counts as a date, don't you think?"

 Disgruntled, Ivar heaves an exasperated sigh, his nostrils flaring. "Stop playing dumb, Hvit, and don't tell me you've never heard of double dates!" He stares at his brother, his pupils dilated, shading his eyes darker blue. "Anyway, it doesn't matter." As he reaches for his crutch, a scowl on his face, Hvitserk stands up, his brow furrowed. "What are you doing?"

 "Isn't that obvious?" Ivar mocks him while adjusting his legs in front of him. "I'm leaving!" Shifting his butt forward, he laces his left arm through the metal loop of his crutch, places his right hand on the coffee table, and then slowly hauls himself to his feet, grunting and swearing under his breath. He has a false start, where it seems he's going to fall right back onto the couch, but Hvitserk catches him skilfully, gripping his upper right arm. As soon as he's sure his baby brother has found his balance, Hvitserk releases his arm and Ivar gives him a tight, thank-you smile. 

 Hvitserk barely nods, as if nothing happened. And gosh, Ivar may be mad at him about this stupid set-up-non-set-up thing, but right now he's feeling mostly grateful. His brother not making a big deal out of his struggles never fails to amaze him.

With any other of his brothers, it wouldn't have been the same. 

Bjorn would have looked at him as if he were an utter failure, and then maybe helped him – out of pity, Ivar is sure of that – but not without paternally patting him on the shoulder; or even worse, on the head. The thought makes him cringe and he shakes his head, chasing it away. Bjorn is no longer around anyway, busy traveling around the world with his fourth wife. Or maybe it's the fifth? Ivar lost count a long time ago. 

 Sigurd would have kicked his crutch out from under him while Ubbe would have forced him to sit down, hovering beside him for far too long, afraid he would slip or stumble, or break a bone. Between Ubbe and Sigurd, between plague and cholera, Ivar is honestly not sure which one is better. Or worse. After all, it's all a matter of perspective. 

 Fortunately, Hvitserk – his favourite brother, and it is no coincidence – never treats him differently; never belittles him; never mothers nor smothers him. With him, Ivar feels like he's normal.

 Gratefulness flooding his mind, a pang of guilt suddenly hits him. He knows that if he leaves, he will put his brother in a difficult position. Though his resolve remains unshaken, Ivar puts a hand on his brother's shoulder, and when he speaks again, it's in a softer voice. "Listen, brother, just tell them I cancelled because I wasn't feeling well, okay?"

 Technically speaking, it's not even a lie. Today has been what his beloved mother would have called a 'bad leg day'. The pain coursing through his lower limbs worse and the muscles stiffer than usual, his right leg barely moving due to its swollen joints, he had taken a double dose of painkillers earlier, regrettably with little to no effect.

 "Well, brother," Looking out of the window, Hvitserk grimaces, an uneasy grin on the corner of his lips, "I'm afraid it's too late." 

 As if on cue, the door busts open and a girly chuckle can be heard. Ivar clenches his jaw and tightens his grip on the handle of his crutch. As you and Thora take off your coats and shoes in the doorway, Hvitserk mutters, his mouth on his brother's ear, "Behave Ivar, please. For my sake." 

 Ivar snorts, exhaling deeply. "I'll try." He closes his eyes and, shaking his head, he mumbles, fighting a lump in his throat. "It's… It's not that easy. Fuck Hvitserk, you don't even know…I wish I wasn’t so angry all the time. I… I might have been happy." His voice, barely a whisper at this point, cracks at the end, and he hates himself for that.  

 Astounded, Hvitserk isn't even sure he heard right. There's no time left to ask Ivar to repeat himself though, so he somewhat haphazardly decides to comfort him, nevertheless. "You'll get there, brother." He eventually breathes, still stunned by his brother's unexpected admission.

  "We're coming!!" Unaware of the tension in the room, Thora shouts enthusiastically before crossing it in two long strides. All smiles, she joins the brothers, winking at her lover and squeezing his hand, and gives Ivar a peck on the cheek followed by a wholehearted hug. She then steps away, gesturing toward you as Hvitserk wraps his arm around her shoulders. "Ivar, this is Y/N."

