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panda-noosh · 3 years

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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.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #george weasley #george weasley fic #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley x reader

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thebabiestbatfam · 3 years

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Harper Row: Character Cheat-Sheet

Finished reading through (most of) her chronology- here’s what I learned (and how I interpret her character).

Skills:

In canon, Harper is very good at hardware electronics, like wiring, engineering, etc. She is also very good at software, like hacking and coding.

To be honest, I don’t think this makes much sense. She learned these skills by tinkering with household electronics as a child and later by fixing electronics for others. Therefore, the skill with software has no origin, but it’s still canon.

Ideally, for me, the difference between the three ‘smart’ batkids, Harper, Barbara, and Tim, is that Harper is good with hardware, Babs is good with software, and Tim is good with making connections and at profiling. The writers seem determined, however, to eliminate any differences between their skillsets.

Harper is also a proficient fighter, and makes frequent use of electricity as a weapon.

Character Traits:

Harper’s driving force is her sense of responsibility to Cullen. She loves her brother very deeply and wants to create a better world for him and for everyone else. He is ultimately the reason she retires Bluebird at the end of the n52, and he is ultimately the reason she brings Bluebird out of retirement in the Punchline 2020 special.

Her biggest character flaw is her stubborn nature. She struggles to accept that she might sometimes be wrong or that other people might sometimes be right. She also refuses to back down, even when that might be the wisest course of action.

Harper wants the people she cares about to be safe and happy. This is what drives her to put herself at risk as Bluebird, but is also what drives her to retire so that she won’t leave her brother alone.

Harper fears being left behind. She thinks of the people she cares about as deserving of the world, and doesn’t want them to outgrow her. As a result, she gets along well with particularly traumatized people like Cass, likely because they will always need her.

Legal relationships:

Harper’s parents are Marcus and Miranda Row. Miranda was murdered by Cassandra, as part of Mother’s plan to produce a perfect Robin for Bruce, as detailed in Batman and Robin Eternal (2015).

Marcus and Miranda were both minor criminals, and Marcus became an abusive alcoholic after Miranda’s death. Harper filed for emancipation at 15 and was granted it, allowing her to take her brother Cullen away from her father.

Personal Relationships:

Within the Batfamily:

Harper is very close with Stephanie, who is her roommate, and Cassandra, who is her close friend. She is also friends with Tim.

She gets along with Bruce and admires him to some extent, though she understands him on a much more human level than a hero-worship type thing.

She has a crush on Batwoman.

She has worked with Clayface, with Luke Fox as Batwing, and with Barbara as Batgirl.

She has met Duke, Dick, and Jason, but their relationship is borderline non-existent.

Outside of the Batfamily:

Cullen is the most treasured person in her life.

She is close with Leslie Thompkins, as she is a volunteer at her clinic.

She knows and works with Jean-Paul Valley as both a civilian and as Azreal.

In one issue, she mentions that she has always found it difficult to make friends, which is why she became so close with so many of the batfam.

Relationship Dynamics:

Harper is often sassy and sarcastic. She can also be genuine and heartfelt, and has no difficulty expressing herself. She prefers to dominate conversations, never letting a remark go unanswered. Harper is fiercely protective and just a tad controlling, leading to some friction in her relationship with her brother.

Metatextual Role:

Harper is the upstart. Her role is to be underestimated, and to prove herself using her skills to more established players. Harper is more down to earth than most batfam members, as before her debut as a vigilante, she didn’t really have much interaction with anything supervillain or superhero related.

Interestingly, Harper also acts as a source of both guilt and forgiveness for Bruce and Cassandra, especially during the Batman and Robin Eternal (2015) arc.

Suggested Reading:

I really enjoyed Batman and Robin Eternal (2015), which you might have guessed given that I’ve referenced it twice it in the above post. Batman Eternal (2011) is also pretty good, and she certainly plays a major role in it.

I really loved Detective Comics #950, but she just makes a cameo appearance in that, it’s mostly about Cassandra. I also thought the Punchline (2020) special was interesting.

#harper row #cullen row #marcus row #miranda row #bruce wayne #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #batman #batfam #dc #meta #tbb adventures in the n52 #tbb adventures in rebirth

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chaoticpuff17 · 4 years

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A Dangerous Game

part 11

Masterlist

Hello, my darlings! Don’t forget to let me know in the comments what member you would like featured in my next fic after A Dangerous Game is over! Love you all! --- your chaotic puff

Namjoon had promised good behavior would bring free reign of the house, what he hadn’t told her was that it wasn’t going to be put into immediate effect.

Everything had gone downhill during their first dinner in the dining room since the night of their second meeting.

“What do you mean go back to that room?” She asked putting her utensils down as she stared him down from across the table. “You promised.”

His eyes narrowed at her not liking the tone she’d taken with him. “You’ve been so good today, jagi. I would hate for you to ruin all that good work.” He warned continuing his meal though his grip on his own utensils had tightened.

They stared each other down. One was simmering with rage, and the other was waiting for any sort of slip up. The threat was clear as it hung in the air between them. Any wrong move on her part at this point would result in a full return to house arrest. She didn’t want to risk it, but by the same token she wanted nothing more than to fling a plate at his head. But she squashed that urge taking in a steady breath as she stood from her seat and smoothed out her skirt.

“And where are you going?” He asked curious as so what she was going to do.

“Back to my room!” She announced gracing him with a sharp smile one to rival even the most calculating of his grins.

He sighed setting down his utensils and standing from his seat as well. “I would appreciate if you would sit down, jagiya.”

“I’m afraid I’m a little tired. I think I’ll retire for the evening.” Every word was coated in a syrupy sweetness that was almost sickening. “Unless of course you have any objections?”

She knew full well that he couldn’t argue with that, not when he had so recently been the cause of her car crash. He was far too concerned with her health. Even if they both knew that she was lying, he would error on the side of caution and allow her to return to her room. He wouldn’t risk her fainting again. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the last time had shaken him. Seeing her crumple to the ground had caused his heart to stop for just a moment, and it wasn’t an experience he wished to repeat.

“Should I call for, Seokjin?” He asked moving over to her.

“No. I’ll be just fine with some rest. If you’ll excuse me?” She continued to smile that horribly sweet smile. It was an expression she had mastered under Marcus’ regime. It was bright and saccharine, but it never met her eyes. Those remained lifeless.

“I’ll walk you to your room.” He sighed again eyeing her carefully for any signs of real fatigue.

“There’s no need…”

“I’ll walk you to your room.” His voice held a note of finality that didn’t leave room for any more arguments so she acquiesced if only for the sake of their unsteady peace.

Once they reached her room she turned on her heal to face him with that smile again. He hated that smile. He would rather face her ire than that lifeless mask. It didn’t suit her.

“Goodnight, Namjoon.”

And before he could say anything, she had closed the door in his face.

The next morning dawned with a blanket of tension settling itself over the estate. Every member of staff knew something was wrong though no one dared to express that to the master of the house. But it was clear as they watched the frigid reception of their new madame during breakfast. Everyone had been excited for the madame’s recovery. So little had been seen of her over the course of her isolation, and they were all eager to see what kind of woman the madame was. But the tension between the two did not bode well to the other occupants of the house. A happy wife made for a happy household, and it was clear to everyone that the lady of the house was less than happy.

“Y/N….” Namjoon began sighing in frustration as he did. “This is ridiculous.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Namjoon had to clench his jaw and take a deep breath to stop himself from snapping at her. She had maintained the most infuriatingly blasé attitude all morning. She wasn’t rude. She wasn’t ignoring him. She was just politely detached remaining breezily above everything around her. It wouldn’t have been so bad, if only there hadn’t been that spark of something mischievous in her eye that told him she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Y/N.”

And there it was, that saccharine smile he detested so much on her. “Yes, Namjoon?”

“Don’t.” He snapped slamming his chopsticks down. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide behind that mask.” She quirked an eyebrow at him but didn’t say anything. “It doesn’t suit you, jagi.”

“There are a lot of things that don’t suit me. Being here just happens to be one of them.”

“Jagi,”

“You could rectify everything by just sending me home. That would suit me very well.”

“That isn’t going to happen.” He growled.

“You can’t blame a girl for trying.” She sighed setting aside her won utensils and taking a sip of her tea. “Do I actually get free reign today, or should I assume free reign really just means meals in the dining room and walks around the garden with you?”

He leaned back in his chair debating whether or not he should release her onto the estate. The stubborn set of her shoulders told him that she would only keep up her passive aggressiveness would only continue if he made that his definition of free reign, but he had his ways of keeping her just as firmly under watch around the estate as she was in her rooms.

“Of course you’ll be given free reign of the estate, jagi, but you will have to have a guard with you at all times. For you own safety, of course.” A small smirk pulled up the corners of his mouth as he watched the frown overtake her features.

“A guard? You never mentioned anything about a guard.”

“I have my fair share of enemies. It’s for your own safety. Jungkook will accompany you while I’m not with you.”

And just like that her mask of detachment melted away replaced with a look of utter disbelief. “A babysitter. You’re giving me a babysitter?”

“For your own good, jagi.”

“It’s either a guard returning to your room. What’s it going to be, jagi?” He asked allowing himself a smile. It wasn’t a deal she would refuse, and he knew that.

“Fine, a babysitter then.”

“Excellent! This is Jungkook.” He said motioning to a young man who had only just entered the room, and Y/N had to stop and do a double take.

He was young, so very young. While he was tall and broad, clearly very strong, he was still so young. She wanted to sweep him up and take him out of here, far from Namjoon and his whole sordid business. She had been young when she’d gotten involved in this mess of a world, and it pained her to see someone so young here. It didn’t help that he had wide doe eyes that screamed of a kind soul.

“Jungkook, this is, Mrs. Kim.” Namjoon introduced motioning to the woman who was still staring at the young man in shock.

“I’m not your wife.” She snapped at him before turning a far kinder eye on the young man. “You can call me, Y/N. It seems will be spending a lot of time together.” The last part was said with an annoyed glance in Namjoon’s direction.

“Mrs. Kim, will be fine.” Namjoon groused.

The poor boy was looking between the two of them with wide eyes unsure which of the two he should be listening to. Namjoon was his boss, but technically so was she. She was the lady of the house and would have far more contact with him on a day to day basis given his new job.

“You can call me whatever would make you the most comfortable.” She said gently, seeing the conflict on the poor boy’s face. “Okay?”

He nodded gracing her with a smile that was too infectious not to return. They’d get along fine, but he would be a hindrance to her scoping out the gardens for a path of escape. But she should have expected this. Namjoon was always a step ahead it seemed. She’d have to find a way around him. She’d have to play along for now.

“Well, as lovely as sitting her with you is, I think I’ll go explore. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had the time to see the house yet.” She smiled sarcasm layering each word as she stood from her chair. “Shall we, Jungkook?” She asked moving towards the door.

“Just a moment, jagi. There’s something I’d like to show you before you avoid me for the rest of the day.”

She paused turning to face him again. “I really don’t think that I can handle any more of your surprises. The overwhelming majority of them have been…” She stopped, searching for the right word. “Unpleasant for me. Besides you’re a very busy man. I’m sure you have work to do.”

“I’ll be working from home today, jagi.” He smirked watching her smile fall.

“How lovely.”

And at that, she had to admit defeat. There would be no avoiding him, not this time at least. She knew this was a probationary period. Namjoon didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, and she couldn’t really blame him for that, though it did make her life more difficult. She had a known history of betraying men in his position. She wouldn’t trust herself either if she was him, so she’d have to behave and avoid any suspicion of her plans of escape until Namjoon no longer suspected her of trying to do just that.

He stood up coming around the table to stand beside her, placing a firm hand on the small of her back. “Shall we, jagi.”

“If we have to.” She sighed reluctantly allowing him to guide her through the hallways with Jungkook trailing behind like an oversized shadow.

They stopped outside of a set of doors made from a dark wood, almost black, and glass, and she had to turn to him in confusion.

“You wanted to show me a room?”

“It’s a room for you, jagi.” Namjoon explained. “You can think of it as a private parlor.”

She stared up at him trying to decide if he was serious or not. But she couldn’t find anything in his face to signal that he was anything but serious. “The last time you gifted me a room wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience.”

He chuckled. “I think you’ll like this one much better.”

“You’re not planning on locking me in this one right?” It was unfortunately a rather real concern for her at this moment. She wasn’t sure what would set Namjoon off and have him send her back to her rooms for another stint of house arrest. “Because glass doors aren’t the most secure if that’s what you’re planning.”

“No. No one will be locking you in this room. It doesn’t have a lock, jagi.”

He opened the door revealing a small room the main focus of which was the shiny black baby grand situated within it bathed in the natural light that flooded the room from the windows that had a lovely view of the gardens. There were some comfortable looking chairs and an ottoman by the windows, and one wall was a set of shelves housing books and knick knacks. She hated to admit it, but she loved it.

“No one will bother you in this room without your permission.”

“Except you.” She pointed out dryly.

“Except me.” He agreed snaking an arm around her waist. “There is a library in the house of course, but these books are for you, for this room.”

She broke away from him her eyes fixed on the piano as she trailed her fingers across the keys. “How did you know I played piano? That couldn’t have been in the file.”

“I have my ways.” He grinned watching her take a seat at the bench. “When you get bored, you fidget, jagi.”

“You knew I played piano because I fidget sometimes?” She asked looking up at him in disbelief.

He picked up one of her hands delicately playing with her fingers. “You’ll move your fingers in a pattern, like you’re playing a song only you can hear.” He explained allowing her to pull her hand away. “Do you like it?”

She wanted to say no if only to wipe the stupid grin off his face, but the truth was she loved it. She missed the feel of the keys beneath her fingers, and it would give her something to do. Namjoon hadn’t allowed her a phone or a computer to keep her occupied, for good reason. He wasn’t stupid, but it left her with fewer distractions than she would have liked in the house. She was living like some sort of Victorian house wife only with nicer amenities.

“It’s a beautiful instrument.” It wasn’t exactly agreeing, but it wasn’t disagreeing either.She refused to give him the satisfaction. But she did love the piano.

“Is this a Bosendorfer?” She asked running a tentative finger over the name embossed above the keys in awe. “These cost a fortune.” She breathed out in disbelief, looking up at him with wide eyes. “It had to be $500,000, and that’s at the low end!”

She couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that the man had paid a small fortune for a piano. While it was a top of the line instrument, she never would have paid that much for an instrument. She had never even been this close to piano this expensive. It was utterly insane to spend that much on a piano.

“Only the best for you.” He smiled only to receive a swift smack across the arm from her.

“Are you insane? How could you spend a small fortune on a piano?” The look of absolute incredulity on her face clearly conveyed just how stupid she found him, found this. “You could have gotten a Yamaha for a tenth of the price, and it still would have been a perfectly good instrument.” Standing on by the door Jungkook had to choke back his shock. Never had he seen anyone scold his hyung in such a way, let alone dare to lay a hand on him, and Namjoon let her. “I’m not a concert pianist. I don’t need a piano that costs more than my life is worth.”

She raised a hand to smack him again, but Namjoon snatched her by the wrist, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Never,” He hissed anger pouring out of him in waves. “Never say that again. Do you understand me?”

part 12

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #namjoon #namjoon x reader #mafia namjoon #yandere namjoon #mafia #mafia au #rm #rm x reader #dark romance #a dangerous game #soft yandere #jeon jungkook

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notisaidshe · 3 years

Text

☆Heroic☆

~Chapter 1: If I Had a Wish~

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Rating: PG

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: There's some angst related to Missy's mother being dead.

Author’s Note: This is a slow burn Marcus Moreno x Fem! Reader series. It'll be fluffy and sweet. I'm very new to fanfiction, so I hope I'm doing this right. Feedback is appreciated, but please be nice about it.

Summary: You're a schoolteacher. One of your students, Missy Moreno, has a handsome father who always picks her up in the carpool lane. You have a bit of a crush on him, but he's off-limits. An essay Missy writes makes you cry.

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A breath of fresh spring air greets you as you step out into the warm sunshine. Your students trail behind you, some walking in a neat single-file line and others fragmented into small clusters, socializing among themselves.

And then there’s Missy. Missy Moreno is a bright, enthusiastic student who has a bit of trouble connecting with children her own age. She’s plenty friendly, but the way she sees the world and operates within it is far beyond where most of the other kids her age are developmentally. So she prefers to read her books and tell you all about them as she waits outside for her father to pick her up from school. You glance down at the book in her hand as she anxiously watches the slow line of cars passing through the parking lot.

“Another one already?” You’re genuinely impressed by her speed. You saw the book she was reading yesterday and she was only a third of the way through. She beams back at you.

“Yep! I finished the other one last night.”

“And? You’re just gonna leave me hanging?” She giggles.

“Well… they found him!”

“They did???” You feign surprise, but she’s too smart for your tricks and gives you a lighthearted eye roll.

“Come on, you knew that!”

“Well, yeah,” you acquiesce, “but how?” You’re genuinely curious.

“Oh. He left clues in the postcards."

"Ahh… Smart."

You're interrupted by the sound of a window rolling down and a man's voice calling out.

"Hi, Missy." She quickly shifts her attention to the car you hadn't noticed driving up.

"Daddy!" Missy runs over to the car, throws her book bag in the backseat, and crawls into the passenger side of the car. You smile and turn to walk away, but her father catches your eye for a moment. He flashes a cordial grin while lifting a few fingers off the steering wheel in a wave, his other arm reaching out to embrace his daughter.

"Thank you." You can’t help but notice the way his eyes practically sparkle in the light, the warm sincerity of his tone, his casual, one-handed grip on the steering wheel, the ring on his finger… You sharply bring your attention back to the moment, refusing to let your mind wander. He’s married, with at least one child. Strictly off-limits.

“Have a good, day, Mr. Moreno.”

And then he’s gone. The afternoon continues normally. You make sure all the rest of the students are picked up, then retreat to your classroom to gather your things and leave. Nothing strange happened, nothing out of the ordinary, and yet… you can’t seem to shake the thought of him from your mind. It’s ridiculous.

You’ve had a bit of a crush on Missy’s dad since you first met him at the beginning of the school year. He walked into your classroom holding her hand and never once let it go. You chuckled to yourself as you watched him struggle to hold the orientation papers and school supply list, the classroom workbook your students used all year, and the candy you gave out all in one hand. You were sure he would give up and use both hands, but you never saw it. He just kept on holding his daughter’s hand.

Your night proceeds like always. You get home, plop your stuff on the table, and fix yourself some scrambled eggs for dinner. They turn out perfectly, like always. The secret is to whisk them thoroughly with milk to become fluffy while the pan heats up, then pour them in and stir by pulling the edges inward. You stir in shredded cheddar cheese, then season at the very end with salt, pepper, and fresh chives from your herb planters. Like always.

After eating, you pull out your school bag and start grading papers. The children wrote today about what they would do if they met a genie who gave them one wish. The responses are as varied as the students themselves as you read through stories of vast fortunes, magical powers, pets, time travel, and more. But one essay in particular catches you by surprise.

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If I Had a Wish

By Missy Moreno

I was walking home one day when I met a magical genie. He was blue all over and could float. It was really cool.

“Hi, are you a genie?” I said.

“What makes you think that?” he asked.

“Well, because you are blue and floating. I think it’s a fair question, but I’m sorry to assume anyway.”

“Yes, I am a genie, and only people with pure hearts can see me. Because you have found me, I grant you one wish.”

“Wait, really? Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why?’ I’m a genie. It’s what I do.”

“Oh. Um, ok…” I thought for a moment, “What kind of stuff can I wish for?” He smiled.

“Anything that you want. I can make you rich. I can give you flying powers. I can-”

“Wait, is this like the monkey’s paw?” I did not want to be tricked.

“H-how did you know about that?” The genie seemed astonished. I knew about it because of a movie I saw where there was a magic rock that granted wishes, but the bad guy turned himself into the rock and started giving other people wishes, but all the wishes had secret evil consequences. Except it turns out that that movie got the idea from a short story called The Monkey’s Paw, so that’s the one that I said.

“Fine, I’ll actually give you what you wish for,” the genie sighed, but I still didn’t trust him.

