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howveryheather · 1 year

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my 2022 in songs

In a year unlike any I’ve ever lived before, this is the playlist of songs — past and present — which kept me going and pushing myself to lead an “all-in” life. What makes it all so unique is the way the music came into my life in clusters. Always at varying intervals, but in a sturdy group. Songs bookended the major moments in time. Moments where the sun set on different parts of where I was and my life as I entered new chapters.

“Everyday” — Agnelli & Nelson

“Orange Crush” — R.E.M.

“Enjoy The Ride” — Morcheeba, Judy Tzuke

A big part of my year was defined by my new job. I distinctly remember the Saturday all of the equipment arrived to the house. The terror of being saddled with so much stuff. The precaution I had to heed if things did not work out. The challenge right in front of me which I would need to rise to the occasion for each day. Somehow, I suspected my life would never be the same again.

My assignments, the first time I got into the thick of them, were what many would call is too much. I would have been worried if I viewed it as work. This was not a job to me. It was a significant part of my writing career, which had always been present enough but in a predominantly freelance sort of way. Now, it was my full-time work.

I experienced the rubber band-ness of my mind as I got into the role. Each day, I could feel my brain snapping over and over. Get this project done, finish these assignments, take on this new project. Complete, complete, complete. Keep going. My brain never went back to its previous shape again. The explosive snapping eroded into every other aspect of my life. Suddenly, my bylines bloomed into technicolor. This job and all of my other work took on a life of its own. It spilled out the door of the room I had rented in a house and into my own place.

I don’t have imposter syndrome. I know a lot of people do: the belief where someone will think they are a fraud or will “find out” something about them which dispels their qualifications for a role. I think I was, am, just hungry for work I want and I’m passionate about.

My life is guided by a certain amount of blind confidence. I believe I’m going to do well if I work hard, learn from the mistakes I make and work to fix them, and keep pushing myself to learn and try and do the work of course. You get out of everything what you put into it.

“Age of Anxiety I” — Arcade Fire

“Spitting Off the Edge of the World” — Yeah Yeah Yeahs

“Solêr” — Otto A. Totland

Ever since I moved into my new home, I’ve been going back to church semi-regularly again on Sundays.

At first, it was a strange feeling after being gone from a cathedral setting for a long time. I still have mixed feelings about organized religion. Sometimes I get the suspicion I’m being judged for not giving the collection plate all that much money, even though currency of any kind is not supposed to matter to religious deities. What I find in being back in church is I enjoy spending an hour each week reflecting on my faith. Rebuilding my belief system and fine tuning faith to mean what I think it means to me.

There has been a lot which has happened throughout the year, and in recent years, which has filled me with a fair amount of despair, sadness, anger, and overall helplessness thinking about the future. Climate change is my greatest heartbreak. If I think for too long about the way we’re killing earth, the one planet which we know holds life to the extent it does, I almost can’t breathe thinking about it.

To combat these preemptive feelings of grief I have for whatever will happen to this planet, I have to think about the good things.

The good things are polar bears, honeybees, chocolate chips, hot tubs, the feeling of lace, fresh coffee, the color pink, adjectives, funny comic strips, good friends, close family, a magnolia’s petals, bruschetta, live concerts, the scent of jasmine, the air as it holds you, the stars at night, laughter, your favorite pillow, a person’s smile, a tasty churro. And oh so much more.

I am aware this year has been exceptionally rewarding to me. I have been incredibly fortunate and I get to do what makes me feel fulfilled on a daily basis. Being in church is the quiet reminder to me to reflect on and be thankful for the things I am blessed to have, consider the areas of my life where I can improve upon, and where else I can give back to others.

“abcdefu (angrier)” - GAYLE

“Do It Like You” — Crooked Colors

“This is the Last Time” — The National

I am really trying hard not to reflect on how I spent the better part of this year in a living situation which gradually deteriorated. But I do need to write a little bit about how it made me feel especially at its ending. It’s kind of like how I felt writing about living through a wildfire evacuation. In time, you will not remember all of the finer details. You write it out of posterity and for yourself. Moving out and living alone for the first time changed my year, my life, and my mental health for the better.

Things weren’t the best when I moved back in 2021. The whole “renting a room in someone’s house” arrangement was getting old. After I got my new job, I kept it a secret from everyone I lived with. I didn’t say anything until I felt like it was appropriate to tell everyone I was never going back to the office... ever.

From there, it became a matter of “when” I was going to move out. A question which was never asked of me out loud, but I knew it was coming. Moreover, I desperately wanted to move out. I was way too old for these arrangements. I needed my own space and my own place.

I spent months quietly viewing apartments. It was hard at first because my new job’s office is in El Segundo. A certain amount of trepidation surrounded these viewings because I was concerned I would need to move to LA to be closer for a potential commute. By the end of the summer, I was given the all-clear our office would no longer have a presence in the city. This meant I could stay in the Valley. I could move to whichever city I liked without being in LA itself.

These apartment viewings weren’t easy. If you are aware of the 2022 housing market, you don’t need any further explanation. The rents were extremely expensive, many units were in complexes which were not exactly walkable or in walkable areas, and almost everything was gone within 48 hours of me going on a tour. It also felt like something was never right about the places I viewed. I would be in an apartment with a mini fridge and no freezer or a unit in building in an area where I didn’t feel comfortable. I know it’s almost impossible to make your first home perfect, but I felt like I reached the end of making sacrifices. If I’m going to be working 60 hours a week and all of these hours were spent working from home, I should not have to compromise on the home itself.

Meanwhile, more irritating things kept occurring while I was back in the house riding out the remnants of my Harry Potter under the stairs existence. A lot of it became almost cartoonishly stupid in nature — being told how many times a day I was allowed to flush the toilet, a passive aggressive fight over a pizza box, the amount of times the washer was full of wet clothes for days on end and I couldn’t do my laundry, etc. — until quite literally the day I moved out.

As soon as I received the move-in time and approval at my new apartment, I gathered my first round of possessions to the new place. Then I rushed back for the rest. I had a desk chair in my room. I had considered leaving the chair to my roommate to drive over to me, but at the last minute I decided to grab it. If we were gonna do this, nothing was getting left behind except for the keys. My desk chair nearly smashed into the wall as I pushed it down the stairs and out the door with the last of my belongings. In the comedy of errors which is my life, a rolling desk chair nearly trampled me on my moving day.

As the Uber driver drove away from the house, I felt infinite joy to be leaving Calabasas. By 11 AM PST, I had managed to get all of my belongings in the door of my new home. My own home.

“My Love” — Florence + the Machine

“Music For a Sushi Restaurant” — Harry Styles

“Karma” — Taylor Swift

The first few days of waking up in my own place felt like a resurrection. Like no other timeline in my existence. I was waking up every morning and stepping into the life of my dreams. Your bedroom in one room, the living room/home office in a separate room. After three years of working remote, I finally had a separation between the two versions of myself.