 Reluctantly, Ivar looks in your direction and the moment he sets his eyes on you, his breath catches in his throat and he knows he's screwed. Already smitten. Gods, you're glowing and insanely beautiful. He barely hears Thora's next words. "And Y/N, this is Ivar, Hvitserk's little brother."

 A beaming smile on your face, you wave at him before taking two shy steps forward. "Hello, Ivar." Even your voice is wonderful, sweet, and silky, and he can't help but smile back at you, annoyed with himself for being so weak. 

 Even if he can see the sparkle in your eyes as you look at him, even if your smile is devastating, he knows better. 

 It won't last. It can't.

 For now, standing tall in his brother's living room, he's aware you surely find him attractive. With no false modesty, Ivar knows about his good looks, his huge blue eyes his greatest asset. Of course, you must have noticed the crutch, but the crutch per se is barely a turn-off. You can't see his titanium leg braces, which he stubbornly wears under his pants, even if they often bruise the thin and delicate skin of his calves. You can't see his crippling pain, his struggles. You can't see his distorted bones and his hideous legs. You can't see how disabled, how crippled he really is. But he knows that as soon as he takes a step, you'll get a small glimpse, and then the sparkle will leave your eyes, replaced at best by polite indifference, at worst by pity and disgust. 

 Yet, there's nowhere to hide from the inevitable. So, he decisively closes the gap between you and him, leaning heavily on his crutch, dragging his useless right leg behind him, and eventually standing right in front of you, he extends his hand. "Nice to meet you." His gaze never leaves your face, Ivar awaiting for you to avert your eyes, but you surprisingly don't. And as you reach out and offer him a firm handshake, your smile never falters, the sparkle still dancing in your eyes. 

 *** One year later ***

 You stir and turn toward him, your hand searching and finding his chest, and then lay your head on his shoulder. Groggy with sleep, you just mumble his name, eyes still closed, before letting out a content sigh and Ivar can't help but smile; you're so adorable.  

 Wrapping his arm around your waist, he draws you closer, running his fingers along your back and pressing his lips to your head. Rewarded by kisses in the crook of his neck, his free hand settles on your hip, your skin warm and smooth under his fingertips. "Hi," he greets you and buries his nose in your hair, deeply inhaling your scent.

 "Hi." You eventually mumble with a raspy voice, now peppering light kisses all over his broad torso. "What were you doing, my love?" Your eyes flutter open and, propping yourself up on your elbow, your other hand flat on his chest, you offer him a warm smile. There's so much love in your eyes, it takes his breath away. 

 "I was remembering." Ivar smiles fondly at you, grabbing your hand and bringing it to his mouth. "Do you know what day it is?" He asks, gently kissing your knuckles one after the other. 

 "How could I have forgotten?" You scoot even closer, your breast against his chest, your mouth barely an inch from his. "Today is the anniversary of the day we met, my love. That's what you were thinking about?"

 Ivar nods before laying you down on the bed tenderly. He then sits up, running his hands through his hair. "I remember as though it were yesterday, you know? I still can't believe you didn't run away." Sitting behind him, you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders, trapping him in your embrace, in your love. "You stayed…", his voice trembles as he gestures to his legs, hidden under the sheets, "… you stayed in spite of… of them…" He swallows loudly and your heart aches.

 Resting your head on his left shoulder, you shake your head. "No, my love, I didn’t stay in spite of your legs, but because of them." 

 Ivar is looking downward but as soon as the words escape your lips, he snaps his head to the side, a frown flitting across his face, and gives you a confused and slightly upset look. "What do you… What do you mean?" He stammers, suddenly tense.