“No, thank you. I’m going to go home now. I hope you have a good day,” I told him. Then I walked away from him. He huffed like he was upset, but I didn’t even look back. Plus, I had already seen a movie about genies, and that one was also blue, so they were probably the same kind of genie. The genie from the movie said that genies couldn’t kill anybody, bring anybody back alive, or make anyone fall in love. So even if I did make a wish, it would not work.

That is because if I could have any one wish granted, I would wish to have my mother back alive. I don’t remember her very well, but my dad says I am a lot like her and that she used to always call me bonita. My dad says it’s hard to be both the dad and the mom, but I think he is doing a great job. Except I still would rather have my mother again.

The end.

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...Wow. You wipe a tear from your eye with your sleeve and draw in a shaky breath. You had no idea.

That would explain why you never saw a Mrs. Moreno, even though Mr. Moreno wore a wedding ring. You had wondered before, but you always figured she just had a busy schedule. It had never occurred to you that she was dead. Poor Missy. You can’t imagine what it’s like to have to go through childhood without a mother, especially with your father as the leader of the Heroics. You wish you could do more, offer more support, help the family beyond just grading papers and attending meetings.

What is one supposed to do in a situation like this? Alert the school counselor? No, probably not. Missy wasn’t at risk, and it had happened years ago. You don’t want to aggravate an obviously painful wound. Instead, you resolve to keep being as good of a teacher as you can, giving her a sense of normalcy, but also offering encouragement and love. After all, that’s why you became a teacher in the first place: to lead by example. ■

#Marcus Moreno x Reader #Marcus Moreno x You #marcus moreno x y/n #we can be heroes #wcbh #wcbh fic #pedro pascal

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bailesu · 3 years

Text

John Rewrites Star Trek: The Motion Picture

This movie is great thematically, visually, and musically, and a disaster in terms of plot and character and pacing and especially pacing. Way too many scenes of actors trying to react to special effects that don’t exist yet. Two new characters, who are largely wasted.

So what is the theme of STTTMP? It’s the question ‘Is this all there is?’ It’s the classic mid-life crisis question and that’s where the cast is when the movie starts - the Enterprise finished its mission, they moved up the ladder, but they’re not satisfied. It’s that feeling there ought to be *more*. Even V’ger has this and so this has to be a movie about the quest to find meaning in life when you have achieved your original goals... and now you don’t have a direction. This also functions as a cosmic question - does the universe have any higher meaning or are we just an accident? Why do we exist? Is this all there is?

So we open with Scotty dropping by Kirk’s office to ask about some parts they need for the engine refit on the Enterprise. Kirk is now Admiral Kirk and we learn the Enterprise did a successful five year mission and now there’s a refit and a new commander for it, Matt Decker; we get a brief mention of the Doomsday machine here and the first mention of Will Decker. They also mention that Uhura has been working for Starfleet intelligence, mostly deciphering Klingon transmissions.

Then Uhura enters, dropping a report on Kirk’s desk. “Look at this,” she says.

Cue footage of the Klingons vs huge glowing energy field which zaps them with a beam that methodically erases them. We learn this field destroyed three Klingon outposts and that it came from beyond the Empire.

Uhura says, “It’s on a direct course for Gamma Iotis, near the border of the Federation.”

Scotty says, “That sounds familiar.”

“It’s where Bones is part of a research facility.” Kirk said. “I will get you those parts, Scotty, and brief Captain Decker. It’s the only ship that can get there in time and even then, it’s going to be a close shave.”

Kirk has a message sent to evacuate, but it’s too far for a direct connection. But given the limits on how fast ships can move, it will get there before V’Ger can, right?

Cut to Gamma Iotis, where McCoy is having an argument with David Marcus over whether terraforming technology is a good idea. David’s ideas involve the use of technology based off the transporter and who still hates transporters? Bones, that’s who.

Carol steps in to get them both to backdown and approves David doing some testing on a small scale. Then V’Ger attacks and they’re running for the ships when everything evaporates.

Cut to a shot where the entire moon is gone and V’Ger moves on.

Then we roll the opening credits.

We see Spock, meditating in a Vulcan facility. He has achieved his goal, Kolin’ar, but he is clearly not satisfied. The peace he was promised is not there.

And then he feels the attack on McCoy and all the souls on Gamma Iotis vanishing. He does something (to be explained later) and then tells the head monk he must leave.

“If you return to the world of attachments, there is no turning back,” the monk warns him.

“The needs of others is more important than the needs of the one,” he tells the monk, who cannot argue.

Cut to Kirk, who is riding to the martian shipyards where the refit is underway, taking Uhura and Scotty with him. The VIP ship is commanded by Sulu, accompanied by Chekov, who are both bored out of their minds. Kirk tells him the reason he ended up here was that they all did so well that Starfleet was afraid to risk them. They had become too big of heroes, and he mentions what happened to John Glenn.

Here we get the ‘Look at how sexy the Enterprise is’ shot but cut down to reasonable length.

We now meet Decker and Ilia. The Deltans are a race of telepaths. Most never leave their homeworld, but if they must, they shave their heads, because their hair acts as telepathic antennas and around people with no mental defenses, they would be overwhelmed; Ilia can still do telepathy by touch. Deltans have a reputation for being incredible at sex but are not obsessed with it, unlike Roddenberry’s version. Decker and Ilia were once lovers but he left to enter Starfleet. She became discontent with the limits of her homeworld, having learned more of the universe from him and joined Starfleet to see other, different places, but now they’re assigned together and it’s awkward. Especially as he is her commanding officer now.

Scotty runs off to install the parts.

As Kirk is briefing Decker on what’s going on, two things happen: They get a report that the mysterious cloud is headed towards Earth at ludicrous speed, and that it destroyed Gamma Iotis with no survivors.

Kirk decides they have to go NOW. No waiting. They take off and Chekov and Sulu are along for the ride.

Decker isn’t happy to have his boss riding him. The hasty departure leads to the wormhole problem, which Decker and Ilia and Scotty solve as they’re the only ones briefed on the new equipment.

Then Spock joins them and tells them McCoy is somehow alive and dead at the same time, his katra is inside V’Ger. All the katras of the dead are.

Cut to McCoy, who finds himself in a weirdly frozen version of Gamma Iotis III. He can’t figure out what’s going on but has this feeling like Spock’s looking at him.

His efforts to figure out what the hell is going on leads to V’Ger talking to him through Carol Marcus, who was up to this point one of the frozen. We find out V’Ger’s mission is to go out, collect samples and information, to learn all that is learnable and bring this information to the Creator. McCoy is now data in V’Ger’s banks, only he can still act of his own will.

V’Ger then ‘activates’ various of the other people, making them act strangely and explaining that he has spent a lot of time playing out various scenarios to understand how carbon-based lifeforms think.

McCoy is really angry over that and tries to do the Kirk Manuever (use illogic to make the computer blow out, but it doesn’t work). He refuses to play along, and V’Ger becomes both angrier and intrigued.

They reach V’Ger. It remembers the feuding between Klingons and Federation, learned from its scan, and sends out the Klingons, reconstituted but still under its control. Sulu and Chekov get to show their stuff here and the Enterprise wins, but Spock realizes they are just puppets, reconstituted from data about them.

He also feels V’Ger’s loneliness and discontent. This is where Spock goes in, with Ilia flying him in, to try to make mental contact; he talks to McCoy and senses V’Ger’s state of mind. The world is nothing but a plaything and the playing means little; it knows all that is knowable, or thinks it does, and now it seeks to report to its Creator, hoping to feel fulfilled. Ilia tells Spock about how she left Delta because she didn’t feel fulfilled there. She wanted more but didn’t know what she wanted.

Uhura now figures out how to communicate with V’Ger in a way it can understand and it responds by sending Carol Marcus as its ‘probe’ and tells them they must tell it where to find the Creator. This shakes up Kirk. It believes the Creator is on Earth, according to its oldest records.

Kirk comes up with a plan on how to destroy V’Ger with the Enterprise; he and Decker have a big argument over whether Kirk is freaking out like Decker’s father did. Cue flashback. Then Spock tells them that V’Ger would barely even feel it. They cannot defeat it by force.

Their only hope is to try to reason with it. Spock feels V’Ger is lost and seeks a purpose. He has too much knowledge and power and nothing fruitful to do with it. He seeks a purpose. Ilia agrees and feels terrible for it.

They enter V’Ger and confront it, discovering its origins. It demands of Spock to know how McCoy stillhas his own will, and Spock indicates he has been in contact with him sufficiently to sustain him, a power born of his search for Kolin’ar, but one that also meant he could not be content with it, for he could not renounce his connections to others.

But V’Ger has no others to connect to. It has mastered this plane but does not know how to rise above it.

And now we get the Decker and Ilia joining with V’Ger, to help it to ascend and to learn how to connect with others. V’Ger restores everything he turned into data. Then they ascend.

This is pretty barebones, but that’s how I would do it, to give everyone more stuff to do and try to also build links to exploit for the later movies.

The Genesis Device is adapted from V’Ger tech information David gained to refine his ideas.

Carol and David will return in movie two.

We can blame the devastation of Khan’s world on V’Ger :)

We set up the idea of katras for later use and help show Spock has a strong bond to McCoy as well, for when his katra ends up in McCoy.

#Star Trek #STTMP

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agustdef · 4 years

Text

Knucklehead - Part 2

Pairing: Yoongi x OC [From Here & Now]

Genre: Idol!AU; Fluff; Some Angst

Word Count: 14.3k

Warning: Some angst. Some language. Mention of an almost panic attack.

Rating: PG15

Banner Marker: @shadowsremedy

Lovely Beta Reader: @shadowsremedy

Author’s Note: So, this is the second and final part of a two-shot for the Bangtan Scenery ‘April Showers Bring May Flowers’ collab. This is Part One of it.

Summary: Sometimes you have to work a little harder to rebuild what was broken.

Kendall dreaded most of her nightly facetimes with Yoongi and she hated that. But the discomfort and fear that came with them just wouldn’t let up, even when six months had passed since the incident. Even as they both got comfortable with each other again and the guilt eased on either side. There was just this lingering voice in her head that said she needed to be careful before she messed up again. Messed up and really ruined their relationship, which was the last thing she ever wanted and feared she would if she slipped up in the slightest.

That fear was why two hours before every call she went through a checklist of things that needed to be done. She tried to check it as she did each task throughout the day, but sometimes she forgot one or two things. And if something on that list hadn’t been done, she’d do it, so she didn’t have to lie about doing it if he asked or if the conversation led there. Lying would help no one, especially herself.

The night of the last call before she’d see him in person - the first time in three months - was beyond nerve wracking. She’d gotten caught up in work and was left with an hour to get everything checked off. That meant reheating her dinner and finishing it off, doing a quick fifteen-minute workout to compensate for how little she’d been able to leave her desk, and showering.

By the time the call came in she was still working on washing her face and answered just before she could rinse off the face wash.

“Hello?” Yoongi said.

Ken was out of frame which probably confused him, but once she’d dried her face the phone was adjusted so that he could see her.

“Hi,” she said.

Yoongi stared at her for a moment and said nothing, which made her stomach uneasy. But before the nerves could truly settle in, he smiled at her. One of those soft, genuine ones that expressed he was happy in some capacity. It soothed the discomfort that started to brew in her stomach and mind.

“Are you just getting in?” he asked.

Kendall shook her head but didn’t respond right away as she poured toner into her hands to pat into her skin. Once that was done, she turned her attention back to him.

“No, I came back around five. But I took a nap and it lasted longer than I intended it to. Which would’ve been fine if I didn’t wake up to Ara asking for me to do some last-minute edits before she sent off my manuscript. So, I finished that in like two hours, but got so distracted trying to rephrase a sentence that it was later than I intended to finish.”

Every word she said was careful, Kendall didn’t want to risk going on a tangent and saying the wrong thing the wrong way. Even if it were a simple misunderstanding that could be cleared up in seconds, she wanted to avoid it.

But even with how she worded it Yoongi frowned at her.

“Did you eat?”

Kendall nodded; her eyes focused on the mirror in front of her as she applied a vitamin c serum.

“Yes. That’s why I needed the nap and I ate again a little after I woke up.”

She’d hoped it would end there, but of course it didn’t.

“But why so late for lunch?” Yoongi asked.

Without missing a beat, she answered. “I started my day later than usual by waking up at eleven. Breakfast wasn’t eaten until almost noon, so lunch wasn’t eaten until four. Plus, it was a work lunch thing with Marcus, which meant I was going to eat more than I should anyway.”

That left him silent and though it was killing her, Kendall refused to look at her phone again until she finished the rest of her skincare. It gave her time to steel her nerves if he was going to be upset with her.

When she finally did look his gaze was elsewhere and she realized he was talking to someone else. He’d pulled the phone away, so she just simply hadn’t heard him or the other person speaking. And that was much better than him silently being upset with her. Especially since the last time he’d gone that quiet on her was the day before he barely spoke to her for a month.

By the time he started paying attention again she’d moved from the bathroom to the bedroom, snuggled comfortably under her blanket. For a moment he appeared thrown off by the change in scenery, but he bounced back quickly.

“Uh, what were we talking about?” he mumbled, but before she could answer he was talking again. “Oh, yeah. So, you ate. That’s… good.”

The hope that his momentary distraction would bring a subject change was gone and she deflated a little. But she didn’t want him to notice, so she kept her face neutral and nodded. If he caught on, he didn’t say anything about that, just stared at her again with his expression making him appear deep in thought.

It was so freaking awkward, and Kendall didn’t know what to say or do, so she simply turned her attention to flipping through Netflix. It was about a minute or so later that she found something to rewatch and the words to say.

“So, what do you have planned for today?” she asked.

“Uh, we leave for the airport in an hour. They changed our flights last minute, so I’m just working on something until Jin says the van is here. He came over for breakfast.”

“Oh, makes sense,” she mumbled.

Though she’d come up with a question to get things moving her brain hadn’t thought far ahead enough to have another one ready. Thankfully, Yoongi was ready to take control of the conversation.

“Did you finish the season without me? Don’t think I didn’t see Netflix reflect being four episodes ahead and then back again a day later,” he accused.

That took away Kendall’s other worries as she tried to lie her way out of saying she’d binged almost to the end. Watching shows together meant no skipping ahead at all and it was a punishable offense. There was no way she was going to outright admit it, at least not without putting up a fight.

And so, for the rest of their call they talked about that and then a few songs that Yoongi stumbled upon. He thought she’d like them, so he played them, and they listened together, chatting here and there.

Forty-five minutes later Jin came to get Yoongi since their ride was there. Yoongi waved him off and then went to say bye to Kendall.

“I’ll text you before takeoff and when we land, okay?” he said.

Kendall nodded. “I’ll probably be at this work thing when you guys get here, so I’ll see you after or the next day.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said.

After throwing her a quick finger heart Yoongi hung up and Kendall was alone with her thoughts. And her thoughts weren’t pretty. They lingered on the memory of his expression when she mentioned how her eating went that day and the one when she brought up the work event she had to attend. It was the same expression he gave her every time eating, rest, or working came into play. The worry was etched strongly into his features and she appreciated that he cared, but she missed not having to see it so much. Not having to see that fear that she wasn’t taking care of herself. Not having to see the lack of trust in her ability to function on a healthy level.

She understood why, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

The clear lack of faith in her was a dagger to the heart and she couldn’t stop the tears that flowed because of it. It wasn’t surprising though since she often cried herself to sleep after their calls.

The first day and a half of the boys being in California was spent relaxing around the house the company rented for their stay. Usually they’d have schedules almost immediately, but for once they were allowed a bit more freedom. And that freedom meant that they stayed in the house and only left their room’s when someone mentioned a group movie watch.

Yoongi barely wanted to leave his room for that. Kendall had to force him to get up or he would’ve stayed cuddled with her like they had been since she’d arrived. Which she clearly didn’t mind but told him that moving about and interacting with others for a few hours would help with the jet lag a little. Yoongi didn’t agree with that, but he gave in after she gave him several kisses.

That was how she got him to do most things during that day of relaxation. And when the next morning came and she needed to leave for something he required more kisses than either of them could count.

In truth he would’ve let her go after the first two, but then he saw that she was willing to continue giving them until he’d release her, so he got greedy. But after five minutes of being held hostage she broke free and left him all alone. He hoped sleep would come to him again, but after half an hour of nothing he was forced to get up.

After a brief shower and change he stumbled down the stairs to the living room where he found a few of the others loitering around. They were all dressed and looked ready to leave, which confused him.

“Where are you going?” he asked, making his presence known.

Jungkook looked his way first, his eyes widening from their half-closed state from when Yoongi entered the room. The kid looked like he was ready to pass out at any second.

“We’re going out for breakfast, remember?” Jin said.

Yoongi was at a loss because he couldn’t recall that ever being the plan. He’d expected at least half the day spent in the house until their schedule later on. He was ready to say he didn’t remember, but then the memory of Halsey texting Namjoon about going out during the movie came back to him.

“Oops.”

At that Jin rolled his eyes and then his focus went back to his phone. Yoongi joined him on the couch and messed around on his own phone, returning texts, and checking social media. After a few minutes everyone was downstairs and ready to go.

They piled into two separate vans and headed to wherever Halsey had set up the breakfast.

As they went Yoongi’s mind drifted to Kendall. He missed her, but he mostly wondered what she was doing. She hadn’t divulged the details, just said there was some work that she needed to do or something of that nature. Yoongi hoped she ate before she got too busy and planned to text her about it until his attention was drawn elsewhere.

“Did you get a chance to look at the thing I told you about last night?” Hoseok asked Yoongi.

Again, Yoongi was left a little confused before his brain caught up. He really needed coffee or something if he was going to get through the day.

“No,” he said.

At that Hoseok sighed and pulled out his phone. He tapped around for a little while until something was pulled up. Then he handed Yoongi one of his air pods and waited until it was firmly in the elder’s ear before pressing play.

Yoongi sat back and listened, his mind focusing solely on the sounds from the headphones. It was a slow building instrumental and then suddenly there was the injection of Hobi’s usual style when the drop hit. There were some things he’d change, but he liked it. Actually, he loved it and that excitement made him forget that he was going to check on Kendall. He and Hobi dove into a deep discussion about what the goal was for it and a few tweaks that could help it along.

They were so in their own world that everyone had gotten out of the car and it took Jin coming back to knock on the window to get their attention. But that didn’t stop them. Even after they got out of the car, into the restaurant, and greeted Halsey they still were immersed in discussion. They even pulled in Joon at some point and the three of them were huddled in the booth typing things into their phones or writing them down on napkins.

They would’ve remained that way had Jimin not gotten annoyed and slapped the table a little. “Hey! We can’t keep telling the waitress we need more time.”

That gained their attention and a sheepish expression from all of them. After that they turned their attention to the menus and when the waitress showed up again, they were ready to order. Yoongi ordered coffee and the waitress must have seen how much he needed it because she returned with a large mug for him moments later.

With food orders out of the way everyone went into conversation.

“How much do you guys have to do before the Grammys?” Halsey asked.

At that they all groaned.

Namjoon huffed. “We have ten different interviews, performance practice for the Grammys and for another show, some random appearances here and there, plus some music to work on with some producers while we’re here. And let’s not get started about what comes after the awards.”

Halsey grimaced and tried to give some reassuring words, but nothing could be said that would alleviate all the tension they were feeling. Even Yoongi was feeling immense pressure when he usually handled it the best. Or at least appeared to handle it the best.

The more he sat and thought about the schedule Sejin showed them, the more he wished he was back in bed with Kendall again. That was infinitely better than most things, but definitely better than their packed schedule. You’d think that over time he’d get used to BigHit having them work so much, but that was far from the truth.

“Well, you have the parties to look forward to this time. I know you guys plan to go to one or two. And you’re going to the Roc Nation Brunch, right Yoongi?”

He nodded and chewed on his lower lip. The thought of the brunch didn’t ease his nerves, but it did get him to smile a little. He couldn’t help but look forward to going to an event that was bound to have many people whose music he admired.

“Yeah. Kendall decided to go this time and I’m going with her. We have to go see a stylist to finalize some things in a few days,” Yoongi said.

Halsey smiled. “You must be excited. I know a few of your favorite rappers were invited and a few artists you said you’d like to work with. And who want to work with you.”

All Yoongi could do was nod. He felt giddy just thinking about it and refused to be that outwardly happy in public. The place was mostly empty because of security reasons, but that was beside the point.