My days are quiet, welcome, peaceful. I work from home. Every day starts at 5 AM, ends at 3 PM, interludes until 6 PM and closes at 9 PM. The quiet feels like a friend to me. Every moment is one to cherish, the big and small ones alike. The freedom to be away from everyone and lead a life which feels fully like my own and my own alone.

Although I am not certain I am 100% alone. You see, I have a cricket friend who has been hanging out in my bedroom and the living room since I arrived here. Crickets are a sign of prosperity. They also happen to be one of my favorite Disney characters. I could never hurt a cricket, so I let this one chirp away. Sometimes it comes into the bathroom with me. I help it hop out.

I had been hopeful living alone would stoke my creativity and it certainly has! But more than creativity or work, living alone has given me something to fight for in my life. It’s the kind of fight people have if they have children or are married to good partners. I’d fight like hell for this apartment. It has given me agency over my life which I never thought I could experience.

And living here, it must be said, has been the best investment in myself I could ever make.

“Suicide Blonde” — INXS

“All That I Can” — ALPHA 9

“No One Dies From Love” — Tove Lo

Over the course of the last few months, I have been back on the dating apps in a big way. I’m swiping, I’m talking to as many guys as I can, and I’m going on as many dates as I can.

You have this vision once you achieve a specific dream, like living alone, life will magically open up in every conceivable way. Sometimes I think about the life as a simulation theory. If such a theory is true, then it’s possible we’re all locked into our own specific purgatories. My purgatory is being perpetually stuck in the dating scene.

Upon getting back on the dating apps, I quickly visualized the items on my vision board. (Not a joke: I do want to get married.) Then, I hopped back on the apps to get swiping.

I rematched with four guys I’ve previously gone out with.

This did not make me gleeful in the slightest. I felt horrified. These guys were all still on the apps? Did they ever get off? Why were we all gathered in this place? Why were we rematching again?

While I still approach the dating apps with an open heart, I cannot say with any certainty I know how any of this ends. I can’t even try to obnoxiously announce “2023 will be the year I will find my soulmate!” or channel Charlotte York Goldenblatt and really throw myself aggressively hard into the dating pool to get married in under a year. Because I’m in the pool and the pool might force me to pay for The League dating app to get out of it.

Something does needle at me about all these rematches though. Do I need to aggregate some Yelp reviews about the Heather dating experience?

“Don’t Forget” — Sky Ferreira

Now THIS song was my 2022 anthem!

Electrifying! Sensational! I never stopped blasting it after the first listen. It was the soundtrack to many freelance articles I wrote, as I made the list of brand mascots nominated for this year’s AW walk of fame, and the application I filled out for my future apartment. A big catalyst for my inner and outer changes. It wasn’t my top Spotify song — a credit of which always goes to an ambient video game score I always listen to every year — but it was definitely in the top 100.

I’m not totally sure how to wrap up this post. It’s impossible for me to imagine what will happen next in my life. Anything could be ahead for me. I could fulfill every dream I have for myself and end up alone on the top of a mountain. I could discover the portal to my dreams through a chance encounter. I could reconnect with someone from my past or leave the past in the past. I know what is ahead comes with its fair share of joy and sadness. That’s just a known constant for the future: you will be happy, excited, nervous, and full of sorrow at varying intervals of your life. But I feel a lot of gratitude to have everything I do now and I’m excited to see where life, and myself, takes me in 2023 and beyond.

#personal #2022

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yespolkadotkitty · 3 years

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i think it’s fair to say that i’ve fallen far too in love with your zach one shots — not only do you capture his persona so well, it genuinely feels like i’m watching an episode of brothers & sisters

also, your ricky one shot was also so so so good!! you have no idea how grateful we all are that you pluck these characters from obscurity and portray their defining characteristics so accurately while also adding the loveliest fluffiest fluff of all time

i was wondering if you would consider writing a jealous!zach one shot? ngl, the (mutual) pining mixed with jealousy trope is my guilty pleasure and i feel like jealous zach would be 11/10

anyway, just wanted to say you’re fucking amazing and i adore your writing — i hope you’re having a great day!!

THANK YOU FOR THIS LOVELY ASK

(NB: Ok I know this is not Zach but it COULD be. It’s the right year. There are SO FEW pics of Zach so let’s just go with it).

Words: 1700 ~ Warnings: jealousy, pining, angst, fluff, one awesome kiss

Pairing: Zach Wellison x gn!reader

************

YOU: Is it wrong to be attracted to the super in my building?

BFF: Why would it be wrong? Use it to curry favour! Get stuff fixed faster! What is he/she like?

YOU: Tall. Tanned. Dark blond. Has a tattoo - military maybe? Sexiest voice ever.

BFF: If you don’t get him, I will.

You set your phone down and smiled.

Maybe I should say something.

Zach had been the building super of your apartment block for the last three months. He was a massive improvement on the last guy, who spent his days playing Zelda and smoking weed and very occasionally getting off his ass to fix stuff.

He’d been to your place - conveniently next door to his, he had a live-in type gig - four times. The garbage disposal, the leaky faucet, the faucet again, and then the window.

Notes could be left in his mailbox downstairs by tenants who needed assistance. He always responded the same day, the next day at the very latest, and he always tried to arrange a time with the occupant that suited them.

He’d gotten all greasy and wet fixing the faucet, his plaid button-down clinging to him, and eventually he’d stripped it off, revealing a tattoo you hadn’t been brave enough to try and examine properly, and some serious biceps.

Next time I see him, you promise yourself.

BFF: Btw, what’s happening with the dude at no 16?

YOU: Nothing.

You’d engaged in a mild flirtation with the well-built guy across the hall. Sometimes he got your mail in his box by mistake and he dropped it off, but lately he hadn’t engaged with you, and you began to think he was just being friendly.

The next day, before you could properly think of what to write down for Zach, the washing machine that came with your place started to leak. You noticed when trying to take your clothes out of it.

“Crap!”

Rather than put a note in his box, you knocked on Zach’s door.

He opened it after a minute, surprise sketched on his handsome face, hair ruffled, sweat beading at the neck of his t-shirt. Past him, you could see weight lifting equipment on the floor, along with a small speaker playing 70s rock.

“Fleetwood Mac?” You ask, smiling. “They’re my favourite.”

“No kidding?” A smile tipped up one corner of his mouth. “So... “ His brown eyes met yours, warm, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I hate to bother you directly, but my washer’s busted - leaking.”

“It’s no bother.” He glanced behind him. “Give me five, okay? I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks so much, Zach.”

He nods and closes the door. You’re about to turn back to your apartment when Well Built Guy - Damon, you think his name is - comes out of his own apartment.

“Hey,” he greets you.

“Oh, hey. How are you?”