 Shifting in the bed, you carefully straddle him, tilting his chin with a curled finger and forcing him to meet your gaze. "Don't get me wrong, Ivar. I'm not especially attracted to your legs. It's not some kind of weird fetish. I stayed because of what is in here." You put your finger on his forehead, and then over his heart. "And here. But your legs made you who you are. And you're different. A good kind of different. You don't think like other men. That's what I love the most about you. You're unpredictable; you always surprise me. You wouldn't have been who you are without your legs." A gentle hand sliding under the sheets, your fingers graze his scarred skin. "With two working legs, who knows what you would have been. You probably would have been a presumptuous womanizer like Bjorn. Or you might have been as boring as Ubbe; as careless as Hvitserk; as annoying as Sigurd. You are who you are, infuriating, smart, and stubborn, and, I must say, breathtakingly handsome, and I love you exactly the way you are." 

 Ivar just looks at you for a long time, a small smile playing on his lips. Raising his right hand, he cups your face. "Never stop telling me you love me, Y/N. Please..." You never saw him so willingly vulnerable before, and it breaks your heart – you never want him to doubt himself – as much as it fills you with joy – he trusts you enough to share his insecurities with you. 

 You answer him without missing a beat. "I won't. I love you more than my own life. I love you bigger than the sky and its stars, I love you to the moon and back. I love you like I never thought I could. Loving you is a blessing, a precious gift, the meaning of my life. I love you and only you, Ivar Lothbrok."

 Blinking a few times, Ivar heaves a shuddering breath. Tears come to his bright blue eyes and the expression on his face is unreadable; fragile and strong all at once. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it. Staring into space, he seems lost.

 Stroking his cheek, you bring him back to the here and now, back to you, kissing his earlobe, his jaw, his neck, before returning briefly to his mouth. "What is it, Ivar?"

 Your lover shrugs, "Nothing, really," and pulls you closer, his hands on your back, his breath on your face, his manly scent enticing you. "Or more accurately…", he whispers in your ear, "… Nothing, yet everything." 

 Not understanding what he's getting at, you keep quiet, just staring at him, confusion obvious in your eyes. He then offers you a mind-blowing smile, and your heart nearly jumps out through your mouth at his next words. 

 "I may be happy. Actually, I think I am."

 🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @gearhead66​ @inforapound​ @readsalot73​ @milkkygirls​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @zuxiezendler​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @hecohansen31​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​ @peachyboneless​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​ @ethereallysimple​ @destynelseclipsa​ @coco2315​ @mlchael-guerin​ @pieces-by-me​

[littleoldrachel]

"well, it's the thought that counts"

for the wonderful @rachfielden-xo who literally sent this in a month ago (sorrrrry and thank you!!) and asked for well, it's the thought that counts with scott and alan from this prompt list.

this legit turned into scott teaching alan to make pancakes and i'm not even mad about it. the recipe the boys are using is [here].

[if you wanna prompt me, hmu!]

*~*~*~*~*

There are lots of things Alan doesn’t understand.

Black holes. Why his momma isn’t coming back ever again. The reason a Mars sunset streaks blue. Why Virgil has become some soulless cavity and John won’t say a word. How, despite year after year of technological advances, there’s still no evidence of alien lifeforms out there.

Why Scott never has time for him anymore.

It’s been days since Scott even said more than a few words to Alan, weeks since he last crushed Scott at videogames - he hasn’t even taken him to the park since -

Well.

And it’s not that he doesn’t love spending time with his other brothers; Gordon annoys the heck out of him on a daily basis but makes him laugh till it hurts far more. John is the one who gets him, who refuses to dumb down scientific explanations, who shares his passion for all things space. And Virgil - Virgil Before, that is - is the only person who knows how to hug him just right, who listens no matter how banal Alan’s worries are.

He loves them so much his heart might explode apart like a zombie’s head meeting his videogame character’s bazooka - except Alan’s not ever leaving them, not ever, not now he knows what that does to them all.

It’s just that Scott is fast turning into Dad, notable only by his absence.

And Alan doesn’t need another one of those.

More than that though, he can see the way his brother is running himself ragged trying to be mother and father and everything in between, and despite Virgil’s interventions and John’s best efforts, it’s not getting any better.

Which is where Alan comes in.

Alan is going to save his brother because he’s no baby, despite what everyone thinks.

What he lands on is simple but effective: he’s going to make Scott his favourite breakfast and draw him a card to say thank you, because he wants Scott to know Alan sees everything he’s doing to keep them afloat.