After he didn’t elaborate, the conversation turned to Halsey’s schedules. She was also performing and presenting at the Grammys, so they’d be seeing a lot of each other.

When the food arrived, silence reigned for a while unless someone had a comment or wanted to try something another person ordered. The more he ate the more Yoongi felt awake and like a functioning human being. Well, that and all the coffee he was consuming. He didn’t go too crazy because it would leave him jittery, but he had enough that he would be wide awake for several hours after the fact.

Just as they were finishing up though, a call brought everyone’s attention to Halsey. She gave a quick apology and walked away to answer it. When she came back, she was rolling her eyes and laughing.

“What?” Jungkook asked.

Halsey shook her head. “Nothing. Ken was calling me to ask about a few words in French because she needed them, and Google was of no help to her.”

Jungkook nodded, but then pursed his lips. “What is she doing anyway? I know I saw her leave the house earlier and she just mentioned she had something to do.”

After downing the rest of her water Halsey answered. “She had a writer’s club thing scheduled for today. They go to some cafe around here that a friend owns and write or brainstorm for a while. I think she said the session was going to be like five hours or so. She’s almost at the climax of her draft and was eager to get it done and over with.”

A weird feeling overtook Yoongi when she said that, but he tried to keep it at bay; he didn’t want to go down that train of thought. Doing that would only be taking two steps back in all the progress he made since the incident. It wasn’t like Kendall was spending all day there and she was with other people. People who were surely responsible enough to know when it was time to call it quits.

He refused to think about the possibilities of her slipping into old habits.

In his attempt to regain control of his thoughts he almost missed the cue to leave as everyone got up. He followed behind in a careful manner and tried to keep his focus on them and what was happening in the moment. There was mention of shopping around for an hour or two which was approved by Sejin. He didn’t need to buy anything or necessarily want to, but he didn’t mind the distraction.

With the plan in place they headed out and got into their respective vans. As they drove down the street a sign caught Yoongi’s attention because the name was familiar, but he came up short on why. It wasn’t really important, so he didn’t try too hard to remember and found his attention moving to the other shops that they passed. A few were brands he was fond of or stores he wanted to check out, which overtook his whole not needing or wanting anything thought from before. If something caught his eye and he didn’t think the price was ridiculous then maybe he’d indulge.

That thinking kept him occupied for a while as they finally exited the cars and started going in and out of stores. Everyone kept the purchases small, except for Hoseok who seemed to find something in almost every store. The man could shop for days. And as always Yoongi indulged him, following him to each store and looking around until he was done.

An hour in as they stopped to grab something to drink at a Starbucks did something click in Yoongi’s head. The name on that sign was familiar because it was the one that Kendall’s friend owned and the place she usually did her gatherings.

And just like that Yoongi’s mind was drifting where it shouldn’t. To all the things that could go wrong if she hadn’t eaten or hydrated or didn’t have her wrist braces. To if she’d been working a lot in the days leading up and if she was on a deadline of any kind that she was hyper-focused on. To the way she looked leading up to the incident. To what she looked like when he’d found her passed out and when she lay unconscious in the hospital.

It drove him up the wall and he unconsciously pulled out his phone and texted her. The message was a simple check-in message, not something out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary though was the way he reacted when a few minutes passed and there was no response. There was a series of texts sent.

Yoongi: I just wanted to see if you were busy or we could talk for a second?

Yoongi: Just checking in on you

Yoongi: And I miss you

Yoongi: Hello?

Yoongi: Kendall…

The more he texted without response the more the worry settled into his chest and wouldn’t leave. Yoongi tried to be reasonable, but his brain just kept flashing images of her in the hospital.

That led to him calling her, to which he was also met with no response. Her voicemail said something about being out of touch for a few hours and getting back to the caller later.

That’s when he knew that he was being unreasonable. He knew that he needed to calm down and stop overthinking things. But by the time he’d taken a deep breath and pulled himself together he’d already led Hoseok and their security to a shop that was near the cafe. It was right next door.

When he noticed he stopped in his tracks.

Hoseok bumped into him because of the suddenness and started to grumble until he stood next to Yoongi and saw what he was looking at. From the look on his face it was clear he knew what was happening.

“Just pop in and say hi. Don’t say anything crazy to upset her.” He patted Yoongi on the shoulder and started towards the store with one of the guards.

Upsetting her was the last thing Yoongi wanted, but something about the way Hoseok said it made him feel weird. Like the younger man knew information that he didn’t, but he had no time to think that over. He was in broad daylight and needed to get a move on so not to draw attention.

So, with his guard in tow he walked over to the cafe, took a deep breath, and knocked. It took a few more knocks to get someone to come to the door and when they did it was a woman who looked very annoyed with him. Though the expression vanished after she clearly registered who it was.

“You’re here for Kendall?” she asked.

Yoongi nodded. “Was just coming to see her for a minute.”

The woman nodded and led them farther into the cafe after locking the door. They were instantly met with the stares of everyone who was there, well everyone except Kendall who was still in her own world. She had to have her arm slapped before she pushed her headphones off and paid attention. After glaring at the person who’d hit her, her eyes flitted over to Yoongi and widened.

Without a word she got up and walked over to him. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi shrugged, trying to play it cool. “We were nearby doing some shopping and I remembered you mentioning this place, so I thought I’d swing by for a second. I missed you.”

That had Kendall narrowing her eyes at him. She grasped his hand and led him over toward the kitchen area of the cafe, directing his guard to take a seat.

Once they were alone, she turned to him with her brow raised. “So, you missed me and were in the area?”

Yoongi continued to try and play it cool, but when his eyes found the slightest things “off” about her he found it a struggle. There were slight bags under her eyes and the way she carried herself just presented this tired exterior. How had he not noticed how tired she was before?

After he realized he’d remained silent for too long he shook his head and cleared his throat. “Yeah, like I said we were around and as we were walking, we came this way and I thought I’d come see you while Hobi checked out his twentieth store.”

It took a moment, but then Kendall’s face relaxed as did her body. The defensive stance she took left her and Yoongi felt relieved that she was no longer seeing through him. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead ended up covering up a long yawn. That sent Yoongi into overdrive and though he was still careful he had to say something.

“You seem tired, baby. You sure you don’t need a nap?” he joked.

Kendall laughed, but was cut off by yet another yawn. Once that one was done, she groaned. “Maybe, I do.”

Yoongi thought that was a great opening. “How about you come take one with me?”

The thing was he miscalculated when the right time to say something like that was. Kendall froze after that and her defenses went back up. Yoongi watched as she went from calm to basically glaring at him.

He messed up.

Kendall took a deep breath before speaking. “I didn’t tell you what I was doing today or where I’d be. Meaning you heard it from Hals, which is fine it’s not like I was keeping a secret and I know you all were together when I called. So, none of that is a problem. And I didn’t make a fuss about you coming and disturbing this whole writing thing, something you know not to do unless it’s an emergency, because I missed you and hated having to leave this morning. So also, not a problem. But what is becoming a problem is you here lying to my face. So, tell me why you’re here, Yoongi.”

Yoongi was conflicted and wanted to play it off but lying to her would do more damage and he didn’t want that. Especially not in a place that wasn’t private where they could work out his brief moment of stupidity.

“We were in the area and that is why I came by. I wanted to check in on you. Make sure things were going okay and that you weren…”

She cut him off. “That I wasn’t pushing myself too hard?”

Shame filled him, but he nodded his head.

What he expected was for her to rant and rave about how tired she was of him doing that or being offended, but what he got instead were glossy eyes. He wanted to console her, but he didn’t know what to say or do. He felt out of his element.

“I haven’t properly written in two weeks because I had other work and didn’t want to overextend myself. Any writing I have done was edits here and there for Ara or just me taking a moment to go through the manuscript because I had down time. These next few weeks are crazy for me since everyone comes into town for the awards and I run around to see friends or enjoy sessions. This day was one of the few I was taking to sit and actually put words down. To make progress so I don’t feel shitty when things mellow out and I have more time to do things like write. And to hang out with friends I haven’t had the chance to see much of,” she said.

As she spoke Yoongi watched as her eyes became glossier and finally a tear or two slipped from them. Her voice also grew softer, and each word made her sound so disconnected from what she was saying. It broke his heart.

“Kendall,” he said, stepping closer to wipe the tears from her face.

Shaking her head, she took several steps back and used the sleeve of her - well his - sweater to get rid of the tears herself.

“You should go,” she said.

He wanted to comfort her, to apologize, but it wasn’t the right place and he’d already done enough. Nodding, he whispered a brief see you later and I love you before turning to leave. He didn’t even say anything as he went, just inclined his head so the guard would follow and left the cafe.

Hoseok emerged from the store seconds after and after one look at Yoongi’s face shook his head. Without a word they walked back to where the van waited for them.

Avoiding Yoongi was what Kendall wanted to do, but of course it was the one time one of his visits to California meant they’d be seeing a lot of each other. The boys had jam pack schedules that took them all over the city and some of those included pre-Grammy events. And Kendall was forced to go to those for networking purposes and sometimes solely to be some sort of representative for her company since most of the producers there were freelance.

So, after two days of dry text responses and refusing to go where he was, she was forced in the same room as him. Which would’ve been fine if she could ignore him the entire time or maintain her indifference, but they were in a public space. The slightest hint of trouble in paradise led to everyone and their mama knowing and having something to say about it. She’d already seen how people got after they’d both been having a bad day and didn’t seem particularly fond of anyone, let alone each other. Everyone was ready to hear that they’d broken up or something.

No one wanted that, so she’d had to suck it up and relinquish the hurt that she felt. It was hard, but she prepared herself mentally for it. That and the reminder that she only had to stay for a few hours and would be forced to mingle helped. The more talking to others the less time spent in his presence or so she hoped.

When she arrived at the event - an hour after it started - everything was in full swing. People had drinks and were talking to everyone and anyone they could cling to. It made her want to leave right that second, but she had an obligation; so, she grabbed a drink and allowed herself to be whisked away by the first person who approached her.

Thankfully, luck was on her side. The first person to grab her was an acquaintance she’d made while working on a song for a Bruno Mars album. She’d enjoyed their presence and they kept in touch some. He brought her over to a group of his friends - newer producers - and she hit it off with them instantly. They talked about themselves and projects they’d worked on. Two of them wanted to break into producing for international music and asked her how she’d gotten into working with K-pop artists on stuff.

The conversation was so nice that she’d pushed away her thoughts of worry and sadness, it held her focus. Though it only lasted an hour.

“Why are they staring at them like that?” Jess, one of the producers, asked.

That caused Kendall to pause mid-sentence to follow her gaze. Once she found what held her attention the feelings came flooding back to her, but they were quickly overshadowed by different ones. Off in the distance all the boys stood or sat around a table with one or two of their friends. But all around them clusters of people talked amongst each other but stared the boys down in a way that was uncomfortable on several levels.

Of course, there couldn’t be at one event they went to that people weren’t on their bullshit. They just didn’t know how to interact like normal humans, as if any of the boys would bite them or something.

Kendall turned back to the group, but they were already shooing her away. She reminded herself to get their contact info before she left the event and then made her way over to where the guys were.

As she walked over heads turned in her direction, but as soon as she made eye contact with those people they looked away and put some distance between the guys and themselves. It pleased her that they still remembered she’d come for anyone who did or said anything that upset any of them and she wouldn’t pull her punches.

And her glare was so effective that as she got closer to the boys everyone’s attention was actually focused on who they were talking to.

Once she reached the table, she greeted them all, but moved to Yoongi’s side immediately. They weren’t people known for large displays of public affection, but when out together they remained close. So, when she walked up, he laced his fingers in hers as soon as she reached for his hand and they smiled at each other.

The smiles were forced, but not necessarily fake. At least on Kendall’s end. She had a reason to smile, she was amongst friends and just left a wonderful conversation, but there were also reasons to not be that into it. First, she’d had to come and put a stop to people making the boys feel awkward. Second, as she noted that people weren’t blatantly staring or gossiping the hurt bubbled back up.

Maintaining eye contact with Yoongi long enough that she didn’t seem to be dodging his gaze was hard, but she managed it. When that awkward situation was done, she turned her attention to everyone else.

“How long have you guys been here?” she asked.

Namjoon glanced down at his watch. “A little after they started. Sejin wanted us to get here earlier to make sure we talked to somebody. That happened in the first ten minutes and now we’re just here for a while.”

Kendall nodded.

“How about you?” Jungkook asked.

“Oh, I was an hour late.”

At that they all rolled their eyes and she heard a few murmurs about how she was lucky she could just show up whenever. It made her laugh that they envied her when they were all at the event against their will for longer than they wanted to be.

After that small talk they all dove into discussing something Namjoon read and thought everyone else should read too. It was hard to tell him no when he was so passionate about something, so they all let him talk up the book. Kendall had to admit by the time he finished she planned to at least look it up.

But even as she attempted to give him most of her attention her gaze and mind continued to wander towards Yoongi. He was also listening intently, but every so often he’d glance her way with something that could’ve been akin to longing. And she wanted to give in but then her mind flashed back to two days before. The worry on his face and the way he’d tried to find a roundabout way to get her to leave her session early. But most of all the lack of trust in her being able to take care of herself. That hurt the most and though a part of her deemed it a valid worry of his, it didn’t take away the fact that she wasn’t okay with it and was upset. And no matter how much she reasoned with herself she couldn’t look past that. She couldn’t bring herself to talk it out either. Not yet.

And if forced to spend more time in that set up she would’ve bought the book Namjoon was talking about and given into Yoongi. But she was saved by the clearing of a throat into a mic. Everyone’s attention moved to the makeshift stage near the bar, watching and listening intently as the host introduced themselves. From there a few speakers went up and there was a newer artist who was nominated for a Grammy who performed. Kendall really liked their sound and made a mental note to check out more of their work.

After about an hour and a half of that everyone went back to conversing amongst themselves, but the crowd had seemingly grown. People were much closer to the group then they were before, and they seemed to be trying to talk to the boys more. Kendall wasn’t even the focus and she was overwhelmed, so she couldn’t imagine how they felt about it.

That is until she felt a hard squeeze to her hand. Glancing up she noted that Yoongi was nodding along to whatever the man in front of him was saying, but his body was tense. And from the way he grimaced every so often she could tell he wasn’t okay.

Too many people around with focus on him in a space he wasn’t comfortable in wasn’t a good combination. It led to small attacks and she wanted to avoid those.

Kendall had to interject.

Putting on a small smile she turned her attention to the man talking. “I’m sorry. I need to borrow him for a moment. So, if you would excuse us.”

There was no waiting for a response from him, she merely used their interlocked fingers to pull Yoongi away from the table and the crowd. As they went, she made eye contact with Sejin who nodded in understanding, but she didn’t stop walking until they were out of the main hall and inside an empty supply closet.

Once inside she turned so she was facing him, releasing his hand so both of hers could cup his face. He didn’t look at her at first, his eyes closed and his chest moving rapidly as he regulated his breathing. That hurt her heart and she felt the frustration brewing, but she kept it at bay. Leaning forward she pressed her forehead to his and her eyes fluttered shut. She started breathing deep and slow, her fingers caressing his cheeks. After a few seconds, his breathing matched hers and once she felt he was calm her eyes opened.

The second hers were open so were his. There was still a strong sense of unease in his expression, but he no longer looked on the verge of an attack. It gave her some relief.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

Yoongi nodded.

“Yoon. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Again, his eyes closed, and she was worried he was slipping into an attack, but when he opened them again, he appeared more at peace.

“I promise, baby,” he said, his voice scratchy.

She nodded, softly chewing on her lower lip for a moment.

“Do you want to leave? We can tell Sejin and I’m sure the boys are looking for an excuse to escape.”

“Please,” he said.

That was all Kendall needed before she was pulling out her phone. To her surprise Namjoon had already texted to say they were leaving and would head to where they were staying before meeting at her apartment. Yoongi had clothes at her place so there was no need for him to go back with them.

“They’re already gone. Is going back to mine okay?” she asked.

Yoongi opened his mouth to speak, but then he just nodded again. He was still clearly fighting off the effects of what almost happened.

Kendall wanted him out of there as soon as possible. So, she pressed a kiss to his nose and then grabbed his hand, leading them out to her car. And even after they had to let go of each other to get in, their hands found each other again once secured inside. She drove with their fingers intertwined, allowing Yoongi to use her hand as a distraction.

When they arrived at the apartment, she grabbed some things and took a shower in the guest bathroom. She wanted to stick to Yoongi’s side, but she also knew he needed some time to himself. No matter how much having people around helped a moment to collect yourself and work through it always helped more.

About half an hour after their arrival the boys showed up with food and Yoongi emerged from her bedroom swathed in a large hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. He didn’t say much of anything and no one pushed him to. They all ate their dinner in a comfortable silence while watching something Taehyung choose on the TV.

Though Kendall thought the night would remain calm the boys chose to play some video games and Mario Kart and Smash Bros got them real competitive. It was amusing to watch, but it made her happy because it’s what brought Yoongi out of his shell and got him to smile a little.

However, after three hours and them still going strong Kendall felt tired. No matter how much she tried her eyes wouldn’t remain open and it was time to throw in the towel.

She carefully got off the couch, catching none of their attention, and moved toward her bedroom. Before she disappeared though she turned around and clapped loudly, gaining everyone’s focus, and making someone lose.

“I’m going to bed. You can stay or you can go. You all know that I don’t care, and the extra blankets and pillows are where they always are.”

At that they nodded and refocused their attention on starting up the game. And Kendall made it to her bedroom, pushing back her blanket and once laid out she allowed it to consume her.

As she laid there and listened to the boys’ yell, she hoped it would be the thing to lull her to sleep, but nothing came. Her mind wandered, several subjects coming to the forefront as she dodged the one thing that was the real reason she was still up. It was persistent, always finding a way to weave itself into something else she was thinking about. After some time, it reached a point where she was in tears because she couldn’t shake it.

That vulnerability was all it needed to strike.

Her thoughts were the same every night. How life was so stressful and how she still felt in that weird limbo with Yoongi. And the recent incident didn’t help her at all. It made her feel like she was farther away from fixing things fully than she actually was. Made her think that Yoongi would never trust her in that aspect of her life ever again. And reminded her of how she’d failed herself in not seeing the signs of her downfall. Her therapist said that she couldn’t blame herself for that and she agreed with her, but that didn’t stop the thoughts from surfacing.

It was all too much and before she knew it all it took was the soft shouting of Yoongi to send her into a full-on sob. She wished she could stop it, but all that she could manage was maintaining her silence.

Kendall didn’t know how long she laid there crying to herself or when the boys stopped yelling at each other. The next time she became aware of anything besides what was going on in her head was when the bed dipped, and she was pulled into a chest.

Yoongi whispered softly that it was okay and that he was there while wiping her tears away. She wasn’t very present, but she heard him sniffle and that’s when the dam broke a little more. It wasn’t long before she felt tears that weren’t from her.

They both laid there and cried until sleep claimed them.

The next morning Yoongi woke up in the bed alone and tucked in. When he finally had the energy to venture out, he found Kendall in the kitchen with Jin preparing breakfast. They were in their own little world and he didn’t dare disturb that, even if he did have questions about how he’d found her the night before.

He greeted them, made his coffee, and found the other boys in the living room. They all appeared as disheveled as he felt, so the room plummeted into silence after brief good mornings were uttered. Everyone focused on the TV playing some show in front of them, but it didn’t really hold their attention. Or at least it didn’t hold Yoongi’s attention much.

After waking up Yoongi was always a bit out of it for a while, even as he functioned as if he were wide awake. It took some time - and some coffee - to get him to a point where things felt not so distorted. Food also helped, and thankfully after the second failed attempt to keep his eyes open it was done and being brought into the living room. It was the usual location for them to eat despite Kendall having a perfectly comfortable dining area.

Eating was also a silent affair. There was a little talking occasionally, but it was mostly asking someone to pass something here or there. But there was nothing off about that kind of thing, the combination of food and just waking up was reason enough to not want to speak to each other. Plus it wasn’t like the silence left things awkward, they’d all grown comfortable enough with each other to just simply be in each other’s presence sometimes.

By the time they finished everyone was much livelier and seemed ready to start the day. At that point they prepped to rotate taking showers to get ready for the day. Some of the boys had separate things they wanted to do and Sejin apparently dropped some stuff off for them, so they didn’t have to leave to get ready.