He pushes a hand through his short, black hair. His single earring glints in the daylight; gives him a pleasingly piratical look. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Yeah, good - thanks.” You move again.

“Wait.” He takes a step closer in the small hall. “I was wondering if you - if you wanted to get coffee sometime? This place two blocks over does an amazing dark roast.”

“Oh, well-”

You’re cut off when Zach’s door swings open. He’s changed into a clean shirt, a forest-green henley, and he carries a faded red toolbox. His gaze darts between you and Damon, wary, and for a second, his mouth turns down.

As quickly as you see it, it’s gone.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he mutters, to you. “Can I go in?”

“I’ll let you in, Zach.” You turn your attention to Damon.”Catch you later?”

“Sure, sweet thing.”

He’s called you the nickname before but it’s never chafed until today.

Zach doesn’t react as you come to the door and let him in.

“Thanks for coming by so quickly.”

He doesn’t look at you. “You didn’t have to cut your time with your boyfriend short.” He sets his toolbox down by the washer and kneels, unbothered by the pool of water that begins to leech into the pale denim of his jeans.

“He isn’t my boyfriend.”

Zach sets about exploring the washer. “Okay.”

“He isn’t.” You stuff your hands in your pockets. “You want some coffee?”

For the first time, he looks up at you, and the expression in his honey-brown eyes is scraped bare, and then he looks away and the connection is lost. “Sure. Thanks. Black, one sugar.”

You busy yourself, just a few feet away - your kitchen is not big by any stretch of the imagination.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” He’s absorbed, only his waist and ass sticking out from the drum of the washer.

You potter off to do some work.

An half hour later, Zach knocks on the door of your tiny office - the only other “room” of your studio aside from the bathroom.

“All fixed.”

“Thank you so much, Zach.”

He swipes the back of his hand over his forehead, leaving a smear of grease. “No problem.”

“You’ve got a-” You reach up, every nerve on end, wanting to touch him.

A knock sounds at your door.

Dammit.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

You swing the door open and Damon is there with two coffees.

“I was on my way back from the office,” he says. “I thought you might like to - oh, the super’s still there. Not fixed yet, pal?”

Damon says it innocuously but you see Zach’s shoulders tense.

“Nope, all good.” He rubs the palms of his hands together in a “that’s done” gesture. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“... Place next door is this amazing Italian,” Damon is saying, oblivious. “It’s pretty pricey but I’d love to take you there.”

Zach pushes between you and out of the door, but you see the crestfallen set of his shoulders as he goes.

The door swings shut behind him and you turn back to Damon, resigned to see this conversation out, and to make it clear that he’s kind, but you aren’t interested.

*******

That evening, you take the stairs down to the communal gym in your building. Well. Gym is stretching it. There’s one ancient rowing machine, one treadmill, a barbell that has seen much better days, and a CRT TV that only shows Judge Judy. But, you don’t have to pay for it, so it beats a gym contract elsewhere in the city.

When you push through the door, Zach is on the treadmill, earphones in. He’s wearing a sleeveless vest and your gaze is drawn to his intricate tattoo - an eagle perched on a world, an anchor hugging the globe. Marines.

Wow, you think - wow.

Sweat trickles down the back of his neck, and his thick, dark gold hair curls around his nape.

Now or never.

You walk over to the treadmill and drop your gym bag to announce your presence.

Zach turns, does a double take, and then presses a button on the treadmill to slow it down. He pulls his earphones out.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Zach.”

Curiosity flits across his features. “Something you need?”

You swallow. He looks so good, his pale gold skin slick with clean sweat, his breath coming in soft pants, his chest rising and falling, lean muscles delineated by the clinging vest.

“No. I mean, yes.”

“And you can’t get the guy at 16 to help?” he snarks.

You step back.

“Sorry,” Zach says, immediately. “I just…”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you assure Zach.

Above his head, on the TV, Judge Judy silently reprimands a woman with six face piercings.

“He could be. Guy like him. Good job. He’d take you to fancy Italian places.”

You curl your hand around the arm of the treadmill. “Maybe I don’t want to go to fancy Italian places.”

Zach huffs out a breath, but you have his interest.

“Maybe I’d just like to hang out with you.”

Suspicion narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Maybe I like you? Did you consider that? Maybe, for some bizarre reason, I think you’re nice and attractive?” you wave your arms, frustrated.

Zach folds his arms across his chest, pursing his lips. “I used to be a Marine, but I had to resign my commission because I got hit hard with PTSD. I lived on the street for two years.”

You hold his gaze as he speaks.

“Why are you telling me this?”

But then you know. He’s telling you so you’ll turn tail and go back to Damon, with his suits and fancy haircut and ability to take you out for $100 dinners.

He expects you to turn him down.

Because that’s what happens. What has happened and what he thinks will happen now.

Zach firms his lips and shakes his head slightly.

“Just go,” he says, so softly, mistaking your silence for pity, rather than resolve.

“No.” Instead, you lean up on your toes and touch your lips to his.

He starts, and then holds perfectly still. You break the kiss, and look up into his face, and he’s gazing at you like you hung the moon and all the stars.

“I like you, Zach,” you whisper. “And I don’t care if our first date is a picnic in the park.”

He blinks, turning away from you for a second, and then he ducks under the arm of the treadmill, and he’s so close that you breath catches.

“I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, and then he cups your face in his hands and kisses you like he means it, lips and teeth and tongue, and it’s everything.

You spear your fingers into his hair and breathe him in, press yourself against the hard wall of his chest, sigh his name against his lips.

“I gotta shower,” he says, with clear reluctance, his voice half an octave lower, unsteady from a kiss that has rocked both your worlds. “Then, let’s see about that picnic.”

**********

Zach Pit & permanent taglist: @mrschiltoncat @astroboots @songsformonkeys @biblioworm @aeryntheofficial @thirstworldproblemss @wheresarizona @pedropascalito @knittingqueen13 @alwaysbethewest @agirllovespancakes @f0rever15elf @heatherbel @frannyzooey @lannister-slings-and-arrows @sarahjkl82-blog @thedazeinmylife @holographic-carmen @idreamofboobear @fromthedeskoftheraven @disgruntledspacedad @chicken-nugget-puta @miulola @nelba @alienprincesspoop @tardisfangurl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @mylonelylittleappreciation @filthybookworm @absurdthirst @thestrawberry-thief @lilangeldevil006 @marydjarin @jedi-mando @havenforafrazzledmind @myoxisbroken @10-96dispatcher @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes @mrsparknuts @roxypeanut

#zach wellison x reader #zach wellison x gn reader #sfw fic #brothers and sisters fic

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flannels-and-fannypacks · 3 years

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Will They Won’t They | Part 1/4 [Reggie Peters]

Pairing: Reggie Peters x fem!reader

Words: 7000

Summary: Reggie and reader were the best of friends up until middle school where they drifted apart and decided never to speak to each other again. What happens when a shared algebra class and a resulting detention force them to spend and increasing amount of time together. Will it be enough to overcome the mutual hate? Or was the relationship doomed from the start.