The card is straightforward enough - he’s no Virgil, but he’s pretty sure it’s clearly a rocket that he’s drawn. His tongue pokes out as he colours in as carefully as he can, only going over the lines a few times. He draws himself and Scott in the window of the rocket, grinning wildly (perhaps a little manically if he’s being honest) and adds Mars to the background.

Inside, in wobbly, looping script he prints:

Deer Scotty

Thanks for bing the best. I love you.

Love

Alan

Mission: Amazing Card - completed.

Now he just needs to make the pancakes.

Right then. First step is the ingredients.

In theory, this should be straightforward enough. Alan has seen Scott do this numerous times, had half-listened when Virgil taught John, and has eaten more of these pancakes than he can begin to count (but never enough!).

Alan pushes a chair against the counter, uses it to hoist himself onto the surface, and scrambles to the cupboard.

He knows that there’s a mountain of flour involved, because the little puffs of white powder always fluff through the sieve and make him sneeze. What he didn’t anticipate was that there would be different types of flour, in neat colour coded packages. He picks red, because it’s his favourite colour, and dumps as much of it as he can through the sieve, poking at it with his fingers to push it through.

It doesn’t look as neat as when Scott does it, and the entire surface is already dusted with flour, but most of it is in the bowl, so he’s doing okay.

He goes for brute strength with the eggs, smashing them into the side of the bowl. Little pieces of shell slide into the mixture with the yolk, but it’s so slippery he can’t get them out. Fingers coated in sloppy flour, he retreats. Maybe Scott won’t mind the crunchiness.

The milk carton is far heavier than Alan anticipated, and he loses his grip on the condensation-slick handle, watching in slo-mo horror as a glug of milk hits the side of the bowl, ricochets off it -

And splat!

It lands straight on top of Alan’s card, and Alan -

He’s not going to cry, he’s not -

His mom always said he shouldn’t cry over spilt milk, except this time it’s ruined everything.

Milk drips off the counter and Alan clenches his fists, willing the baby inside him to shut up. Eventually, the upset reassembles itself into a grumpiness that has him whisking furiously. The mixture slops all over the place, decorating the floor, countertop and his too-big apron with splatters of batter. It’s a lot runnier than Scott’s usually is, but by now Alan Does Not Care, he just wants to get this done and hug Scotty.

He’s just standing in front of the oven, wondering which dial is for which of the flame things, when the kitchen door opens.

Sixteen-year-old Scott, whose eyes have circles far deeper and greyer than they have any right to be, is standing there, and Alan becomes Very Aware all of a sudden of what the kitchen must look like through Scott’s eyes:

Flour absolutely everywhere (he can feel on his eyelashes and tickling his nose), little pools of batter all over the floor, Alan with his hand on the stove to work out how to make the fire come out -

“What the hell.”

Scott takes a deep breath, presses the heel of his hand to his eyes and says, “what are you doing, Alan?”

Alan forces himself to stand up tall like Dad always says. “Making you breakfast.”

There’s a pause, and Scott surveys the disaster zone once more. “I can see that,” he says finally, voice a little faint.

Alan swallows because this isn’t at all like he wanted it to go, but he brandishes the bowl of batter and does his best to peel the card from the surface. “For you!”

Scott stares, but takes the bowl. “Is this.... pancake mix?”

Alan nods eagerly, “your favourite! And here.”

The cursed milk smudged his amazing drawing, but it’s still sort of a rocket. Scott carefully prises open the card, and his whole body softens as he reads the message inside. “Allie,” he manages, “Allie, this is so -”

He presses a fist to his mouth and Alan watches in horror as his Neptune eyes shine overly-bright. This was supposed to be a nice thing, but he got it all wrong -

“I’m sorry,” Alan cries, flinging himself at Scott in a hug. “Don’t cry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make such a mess -”

“Allie, no -” Scott’s voice is firmer now, but Alan can’t bear to look at him falling apart like Virgil and John and Dad, because Scott is Scott and he can’t fall apart. It will obliterate Alan’s heart like a grenade in a zombie hideout if he has to see Scott cry.