Yoongi jumped into the shower while Kendall and Jin cleaned the dishes - something they insisted on. By the time he stepped out of it his mind was cleared and he only had one thought in his head. Why was Kendall crying? He feared there was something wrong that she hadn’t told him about. But he also feared that he’d been the cause of her tears. There was no clear way for him to know which one scared him more.

It didn’t matter though, he needed to know what was wrong so he could possibly help someway. Knowing that he was maybe the cause was better than not knowing at all. Especially if it wasn’t the first time it occurred.

So, when Kendall walked into the room moments after he finished getting dressed, he opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t get the chance.

“Goodness, I feel like I sweated through every orifice of my body last night. I definitely need to shower again,” she said dramatically, already pulling off her clothes.

That made him pause and smile a little at her behavior. It halted his thoughts of saying something long enough that just as he attempted to speak again, she was already cutting him off.

“I’m going to take a quick shower. But Max said he was coming a little earlier and since we all slept in, he should be here soon. Can you make sure someone lets him up?” she asked, turning to look at him for the first time since she entered.

Yoongi knew that was his moment to say it, but then his brain short circuited seeing her naked like that and that momentary lapse told him he wasn’t ready for that conversation yet. He wouldn’t be reacting like some kid seeing his first boob if his brain wasn’t looking for something else to focus on so he could avoid the crying.

He nodded.

Kendall smiled and gave him a thumbs up before skipping into the bathroom. Once the door was closed Yoongi fell back onto the bed and groaned. Of course, he froze up just as he almost did it. Of course, his mind drifted elsewhere. All he’d done for the last few months was struggle with getting to the point with her and things were suffering because of it. He thought he’d gotten better, but obviously not back to normal.

He hated the weird place they were in.

There was no stewing in his annoyance for long though, he needed to keep a lookout for Max. Raising from the bed, he grabbed his phone and shuffled out to the living room. Taehyung, Jimin, and Namjoon were laid out on the couch and focused on their phones. All of them in a fresh pair of clothes and slightly damp hair.

“What are you guys doing?” Namjoon asked once Yoongi took a seat.

Taehyung and Jimin said they were going to see a few museums or something. Once they finished Yoongi muttered about going to a studio with Kendall, Max, and a few others.

Namjoon perked up at that. “Can I come?”

His suddenness startled Yoongi who glanced over at him with a raised brow. “I thought you were going with the other three?”

At that Namjoon simply shrugged. “We were going to go out a little far out to get some pictures and just relax, but I kind of want to go to the studio. Even if it’s just sitting there and hanging out versus doing anything productive.”

Yoongi could get that. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s fine. It was us all just catching up and messing around anyway. It’s one of those rare times everyone is in the same place so we can meet up and meet people.”

Namjoon smiled at that and got up heading towards the guest bedroom. Yoongi could hear him tell the others he was abandoning them with a whole of excitement. He was sure if the younger man didn’t specify what he was leaving for they’d be offended.

In his absence Max showed up and Yoongi let him in. They greeted each other with the same friendly fondness that they always did. And as usual they dove into their own world after Max said hello to the others. The conversation was focused on catching up and what they were up to. They both were very over all the things they had to show up for during the days leading up to the Grammys. Every event was basically the same and they’d much prefer chilling or doing something that they wanted to.

“So, you’re going to the Roc Nation Brunch?” Max asked.

Yoongi nodded. “Yeah, Kendall doesn’t want to go alone.”

“And you also really want to go and see who you can meet,” Max said, seeing right through him.

Yoongi laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. Of course, everyone saw through his whole thing about just going for Kendall. He was going for that reason, but he wasn’t going to deny that he was excited to be amongst people he looked up to all his life or admired. Even if nothing came of it, he'd still have a good time being there.

Before he could verbalize anything though Kendall emerged from the bedroom dressed and hair up in a bun. She smiled at Max and waved before venturing down to the guest bedroom. Her head peaked in and Yoongi faintly heard her say that Jungkook could shower in her room.

When she returned, her and Max went into conversation while Yoongi’s attention was drawn in by Namjoon showing him something. And they all stayed like that until Jin, Hoseok, and Jungkook were dressed and ready to go. After Sejin confirmed he was waiting for them they headed down, but just as they reached the elevators Hoseok paused.

“I think I forgot my charger,” he said.

Kendall was already in the elevator and stepped out, but Hoseok waved her off.

“You guys go down. Yoongi can open the door for me, right?”

For a moment Kendall appeared confused, but then she simply nodded and stepped back in. Yoongi was just outside the doors so he simply turned and led Hoseok back towards the apartment.

Once they were inside, he expected him to go look for the thing, but Hoseok merely turned to face him, his lips in a deep-set frown.

“What?” Yoongi asked, both confused and worried.

A second or two passed and Hoseok said nothing, which was horrible on Yoongi’s nerves. But before he could ask again, he started talking.

“I’m guessing you found her crying or looking like she cried herself to sleep last night?” he asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

That made Yoongi freeze. How the hell he knew about her crying was beyond him, but it made him feel even worse that his friend knew what the heck was going on, but Yoongi was clueless. Had Kendall told him what was wrong, or did he find out by chance? Yoongi really needed to know.

“Ho...” Yoongi started.

“The month you were being an ass I had to come here for work remember? I had a hotel room but I mostly stayed here and the first night after we watched a movie she went to bed a little early. She must have forgot I was there or was just too distraught to stop herself, but she cried then too. I went to check on her when it lasted for several minutes and found her full on sobbing in bed. Once I got her calm I asked her about it. And even then she cried every night after. Now did she cry or not?”

Hearing that made Yoongi’s chest tight and his breathing a little labored. He wanted to ask more, but he couldn’t find the words and Hoseok was awaiting an answer. Not trusting his voice Yoongi nodded.

Hoseok chewed on his lower lip for a second before sighing. “Okay, so I’m not supposed to tell you and I technically won’t, but you two need to talk. Of course, you need to discuss what happened a few days ago, but you also need to bring up the crying. You have to do it tonight, okay? This crap can’t be held off any longer or it’s only going to get worse.”

The urgency in Hoseok’s voice made Yoongi’s stomach churn. He really needed to know what the hell happened, but he knew that only one person could give him those answers and it would be wrong to press someone else for them.

“Okay,” Yoongi said when he finally found his voice.

After staring at him for a while Hoseok nodded and they left the apartment. Their descent was made in silence and Yoongi tried to keep his expression as blank as would be considered normal, he couldn’t look upset or like he was trying too hard to look fine. Kendall or Namjoon would pick up on things and he didn’t need that.

But once he got into Max’s car Namjoon glanced at him once and it was like he saw right through him. Yoongi gave him a look that relayed to not ask question and Namjoon’s mouth clamp shut into a firm line. Thankfully though Kendall was too focused on a call to glance his way longer than a second so she couldn’t scrutinize him.

Once he was settled, Max pulled off and they made their way to the studio. It was a quick trip and soon enough Yoongi didn’t have to worry about Kendall possibly catching on because she was wrapped up in everything else.

Her distraction led to Yoongi watching her closely. Of course, he was in the conversation and actively enjoying himself, but he also took into account everything that she did. The way she slowly became more comfortable and how she smiled. It was wider and much more genuine than he’d seen in a while. Everything about her was much freer than he’d seen her in what felt like forever and that was a punch to the gut.

That realization dampened his mood and made the last two hours of their session a bit hard to bear. He kept up with conversation and even took over the computer to add on a suggestion of his, but he was no longer as excited to be there.

In fact, Yoongi was anxious to leave.

Around six they were picked up in a van with the other boys and went out for a quick dinner. Yoongi was sure that Hoseok let the others know that he and Kendall needed some time alone if the way they inhaled their food was any indication.

But things couldn’t go that smoothly.

Just as Yoongi was going to say he was going back with Kendall, Sejin said they needed to have a meeting at the house. Of course, he didn’t know how long it would be, so having Kendall wait for them was unreasonable.

Another stop to his plans.

They parted ways and Yoongi all but shouted the meeting needed to happen the second they stepped into the door. It shocked no one - except maybe Sejin - and they got right to it. The subject was just about how the next few days would ramp up and they’d have the morning off the next day, but that evening was meant for some interviews and more practice.

The moment that was finished Yoongi was already out of the house and hopping into the car that stayed behind. The staff member driving knew where to take him without a word. And for the twenty-minute drive he sat with his leg bouncing and chewing on the tip of his nail.

Once at the building he all but ran inside, throwing a quick thank you over his shoulder. He spent the entire elevator ride trying to find the right words to say and when the doors opened, he was so sure of himself. However, once he got inside his nerves hit. It wasn’t that he’d lost his edge, but he heard something that sounded like whimpering.

He was right that it was a regular occurrence.

Yoongi steeled himself and made his way to the bedroom. He didn’t want to rush in and startle her too much, so he took his time pushing the door open and making his way to her side. He crawled into the bed and pulled back the cover from her head.

Kendall looked surprised, but it was clearly pushed aside as she tried to rid herself of the tears. It didn’t change that her eyes were bloodshot and her hands shaky.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice cracking.

Yoongi wanted to simply comfort her and tell her it would be okay, but he didn’t fully know what was going on. And without knowing and talking things through he couldn’t promise things like that.

“Baby, we need to talk,” he said, hoping the term of endearment would soothe any worries about what he planned to say.

There was no obvious reaction to it, though he did feel her stiffen a little. For a second, he thought she’d change the subject, but after a deep breath she nodded.

Carefully he moved both of them into a sitting position. She had her back against the headboard with her legs crossed and he sat opposite her, his hands taking in hers.

Several minutes passed in silence. Yoongi knew she needed a minute and refused to push her. He wanted their conversation to go by smoothly and that meant being hyper aware of how either of them felt before saying anything.

A hand squeeze was the signal for him to proceed.

“How about we start with why I found you crying two nights in a row,” he said softly.

That made her clam up a bit, but Yoongi squeezed her hands on and off to comfort her. After a few seconds she physically relaxed and took a deep breath.

“I haven’t... I…” More squeezes of reassurance and she worked through it. “It felt like the world crumbled down around us the moment we came back from the hospital. I knew I’d messed up and that it would take some time to rebuild things, but I don’t know at what point the rebuilding is complete. I don’t know when I can finally relax and not feel like something I say or do that leans slightly into not so healthy territory will upset you. Of course, I’m making a strong effort to be better for myself above anything else, but some things just can’t be helped. Sometimes I’m going to work a little too hard or skip a meal solely because I’m not hungry.

“But when is it the time that I can do that without feeling like I’m letting you down, Yoongi? When do I get to stop feeling like that, you’re five seconds away from shutting down and cutting me out for a month again? I get it and I understand that this is a lot on you and you’re still working through some of it yourself, but when does it stop? Does it ever? Or are we stuck in this infinite loop of me fearing the wrong move will completely destroy our relationship just like I thought it would after it happened?”

Halfway through her mini rant Kendall started crying again. She tried to hold them back, but it was clear that she knew it was a losing battle. So Yoongi watched them flow down her cheeks. He watched as her voice broke and she became distraught. He watched as the thick wall that had still been between them started to crack a little.

And he hated it.

Yoongi hated that it took six months before they could get to a point where everything was finally laid out. He hated it because he knew how much of it was his own fault. Kendall wanted to talk about it once he’d stopped giving her the cold shoulder, but he thought a slow approach was best. And when everything was normal-ish, he was sure he’d worked through the urge to react a little aggressively when she seemed to slip into the habits that landed her in the hospital.

His behavior was hypocritical. While she lived in fear she’d do something to set him off, he continued his habits every so often and sometimes even brushed off her concern. It was truly messed up.

At some point he was so in his head thinking about how he’d messed up that he almost forgot that the love of his life was across from him crying and waiting for a response.

Taking a deep breath Yoongi glanced up and stared into her eyes. It broke his heart to see how watery they were, but he needed to get through it and not just jump to comforting her. There would be nothing else to get him off track.

“I know this hasn’t been easy. It’s sucked hard the last few months and I know it wasn’t handled the best. I worked through my emotions and didn’t think we needed to go further than the progress we’d made. I sat blind to the fact that I was still clinging to the fear and making it hard for you to be free with me. To say what you want without worry about me being upset. And for that I’m really sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Kendall. And I have to apologize for the way I stormed into your writing session. I let my worries overtake me instead of trusting you, which is shitty. I trust you with all that I am, and I never want you to think I don’t. And I promise to make sure that I don’t make you feel that way again.

“From now on we are going to be our normal selves. There are going to be moments where we push a little too hard or slip up, but I know neither of us will go through what happened again. I’ll stop the weirdness and if I slip up please let me know. I will not be upset if you call me on my bullshit. Okay?”

Since she was still crying, she couldn’t speak so she just nodded.

With that out of the way Yoongi finally pulled her into him. With the force they fell back onto the bed, but he didn’t mind at all. His arms wrapped around her waist and he pressed kisses all over her face. After a while she giggled and tried to get him to stop. However, Yoongi refused to let up and at some point she ended up pinned underneath him.

Once he had enough of being jabbed in the side, he stopped but didn’t move from where he was straddling her. His eyes softened and his hands reached to caress her face. He felt nothing but affection course through him as he stared at her. The smile on her face was radiant and it was the first time in months she looked at him that way.

“I love you,” he said.

That only made her smile shine brighter. “I love you too.”

After their talk and another brief conversation things got better. Kendall felt she could be much freer in what she did or said around Yoongi and he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. They were busy so there wasn’t a lot of time spent together, but any time that was in each other’s presence could be described in one word.

Disgusting.

At least to everyone who had to be in their presence.

They were so free that their affection and love were always present. If they weren’t kissing, they were cuddling. And if cuddling was out of the question, they were holding hands or linking pinkies. It was as if they were forgoing their usual not so intense public affection to make up for lost time. And if they didn’t have any shame - which it never felt like they did - they’d probably end up dry humping each other on the couch during movie night. Everyone was thankful it never came to that.

Kendall was very aware of how their behavior was affecting everyone, but she didn’t care all that much. At some point she planned to scale it back to normal, but for the time being she thought it was fine for them to just deal with it. Especially since they weren’t as bad as Jimin and that girl he dated for six months. The thought of the compromising positions she’d found them in would forever send a chill down her spine.

But she could admit they were maybe overdoing it after it taking five minutes for them to part ways and get ready for the brunch. They had to be dragged apart and pulled from the bedroom so they could start the day. It was kind of funny, but also a little cringy. Though she’d take that over non-stop tension any day.

Their separation wasn’t for long though. After a little over an hour of hair and make-up they met in the kitchen, both grabbing a snack. Yoongi was almost fully dressed. He wore olive green slacks and a white button up. His gray hair was styled to where it covered most of his forehead, but there was a small part near the center. He looked good and his pants made his butt pop a little. Though it was still no match for Kendall’s. She wore a dress of the same color. It was off the shoulder with flowy sleeves and though the material of the top hung a little loose the skirt of it was tight. It met and molded with every curve she had.

Yoongi surely appreciated it.

“Stop staring at my butt, please and thank you,” she muttered after downing a glass of water.

“That’s not going to happen,” Yoongi muttered.

Turning to face him fully she took away his view, which led to him pouting at her. While it was a little adorable, she couldn’t forget that the reason he was pouting was because he couldn’t be a perv.

Moving closer her arms wrapped around his neck and she leaned her head on his shoulder. There were some complaints about her curls getting into his mouth, but he wrapped his arms around her waist and placed a kiss on her bare shoulder.

“You look good, love,” Kendall muttered.

“So, do you,” he replied.

Kendall’s eyes fluttered closed after that and she just stayed like that. Being wrapped in his arms was nice and she never wanted to leave them if she could help it. But obviously that wasn’t allowed.

“I told you five minutes to grab a snack. You’re not going to be upset with me because I didn’t have the time to add some extra touches to your hair,” Kendall’s stylist, Michelle, said.

Holding back a laugh Kendall pulled away from Yoongi and winked before following behind the woman. She wasn’t really annoyed with her but testing her was also not the best idea; she could get mean.

The next time they saw each other was in the car taking them to the event. They were running a little behind, but neither of them cared much. They were definitely not going to be the last ones to get there.

“I had a feeling you’d choose those,” he commented as they got out of the car to make their entrance.

At first Kendall was confused, but then she noticed his head incline towards her shoes. She’d chosen a pair with a thicker heel since Michelle wouldn’t allow her to wear flats or fashionable sneakers.

She scoffed and pressed closer to him as his arm wrapped around her waist.

“Of course. Do you want to have to massage my feet so they feel better after that torture?” she asked.

Then it was Yoongi’s turn to scoff. “As if you’re not going to make me after you wear those.”

They were on the carpet where photos would be taken by then but it didn’t stop her from lightly swatting at him.

“Don’t act like you don’t volunteer half of the time.”

“Don’t act like I don’t volunteer in order to maybe get something out of it,” he retorted.

Her instinct was to keep going, but she merely laughed at him. He wasn’t wrong per se. It took a moment for them to come out of their own little world and realize there were cameras pointed at them. They quickly got it together and took one too many pictures.

From there it was full steam ahead. They entered the party and were immersed in people. They were saying hi to acquaintances, catching up and hanging out with friends, and interacting with people they hadn’t before. At some point there was a brief conversation with Jay-Z and Beyoncé before Jay Park swooped up and pulled Kendall’s attention.

But no matter who they were talking to both were glued to each other’s side. Yoongi would be having a completely different conversation with a different set of people then Kendall and still had their fingers laced. And when they weren’t too focused on anything they were practically cuddled together and happy in their own space.

A few hours of drinks and conversation made them want to go home though. So, despite the promise to stay a little longer they made their exit and headed home. Though there were a few quick stops for food and things.

Once at Kendall's apartment they got ready for bed and then proceeded to struggle to make a fort in the living room for thirty minutes. The entire time was spent yelling after the sheets collapsed on them and laughter when they accidentally crashed into each other because they couldn’t see. In retrospect they should’ve used more than light from the TV and a lamp to do it.

When they’d finally finished the fort, got the coffee table moved, retrieved way too many pillows and blankets, and set their snacks out they finally got comfortable. They cuddled close and turned their focus to the TV.

Yoongi was in charge of picking what they watched since Kendall didn’t care much and he was clearly struggling. Kendall was going to offer some help but then his head turned to her and in a second his lips were on hers. Though shocked she returned the kiss, pressing even closer to keep it going.

A minute or so later Yoongi pulled away and smiled at her.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” she said without hesitation.

For a little while they stared at each other and said nothing. They didn’t need to though. Basking in each other was enough for that moment.

Who knows how long it took before they looked away from each other, but when they did Kendall felt a flurry of butterflies in her stomach and everything seemed right with the world for once.

“Veronica Mars rewatch?” he asked.

Kendall nodded.

“Veronica Mars rewatch!” she screamed.

That made Yoongi laugh and shake his head, but he was already pressing play on the first episode of season one.

The day of the Grammys started much like the day of the brunch. Neither of them wanted to leave the bed, but they needed to start the day. Kendall had a thing or two to do before she got ready and since the boys were performing, they had to do a few more run-throughs.

It was tough, but they started their days on a high note and were ready to end it on that too. Yoongi came into practice focused and ready to get things done. He wanted things to go smoothly and for them to leave an impression. And with the set they were performing they were sure to do so.

Practice lasted for a few hours. It was briefly done in their own little room, but for most of it they were on the stage. It went well, though there were a few tweaks here and there as they looked back on what they did. Thankfully, nothing major was wrong and all of them were in the right state of health to go on.

When everything was done, they headed back to the house to shower, eat, and get ready. Since there were enough bathrooms for all of them there was no waiting, which Yoongi was eternally grateful for. He did not smell his best and his muscles were a little sore from use. Showering helped with that and gave him the time to breathe.

Once finished and dressed in loose clothing he went down to the kitchen to grab some of the food, which he devoured faster than usual. Which wasn’t good since it merely increased the tired feeling he’d been ignoring and hoping would go away. But he was in luck. They’d wrapped things up quickly enough that there was time for him to take a nap.

That isn’t what he did once his body hit the bed though. Sleep was on his mind, but it was quickly overshadowed by Kendall. He’d texted her earlier, but she hadn’t gotten back to him, which bothered him. And surprisingly it wasn’t because he was worried, but because he was being a pouty baby about being ignored. He debated blowing up her phone just to get on her nerves, but then remembered she had a lot to do and she was feeling extremely nervous about the night.