WARNINGS: swears, spicy dancing, ANGST

A/N: Okay this is the first of hopefully many collabs between Drea and I! We’re both so excited to share out very long baby with you and hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it! - mimi <3

A/N (2): hi babes it’s drea taking over HAHAHA to repeat what mimi said, we are SO EXCITED to collab and work together to create this SUPER ANGSTY but also SUPER FLUFFY AND FUN fic! your feedback is highly appreciated! and if you like our writing, please like, comment, and reblog! we’d love to hear what you have to say! sending my love! - drea :)

◤━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◥

The night was young in your eyes. All the lights in the (L/N) household were off, aside from the nightlight in your bedroom. Despite it being nearly eleven at night, you and your best friend, Reggie Peters, were far from tired.

The soft humming from the radio was all that could be heard from your room, along with the occasional giggle from you or joke cracked by Reggie. You laid on your bed next to him, your legs tangled in the bedsheets. As much as you loved sleepovers with your best friend, you had to admit that Reggie’s growth spurt did not help your cramped situation.

“Your elbow is jabbing my ribs,” you grumbled, kicking Reggie towards the edge of your bed.

The boy only shoved you back, a playful smirk on his face. “You’re just jealous I’m taller than you now, Cookie,” he said triumphantly.

“I’m jealous you’re taking up all the space on my bed, dork,” you shot back, kicking hard enough to push him over the edge. Reggie let out a yelp before hitting the ground, groaning upon the impact. You fell into a fit of giggles as you peeked over the edge of your bed to see a pair of narrowed blue-green eyes and a scowl. “Sorry, Flicka,” you squeaked.

Reggie glared at you jokingly, rubbing his elbow in pain. “No you’re not,” he whispered back.

“Yeah, I’m not.”

You swung your legs over the edge of your bed, standing up to reach -well almost- Reggie’s height. You frowned at his arm, gingerly taking it into your hands. The boy winced upon first touch, but relaxed in your grasp. “Does it hurt a lot?” you asked in a concerned voice.

Reggie shrugged his shoulders. “It’s whatever,” he responded nonchalantly, but the pain in his voice was visible.

You raised an eyebrow at your best friend. “You don’t have to pretend to be all strong and tough,” you reminded him.

The taller boy sighed, a pout adorning his lips. “I know,” he murmured. “But we’re starting middle school soon. I should be ‘all strong and tough.’”

Snorting, you shook your head. “Who cares about that nonsense?” you exclaimed in a hushed voice. “We all feel pain, that’s not a bad thing. Besides, it’s just me, Flicka. You don’t need to put up an act.”

Reggie’s lips turned upwards as he looked into your eyes. Everything just felt right at the moment. The smile on your face. The redness in his cheeks. The moonlight reached the window and illuminated the room. It was perfect.

The radio, forgotten by the two of you, started to play a new song. Your song.

“You got a fast car

I want a ticket to anywhere”

Glancing up at Reggie, you could both tell you were thinking the exact same thing.

“Dance with me, Flicka?” you asked, giving his hands a squeeze.

Reggie’s face burned in embarrassment as you moved his hand to your waist. “I’m not any good at this, you know that, Cookie,” he muttered, resting his chin on top of your head.

You scoffed, starting to sway along to the music. “Just follow my lead, Reggie. I promise I won’t leave you hanging.”

There, the two of you swayed silently to the music. The moon shined bright from your window, making the blue and green in his eyes shine brighter than usual. Reggie watched as you moved your head so that it laid against his chest. You could hear his heart practically beating out of his chest, making you giggle softly.

“Flicka? you spoke up in a hushed tone. Reggie only hummed in reply. You took a deep breath. “Promise me you’ll never leave me?”

Reggie looked out the window, seeing a glimpse of both of your reflections through the glass. “I’d never leave you, Cookie.”

“You promise?” you whispered.

“I promise.”

That was your first broken promise. The first broken promise upon millions. Reggie told you he’d never leave you, that he’d always be your friend.

Funny how fragile promises can be.

That was nearly seven years ago. The late nights spent doing who knows what, listening to the radio seemed like a distant memory from a past life.

Now your days were spent alone in the library, bent over textbooks determined to ace your classes to get a scholarship and go to a good college. You wouldn’t make your parents pay for that. That was asking too much of them.

You weren’t sure where Reggie was, or what he was doing. Once you both were in middle school, he found himself new friends, and apparently a band, too. Even though you weren’t on speaking terms, you had listened to his music every once in a while. You knew he was destined for big things. Those big things just didn’t include you.

But that was fine. Your entire life wasn’t centred around some boy from your childhood. You had school and your family. So, for you, that meant signing up for all the most challenging classes and studying your ass off for all of them.

You didn’t want to admit it but this class was killing you. Your pride always got in the way. Most of the time, you believed you were capable of passing every class with flying colours. But, there was no denying this class was more difficult than the others. How were you supposed to know what effects the Great Depression had on farmers of that era? You weren’t them and they were all dead.

Your tired eyes drifted over to the clock and you sighed as you realized what time it was. Packing your things, you left the library and dragged your feet to your algebra class.

Sitting patiently in the front row while your teacher explained the lesson plan you barely even registered the faint knock on the door frame, but when you turned your head up your expression changed from one neutral to a scowl.

He hadn’t changed a bit. Aside from the whole outfit -he definitely switched his old sports sweatshirts for leather jackets sometime in freshman year- he was the same old Reggie Peters. The same dark hair, piercing blue-green eyes, and rosy red cheeks.

“Um, sorry I’m supposed to be in algebra with Mr. Milenika, I just got transferred.” the dark hair teen said, running a hand through his hair and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yes, Mr. Peters correct?”

Reggie nodded wordlessly. Your heart was beating out of your chest. Not from nerves, but is pure hatred for the boy. He couldn’t be in this class. He just couldn’t. Why would the universe do that to you?

“Very well, take a seat.”

Reggie walked into the class, eyeing where to take a seat when he noticed the only open spot was next to you.

His features hardened and he threw his bag down next to the empty desk, pulling out the chair and sitting in it with a loud thump.

“Flicka,” you spat.

“Cookie,” he nodded with a hiss in return.

“Great, I take it you two know each other?” Mr. Milenika asked, unaware of the drama that was associated with whatever relationship you and Reggie had. It was a stretch to say you even had one.

You and Reggie gave him a bitter “Yes.”

Mr. Milenika, never one who was ever good at differentiating bitterness and normal answers, beamed at the two.