Scott crouches though, and Alan’s forced to make eye contact. He’s relieved to see that Scott’s face has lost its sadness.

“Thank you so much for all of this, Allie,” Scott says, so sincere and so strongly, it washes something warm and safe over Alan’s shoulders.

“But it’s t-t-terrible! The pancakes are all wrong and I don’t know how to cook them and the card got milked and - and -” Alan can hear the wail in his voice and he resents it; it knocks hard into the defiant figure inside him that insists I’m not a baby!

“It’s not terrible, Allie. It’s - it’s lovely.”

“You’re saying that to make me feel better.” He can’t help but pout.

“No, I mean it. I love it - all of it.”

“Even the mess?”

“Even the mess.”

“Why?”

“Because… Well, it’s the thought that counts, Allie.”

Alan wrinkles his nose and Scott grins, using his sleeve to wipe off some of the stray flour. “I mean it. The fact that you wanted to do something nice for me makes me really happy.”

Alan hmphs, but tucks himself into Scott’s side and Scott obliges, squeezing him tight in one of those cuddles Alan has missed so much.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, Allie, but I love you and I’m gonna do better, ‘kay?”

Alan stiffens and pulls away. “Wait no! That’s what this was for, Scotty.” He wants to stamp his foot in frustration so bad, but knows that’s Baby Behaviour and so he settles for a scowl. “I don’t want you trying to do more when you already do everything! I just miss you, I don’t need you to do anything better. I just need Scotty.”

Scott is blinking too fast for the second time in ten minutes. “Did Virg put you up to this?” he says a little hoarsely.

Alan frowns. “No. But if he thinks the same thing, shouldn’t you be listening?”

Scott’s eyes widen, and he ducks his head, covers his eyes again.

Alan goes back in for a hug, presses his cheek into Scott’s chest and listens to the steady thump-thump of his heart. He feels Scott take a deep breath and put his armour back up, and Alan’s heart makes a sad little clench.

“What do you say we make some pancakes together? Ones that are actually edible?” Scott clambers to his feet with a grin.

“Hey! They would be!” Alan protests, but then he looks back at the mixture, which is congealing in watery lumps and he fights a smile.

“But first,” Scott flattens the card and clips it to the fridge with a magnet, and Alan -

Alan’s heart skips.

It’s been a long time since any of them - even Virgil - have had anything hung on the fridge. But his little card - his silly, ruined card - is up there in pride of place and that means more to him than he knows what to do with.

Scott ruffles his hair, dislodging the flour that’s gathered itself there, and for once Alan doesn’t have the words to protest. Scott half-turns, catches Alan’s lost expression, and shoots him the gentlest of smiles.

“Ready to make the best pancakes in the world?”

As if he even needs to ask.

Scott easily sorts through the cupboard, drawing out the blue flour, a pot of baking powder, and some sugar. It’s all white.

“Why do they have to make all the important stuff the same colour?” Alan complains, and Scott laughs, loudly and easily. It’s a wonderful sound.

“Here’s something that’s a different colour,” Scott says, tossing eggs between his palms with an assured ease. “It’s egg time.”

He passes one to Alan, and Alan goes to smash it against the bowl, when -

“Wait!”

Alan pauses, mid-swing, and Scott plucks the egg from him.

“Gently, Allie. Like this.”

Scott repositions his hands so that his grip on the egg is looser, then gently moves his wrist to give one sharp tap against the side of the bowl. The egg breaks, golden yolk dripping out, but miraculously, no shell escapes.

“Reckon you can do the next one on your own?” Scott asks, and Alan nods at once. He looks to Scott to check he’s doing it right, and every time Scott is there to meet his gaze.

(As he always is, always will be).

Scott helps him to lift the milk carton, and between them, they pour it into a little well that Scott instructs him to dig in the mixture. Scott hands Alan a whisk with a solemnity that Alan recognises from Gordon’s pranks, and sure enough, no sooner than he’s taken it, Scott is brandishing a spatula and yelling “en garde!” and then it’s all out war.