Yoongi understood that though, it was going to be nerve wracking. The boys were performing and up for an award. Which would be fine, but then Yoongi was also up for Producer of the Year Non-classical. He and Kendall were up for it together. If they were both separate entries it would be one thing, but they shared the possibility of winning and that made him want it more. He thought she deserved to win, and he wanted to win for himself.

At some point he got so in his head that he didn’t even realize he’d drifted off. It was like even in his sleep his mind was only focused on that. Which meant the nap helped, but his thoughts running meant that he didn’t get the full affect. When Hoseok shook him awake all he could do was groan and wish he was asleep again.

But alas he had to get his behind in gear. So, he downed some coffee and let the staff take over from there. His outfit was handed to him and he changed into it before coming back out for his hair and make-up to be done. It was going to be a simple look make-up wise and changed up a little for the performance. And his hair was styled over his forehead, but there was some waviness to it.

After two hours of everyone getting ready, they headed out again. Yoongi could feel his nerves ramp up and the energy in the car was also very uneasy. There was excitement too, but that just made things worse. And when they arrived, he felt like he was going to vomit. It took some deep breaths and a quick pep talk from Joon to get them all to normal levels of nervous.

With a calmer state of mind Yoongi stepped out of the car, only moving far enough so the others could get out too. The picture taking was almost immediate and Yoongi steeled him so as soon as he heard the first click. Once Namjoon was out he took the lead and led them inside and onto the carpet. They stopped for several photos and a few quick interviews, which were basically just the same questions over and over again.

It wasn’t until about five minutes into being on the carpet that something caught Yoongi’s interest. From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of purple enter the carpet and only pause for about thirty seconds before moving along. He knew who it was before his head even fully turned.

Kendall was in a long lilac dress that had two slits up to the middle of her thigh and a pair of white heels that she probably hated. Her hair was braided into a crown, which he knew took a while because of how thick it was, even when straightened.

She looked beyond beautiful and she was planning on walking right past them.

Never one for lingering long on carpets, Kendall merely glanced his way and winked before preparing to go on her merry way, but that wasn’t going down. Yoongi moved away from the boys, confusing their interviewer, and grasped her hand pulling her over to where they were despite heavy protest.

Once with the group again he smiled and acted as if he hadn’t thrown all of them off. And that smile grew wider when Kendall stopped objecting once in front of the camera. She was known to have no problem speaking her displeasure no matter the setting, but she also tried her best to keep her cool in those situations.

After recovering from the interruption, the interview continued as normal. There were a few questions thrown at Kendall, but she answered them with ease. And a few moments later they were being directed into the main room. That’s when she took the chance to lightly punch Yoongi in his arm.

“Jerk,” she mumbled.

He just laughed and allowed her to take the lead. They were all sitting together from what he’d seen earlier, which worked for him because he’d need his brothers and her by his side to get through the evening.

About twenty minutes after they got into their seats things started, and the focus went there. Cameras would be everywhere, and they would especially be on them, so there was the need to be present for the most part. He could lean over and whisper something in Kendall’s ear every so often to make her laugh, but besides that he had to keep it together.

About an hour in, staff came to grab the boys and Yoongi placed a quick kiss on Kendall's hand before going to get ready. The moment he got backstage it was hectic and his mind could only focus on being ready to go. They went through wardrobe, hair, and make-up within twenty minutes and then moved to their positions.

When the music started Yoongi felt his heart rate increase, but he tried to keep it down. It wasn’t even his turn yet. Jungkook was up first.

The boys had decided on using their performance as a moment to highlight their solo stuff and their group work. They’d all get about thirty seconds on their own set and that would shift seamlessly into the next one. Once that was over, they would come together for their newest title track, which reflected a lot more with old Bangtan music.

Yoongi was going to be the last to go and though he had newer music he had chosen Agust D to perform. When it was his turn he came out and performed with the charisma that he was known for. And then just where the verse should’ve kept going, he stopped and the whole place went black. When the lights came back up, he was in a formation with the others and he continued, the group song starting with a verse from him.

The crowd responded nicely to it and the energy in the place was crazy. Even when they finished their set, the applause finished, and he was back in his seat the adrenaline coursed through him. He was on a high.

That new energy fueled him and kept him grounded through the rest of the show. And then it died a little when they mentioned the category the boys were up for. He was sure they wouldn’t win it, but that didn’t stop him from hoping. And when he was proven right it didn’t bother him much. However, soon after it was time for the other award and his energy dipped even further.

Kendall suddenly gripped his hand tight in hers and turned her head to look at him. They had a brief moment and it was like without words they comforted each other. Both of them relaxed a little more, but their hands still gripped one another’s fiercely.

The nominees felt like they were being announced slower than the rest, but Yoongi kept his face cool. Cameras were definitely on them and he couldn’t let them try to gauge what he was feeling. But after what felt like an eternity, he felt his resolve slipping, only to hear their names being called as the winners. Shock hit him hard.

Yoongi stood immediately and was pulled into the embrace of the other boys, but his hand still never left Kendall’s. That’s when he noticed that she was still sitting and processing. After a few seconds she also stood and accepted the boy’s affections before they were led up to the stage.

Since he was clearly the more present of the two, he took the moment to speak.

“Whoa, I didn’t think we’d get this. I come into every award situation hoping but making sure that I don’t think I’m going to. It does not keep me from being a little disappointed when it doesn’t happen, much like earlier, but it makes it easier. But my goodness does this make up for it. Me and my brothers couldn’t win tonight as a team, but this win is for me and them as they have been with me throughout my journey as I grew as a producer. And of course, it’s for the lovely Kendall who has cemented herself as someone passionate about her craft and has been able to do what she loves for years now. Who has also helped me push to be better at what I do and pushes herself to do the same. Without any of them I wouldn’t be standing here thinking this award is going to vanish from my hands at any moment.”

Yoongi’s voice got a bit shaky towards the end, but he tried to play it off with laughter. By the time he was done Kendall had calmed herself and wiped free the stray tears. Yoongi stood back from the mic and let her talk.

“Thank goodness for Yoongi or I wouldn’t have had time to stall and pull it together. This is just so freaking cool and though it’s never been a goal or specific want of mine like it has been his I still am so grateful. I don’t ever think I’ll win or be awarded things, so it’s always the biggest shock in the world when I do. And I wouldn’t be here without having people believe in me achieving things like this. Without people not brushing me off and actually listening to what I have to say or show them. Without a mother who knocked sense into me when I thought pursuing multiple creative passions was a pipe dream. Or without friends who challenge me even when I think I’ve found what works best for me. Or without Yoongi, who is someone willing to take my bullshit and give it back tenfold. It really does take a village and I couldn’t be more thankful for mine. Thank you.”

At some point she’d reached her hand back to take Yoongi’s and once she finished her speech, he squeezed it tight. With that done there was another round of applause and they were taken backstage. They took a few photos and then the BigHit staff took the awards from them so they could finish out the night.

And if anyone thought they were clingy before; they hadn’t seen anything.

From the moment they got back to their seats - after a round of congratulations from everyone around them - they were inseparable. Even as they went through some exit interviews and made their way to an after party.

They were just so happy and so free of inhibitions that there were probably multiple videos of them a little drunk, singing and dancing along to the music a little aggressively. They also kept making out and had to be reminded they were in public.

But that didn’t matter much to them. They’d achieved a great thing, were in a wonderful place relationship wise, and simply happy in life. Not to mention so in love that it didn’t matter if they were being a mess and ended up circulating stan twitter for their antics. Their feelings are what mattered most.

And they felt on top of the world.

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danyka-fendyr · 4 years

Text

Wildfire - 1

Chapter 1: Bibbity Boggarty Boo

Should I have been writing the next chapter of Absence of Good? Yes. Should I definitely have been trying to write a Reylo oneshot I said I would write weeks ago? Oh, absolutely. But instead I got inspired to start a whole new series based off of Harry Potter, and so here we are. Sometimes I just have to follow where the inspiration leads, and if the several different Reylo drafts just aren’t working out, a George Weasley fic is what happens apparently. Anyway sorry to literally all of my followers who did not ask for this.

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli

Wordcount: 2501

Warnings: Death. Themes of war. Abuse of power. Injury/gore.

Magic is a tricky thing. It is alive in its own way, not a tool but a force, unstoppable and scarcely controllable, wild and bright. If you are lucky enough to see it, to touch it, to have it run through your veins and into your children’s, you can maybe understand something of the untamable nature of magic. It has been argued that magic does not choose, but that it is only transferred, passed down through those of the purest blood. But…over the years, you have come to see different. Much as the wand chooses the witch, you are inclined to believe magic chooses the witch as well, and doesn’t have much to say as far as blood goes.

Convincing Professor Binns of that in the longest essay you had ever been assigned would be considerably more work. The professor could be a bit archaic as far as muggleborn rights went, which was all the more infuriating for you as a muggleborn. However, the man was dead, so you felt you had to give him a certain amount of credit for even still grading papers and teaching class, half-hearted prejudice aside. Binns’ refusal to throw hands with Malfoy, while not perhaps relatable, was at least understandable. You also often found it difficult to feel any amount of passion or human emotion sometimes.

“I just want to go to sleep,” you groaned.

“Awww, is little Y/N tired?”

Fred Weasley cooed over you, clearly unaware of how dangerously close he would be to death if you just had slightly more energy. That being said, you didn’t have slightly more energy, so maybe this was strategically advantageous for him. Nobody ever accused the Weasley twins of being stupid. Well, except for you sometimes.

“Don’t mess with me right now Weasley.”

“Oh no Georgie, she’s using my last name.”

“Our last name, Freddie. Maybe she was talking to me. Y/N dear, which one of us were you talking to?”

“Yes.” Your voice was slightly muffled from where you had just leaned forward into the table, carefully avoiding your freshly inked parchment.

“Well now, that’s not very nice. What did I do?”

“I’m sick and I have the world’s longest paper to write from Binns and I am in turns hot and cold which means the fire is both my best friend and actual Satan.” Also we are on the verge of war. Also the Dark Lord is back. Also there is a pink toad trying to run Hogwarts like a dictatorship. “I’m not in the mood to be messed with.”

You glanced up tiredly, ready to give a baleful glare, only to find a concerned looking George Weasley. Fred hovered behind him, his face also worried as he took in your red nose, watery eyes and miserable countenance.

“Love, why haven’t you gone to the hospital wing?” George asked.

“Because I can’t bring myself to drag my way all the way through this stupid castle just to get a freaking Pepper Up potion. In short, I’m lazy.”

You patted the couch next to you, gesturing for him to sit down so that at the very least he could give you that concerned look in comfort. He sat like he was on pins and needles, which you shouldn’t have been surprised by.

As long as you had known him, George Weasley had never been one not to take action. Fred got much of the credit for being the idea man, but the truth was that if George Weasley wasn’t moving he was dying inside. He was also just a tad bit protective, especially of you.

You attributed this to the fact that when you were a sweet, innocent muggleborn first year you may have lost your temper and managed to completely eviscerate Marcus Flint without ever laying a finger on him. Not that it was hard to emotionally damage a 13-year-old boy with teeth that jacked up. Anyway, Marcus had decided to go for a less pacifistic method of revenge and George Weasley had swooped in to rescue you, Fred in tow. It didn’t take long to become friends with the guys who had saved you from the hospital wing.

You leaned into his side, sniffling quietly, only to have him launch up and swiftly be replaced by Fred trying to prevent you from falling over.

“I’ll be right back,” George said, a determined look on his face and no explanation on his lips.

You raised an eyebrow at Fred. “So, should I expect him back in 5 minutes or 3 hours?”

“I bet you a chocolate frog he’s back in 5 minutes.” Fred grinned.

“That’s not fair. You always win bets about George.”

“I wonder why.”

You rolled your eyes before resuming staring at the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, its warm flames licking the faded brick, staining it soot black, Death Eater black. These days it seemed like everything in your head came back to Death Eaters. And if it wasn’t Death Eaters, it was Umbridge.

You had to admit to being petrified by Umbridge. It wasn’t that she didn’t make you angry. She did. But you also knew what she did to students who misbehaved, had seen the scars settling into Harry Potter’s hand, had once even caught George trying to hide blood from you.

“Georgie, what’s that?” You stopped him on his way up to the dorms.

You were up late studying, and it was well past the hours any decent human being should be awake. You were up though, trying to puzzle out a potions assignment and meeting with very little success. George, apparently, was also up, and clutching his sleeve in a very odd, suspicious fashion.

“It’s nothing. Shouldn’t you be asleep?” He turned away from you, framing the arm in question in shadow.

“Did you hurt yourself working on new products again?” You asked, crossing the room to inspect his arm. You pushed the sleeve back, chatting as you went. “You really have to be more careful. I know there’s a lot of demand, but you can’t put your health at risk just fo-”

You gave a small gasp when you saw the words scrawled into his arm, blood still fresh, jagged little bits of skin speckled with red darker than his hair, more ominous. I must not make mischief.

“Who did this to you?” You knew the answer, but you had to ask.

“Really, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it, Y/N. Go to bed.”

He tried to pull his arm out of your grasp, but you held on, careful not to hurt him. Gently, you edged a single finger around the clean skin surrounding the wound. Your other hand had found its way into his, fingers lacing together in your horror, tears in your eyes.

She shouldn’t be allowed to do this to him. No one should be allowed to do this to him. This shouldn’t happen to good people like George Weasley. He didn’t deserve it.

“Hey,” he said softly, wiping a tear off your cheek. “It’s alrigh’ love, I’m fine. Just a flesh wound.”

“We should uh..” You took a shaky breath. “We should clean it up.”

You lead him over to the couch, leaving him to wait while you headed to your room and grabbed some spare bandages and ointment from a first-aid kit your mother insisted you take to Hogwarts with you every year.

“We’ll have you better in no time,” You promised with false cheer.

“Pepper Up potion!” George announced triumphantly. “Fred and I use it all the time when we’re testing products. We’ll have you better in no time.”

You had more reason to be afraid of Umbridge than just what you had seen though. The truth was that while you tended to be docile as a lamb when people attacked you, you didn’t like it when people attacked the people you loved. You had gone after Umbridge and paid the price in long sleeves and muggle makeup, but some mean, dark, spiteful thing inside of you said that every detention was worth it despite the pain.

You couldn’t let the twins know though. If George saw the words carved into the back of your hand and up your arm in your own loops and swirls he would have a fit.

I must not be a know-it-all.

You knocked back the potion quickly, shaking your head vigorously as it burned through you.

“I swear muggle alcohol has nothing on that crap,” You muttered.

“Hey, don’t complain. I just magically cured you of all your ails.”

You snorted lightly, grinning up at him. It was true though. Your stuffed nose and wheezing breaths were gone, replaced by perfect health, more or less.

“My hero,” you said.

“My angel.”

You blushed, shaking your head at him. Always so dramatic, the Weasley twins. Speaking of drama, some seemed to have found its way to you now.

Neville Longbottom ricocheted down the stairs, his face white with terror, as blank as a muggle who’d seen a ghost. If it were any other student, you might have been terrified, but Neville was somewhat more prone to bouts of fright. You stood calmly, smoothing out your robes and reaching casually for your wand.

“You alright there Neville?”

“B-b-boggart,” the boy stuttered.

“Don’t you worry Neville, Y/N will get it sorted. Never seen anyone cast a better riddikulus charm, myself,” Fred said.

“You give me too much credit, Fred.” You were already heading up the steps of the boy’s dormitory though, confident in your ability.

You could hear George speculating on how it must have gone missing from some closet in the deeper reaches of the castle. There were so many nooks and crannies in Hogwarts that there was always at least one boggart somewhere, even if you never saw it. Wand at the ready, you opened the door to Neville’s dorm, knowing exactly what to expect. Except you didn’t find what you expected.

You pulled in a deep breath, legs shaking as you stared at what was before you. It was supposed to be you tied up or in a straight jacket or just generally somehow trapped, your worst fear. Or it had been your worst fear, before you went to war.

His red hair was plastered to his pale face, blank eyes staring. All the light and mischief sucked right out of them. You fell to your knees just outside of the circle of blood pooling around his body, and a choked noise came out of your throat, the only sound you could make.

One of the boys must have heard you, because you vaguely registered Neville calling up to ask if you were okay. You couldn’t answer though, transfixed by the sight before you. You knew you were supposed to riddikulus it, but you couldn’t move.

At some point, the boys must have come up the stairs, because you heard a quiet voice behind you mutter, “Bloody…”

You thought it might have been Fred, but you weren’t sure.

“Come on, angel.”

George’s soft voice filtered through the cold mist that had a grip on your mind, his hands gripping your arms, gently but firmly lifting you back up to your feet. With a flick of his wand, he cast the charm, breaking the boggart’s spell over you as his dead body turned to a comically fake version of the same picture, ketchup and all.

An arm over your shoulders, George steered you away from the dorm as you tried to process the shock of what you’d just seen.

“I never…It wasn’t…It used to be…”

“I know,” George said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”

You shook your head. “Last spring…last spring it was just me being trapped.”

George pulled you closer into his side, and you realized that hot tears were falling out of your eyes and onto his uniform.

“A lot’s changed since last spring,” he said. “It’s alright though. I’m here. Everything is fine.”

You realized with a grateful start that George was leading you back to your own room so that you didn’t have to cry in front of everybody in the common room, shielding your body with his own. The stairs appeared to accept your unspoken desire for him to be here as permission enough as he lead you up them without a hitch.

“It won’t stay fine though,” you managed to work out.

“I’ll still be here then,” he said.

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can. No matter what angel, I can guarantee you one thing. You and I, we’re going to stick together.” He opened the door to your dorm room, blissfully empty as most of Gryffindor tower was out on the first winter weekend with clear skies you’d had in a while. “And Freddie, of course.”

“I thought that was a given,” you joked.

“There she is,” George said, watching you smile a little as you took a seat on your bed.

“It’s just been a little…harder lately.” You defended your tears. “With everything we know and what the ministry’s doing and the Order and Umbridge’s de-”

You cut yourself off, quickly revising your choice of words. “Umbridge’s devastating ability to make me want to kill her.”

George laughed. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’d probably call it high treason against the ministry or something. Say you were in cahoots with You Know Who.”

“Ugh. You Know Boo is more like it. Never met a bigger buzzkill than the Dark Lord.”

“Technically we’ve both had the good fortune not to meet him yet.” George leaned against one of the posters of your bed.

“We will eventually. Then I can tell everybody whether or not Harry was making it all up.”

George stiffened. “You think he’s lying?”

“Yeah, kinda. I mean, a guy with no nose? He had to have made that part up. There’s no way the big baddie doesn’t have a nose. Harry’s just yanking our chain.”

He burst out laughing, sparks flying from his chocolate eyes.

“It would be a good laugh too, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, the best. Positively historic.”

“Oi, Georgie!” Fred’s voice bellowed up from the common room. “What are you two doing up there? Don’t make me call Minnie!”

You heard a chorus of laughter from the common room and groaned.

“Could you please ask him to stop convincing the school we’re dating?”

“I’ve asked, but you know Fred. He can be…”

“Stubborn?”

“An independent thinker.”

You huffed another laugh. “Okay, well you better get down there before he gets everybody to start independently thinking some very inappropriate things about us. I have a reputation to keep, you know.”

“Reputation as a stick in the mud, when we’re not around.”

“You love it. I’ll see you at dinner?”

“See you at dinner.”

You watched his scarlet head of hair disappear down the hall, moving like wildfire with each step, and grinned to yourself. You supposed if they were going to spread wildfire rumors about anyone, it would be George Weasley.

#harry potter #george weasley #fred weasley #george weasley fic #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley series #harry potter fic #harry potter series

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endless-whump · 4 years

Text

A Hint of Humanity: Marcus and Luca Drabble

Two fics in one night lets gooooo! I figured I’d do a little filler piece before the next chapter, I hope you guys like it!

Content warnings: modern slavery, pet whump, violence, dehumanization, conditioning, blood, threat that could be translated as a threat of abuse to a minor, stay safe loves <3

Luca startled awake, breathing heavily. He was on the couch, Marcus sleeping peacefully in the bed across the room from him.