“Good, because even though this is a math class, I will make you work with your partner quite often. So I suggest you get to know whoever is sitting next to you.” Your body stiffened. As if it couldn’t get any worse, Mr. Milenka never failed to disappoint.

Mr. Milenika continued on, explaining the rest of the plan for the class, but you seemed unable to concentrate, entirely focused on the boy who was now sitting next to you. With his stupid face and stupidly strong cologne, you couldn’t focus at all on whatever was on the board. It was as though you were in a haze, and all you could think about was him.

It had been years since you’d last spoken, not to mention you barely saw him in the halls anymore. He was notorious for skipping class to go rehearse with his so-called band while you were quite the opposite. Never missing a day, no matter what it took.

“Never thought you were one for staring,” he whispered under his breath and you scoffed.

“Oh so we don’t talk for seven years and you think now’s a good time to start?”

“Yeah, I do, cause then I could tell you how stupid those shoes look,”

“I’m literally just wearing converse, you are too Reginald,” you spat.

“Shut up!” he said, raising his voice slightly.

“You first!” you said, voice becoming louder. Was it a childish comeback? Perhaps, but you weren’t one to back down, no matter how stupid your comebacks were.

Now the whole class was listening, even Mr. Milenika had stopped teaching to observe what was going on with his students and just as he was about to intervene it seemed the debate had gotten worse.

“Me? shut up? You’re the one who was always bossing me around and telling me what to do! I could never get in a word with you!” Reggie snapped back.

“That’s because you were too thick-skulled to listen to anything I had to say!” you hissed, not realizing the audience you had. “Who knows Flicka maybe if you had you wouldn’t have failed this class last term!”

“That was uncalled for!” Reggie exclaimed, now standing from his chair. “And it’s not my fault the tutor bailed on me because it was a conflict of interest. This isn’t Judge Judy (Y/N)! If anything it’s your fault!”

“You manipulative little asshole!”

“Suck up!”

“Motherf-,”

“That’s enough!” Mr. Milenika yelled over both of you, causing you to shrink and turn to look at the very angry teacher. “Never in my years of teaching have I seen such barbaric behaviour! That’s two months' detention. Both of you! Now go to Mrs. Hillside’s office, immediately.”

Reggie angrily grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, kicking a stray chair on his way out while you followed close behind in a much quieter fashion.

You had no words as you entered the principal’s office, sitting across from her desk while Reggie took the seat next to yours.

It was your first day back from the holiday. Your first day back and you finally had a conversation with your childhood best friend in seven years and got two months of detention with said childhood best friend. Your heart ached at the thought of the big flaw printed on your record. You only had Reggie to blame.

Purposefully, you shuffled away from him and he rolled his eyes as Mrs. Hillside finished her phone conversation with Mr. Milenika.

“Disrupting a class?” The woman exclaimed. “Foul language? Damaging school property?” Your face burned at each accusation.

Mrs. Hillside glared at you. “Ms.(L/N),” she addressed with a frown. “I did not expect such reckless and irresponsible behaviour from a promising student like you. I’m greatly disappointed.”

Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. “Please don’t make it go on my record,” you whimpered, your voice cracking.

The woman pressed her lips together. “You’re lucky this is your first detention, Ms.(L/N).” You released the breath you had no idea you were holding.

“Kiss ass,” Reggie muttered.

You narrowed your eyes at the boy, prepared to shoot back another comeback when your principal had something far better.

“I find that rich from you, Mr. Peters,” she laughed humorlessly. “Remind me, how many detentions did you have last term?” The boy’s cheek flushed, instantly shutting his mouth. You held back a laugh as to not get a snapback of your own from the teacher. “Now as much as this is infuriating, you both do have a class that I believe would be in your best interest not to miss. So we’ll draw up a schedule for these two months of detention and then you can return to your class in an orderly fashion. You understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” you nodded and Reggie just shrugged, if he blew this for you, well let’s just say there wouldn’t be any evidence of the crime.

“So let’s make this three days a week for two months. Thursday, Friday and Saturday and the hours will vary from time to time depending on the tasks you need to complete.”

“Three times a week?” Reggie exclaimed. “Mrs. Hillside, I have band practice-”

“And I’m losing my patience,” she cut him off. “Now go back to class before I make it four detentions a week.”

You squeaked a quiet “Thank you” before picking up your things and leaving the principal’s office. Speeding down the hallways, you didn’t hear Reggie catching up close behind you. When you saw a blur of black and red in the corner of your eye, you fought the urge to turn your head.

“Stupid Reggie Peters,” you muttered under your breath. “Stupid algebra class. Stupid Mr. Milenka and his stupid detention. Stupid-”

“Are you talking to me, Cookie?” Reggie spoke up, making you jump in surprise. By that time, you were already at the door of your algebra class.

You pressed your binder close to your chest, shooting the boy a pointed glare. “I hate you,” you said, opening the door just enough for you to slip through and slam in Reggie’s face.

You didn’t dare speak when you returned back to class, not wanting to try your luck and possibly extend your already long detention.

Reggie seemed to be thinking the same thing, possibly except he didn’t have his record on the line it was that stupid band practice of his. If he had spent as much time studying as he did practicing maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation because he would have passed the class in the first place.

You knew that you’d need to spend time catching up tonight so you didn’t even bother paying attention to the lesson. Anger bubbled in your chest as you mindlessly wrote notes for the class, not processing anything at all. Occasionally, you would notice a pair of blue-green eyes staring at you, only for them to turn back to the board each time you would look back.

You couldn’t even look each other in the eye. How were you supposed to last two months of detention with him?

Finally, the bell rang and allowed you to escape the confinement that was the loud stares of your classmates as you headed to your first assigned detention. Cleaning up the backroom of the library.

Reaching the library, you were met with the librarian, Mr. Mallard. The old man was hunched over a box filled with books, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. It seemed as though he didn’t realize you were right behind him, so you awkwardly cleared your throat.

Mr. Mallard jumped, turned around to see you nervously waving at him. “Oh, Ms. (L/N), I didn’t see you there.” You waved his comment off.

“Not a problem,” you said with a kind smile. You mentally let out a sigh of relief. Good thing Mr. Mallard was nicer than the rest of the teachers here.

“I was just listening to music,” he explained, nodding at the radio playing soft music. He looked back at you. “You know I used to be a dancer back in my day? Now, I got this bad back, so I’m stuck here with you rascals.” You laughed at the man as he tried to snap his fingers and sway his hips to the music. “Ah, I got too carried away, sorry, dear. Now I must be getting old because I could have sworn there were supposed to be two of you here with me.”

You nodded, looking around for the boy in a leather jacket and red flannel, but came up empty. “He must be running late,” you told him.

Mr. Mallard frowned. “Well, I guess we can wait for him,” he settled, sitting down on his desk chair. “Feel free to take a seat over there until he comes in.”

Reggie came in a few minutes later, tossing his bag onto one of the chairs and placing his bass guitar on the table.