“Loser has to whisk the mixture!” Scott says between parries, and Alan knows he’s being deliberately slow and clumsy but if that’s how he wants to play, then so be it. Alan blocks a few of Scott’s easy strikes, and feigns left, before darting right to jab him in the ribs.

“Victory!” he yells.

Scott crashes to his knees in mock agony. “You got me!”

Alan pushes the bowl towards him smugly. “Your punishment.”

“So merciful.”

“No talking! Only whisking!”

With Scott’s expert hands, the batter turns into a smooth, creamy mixture, and he guides Alan as the chocolate chips are poured in. “And now we fold.”

“Fold? Like paper?”

Scott grins, and Alan scowls. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Sorry kiddo. Like this.” Scott shows Alan a gentle scraping motion that turns the mixture towards the centre of the bowl.

“Are we there yet?” The chocolate chips are making Alan’s mouth water, and as messy and inaccurate as his recipe might have been, it was at least quicker.

“Nearly. Let me just heat the pan.”

Scott dashes the pan with a blob of butter, and smiles softly as it begins to sizzle and melt, before he turns sharply to Alan.

“Hey, Allie?”

“Mm?”

“Please don’t use the stove without me or Virg there, okay?”

A ladle of pancake batter goes into the pan, and Alan stares at it in anticipation.

“But it was an emergency.”

“And you could have asked Virg, even if you wanted to surprise me.”

Alan frowns, crosses his arms. “He wouldn’t have helped, he’s always in bed these days.” Scott swallows, the crease of concern back between his eyebrows and Alan’s heart sinks. “I didn’t mean that. He would help, really.”

“He’s just really sad, Allie. Give him some time.”

“We’re all really sad,” Alan says, in a smaller voice than he intends.

There’s a pause, and Scott says, equally small, “I know.”

Scott removes the pan, passes it to Alan, and gently adjusts his grip, until -

“One, two, three, flip!”

The pancake does a perfect somersault, landing uncooked side down in the pan, and Scott beams, even though his eyes look so sad.

Silence falls once more, and Alan finally looks up at Scott, surprised when he’s already watching him.

“I love you, Allie. So much.”

Alan blinks, but the words come easily - he’s not yet at Gordon’s age where such declarations are Deeply Embarrassing. “Love you, Scotty.”

“I know the last few months have been really rough,” Scott says slowly, as though he’s measuring each word out like ingredients. “But never forget that I love you and all of us love you. It’s okay to be sad, but you don’t need to deal with it on your own, okay?”

Alan nods, tucks himself into Scott’s side once more, because the contact feels more important than words right now. Heck, he doesn’t even know what he could say to that. It’s everything he knows technically, but hearing it said out loud? It hits different in a way that knocks all the words right out of his head.

On cue, the pancake has turned into a golden-brown puffed up beauty, and Scott grins widely.

“Bets on who’ll be the first to smell this and make their way down to join in?”

Alan laughs. “Definitely Gordon.”

“Nah, Virg has a weird sixth sense about pancakes.”

*~*~*~*~*

They’re both wrong as it turns out.

John slinks into the kitchen, followed shortly after by a bright-eyed Gordon (“that doesn’t count, Allie!” “Does too!” “Does not!”) and a dull-eyed Virgil.

Whilst Scott and Alan stack up the pancakes, Scott corrals the others into beginning the clean-up process. There’s some good-natured ribbing about the Disaster pancake mixture, which has started solidifying alarmingly quickly, and Virgil spots the card on the fridge, turning to Alan with the first genuine smile he’s seen from him in so long.

Everyone is ravenous by the time there are a sufficient amount of pancakes for them all, and then it’s every man for himself as they wrestle for sauces and squabble over the last pancakes.

It’s the first time they’ve all eaten a meal together in so long, and it’s the best gift he could have ever given Scott, even though he couldn’t have planned the highs and lows of this particular adventure. Virgil is actually laughing about something with Gordon, and John is inserting the occasional comment with a smile, and Scott -

Scott meets Alan’s eyes with a proud smile.

Alan’s heart feels like it’s actually glowing, a soft, golden light in his chest, because he did that - he and Scott.

They make a good team.

And they always will.