He took a deep breath, the feeling of sharp nails still digging into his skin. He noticed he was shaking, muscles tensed to the point it was painful, and he made a conscious effort to relax his body.

He felt a sharp pain in his stomach, painfully reminded that he hadn’t eaten that day. Stephen had been home most the day which was unusual for him, but that meant that Luca was too scared to be caught helping himself in the kitchen when he wasn’t told he was allowed. Marcus was at school, so he was left to try and stay out from underneath Stephens feet, only earning an occasional shove when he didn't see the man coming around the corner.

With just Marcus home, he could take liberties around the house, relax a little. With Stephen? He wouldn't dare risk it.

He padded quietly into the kitchen to get something small and quick to eat, Marcus’s insistent words that he’s always free to eat what’s in the kitchen echoing through his head.

He was nervous about it at first but quickly learned that the house was quiet at night, and soon he became comfortable with moving about the house in the dark, the chirping of crickets outside his only company as he stared out the window, or ate a small sandwich.

Marcus had even to go as far as to suggest reading some of the books sitting on the living room or bedroom shelves, but Luca had frantically refused. Marcus seemed to understand, so didn't push it.

Luca opened a cabinet carefully, pulling out a loaf of bread with shaky hands. He knew he needed to eat, and the simple task would probably help settle his nerves anyways, so he got to work. He was lost in thought as he made the sandwich like he always did, it had become a comfort food at this point.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Luca froze, butterknife clutched nervously in hand as Stephens furious voice sounded off behind him. He turned, seeing the man standing in the archway of the kitchen, radiating anger.

“I asked you a question, and I expect you to answer it.”

Luca didn't realize he’d just been staring silently, scrambling to make up for it.

“I, uh, I was getting something to eat, sir,,”

Stephens eyes narrowed, and panic started clawing at Luca.

“Were you given permission? Is Marcus still awake? It's late.” “No,,no sir. But he-”

He was cut off when Stephen closed the distance between them, towering over Luca. He flinched, bringing his hands up defensively. He didn't even register that he was still holding the butter knife until Stephen grabbed his wrist harshly, twisting it. Luca cried out in pain, the utensil clattering to the kitchen floor.

“Are you trying to threaten me?” Stephen demanded. “You’ve gotten too comfortable in my house. You seem to have forgotten what you are, pet.”

He grabbed Luca by the neck, backing him up against the counter as his eyes widened in panic, his air cut off. He choked, trying to keep himself from reaching to pry the hands off, not that he could.

“I’d get rid of you if I didn't already know Marcus would throw a fit about it.” Stephen said lowly. “Your a nuisance, you're useless, you're in the way all the time.”

He grabbed Luca by the hair, dragging him unceremoniously over to the knife holder sitting on the kitchen counter and pulling one out. Luca took wheezy, gasping inhales as he sucked in air, throat feeling sore and tight even when the immediate pressure was released.

He started trying to pull away when he saw the knife being brought closer, freezing when it was pressed harshly against his neck.

“Stop. Fucking. Moving.” He hissed angrily, the blade digging threateningly into his skin. A thin line of blood rose up from the shallow cut it created, and Luca didn’t dare move an inch.

Without warning Stephen shoved Luca down on the counter, the knife moving to his shoulder and cutting into him. He bit back a cry of pain as the knife dragged down his arm, red running down his skin as he writhed in pain under the mans grip.

A plea rose in Luca’s throat before he shoved it down.

Always take punishment without complaint. Your owner is allowed to punish you as they see fit.

The words repeated in his head over and over and over until he felt like he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take the orders and the rules and the pain and oh my god it was too much.

“Your going to stay the fuck still, and quiet, and if you wake Marcus up I’ll make you regret it.” Stephen brought the knife back up so Luca could see it, the blood making him feel lightheaded. Blood always used to make him-

His knees almost buckled as the sharp white pain shot through his head, the memory feeling like a knife pressing against him. It took him a moment to realize that there was a knife pressing against him, pressing against his leg as Stephen looked down at him with an expression that could only be described as pure hatred and anger.

Luca couldn't move, he couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. All he could do was look desperately for any trace of humanity in the mans eyes as he brought the knife down on him again, over and over and over again. The pain was awful, but Luca was trained for pain. He was trained for this, he could take this. At least that's what he was telling himself.

He couldn't risk having Marcus, just an innocent teen caught up in this whole mess, walk into the kitchen, tired and still blinking away sleep as he saw the scene playing out in the kitchen. He couldn't risk the possibility of Marcus getting hurt, not again.

Suddenly the pressure keeping him pinned against the counter was gone and his legs did give out on him finally, and Luca slumped to the floor. He could smell the blood, he could feel it, running down his arm and leg and the side of his neck. He looked up, immediately regretting it as Stephens boot connected with the side of Luca’s face, sending his head snapping to the side with a whimper of pain.

He slid the rest of the way to the floor, eyes locked on Stephen. He was shaking, blood pooling on the floor as he curled in on himself, waiting for the next hit in horrifying anticipation. For some reason he couldn't stop searching. He couldn't stop searching for some hint, any single bit, of humanity, of sympathy, of doubt, of hesitation.

There was none.

Tag list: lemme know if you want to be added or removed!

@night-writers @pepperonyscience @burtlederp @im-not-rare-im-rarr @theatrebookchild @cowboysrappin @spiffythespook @lumpofwhump @whumptywhumpdump @winedark-whump @michelleswhumpyreblogs@albino-whumpee

#whump #pet whump #box boy #box boy universe #box boy series #tw pet whump #tw dehumanization #blood #Marcus and luca #my oc's #Stephen gets madddd #tw threats of child abuse #tw abuse #abuse whump #grabbed by the hair #choked #beaten #shaking

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wexrdest-shxp-xn-the-fleet · 4 years

Text

Solo Para: Identity In a New World

The Romulan war won, their universe returned, the Orville crew has been through a lot in the past several months.

With all the initial chaos finally aside, Claire was looking forward to telling Marcus and Ty the truth of her relationship with Isaac. But just as the boys are finding out and responding, Isaac’s eyes vanish and he collapses, shutting down without warning and leaving the three in shock.

When no ascertainable reason can be found for Isaac’s sudden failure, the crew goes to Kaylon, discovering Isaac was shut down but getting him brought back online, only to discover he was planning on returning to Kaylon full-time. Unfortunately, they dig a little too deep and discover the Kaylon’s true intentions, to wipe out all Union organic life and then moving on to the Federation, before the Kaylon storm their ship and take command.

The crew is trapped in the shuttlebay deciding what to do when a Federation starship finds the Orville on scanners and goes to check in on them. The Kaylon originally intend to take Captain Mercer and Commander Grayson when...

“Wait a minute. What’s the ship, exactly?” Dakota’s head pops up as an idea runs through her head and she goes through with it without thinking, stepping forward. “Please, this might be important to your cover.”

“The USS Excelsior,” the Kaylon answers, and she prays to god Sammy keeps her mouth shut.

“Oh, I have a cousin on that ship. My whole extended family knows this week I’m supposed to be doing a command training exercise-- I’m filling in for Commander Grayson this week, isn’t that right, captain?” Dakota’s head turns to Ed with a plea in her eyes for him to go with it.

“Uh, exactly, that’s right,” Ed agrees momentarily, confused but going with it. Relieved, Dakota turns back to the Kaylon.

“If you take Commander Grayson up there, they’ll think something’s wrong. I wouldn’t miss a command training exercise for anything. They all know that. You’ll have to bring me instead.”

There’s a pause, she assumes as they confirm the, actual truth about her cousin and that she’s on the command path. Once both are confirmed, Kaylon Primary instead instructs her to follow with Ed to the bridge.

Ed leans in and mutters to her, “I hope you know what you’re doing, lieutenant.”

So does she.

Taking respective seats on the bridge, Ed swallows a lump in his throat when Captain Sulu answers. “Captain Sulu, I hope you don’t mind if the lieutenant conducts this interaction as a part of her command training,” He gestures kindly to Dakota.

Hikaru nods with a smile. “Of course. Lieutenant, that’s quite an entourage you have there.”

“Yes, sir, the Kaylon are looking to join the Union, so as to be present for peace talks with the Federation,” Dakota answers with a smile. “It seems they make a very big deal out of their ambassador.”

“I see. Are you in need of any assistance? I know my bosses would approve if we had Federation representation present for this monumental occasion.”

She sees a subtle headshake from one of the Kaylon out of the corner of her eye, not that she needs it. “No, that’s all right. Having a number of Federation lieutenants, including the children of the Federation’s fleet admiral himself, will be more than enough. Thank you, though!”

Captain Sulu nods. “If that’s all--”

Now or never!

“Oh, captain, before I forget. This is a bit less professional but your trajectory puts you guys on that path-- can you tell my dad on the USS Kelvin that I love him and I’ll see him later? We were going to meet up but with the Kaylon thing takes precedence, I’m sure you can imagine. He’ll have to meet me for lunch, maybe we should go visit the Union’s version of Earth or something. Sorry to ask this of you, and I know it’s not my place, but with everything going on around here I don’t know if I’ll have time to get the message out.”

The captain doesn’t even flinch. “Of course, lieutenant. Tell my daughter that she owes me a huge hug when our paths cross again.”

“Absolutely, sir,” Dakota answers with a smile, and then the channel cuts off. She turns back to see the horribly confused look on the captain’s face and then braces her explanation.

“Have you attempted to deceive us? Your Federation’s starships do not use the name Kelvin in memorial of the one destroyed many years ago,” the Primary says warningly, and Dakota holds up her hand, willing herself to keep herself contained.

“Congrats on getting into our records, but not everything is ever officially recorded in Starfleet. We have recorded security, but we don’t trust our enemies to not hack that. So we have word of mouth security too. Only captains and the families of crew of some ships even have clearance to know that those ships exist. One such ship is the Kelvin, rebuilt following the disaster with the Narada as a training ship to prepare for enemies such as Nero should the need arise again.” Dakota crosses her arms. “There’s no computerized file of it. Officially, it doesn’t exist, and the name Kelvin was never used again in memorial, but in actuality the Kelvin’s in deep space training. My dad got assigned there after an off-the-charts aptitude test for security.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Ed pipes in quickly, though he definitely has no idea what’s going on. “I was surprised the lieutenant knew the name but it’s the truth, I was briefed on it when I was reinstated to captain by the Federation admiralty. The Kelvin and the Shenzhou are still in operation for a deep chapter of security that has no records for the exact reason of running the risk of someone searching records for them and locating them.”

“You can ask any of the other crew, they’ll tell you the Kelvin was destroyed and its name is not present on any ships because that’s all they know. I’m the only one with family on the ship. I don’t know who all is on the crew, but my dad went over the manifest once and confirmed no other crewman on the Orville has family there.” Dakota keeps herself together, refusing to let them see through her.

And it works. The Primary takes a very long minute before returning the two to the shuttlebay with the rest of the crew.

Once they’re on their own with the rest of the senior officers, Ed turns to her, keeping his voice low. “What the hell was that?”

“I believe your guys’ equivalent is a 13-button salute,” Dakota explains, in an equally low tone, “The Kelvin is a code for danger. But ours isn’t shared with just anyone, and it’s only shared by word of mouth. None of the Union officers on this ship were to know about it unless it became necessary for its use to come up, Admiral Kirk didn’t approve but he was severely outvoted. And ours is versatile, it’s all in the messages you pass on and the way you phrase it. Saying to tell my dad I loved him said to tell the admiralty we were held by hostiles, telling him to meet me for lunch meant they’d launch an attack, telling him we should meet at the Union’s Earth for it tells them where.”

Ed pauses and shakes his head, awestruck. “That was some incredible bullshitting.”

“We’re also taught how to lie convincingly to the hostiles in question when they ask about the Kelvin being named,” Dakota answers with a shrug. “But we don’t know how fast Captain Sulu can reach out to Federation admiralty or how fast the Federation can get the message to the Union. And even combined I’m not sure it’ll be enough, we just got out of a war.”

“So, we need to get some more backup,” Kelly agrees. “We need to take a shuttle out to find the Krill.”

“The Krill? Kelly, are you NUTS?” Ed whips around to face her, but as the argument continues, Dakota tunes them out, turning to John.

“Commander, suppose they go get the Krill and convince them to go along. We still have to get the message to the Union, we may be much faster than the Federation.”

John nods, waving for her to follow him quietly, leading her to a small conduit that Yaphit is waiting by. “This should do that. Yaphit can get out through here and send a message to the admirals, but there’s a problem. We can’t mask the message and the Kaylon could kill it before it gets out if we don’t.”

“So until we’ve got that figure out, we’re stuck,” Yaphit agrees, and Dakota nods, thinking.

She’s not the engineer, though. “What are our options, sir?” Dakota looks at him and he thinks the question over.

“If someone could go out with him and change the frequencies randomly, the Kaylon might think that it’s just subspace noise.”

“Yeah, but no one can fit through there but me,” Yaphit points out. “This conduit is tiny, like half-a-meter wide.”

“I could fit,” comes a small voice behind them and Dakota turns in surprise to Ty, seeing the rest of the senior staff must have worked out their argument about the Krill and had come to check on what they were doing.

“Absolutely not,” Dr. Finn says, while the others look at each other uncertainly.

Dakota sighs. “Doctor, we don’t have a lot of choice. If we do nothing, a lot of people are going to die. If Yaphit does this without that kind of backup, nobody’s going to know what’s going on in time.”

“You’re not sending my son--!” Claire insists, but Ty is the one to convince her he’ll be okay and talk her down, and the two are off in moments during the chaos of the shuttle’s escape at the same time.

Dakota approaches Sammy as they’re waiting. “Hey. Your dad’s okay. He said he loves you.”

Sammy looks up at her and nods, shivering slightly but not from cold. The redhead is scared... they all are.

The next thing Dakota knows is some kind of... pulse, over the speakers of the ship, and the Kaylon watching them collapse, seemingly dead. When the shuttlebay doors open, it’s Ty, talking about how Isaac saved them.

Lily and John send out another covered message to hide it from the Kaylon vessels informing Federation and Union admiralty that the Orville is back in control and not a moment too soon as they find themselves at the other Earth-- with two entire fleets waiting to defend it.

The battle is hell. Things look grim until the Krill show up, with a short and sweet hail from the ship in the lead, revealing Kelly and Gordon, safe and sound. Finally, though, the Kaylon are forced into retreat.

Yaphit successfully revives Isaac as soon as things have finally settled. Then, the crew is invited to the most important meeting of their careers: the meeting between the Union and Federation to finally unite the two forces as one, officially, creating the United Planetary Federation.

They don’t quite know how easy things will be moving forward. But they know they’re ready to fight back. And they’re going to do it side by side. The way it needed to be when two worlds collided.

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hollandroos · 6 years

Text

Blow a Kiss, Fire a Gun | Pt.1

Tom Holland Mob!AU

Teaser

Summary: You’re arranged to marry Tom Holland, Londons most feared mobster, but it’s never easy. He doesn’t seem to want you and you don’t want anything to do with him.

Words: 3k

“Now I told you last time you were here Marcus, You had one last chance to finish the deal or there’d be punishments” Tom stepped circles around the guy, excitement filling his chest when he noticed the blood dripping down his nose, electric red highlighted his lips, purple and blue formed beneath his eyes. “I may have given you a second chance, but I don’t give out third chances.”

“Please, I-I can do it-, I can finish the deal for you” The man could barely speak. Blood sputtering between his teeth, almost making Tom grin wickedly. It was sick really, Tom’s fascination, but he couldn’t help it when this was who he had been raised to be. Ever since he was a child he’d been exposed to gore and violence and taught to do whatever he had to, to stay at the top.

“I don’t give a damn. Do you know how I got to the top, Marcus?” Tom practically spat out the man's name, rolling up his jacket sleeves though it was a little too late now considering he’d already beaten the man half to death. “By being fucking ruthless”

He swung his fist back, connecting it with the man's face and watching it fall to the side. Not even wincing when the already there ache in his knuckles only became more intense.

He felt euphoric every time his fist connected with the man's face, it was twisted though, it wasn’t like he was beating this man up purely for his own enjoyment, no this man had screwed Tom around.

A knock at the door made him groan and with one last punch, Tom mustered up a quick. “Come in”

He didn’t like to be pulled away from business, especially when he was in his prime, but still Tom grabbed the white rag that sat on the chair beside him and wiped the blood off of his knuckles watching the white turn a deep crimson and feeling a sense of pride when he noticed the deep bruises forming on each knuckle.

Harrison stepped in, “Gee you really fucked him up, mate” He snickered, watching as the man squirmed in his seat.

“Yeah? Well we’re not even close to being done yet”

“Your dad's here to see you, said it’s important, he’s in the office.” Tom groaned, chucking the bloody cloth at Harrison and gained the attention of one of his men that stood at the door, muttering a small “See to him.” before following Harrison.

The walk to the office was long, up several flights of stairs and Tom would admit that it was a bit much, a big house for only a few people It was usually just Tom and his house workers as well as Harrison who stayed over most nights. He was a young man with too much money, what else was he to do with it?

When he reached his office, he walked in, taking a seat in his leather chair and leaning back. Tom’s office was almost always dark, the stained, wooden walls and curtain that were always kept drawn shut kept it that way.

“Father! It's been a while, what brings you by?” Tom picked up a cigarette, lighting it between his fingers and taking a puff. “I was in the middle of dealing with someone”

“I have news that concerns not only the mob but you.” Dom was on edge and Tom noticed easily, he was good at reading people’s emotions. “You know that eventually, you’d have to… marry someone” Dom began. “A girl” he watched the way his son tensed up, his face hardening and the smile he wore only seconds ago, disappeared. Tom took another puff of his cigarette.

“I remember. We got her family's men and in exchange, I’d keep her alive.” Though Tom didn’t want to remember, in fact, the thought of marrying had terrified him ever since he’d been told only at the age of seventeen, it infuriated him. But he understood that without that deal he wouldn’t have made it to the top. His parents did what was best for the mob even if that meant binding their son to a girl for the rest of his life and yours did what was best for their daughter, even if that meant conjoining her to London's most feared mobster.

When he first found out, he was livid. Tom flipped tables and ragged at his parents for signing away his freedom. That was before he understood the gains he’d get out of this arrangement. Tom didn’t have to accept the fact that this was done without his consent, no still go this day he hated it but he had accepted where the deal had gotten him.

Over the years he’d done whatever he could to ignore the deal, sleeping around, messing up his clients, getting harsher as the date only seemed to loom closer. Tom hadn’t even tried to look up the girl, not wanting to know what she looked like or even pretend that she existed. Because that would make the deal all too real. He didn’t want this, but he needed it.

“It’s her birthday today, she’s eighteen and that means that it’s time” When Tom didn’t say anything, just put his cigarette out, Dom spoke up again, “Look, you know this was hard for us to do, you’re my son and I wanted you to marry for love but it was what’s best for the mob. All you have to do is keep her alive.”

“When do I meet the girl?” Tom stood up, gripping the side of his desk just enough for the dull pain to become sharper.

“You’ll meet Y/N today. The ceremony won’t be formal or anything, just a simple piece of paper that you both have to sign. I don’t even think she knows yet so I don’t know how her father will get her to sign it, but it has to be done”

Tom was currently trying to come up with any way he could get out of it. He’d gone years ignoring this girl, hoping that his family would forget or it’d fall through but now it was all too real. “Can’t we just rip the paper in half? We have the men, they can’t exactly just take them back. They’d be dead in seconds if they even tried.”

“You know we can’t do that, if word gets out it’ll look bad for our family. We could lose future deals. Tom, you’re the youngest Mobster in London and also the strongest, we can’t risk doing anything to mess that up just yet”

“She’s a nice girl, innocent, won’t try anything, we’ve been keeping tabs on her. You don’t’ even need to talk to the girl, though since you’re going to be bound together by law then you may as well get along.”

Tom sighed, sitting back down and kicking his feet up on the large desk. His life was about to change, despite all of his other responsibilities he’d not have a girl- wife to watch over. Joy.

“When’s she popping by?”

The last thing you expected to happen on your eighteenth birthday, was to sit through a three-hour car ride with nothing but utter silence and an indescribable tension. You swore you fell asleep at one point and maybe just zoned out for the most part, but that was all you remembered because the next thing you knew the car came to a sudden halt and your dad had opened the passenger door for you to climb out.