“The usual Mr. Mallard?” Reggie asked and the older man gave him a nod. It seemed Reggie had become familiar with the library as you had, just in a different way. “Well what are you waiting for?” he looked at you unimpressed. “The faster we start the faster we leave.”

You didn’t say a word, only followed him into the back room where you’d be organizing some old books, boxes and trophies

You stepped into the room, squinting at the shadows of assorted boxes. It was completely dark.

“Well, come on, Cookie,” Reggie said, giving you a shove. “We don’t have all day.”

You took in a shaky breath. “It’s dark,” you pointed out.

Reggie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I think we’ve established that,” he said. “Let’s just find the light switch and start cleaning.”

You nodded, blindly searching along the walls for that damn switch. Not noticing the small box on the floor, you kicked it aside, spilling all sorts of books onto the floor. You squeaked in fear, grabbing the first thing in sight. Of course, that had to be Reggie’s hand.

You whipped your head around, face red in embarrassment. Lucky for you the darkness of the room prevented him from seeing that. “Sorry,” you muttered.

Reggie scoffed at you. “Still scared of the dark?” he asked in a teasing voice.

“Still sleep with that horse plushie of yours?” you shot back.

Reggie glared at you but didn’t say anything else. Without letting go of your hand he flicked on the switch and the room filled with a dim orange hue.

“You can let go now,” you said, trying to shimmy your hand away from his, only prompting him to grip harder.

“What are you scared of me now?” he asked with a smirk and you scowled, ripping your hand away from his.

“Let’s just clean, like you said, the faster we get this done the faster we can go home.”

The room was silent aside from the noises of books falling against the floor, making a quiet thud. You made a small area of your own in the back of the room, a stack of boxes hiding your view of Reggie. But from the lack of noises made in his part of the room, you could tell he wasn’t doing anything productive.

You poked your head out of your small space, frowning at the boy. He was sitting on the floor, slouching as he scribbled on a dusty piece of paper.

“Hey!” you called out, throwing an old yearbook in his direction.

Reggie barely ducked in time, sitting up and turning in your area. “What the hell?” he yelled.

“We’re supposed to be working on cleaning this room!” you snapped. “You aren’t doing shit, Flicka.”

“I did clean,” he muttered. “I just had an idea for the band-”

“That stupid band! Why can’t you just stop for once in your life and focus on what’s in front of you,” you scowled, frustrated that even now you were the one stuck doing all the work. Seemed like maybe things hadn’t changed much from seven years ago.

“Maybe if you loosened a screw or two we wouldn’t need to have this conversation,”

“Just shut up Reginald, you have no idea what it means to take responsibility for something. You haven’t changed and you never will.”

Reggie was about to come back with a retort when the door to the backroom swung open and Mr. Mallard came in with a smile on his face.

“Could I get you kids some snacks?” he asked kindly.

“Always, you’re the man Mr. M.” Reggie grinned, completely ignoring you and giving the librarian a high five from where he sat on the ground.

“I’m good Mr. Mallard,” you shook your head and he left you both with a nod of his head and promised to be back with some assortment of fruits and such.

After your first detention, it was safe to say that all hope of fixing your friendship with Reggie went down the drain. It seemed as though every hour you spent with him gave you all the more reasons to throttle him and be glad he stopped talking to you back in middle school.

—

Detentions became just another regular part of your week, integrated with your studying and your part-time job at the cafe. So you were more than happy to take a minute and walk back home where you could take a minute to rest.

Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

“Reggie!” a voice yelled. You took a deep breath as you tried to make yourself invisible. It was his friends, Luke, Alex, and Bobby. The friends he left you for.

Reggie’s face lit up as he walked past you, running over to his friends. “Hey guys!” he said with a toothy grin. “What are you doing here?”

Luke shrugged his shoulders. “We thought we might as well give you a ride to practice since we were already around here for lunch,” he explained nonchalantly.

Bobby sent his friend a glare. “You mean I gave you a ride,” he corrected, gesturing to the keys in his hand.”

Luke waved his comment off. “Details. Oh, who’s that?” Luke asked pointing over to you and you tried to pick up your pace before he eventually made his way to you.

“That’s just (Y/N),” Reggie shrugged. “We have detention together.” Luke approached you with an overexcited pep in his step. You tried to back away as subtly as possible, but you were stopped by a wall.

“You’re adorable!” he grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulder while you looked at him in a sort of odd confusion. “Your face is so cute and pink, kind of like a bunny! You know, growing up I had this bunny for a pet named Carrot. We’re adopting you, right boys?”

You ducked under his arm, trying to stay as polite as possible. “Oh, I’d love to be your friend and all,” you began nervously. “But um...I just have things to do and-”

“We’re. Adopting. You,” Luke said in a sickly sweet but firm voice. “Right boys?”

As you tried to slip out of his grasp and walk away, Alex, who was also coincidentally your lab partner, called out from the van.

“Hey (N/N), you need a ride?”

“No thanks! I’m fine walking,” you called back, but Luke didn’t want to take no for an answer. He ran up in front of you and scooped you in his arms, throwing you over his shoulder causing you to shriek in surprise.

“We’re taking you with us! Who knows what kind of dangerous types are wandering around LA.”

“At the moment I would think you’re one of them!” you exclaimed, squirming to have him put you down, before finally giving up when he tossed you in the van. “Could this constitute a kidnapping? I feel like it’s a kidnapping. Can I call the police?”

Reggie followed close behind the two of you, clearly not liking this at all. He had already spent enough time with you in detention. Now you’re with his friends? He took the backseat, right behind you. “Dude, come on,” Reggie said as Luke fastened your seatbelt before patting the top of your head. You shot the guitarist a glare. “I really don’t want to be arrested for kidnapping. Especially since it’s her. Lord knows she’ll manage to pin the charges on me.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Nonsense,” he said. “We’re not kidnapping her. We’re making friends!”

“That’s not how making friends works, Patterson!” you yelled as he slid the van door closed.

While they were making their way to your house Luke seemed to glance at the time on the dash and gasped.

“Shit! Guys turn around we’re gonna be late for practice!”

“Practice, you said you were taking me home!” you exclaimed. “This is actually a kidnapping now! Flicka your friends suck!”

“Sorry Lady Bunny,” Luke shrugged and you whined.

Reggie groaned and banged his head on the seat in front of him while Bobby took a definitely illegal u-turn to go where they normally had their rehearsals.

The car stopped in front of a fairly nice house with a big studio. The boys filed out, leaving you grumbling in the back seat. Luke opened the door, bowing dramatically.

“Lady Bunny,” Luke said, reaching his hand out to you.

You scowled at the boy, crossing your arms on your chest. “I want to go home,” you muttered.

“No can do, Lady Bunny,” Luke said with a shrug of his shoulders. “We have practice to do.”