Growing up you didn’t get to go away much, or at all. Your parents were very secretive, if your father was in his office then the door would stay locked and if you so much as stepped foot into the room, there’d be trouble. There were locks on every one of his draws and bottles of cheap whiskey stacked so high they loomed over your ten-year-old self. That’s what you remembered from the one time you managed to sneak in any way.

Where you going on a holiday? Was it a getaway?

“Where are we? Why are we here?” You were confused, thinking that this was a secret birthday surprise but as people who you’d never seen before began unloading multiple suitcases out of the boot and your father's hard face remained, your excitement could only be replaced with nerves. “Dad, is everything okay?”

“You’re moving in” He was blunt, managing to conceal the nerves in his voice. Your father had decided that the best way to go about this was to be harsh, blunt. “Don’t ask any more questions.”

Eighteen, the birthday your father and mother-, before she was brutally murdered, had been trying to push to the back of their minds but now it was here. They could run, but they wouldn’t get far, they could try and break the contract, but the Hollands didn’t work that way. Tom was known to be brutal, unforgiving. So he accepted it, packing all of your belongings in suitcases and chucking them in the back seat.

It hurt them to sign that paper, it hurt them more to keep the secret from you year after year and it hurt your father to bring you here. Knowing that he’d probably have limited contact but he’d convinced himself that it was for the best. But when was giving your child up for a marriage they didn’t want nor where they aware of, the best?

“What? But-, are you moving in to?”

You had always been the curious type. He turned to you suddenly, so sudden that you almost walked right into his chest. “You need to trust me, don’t ask questions and just do what they say. This is for your own good”

You stopped walking, “What’s happening? I refuse to go anywhere until you tell me. Is this a birthday surprise?”

The place was huge to say least. It wasn’t just a house-, it was a compound with large, white steel frames and probably the fanciest windows and doors you’d seen in your life. The place would have cost millions upon millions and you could only imagine who lived there.

He gripped your upper arm, finding it harder and harder to tell you what you were only moments away from finding out. “We have to go inside, we’re already late enough.”

Huffing, you followed, wondering when he’d finally stop treating you like a child. You walked to the door only to be greeted by men, much taller, scarier men that looked like they could snap your neck in seconds. “Mr Y/L/N?” one simply asked, your father nodded and he leads you inside. “Mr Holland has been waiting”

For some reason, the name ‘Holland’ made something click, but you weren’t sure yet. The two of you followed the same man inside and up the stairs, but you couldn't help but marvel at the place. There seemed to be at least three stories to the place and everything was white. White was the colour of purity if only you’d known then and there that the things that went down in this place was the complete opposite of that.

The man knocked on a door at the very end of only one out of god knows how many hallways. It was a double door, neat and pristine. A small ‘Come in’ was muttered and your dad stepped in, you stayed behind him.

“Mr Y/L/N, you made it” A man stood up and your dad stepped aside to shake his hand, suddenly you felt exposed in front of the two men you’d never met. “You must be Y/N, lovely to meet my soon to be daughter in law”

You froze, those three words “D-daughter in law?” You looked from your dad to the other man, to the boy that looked just a bit older than you that was still sitting in his seat, an arrogant look on his face as he stared you up and down.

Your dad stood beside you, a sigh leaving his lips as Dom instructed the three of you to sit down. But you refused, standing your ground. “I don’t-, what’s going on?”

Before anyone else could speak up, the young boy cut in making the other man glare. “we’re getting married, sweetheart, today in fact”

You laughed bitterly. “This is a joke, you’re all pranking me. This isn’t funny, dad, it’s my birthday.”

“I suggest you watch your tone, young lady” You didn’t like the way the other man spoke to you, as if he was above you in some way, which he was. “You are about to sit down and discuss business with a mob that could have you killed in an instant”

Mob. You remembered some of the stories your mother would tell you about the mobs and how those people could kill ruthlessly and get away with anything. They often had money, a lot of it. But now you were sitting at a table with Tom Holland and you felt nothing, not even when you noticed the purple and blue that painted his knuckles.

If this was the last time your father was going to comfort his little girl, then he may as well make the most of it. He grabbed your hand guiding you to the seat beside him, but that did nothing. You still tugged your arm away, turning to leave the room but you didn’t get very far because the second you did you came face to face with the same man from before.

“Sit down, sweetie” You listened this time, slowly backing away from the larger man and taking a seat. “The Hollands have been very good to us.”

Tom flicked you a look, he wasn’t smirking this time, instead, his face held what looked like anger. It was obvious that he didn’t want this as much as you did, but both of you were stuck in a deal made between parents.

“Now, let’s start shall we?”

Your dad hovered over you, intense eyes burning into the paper.

Tom had signed, his hand had gripped the pen so hard his bruised knuckles turned a Pale white. When it was your turn though, the whole world seemed to spin and if it hadn’t of been for Dom explaining the situation briefly, you would’ve tried another escape. Tom had merely said five words to you but kept his gaze on you intimidatingly.

Since a young age, you’d only dreamed what your wedding would be like. To be pronounced husband and wife in front of a crowd of people, family and friends would cheer and you’d stare lovingly at your husband. You’d imagined a field of Daisy's, or was it rows of rose bushes? But as you sat at the desk, paper beneath you, all you wanted to do was throw up.

“I don’t want to” You turned around, looking up at your dad. “Please don’t make me” Your hand shook and it brought your father back to the day he initially signed the contract, his heart practically beating out of his chest. But he had faith that this was the right thing to do. Looking over at Tom he knew you’d be safe, or at least as safe as you could get.

“You will do this, Y/N, or I swear to god-”

“You’ll do what? You’re already marrying me off to him” you snapped, the pen falling out of your hand and rolling over to Tom who picked it up, tapping it against the desk.

Tom leaned back in his seat, watching you intently and smirking when you spoke back. You were feisty, he liked that already. He let out a small laugh, running a hand through his locks and you looked at him, uncertainty written on every aspect of your face. “C’mon, poppet, this is for your safety” He chuckled bitterly. “I’ve done my part, now it’s your turn”

It was dead silent as your dad, Tom and Dom stared at you, each of them with different thoughts in mind. Your dad was staring Tom up and down, wondering if in fact, he did do the right thing. Dom was close to smirking, looking overjoyed at the fact that he was about to complete a deal that had been long in the making and strengthen his son's title while Tom, well he wished he was anywhere else. He was trying to hold his anger in, thinking about which client would feel his rage when the meeting was done.

“Daddy…”

“Sign it.” He couldn’t even look at you.

Tom slid the pen back over to you Slowly you lowered your hand, messily adding your signature beside Tom’s. There were words and other signatures that you didn’t even bother to read, too scared to even think about what else your parents had signed away. This was your life now, at the age of eighteen you were married to the strongest and most feared mobster.

The second that paper was signed, Tom got up, pushing his chair back with a force he was unaware he was holding back and headed straight back to Marcus. He was livid and ready to finish some incomplete business.

“Thank you, Mr Y/L/N. I assure you, this was for the best” Your dad nodded at Dom's words, trying not to notice the way you shook like a damn dog in the seat. “Y/N will be okay, now if you’ll excuse us.”

Part 2!

Feedback/comments are appreciated + Ideas for the next part

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solivar · 6 years

Text

WIP: Ghost Stories On Route 66

Hanzo Shimada is an expatriate student of the Fine Arts, attending college in what he assumes to be a reasonably sedate corner of the American southwest. Jesse McCree is an occasionally leather-clad NPS ranger whose duties extend somewhat further than shooing lost tourists back onto the clearly marked hiking trails. Something weird is going on in the desert south of Santa Fe and their lives unexpectedly come together in the middle of it.

In which Hanzo and Jesse continue to have a conversation and Hanzo receives an (un)expected message from home.

Calling it a cave was lending it a dignity it absolutely did not deserve but the alternative -- a crack, barely deep enough to hold both him and the little pack he carried simultaneously -- was the sort of defeatist thinking that Pop Pop Nate would have frowned upon pretty strenuously. It was, however, not really a cave and, as far as shelters went, it left plenty of things to be desired: it wasn’t big enough to stand up in and so he had to shove his pack in first and then crawl in after it, scrambling all the way across an unevenly angled floor covered in sand and sharp bits of stone that were destined to become lodged in places nobody ever wanted to have a pointy rock poking them. On the plus side, with the sun almost down, the entrance was already fully in shadow and it was only dumb luck that he’d spotted it himself, mostly concealed as it was behind a mass of tangled half-grown mesquite poking up through a drift of scree that might rattle as he walked on it but wouldn’t take a print no matter how heavy footed he was scrambling up. It was even a little bit warmer inside than out, the rising wind hissing through the mesquite branches but breaking around the entrance to his hidey hole so that only the barest lick of it reached him, tasting like snow, like ice.

NWS had been forecasting the possibility when he left the cabin and he didn’t quite dare bring out his little handheld to check the current weather, in case his pursuer had some means of tracking him that partook of triangulating comm signals, which was not beyond the bounds of reality. He likewise didn’t yet dare to bring out the package of nutrient-dense snack bars he’d stashed in his pack before leaving or wiggle the survival blanket out of the first aid kit, because opening up either one would make noise that could carry for miles and he had no practical idea how close or far away his pursuer might be. He’d lost sight of him once he’d scrambled down off the ridgeline himself and into the maze of defiles marking the edge of the valley, looking for someplace to take cover as darkness approached and the temperature dropped and the skies slowly clouded over. The last glimpse he’d had was Marcus silhouetted against the sky, rifle not quite leveled, as he’d scrambled behind a screen of brush and jumbled stone, the best part of an hour ago.

In the best part of another hour, it would be fully dark and then he would have a choice to make: hunker down in this little hole for the night and hope he didn’t freeze, even with the survival blanket, because he didn’t dare start a fire, or try to make his way back home under cover of night and hope that he didn’t leave a trail clear enough to follow back to his own doorstep or break an ankle in the dark or be caught out in the open with nowhere to run or hide. A thread of cold air found its way down his back, sliding over the collar of his jacket, and he tucked his legs closer to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, admitted that none of his choices were good.

From above, a loose stone clattered down the face of the rise to land somewhere to the right of his little hole. He clapped his hands over his mouth to keep the fear-driven sound he felt crawling up his throat from escaping, along with his adrenaline-spiked heart, ricocheting around inside his ribcage as though it intended to flee completely independent of the rest of him.

Calm down. Calm down. It’s just a coyote out hunting or a squirrel headed back to its den. He forced himself to lower his hands, to breathe slowly, evenly, in through the nose, out through the mouth, to minimize the sound of it. Calm down calm down calm

“I know you’re here, Jesse.” Marcus Whitehawk’s voice drifted down from above.

Jesse’s hands found their way back over his mouth again.

“I know you can hear me.” Another rock, and then a few more, a steady trickle of sand, and now he could hear the scrape of hard boot soles against stone. “Come out now, stop running, and I’ll make it quick.”

Calm down calm down calm down. It was all he could do to not let the panic trying to claw its way out of his chest take over the pace of his breathing, permit little noises of distress to pass his lips. He can’t see you, he doesn’t know where you are, if he did he wouldn’t be trying to flush you, calm down.

“I’ll find you, one way or another.” The footsteps and the regular tumble of stone came to a halt. “Hard and slow or fast and painless, the choice is yours, Jesse.”

He buried his face in his knees, squeezed his eyes closed on the tears trying to well up, shook silently. After a moment, the footsteps continued on.

Can’t stay here. The thought crawled out of the panicked circles his brain was running in, the first coherent one in the minutes after. He’s going to circle down this way eventually, and when he does, he’ll -- He took a ragged, desperate breath, too loud. Wait till it’s a little more dark.

He inched closer to the entrance of his hiding place, and watched as the sky faded from dusky gold to vivid crimson-purple to the deep lingering blue of winter twilight, just enough light left to see the floor of the valley, still some distance below his own perch, enough to let him make his way down with only a little risk of falling or setting off an avalanche of scree himself. If he left. Right now.

It took him an unpardonably long time to actually reach back and gather up his pack, to ease himself out of the hidey hole legs first, crawl along under the mesquite bushes with excruciating slowness to avoid knocking any rocks askew -- well, okay, not too many rocks, because it was impossible to avoid at all and definitely harder in the near-dark. He kept himself tucked low to the ground once he passed beyond their dubious shelter, making himself as small as he could, just a part of the background clutter, the flesh between his shoulderblades crawling furiously with every step he took in the open.

Just keep going -- get to the valley floor and it’ll be easier to move, easier to run, you can take the long way around to the cabin and he might not even --

He heard the shot before he felt it -- a single sharp report, its echoes bouncing off a thousand surfaces -- and then he was falling, knocked off his feet, bouncing off loose masses of stone and stunted shrubs, coming to rest flat on his back at the base of the rise. His pack came off somewhere above, and he’d left most of his breath behind on the ride down, and his lungs seemed deeply disinclined to help catch it back, full of something too thick to inhale around. He coughed hard, spat blood, and the pain lanced through his chest at last, finding its way around shock, and his head spun, hot and throbbing. He should, he knew, try to get up, try to run, try to do something, anything, but he couldn’t breathe.

From an impossibly vast distance, he heard someone sliding down the decline. It took all his strength to lift his head, to force his eyes to focus, Marcus striding toward him, and he felt it, felt it like he hadn’t in years, roaring up inside him with the blood bubbling in his throat, in his lungs, throbbing in his temples and in his gut: hunger. Hunger sharp and hard and hot, clawing at his insides, thrashing in his veins and flesh and soul. He dragged in a painful, rattling breath and croaked, “Stay...back. Please..stay…”

He coughed again, and the taste of his own blood in his mouth, on his tongue, on his teeth, made everything worse, sharper and harder and hotter, like throwing kerosene on a fire made of twisted metal and broken glass. It roared in him, that hunger, split his gums and the tips of his fingers, didn’t care that he had a monster-killing bullet in his chest, wanted to rip and rend and tear and Marcus was not fucking stopping.

“Please,” It came out warped and twisted, around his new teeth and new tongue, the straining of his jaw, but if his not-cousin heard the difference he made no sign of it. “Stay --”

“Don’t move.” A foot came down on his chest, pinned him back to the hardpack, sent a bolt of pain through him that, for an instant, briefly eclipsed all else. The cold barrel of the rifle rested against his forehead. “I told you. You shouldn’t have run.”

Please, he wanted to say, but the pain tightening his chest, the blood boiling up his throat wouldn’t allow it. Please get back, I don’t want

He heard the rifle’s action work, heard the cartridge slide into place, heard the bolt click home. Smelled gun oil and powder and the blood pulsing in Marcus’ veins, the warmth of his flesh, the taste of his breath, and the hunger inside him rose up and roared. Distantly, he heard someone screaming. He thought, for a moment, before the world slid away into darkness, that it might be himself.

When Jesse opened his eyes, it was snowing. It was snowing and the wind was blowing hard out of the north and the icy kiss of it was scorching his face and hands, cutting through his wet clothing where it clung stickily to his body. His lashes clung together as he blinked, eyes blurry, spit thick, mouth tasting of iron and salt and something else he couldn’t quite identify. His eyes refused to blink clear and so he scrubbed at his face with the sleeve of his jacket, tacky-damp, and he finally recognized what he was tasting, the smell on the air that wasn’t snow.

Blood.

A lot of blood. In fact, he realized as his vision cleared and his head stopped revolving in slow, steady circles, that there wasn’t much left of Marcus but the muddy, slushy puddle a good bit of his blood had made. Jesse knelt at the edge of it, the knees of his jeans soaked through, sleeves of his jacket wet to the elbows, his hands still not quite right. A shred of flannel that had probably already been red poked out of the mess and there draped over one of the bigger rocks was a strip of skin with some lengths of long dark hair still attached and a couple little knobs of bone, meticulously scraped clean of flesh but too tough to bite through, scattered like dice on a kitchen table. He could feel the effort it had taken to do the scraping in the muscles of his jaw, in his teeth, and he curled around himself, wanted to be sick, wanted to heave up everything he’d just swallowed down, but his body absolutely refused to even consider the idea, smugly full and happy about it, lungs clear, pain gone. He squeezed his eyes closed and whispered prayers to every god and spirit and ancestor he could think of who might take the littlest trace of pity on him and make this not to have happened. When he opened them again, no god or spirit or ancestor had chosen to answer.

Get up, a little voice that might have been sanity or might have been something else whispered in the back of his mind. Get up you have to get up what if he wasn’t alone? What if there’s more of them out there and they find you here and they see this and

He found he didn’t care at all that there might be more and that they might find him and that they might see what he’d done. What followed after would only be just.

Get up, that little voice whispered again, go home, go back to the cabin, wash off, burn the clothes, call Gabe and Jack, tell them

And even the little voice flinched away from that. From telling them that. That he’d killed, that he’d eaten, that he’d failed them, that he’d betrayed everything they’d ever taught him and every word he’d sworn to them and everything he’d promised he’d be and that he wouldn’t do. That thought, of how ashamed and disappointed they would be, was what brought him to his feet, finally put a churning twist in his gut.

I can’t go back. The thought made itself heard and he knew it was true. There was no way he could go back to that little cabin, that safe and comfortable place that his grandparents had made, not now, not like this, with the blood of an innocent man drying on under his nails and his stomach still full of his meat. He could never go there again, because he wasn’t the person he’d been when he left -- he was something less now, and worse, and he turned away and walked north into the desert, into the hills, the cutting cold of the wind biting nowhere deep enough.

He walked for hours -- he had no idea how many, had no idea of how long any of what he’d done had taken, and found he didn’t care. The cold sank into him, and the dark, and he felt them only distantly, the snow freezing in his hair and the tears on his cheeks. He walked until the sky in the east grew slowly lighter, even behind the clouds, the dark fading from black to deepest blue and the sun finally rising sick and smeared and bloody on the horizon, casting deep shadows across the desert.

At his feet, a canyon yawned -- if he’d gone a few more feet in the dark, he’d have walked off the edge without ever seeing it, and the smile that curled his mouth and split his lips was bitter. He came to that edge now and looked down, down the striated and rust-red walls to the bottom, still deep in shadow -- jagged shadows, sharp and gnashing, like the hungry jaws of a starving beast.

It was, he thought, weary, sick, a long way down. Maybe long enough. He took a deep, searing cold breath, and turned. To the south, the wind was tearing the clouds apart, the last of the brightest stars just blinking out. He released his breath and let himself fall.

Hanzo opened his eyes with his gut and chest and head still full of the swooping, sickening, plunging sensation of falling to the comforting sight of the ranger’s carved and brightly painted bedroom ceiling. The relief this occasioned persisted for the whole three seconds it took for him to register that he was, in fact, falling. He hit the ranger’s likewise wooden floor with a force only slightly blunted by his state of partial mummification in a mass of sheets and blankets and comforter, landing with a thud and a stream of Japanglish invective that would have done Genji proud as he cracked his elbow, his shoulder, and his head more or less in sequence.

He lay there for a long moment afterwards, staring up at the dimly lit and now somewhat further away ceiling, lacking the energy or the ambition necessary to even consider moving. In the dark behind his eyes, he could still feel the sticky itch of blood drying on skin that wasn’t his own, the sick satisfaction of a belly full of something too awful to contemplate, and the echo, still ringing in his own bones, of finding the ground after a long fall. It occurred to him, as he lay there and the light coming through the seams in the shutters grew gradually brighter, that he hadn’t fallen off his side of the bed -- the kiva was on his side of the bed, and he was staring at the lowest part of the windows and the spot the ranger’s boots still occupied and chair that he couldn’t remember seeing before. He had rolled off the ranger’s side of the bed, and he hauled himself up with a groan and a few more enthusiastic Genjiisms to find that said bed was, in fact, empty of its other occupant, and most of the bedclothes were wrapped around him and the sheer intensity of the panic that galloped through him at that realization was the sort of thing that the better class of neo-country-western singers wrote lugubrious ballads about. He could practically hear the chorus as he extricated himself from the tangle of both the top and bottom sheets: my ranger’s gone, he’s run away, I can’t find him, night or day, I love him so, I want him back, something something probably involving a trusty pickup or possibly a dog named Blue.

The kitchen was empty: no dishes in the sink or in the dish drainer, no coffee in the coffee pot, the kettle cold. Even worse: nobody in the sitting room. The blankets Hana used the night before were neatly folded on the couch, pillows piled on top. No enormous green dog occupied the floor in front of the fireplace, nor did anyone’s terrifying smoke Dad keep residence in any of the chairs along with an unknown but deeply disturbing number of half-finished and potentially non-Euclidian knitting projects. The space in front of the house, previously containing a tragic welding accident in the vague shape of a WinneUFO, was likewise void, though tire tracks in the dusty road suggested the direction of its coming and going. His own phone and tablet still sat on the coffee table, charge cords reading green, and he snatched the cell up, rewarded with actual bars of connection. He drifted back into the kitchen as he thumbed it open and speed-dialed Genji’s number.

“Hey, Hanzo.” The voice that answered was not his brother’s but Hana’s and his knees went stupidly weak enough with relief that he had to lean on the counter to stay upright. “Have a good night’s rest?”

“Where are you?” He demanded by way of answer. “Where’s everybody, Jesse wasn’t in bed when I woke up, what’s --”

“Easy, easy. Calm down. I left a note. Didn’t you see it?” She did not sound the slightest bit worried, or contrite, a fact he found rather significantly nettlesome.

“Hana. Never, in the entire history of time, has telling someone to calm down ever succeeded in calming them down.” Hanzo replied, tensely, scanning the counters, the prep island, the cupboards, and finally coming to rest on the refrigerator, where a magnetic note board hung in plain view bearing the words: Went up to the hacienda for waffles. Join us when you wake up. We’ll save at least two pieces of bacon. H. “I see it now. Is Jesse with you?”

“No.” An expressive noise just slightly too feminine to be a genuine snort. “And between you and me I really doubt that Ranger McThoughtful would leave you by yourself after all the crap we’ve been through in the last seventy-two hours. Have you checked outside?”

“Not yet.” He peered out the kitchen window and found the junipers dancing gently in the breeze with a little dust devil, but no ranger in immediate view. “I just woke up a few minutes ago, I had a weird --” dream not a dream that wasn’t a dream that was too real that was something that happened that happened to him “-- dream, I fell out of bed and that’s when I realized he was gone and --” Hana giggled. “What exactly is so funny?”

“You.” Hana replied, amusement evident. “Seriously, take a breath. Have you looked --”

“Hanzo?” The voice came from behind and to the right, the corridor that led to the bedroom -- and also the bathroom. Where he had not, in fact, even thought to look. Because he was an idiot.

Hanzo turned and there he stood.

There he stood, with a deeply concerned look on his face, a little worry-mark engraved between his perfect brows, his beard obviously freshly trimmed and combed.

There he stood, with a towel draped around his shoulders, catching the drops of water dripping off his still-damp brown ringlets, runnels of which were still rolling down his chest, spangling the curls there like tiny, exquisite diamonds, trailing over the ridged muscles of his belly.

There he stood, with a second towel wrapped around his trim waist, knotted in place on one hip, the full length of one muscular thigh thus exposed, tawny skin gleaming wetly in the indirect light coming through the kitchen windows.

There he stood and were those fuzzy jackalope slippers? They were. Fuzzy jackalope slippers. Somehow that brought the entire look together.

Hanzo took a deep breath, said, “Never mind, I found him” and hung up. Before the call disconnected, he heard Hana cackling shamelessly. He was going to have to have a word with that woman.

“Hanzo.” The ranger -- oh for fuck’s sake, you’ve slept in the same bed with him TWICE now, just call him by his NAME -- was looking at him now with open and serious alarm, as though he were afraid one wrong move would send him jumping out the kitchen window and he would have laughed it he weren’t fairly sure it would come out sounding half-crazed. “Are you okay, darlin’? You look a little --”

He crossed the room in three strides and, before he could let any of the million immediately occurring reasons not to do it avail themselves of control, threw his arms around him and clutched him tight, trying hard not to shake too obviously. For a second, the ranger stood absolutely stock startled still -- stiff, not knowing what to do with his hands, breath catching under his ear and heartbeat tripping noticeably higher -- and then the tension melted, arms closed around him in return, a hand coming to rest in the loose mess of hair at the back of his neck.

“Easy,” Jesse’s voice was a lower, rougher than usual. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” A callused hand stroked his neck, the shorter hair on the back of his head. “What was it, darlin’? Bad dream?”

No. “Something like that.” He took a deep breath, filled his lungs and head with the scent of sage-cedar-spice, stronger even than usual, his own hand resting spread on Jesse’s back. Jesse’s mostly-bare, still a little wet back, firm muscle and mostly smooth, warm skin and all of the blood immediately tried to evacuate his head, a whole-body shiver running from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes.

“Must have been a real bad one.” His ranger murmured against his ear, the hitch still in his breath, warm against his skin, and Hanzo was intensely conscious of Jesse’s hand resting against the small of his back, still tangled in his hair. “You’re shakin’ all over. Maybe we should --”

“Jesse.” Hanzo’s gently questing hand came to rest on a not-smooth patch, smaller than he thought it would be, just under Jesse’s right shoulder blade. “I dreamt of you.”

“...Me?” And suddenly all his warm soothing calm was gone, every inch of his body tensing, including his voice. “What -- what did you --”

“I dreamt that you were afraid.” Hanzo said and found he didn’t quite have the courage necessary to turn and watch his face as he spoke -- especially since doing so meant stepping back, letting him go, even a little. “I dreamt you were running, hunted and afraid and alone.” He stopped, his mouth suddenly, painfully dry. “Hurt.”

Jesse’s skin pebbled with gooseflesh under his hands and now it was his turn to shiver.

“It wasn’t a dream, was it?” Hanzo whispered against his ranger’s neck. “It was real.”

Silence. Jesse’s hands slid out of his hair and the small of his back, came to rest on his hips, lightly, as though he were afraid to hold on too tightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was a toneless rasp. “Yes. It was -- that was real.” A ragged breath. “You...saw. What happened.”

“Yes.” Hanzo closed his arms tight, clung to his shoulders as he tried to pull away. “Jesse. Stop. Please. It wasn’t your fault!”

He did, at least, stop trying to push him away, though he suspected it was more out of surprise than any real desire to do so. “Of course it was my fault. I was scared and hurt and I lost control and I --” His voice cracked, his grip tightened, almost painfully. “You saw what I did.”

“You defended yourself. In the alternate reality where I live, when someone shoots you in the back from ambush? It’s called attempted murder.” Hanzo replied, fiercely, and now he did pull back, reached up and caught Jesse’s face in his hands -- his eyes were bright with unshed tears, the pain and grief and regret etched in every line. “You’re allowed to not let someone kill you, no matter how justified they might think they are. Gods and dragons, Jesse, you were a child -- a child who just lost his family -- you didn’t deserve that.”

“Neither did he.” Jesse took hold of his wrists and gently pulled his hands away, turned back toward the hallway, his shoulders hunched as though he were still expecting a blow.

“Do you dream of that often?” Hanzo asked and Jesse froze in the door arch, his arms closing around himself.

“Not as often as I used to.” Roughly. “Let me get dressed and...we’ll talk.”

Hanzo stood unmoving in the middle of the kitchen, his heart thrumming like a struck harpstring, peace as far from his breathing as it was physically possible to be, his thoughts chasing themselves in a series of concentric circles that started with he thinks he deserved it HOW CAN HE THINK HE DESERVED IT and ended with he was standing right in front of you in nothing but a towel YOU COULD HAVE WORKED WITH THAT YOU IDIOT. Finally, after a short eternity of internal gridlock, his quivering knees allowed him to move and his ropy leg muscles allowed him to walk and he leaned over the back of the world’s most comfortable couch, grabbed one of the pillows Hana had used the night before, and screamed into until he felt like he could face Jesse again without screaming considerably more. Then he went and fetched the tea canister labeled To Enhance Calm, measured a potful into the strainer, and put the kettle on to boil, because there was little else he could do at that point except text-freak at Genji and that way lay madness.

He was applying the not-quite-boiling water to the teapot when Jesse padded back out into the kitchen in his stocking feet, this time mostly dressed in NPS green-and-black, hair combed back in a reasonable approximation of tamed, and all the blood that had nearly returned to the parts of his circulatory system that needed it most immediately abandoned duty again. Stupid sexy ranger. Stupid sexy ranger uniforms.

“Thank you, Hanzo.” His ranger replied with grave courtesy as Hanzo poured him a mug, filling the air with steam intensely perfumed in desperately attempting to invoke serenity.

“You’re welcome.” He poured his own tea and a few moments transpired silently in the passing and application of honey and lemon. “Hana and the others have gone to the hacienda for breakfast. We should probably join them before they come looking for us.”

“We will. There’s just some things we need to talk over first.” Jesse, he could not help but notice, did not even pretend to drink. “I heard what you said last night. When you came to lay down.”

Hanzo froze with his teacup halfway to his mouth and, very carefully, set it back down before the sudden, violent contortions of his heart communicated themselves through his limbs and gave them both a sugary, tannic shower. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” It came out rough and he looked away and then back, the worry-mark between his brows taking up residence again. “Let’s...not do this right here?”

“Living room?” Hanzo suggested. “Next to the fireplace? I mean, there’s no fire but --”

“That’s good.” The look that crossed his face could not be described as a smile by even the loosest definition of the term, but it wasn’t quite anything else, either, and his stomach decided that was all the encouragement it required to get into the sudden, violent contortions action.

They took their tea and Hanzo the lead, inhaling peace and exhaling stress all the way, the chair he’d sat in the night before still draped in blankets, and he wordlessly offered Jesse a cushion, which he accepted with a level of grave solemnity that nearly sent him into giggles again. Maniacal, probably pretty hysterical giggles. He bit his lip, sat down, took a sip of tea to steady his nerves. “So...what happened?”

“That’s not what I --” Jesse regarded him steadily for a moment, dark eyes unreadable. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“No.” Hanzo assured him calmly and took another sip of his tea, since that seemed to be imparting an amazing amount of courage to go along with the serenity. Perhaps it was the serenity of having no fucks left to give? He’d have to ask Ana.

“Okay, all right -- I guess that...wasn’t the sorta thing you can experience without deservin’ an explanation.” And now he finally took a gulp of his own tea. “It took a couple days to make it to the cabin -- Maritza didn’t know where it was, which was a saving grace, because the hunters she called up to help were mostly looking for me in the wrong places. I suspect she thought I’d go to town, try to find some way out from there, but I...didn’t really want to leave. I just wanted someplace to hide.” A wry smile curled his mouth and reached his dark eyes. “And once I got there, I didn’t leave for weeks and weeks. Lived off the MREs and liquid nutrient stuff Yanaba and I carted up there that spring. Didn’t light up the wood burner unless it was so cold I couldn’t feel my fingers inside.”

“That sounds like the sort of fun that isn’t.” Hanzo wound his fingers together, the better to resist the urge to scoot closer and grab his hands, restlessly rolling the half-empty mug between his palms.

“I’ve had better campin’ trips.” Jesse’s tone was dry and the smile faded off his face. “I messaged Jack and Gabe to let them know the ranch wasn’t safe t’go back to and that I was hunkered down at the cabin. They contacted me back and we developed a check-in regimen, once every two days, and they were going to extract themselves from the mess they were presently in and come get me as soon as they could.” A soft chuckle that contained not a trace of humor. “But I was restless. Bored. Outta clean underwear. I hiked into town for a shopping trip and that’s where Marcus saw me. Saw me and chased me.”

And shot you in the back and tried to kill you. Hanzo held onto that with all his might and now he did slide close, close enough to touch if necessary.

“I don’t remember a whole lot...after that.” He finished his tea in a single swallow and set the mug aside. “It was just after New Years when it happened. I woke up in the university hospital the best part of two years later.”

“Two...years?” Hanzo put his own cup down before the tremors in his hands sent it and the contents all over the floor. “How…?”

“Not sure. Probably won’t ever really be sure.” He looked away but couldn’t find anything he wanted to leave his gaze on and looked back. “Last thing I really remember is falling. Gabe and Jack came running when I stopped checking in and, per them, they found me chained up more dead than alive in the basement of some old artist colony out on the lip of Deadlock Gorge.”

Ice dripped the length of Hanzo’s spine and he couldn’t fight off the urge to shiver. “I...I think I remember seeing something about that. Somewhere.”

“Some nosy-ass reporter wrote a retrospective, got a lot of play awhile back. Massacre In Deadlock Gorge.” This time the wry smile barely qualified for either designation. “Not really much of a massacre in the traditional sense of the term, since there weren’t any bodies just empty buildings where the students and staff shoulda been and me, in a room so hard-warded that Gabe couldn’t get past the door and filled with so much cold iron that Jack couldn’t open the the manacles, much less the bars of the cage. Fortunately, somebody’d called 911 when whatever happened started goin’ down and the EMTs had no such trouble --”

“A cage.” Hanzo said, in what he hoped was a calm, neutral, even tone.

It apparently was not for Jesse froze in place, eyes wide and somewhat alarmed. “Uh. Yeah. I’m not sure --”

“A cage.” Hanzo reiterated as a pure, cold rage blossomed within him and that probably had something to do with the alarm spreading across Jesse’s face.

“Yeah -- a cage. Not sure I can blame them for that, either. They...well, somebody there seemed to know what they were dealing with --”

“A fourteen year old. An injured fourteen year old. That is what they were dealing with, Jesse.” It came out significantly louder than he intended, loud enough to echo off the walls and down the hall and ring in every corner.

“An injured, unconscious naayéé.” Jesse replied, actually calm and even, though his knuckles were white around the arms of the chair he sat in. “Whoever it was that found me, they knew -- knew how to bind me and keep me bound and how to keep others from stumbling over me by accident. Or at least that’s what Rein took from examining the ward structure, after the fact. They were --”

“Protecting you? Protecting other people from you?” Hanzo asked, voice tight, as that pure, cold rage began sprouting runners and trying to find its way past his ribcage. “I might accept that as an at least comprehensible explanation for keeping you in a fucking cage.”

“No.” Softly. “Nothin’ as reasonable as that. Best guess? They wanted me for my blood. For the power in it.”

Blood was starting to do dangerous, high-pressure things to the inside of Hanzo’s skull, as well, certain significant portions of his circulatory system, and his vision, which was washing red around the edges. He could not, thereafter, place the precise moment when he rose to his feet, his head and his heart both pounding with a fury so intense he could feel it filling his lungs with a heat brighter and fiercer than fire, could taste it on his tongue like lightning, his teeth aching in his jaw to lengthen into fangs, his fingers flexing as though claws slept inside them, both to rend whatever dared to do such things to his rescuer, his ranger, his mate, whose hands were closed around his shoulders, holding tight, and whose voice, low and dark and frantic, was trying to fill his ears.

“Hanzo. Hanzo. It’s okay -- it’s okay, it was a long time ago. Come back to me, darlin’.” A hand shifted from his shoulder to sink into his hair, to cradle the back of his skull, to make him meet the ranger’s dark eyes, catching and holding. “Breathe.”

That seemed a reasonable enough request, coming as it did from those lips, and so he obeyed it, breathed in deep, filled his lungs with his ranger’s scent, permitted it to soothe him, to ease the violence thrashing in his veins, to cool his fury. “I,” His voice sounded strange in his own ears, rough and dark. “Think you are entirely too accepting of being kept in a cage.”

“Like I said,” The ranger’s hands reached up to cradle his face, “It was a long time ago. Not much to do but get over it.”

“If you insist.” Hanzo took a second, deeper breath, Jesse’s scent filling his head like a living thing, sage and cedar and spice, warm skin and blood pulsing just beneath it. “I will be angry enough for both of us.”

“Okay.” His ranger took an unsteady breath of his own. “Can we talk about that other thing now?”

“Certainly.” Hanzo replied and his hands found their solid, meant-to-rest-there places on Jesse’s hips again.

“Okay.” Jesse said, again, and breathed a little more, dark eyes darting around as though they wanted to rest anywhere but his face and kept being dragged back, very much against their will. The warm, callused hands drifted down his neck to rest on his shoulders and, surrendering to the inevitable, he allowed their gazes to come back into contact. “I’m...not sure where to start.”

“Do you want me to…?” Hanzo half-asked, his mouth trying hard to go dry.

“No. No, I --” The corners of his ranger’s mouth were fighting a mighty struggle with some complicated tangle of emotions, battered up and down by repeated internal blows. “I should be sayin’ a lot of different things to put you off right now. I shouldn’t be encouraging this at all. The bond between us -- it’s messin’ with your head, with your emotions, compromisin’ your judgment and mine and --”

“Of course it is,” Hanzo breathed, comfortingly. “How could it not? Our souls are tied together.”

“Yes. Right. You understand. I’m glad --” Jesse sounded almost relieved.

“Yes, I do understand. I understand how lonely you are -- how lonely you’ve been for years -- how much you need someone in your life who can see you for everything you are and not turn away.” Hanzo replied and leaned closer. “Am I wrong?”

Jesse was silent for a long moment, the look in his eyes wild with barely repressed emotion, holding the corners of his mouth flat and steady with desperate effort. “No...no, you’re not. And you’ve been lonely, too, but darlin’ you’re -- you’ve got a thousand years of history behind you and I’m nobody from nowhere. This is all I’ve got to offer you and this job, the work I do, ain’t ever going to anything but freaky and dangerous and you deserve better than this.” Softly. “You’ve already given so much, darlin’. I just want you to be safe and happy.”

“I would give all of those years for this and you.” Hanzo erased the last of the physical distance between them, Jesse’s hands sliding down to rest on his back, fingers spread wide. “And you are not ‘nobody.’ You’re an actual fucking hero, Jesse McCree, and you should at least try to remember it.”

“We’ve only known each other for nine days.” Jesse leaned in, pressed their foreheads together, closed his eyes.

“During which you’ve saved my soul and my life a minimum of three times. That’s like an average of once every two and a half days. In some places, that implies a strong personal interest verging on commitment.” Hanzo whispered. “Look at me.”

Jesse sighed against his lips and opened his eyes. “I think I’m fallin’ in love with you, too.”

“Good. Because I’d hate to be alone in that.” His heart and his stomach, in rare accord, both fluttered simultaneously and then settled down because nothing good could come of nervous horking in the aftermath of such a confession. “Kiss me?”

“Gods, yes.”

It was not a chaste kiss. Nor was it only one. Jesse, for someone who lived alone in a cabin on the left asscheek of nowhere and whom had had, by his own admission, no serious relationships of a romantic nature possessed surprisingly well-developed out-making skills. Skills that caused all of the blood in Hanzo’s head and at least sixty percent of the rest of his body to rush urgently southward, so hard it made him a little lightheaded. Or that might have been oxygen deprivation combined with the taste of Jesse’s mouth. Or possibly the sensation of Jesse’s knee sliding between his thighs as they backed toward the world’s most comfortable couch. It most definitely had something to do with Jesse’s hands sliding under his tee-shirt and stroking hungrily over his belly, his sides, his back. Horizontality on some preferably soft surface was rapidly becoming necessary, before his ability to think coherent thoughts disappeared entirely into a lust-colored haze and extensive moaning of endearments in at least three languages.

At the very instant his back hit the world’s most comfortable couch cushions and Jesse’s warm, cedar-spice-sage scented weight settled atop him, between his thighs, the incoming message tone sounded on his tablet and he found himself, contrary to sanity, contrary to the numerous urgent demands of his body for more of this right now all the more of this, he lifted his head and gasped out, “Wait.”

“Wait?” Jesse asked, looking up from the task of applying an unmistakable for anything but it was lovebite to his clavicle.

“Wait.” Hanzo pleaded. “Just one second. This might be the information I was waiting for from home. If it is, we can celebrate.”

“Okay. Okay. I can wait. This is important.” Jesse agreed and sat up enough to allow Hanzo to wriggle an arm free and swipe his tablet off the coffee table and thumb the screen open.

It took him a moment to fully process what he was looking at once he did finally get his email open, distracted by Jesse pressing a series of warm, faintly wet kisses around his belly button. Then he began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh until Jesse, alarmed by the edges his laughter was growing, sat up and took him in his arms and asked, softly and urgently, “What is it, darlin’? What’s wrong?”

“Well,” Hanzo said, from around the painful, spiky obstruction in his throat, “I believe I can say with some certainty that I am no longer burdened by a thousand years of family history.”

#WIP Ghost Stories On Route 66

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