“Then I’ll walk home,” you whined.

Luke laughed at your frustrated face. “Can’t let you do that either,” he told you. “Besides, you’re too little and innocent to brave the world on your own.” Luke reached for your cheek, patting it softly until you turned your head and bit his finger. “Ouch!”

“Yeah, bunnies bite, dick head. This is holding an innocent party against their will and you will do jail time,”

“(N/N), just stick around this once, I’ll make sure you get home later,” Alex offered and you slouched in your seat and mumbled a “Fine,”

Alex patted your back and led you into the large studio where there was a girl with frizzy brown curly hair, sitting on a couch.

“Finally! What took you guys so long!” she sighed and stood up.

“We adopted a bunny, Rose!” Luke grinned and hugged you from behind tucking your chin in his shoulder. You rolled your eyes and mouthed help me, to the girl and she scrunched her nose as if to say, ‘sorry honey there isn’t anything I can do.’

Luke pulled you to the couch and sat you down. “Now you stay there while we practice, okay bunny?” he said, patting your head.

“If you’re good we might give you snacks,” Bobby added from behind Luke, snickering under his breath.

Rose shot both boys a pointed look. “Cut that out, you two,” she ordered. Rose sat next to you, patting your knee. “Can I get you anything? Water? A snack? You don’t have to do a flip for treats or whatever.”

You laughed in response, nervously playing with the hem of your sweater. “I’m fine, thank you,” you responded politely. “If anything I just want a ride home.”

Rose frowned, leaning against the pillow cushions. “I’d give you a ride but my sister took the car for today,” she explained apologetically. Rose could sense the awkward tension, and wanted to break the ice. “So which one of them is your boyfriend?”

You choked on air, not expecting her question. For once, you were thankful the band was blasting music. “I’m sorry?” you coughed, causing Rose to reach over to grab a water bottle from the table and offer it to you. You took a big gulp, sighing. “What made you think that?”

Rose hummed as she thought of her answer. “Well, you’re way too nervous around me,” she began. “And the boys all keep on looking at you. Alex is not your boyfriend because he’s currently talking to this guy in my English class. Bobby...definitely isn’t your type, now that I look at you. I considered Luke for a moment but he’s way too dedicated to music to date anyone but his six-string, you also just seemed way too annoyed by him, but what’s new. And now that leaves Reggie.” she looked over at the boy playing the bass. Reggie, who apparently was watching the two of you talk, quickly ducked his head, his cheeks visibly red. “You two have history, don’t you?”

You froze, eyes widening. “How did you-”

“I think you forgot we were in the same homeroom since fourth grade,” she laughed. “You and Reggie, you guys were glued at the hip. Don’t you have nicknames for each other or something?”

“I-I guess,” you shrugged, it wasn’t really something you used as a term of endearment anymore, but it was still there. “He was Flicka and I was Cookie,”

“Did you date?” she asked curiously, leaning in closer.

“No,” you shook your head. “Just friends. Used to be.” you corrected and Rose frowned, but before she could ask another question you stopped her. “If I have to sit here and wait for Alex to take me home you think we could talk about something else?”

“Sure,” Rose nodded, “Well in that case I think you should come around here more often,”

“What do you mean?” you nervously chuckled.

“I don’t know, I just think we’d be pretty good friends,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

You leaned your head on her shoulder, smiling at the warm feeling bubbling inside you. “Yeah,” you agreed in a quiet voice. “I’m starting to think so, too.”

—

“And then he told me I was annoying!” you hissed, angrily scribbling the data of your experiment onto your notebook. “Can you believe that? Him!”

Alex anxiously watched you as you reached for a pipette, squeezing the poor thing like it stole your money. “Really?” Alex only said in a shaky voice.

You nodded furiously, taking the indicator, not even caring to count out your drops and just pouring the purple liquid haphazardly into the Erlenmeyer flask.

“He’s-He’s just a… argh! I can’t stand him!” you waved your hands almost knocking over the whole buret and ring stand with a very strong molarity composition of hydrochloric acid in it causing Alex to let out a strangled yelp from the back of his throat.

“C-can you please at least stay ten feet away from the table?” he requested. “You’re going to either break something or send me to the hospital with an acid burn and I really would prefer if that didn’t happen.”

You placed your materials down, glaring at the blond boy. “What are you talking about?” you snapped, not meaning to take your anger out on your friend (and chemistry experiment, at that).

Alex placed his hands up in the air in defence. “Just-” he swallowed loudly, trying to think of the right words. “Maybe take a deep breath? I know Reggie gets you all angry and stuff, but please don’t put our lives and chemistry grade on the line.”

“Makes me mad is a fucking understatement,” you grumbled.

“Okay, we can start there,” Alex began, slowly moving the materials far away from you. “I think it’s reasonable and incredibly understandable that you dislike him. But do you really hate him?”

You scowled. “Yes, Alexander,” you said in a scarily calm voice. “As a matter of fact, I do. He’s a fucking pain in my ass and can go fuck himself for all I care. He’s rude, inconsiderate, and selfish beyond belief.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Alex, you’re not my therapist, stop acting like you have every right to be in my business when you don’t know a single thing about me!”

Alex didn’t respond to that comment, fearing what you might say next. You paused, noticing Alex’s uneasiness. “I’m sorry,” you only mumbled.

He nodded wordlessly, gently placing his hand over yours. “Don’t worry about it, (N/N),” he reassured you.

Silence followed, aside from the quiet mumbling of instructions for the experiment. Minutes in, you finally decided to break the silence.

“Because he left me,” you whispered in a broken voice.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?” he said, genuinely not hearing you.

You sighed, placing your pencil and notebook down. “He left me for your stupid band. He got friends and I got nothing,” you explained further. You removed your glasses, wiping away a stray tear. “I probably shouldn’t even be mad at him, at this point. He’s moved on...and got popular and actually has something going on for himself. And me?” You laughed humorlessly at yourself. “I work a job to help mom and dad pay the bills and work my ass off so I can go to school and make a life for myself. No one told me trying for success would be so lonely.”

“(Y/N),” Alex said, frowning slightly.

You shook your head. “But he’s happy, isn’t he?” you asked. “Reggie. He’s smiling wider than I’ve ever seen before. Singing and playing the bass, dancing his heart out on stage. He never used to do those things with me.” You looked away from Alex, unable to take his pitiful gaze. “He’s changed while I’ve stayed the same. I’m stuck here, still moping about my past. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he is better off without me.”

“He’s not,” Alex said without even thinking.

“How could you say that? He’s clearly happier. It’s not like you can pretend you don’t see that,”

“But he’s not. He just replaced what he had, his friendship with you, with music. I might not know him as well as you, but it’s his coping mechanism. It hides all the bad things in life that he chooses not to deal with,”

“Reggie’s not like that,” you shook your head, refusing to believe what Alex was saying.

Alex, starting to get frustrated, slammed his hands on the edge of the table. “Dammit, (Y/N) can you just realize for one second that you don’t hate Reggie and that Reggie doesn’t hate you?” Your mouth remained closed, so Alex took it as an opportunity to push further. “You two talk my ears off about each other more than you realize. It’s always “Reggie did this” or “(Y/N) did that” can’t you two get your heads out of your asses and see that?”

“C-Can you take care of this, I’m just going to run to the washroom,” you murmured, not waiting for a response. You took off your goggles, gloves and lab coat, making your way to the courtyard, contrary to where you said you were going. Pulling your MP3 player out of your pocket you threw on a pair of battered headphones and turned the volume all the way up clicking on the familiar track of Fast Car maybe you couldn’t run away physically, but right now, your heart sure needed a break.

—

“You two will be with Mrs. Leona today in the dance room,”

“What does she need?” you asked with much confusion. Normally Saturdays were used for either sitting in silence or cleaning up some area of the school.

“She needs help choreographing the dance she’s going to use for the sophomore class next semester,” Mrs. Hillside explained. “Now go on, get dressed and meet her in the dance room.”

You and Reggie walked away to the locker rooms. A scowl was plastered on the boy’s face. “These detentions are getting more and more ridiculous each day,” he muttered.

Scoffing, you crossed your arms on your chest. “Well, that’s something we both can agree on.”

You parted ways for a short time to get changed before meeting back up again in the dance room where Mrs. Leona was already setting up and waiting for you both.

“Perfect! So glad you guys could make it,” she grinned.

“We have detention,” Reggie noted. “Not really much of a choice,” You shot the boy a glare, elbowing him roughly in the ribs.

“Right,” she chuckled. “Well, I’m working on a routine for my sophomores. Apparently, they think we’re doing the same thing over and over again so I’m going to give them something new for a change. I was thinking a partner assignment would work best.”

You and Reggie nodded as Mrs. Leona walked over to the stereo, popping in a CD and playing All That She Wants in the background on repeat while she would lead the stretches.

“Isn’t this song a little inappropriate to have sophomores dancing to? Or like even just to play in school?” you asked as you followed along.

Reggie rolled his eyes. “Of course that’s what you ask,” he muttered.

Mrs. Leona waved off your comment. “It’s fine,” she insisted. “It’s an upbeat song, and it’s “in,” so might as well give the kids a fun assignment.”

“Mrs. Leona, what kind of dance moves are you thinking?” Reggie asked curiously. “Because I’m not that good of a dancer and (Y/N) is practically so old she could break her hip by breathing.”

“I’m not old,” you snapped, crossing your arms on your chest.

“You sure act like it,” he shot back.

“You bit-”

“Enough talking!” Mrs. Leona cut you both off. “More dancing. Now I have a couple of ideas for you two, so make sure you’re really stretched out so you don’t pull something.”

You groaned, looking up at the ceiling. “What did I get myself into?”

—

“It’s a simple concept!” Mrs. Leona insisted after the millionth attempt. “You two are just so awkward with each other.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Can you just explain it again, please?” you requested.

Mrs. Leona sighed, standing up to show you the dance sequence. “Reggie, take her hand and bring it to your lips. Step away, and (Y/N) you pull him back. Then Reggie turn so that you and (Y/N) are facing each other. At that point, you grab him by the shirt while he takes your waist, then he twirls you and goes in to dip you. Simple enough!”

Simple to maybe a Rockette, but not to a bassist and an awkward bookworm.

“Let’s take it from there, okay guys?”

You grumbled to yourself, positioning yourself in front of the boy. “This is way too much,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

“Just shut up and do what she says,” Reggie hissed. “I don’t want to be any closer to you than I have to.”

When the music started playing, you felt Reggie’s fingertips trace down your arm to your hand, unknowingly creating a trail of goosebumps. Weaving his fingers with yours, he brought your intertwined hands up to his face, his lips ever so gently grazing your hand.

On beat, Reggie started to walk away from you, only for you to pull him back. His eyes met yours as you brought your other hand to his chest, balling the fabric of his shirt in your fist. You watched as he dropped his hand to your waist before pulling away to twirl you. The moment he pulled you back into his chest, you saw his cheeks redden. You were so close, close enough to smell that stupidly distracting cologne of his. You knew Reggie was just as flustered. His hand was getting clammy in yours. Before you could even process it, he dipped you down, making you gasp in surprise.

You didn’t even notice the music had stopped. All that was on your mind at that moment was Reggie. His eyes flicked down to yours, and you could have sworn you saw a hint of a smile on his lips.

The loud clapping coming from Mrs. Leona had snapped you out of your trance. Immediately regaining his composure, Reggie loosened his grip on you. You fell to the ground, hitting your elbow upon impact.

“Ass,” you muttered, rubbing your elbow in pain.

“If you’re saying I’ve got a good one then I agree,” he smirked and you scoffed loudly.

Mrs. Leona walked up to the two of you. “That was probably the best dancing I’ve seen from the two of you all morning,” she applauded. “And for that, you can take a five-minute break,”

“Oh thank God,” you whispered and flopped onto the ground, trying to relax your muscles. You tried to pull one leg over the other, stretching it out, but unable to turn properly in order to pull the tension out of your muscle.

Your eyes were closed so you didn’t notice Reggie coming closer and kneeling toward you, placing a hand on your thigh and pushing it down for you, causing you to open your eyes and see him practically leaning over top of you.

“Ow! Fuck! Too much,” you hissed and he loosened his grip. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Helping you stretch, you’re ancient so I thought I might be able to lend a hand,”

“Get your hand off me,” you said seriously.

“What,” he grinned, lifting his hand higher and causing your breath to hitch and slap his hand away and sit up, scooching back.

“Fuck off Flicka,” you said, the words barely able to leave your mouth, throat turning dry.

“Only trying to help, Cookie,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He looked over at your arm, seeing as you winced with every movement. “Does it hurt a lot?”

You cradled your elbow. “It’s whatever,” you mumbled in response, unconsciously mimicking his answer.

Reggie scoffed, leaning back on his hands. “Say what you want, Cookie, but I know when you’re lying. You can’t pretend around me.” You paused, vaguely remembering that night with the radio.

“I said I’m fine, Reggie,” you insisted firmly.

“Just let me see it,” he asked, crawling over to you, prompting you to scoot all the way back until you hit the mirror. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he frowned.

“That’s what you said seven years ago but I’ve learnt the hard way to take promises from you with a grain of salt,” you said venomously.

Reggie paused, moving back to his spot, far away from you. “Fine,” he simply said. “But don’t act like you were the only victim. I got hurt, too.”

You opened your mouth to respond when Mrs. Leona walked back into the room with three water bottles. “Well, I’m back. Are you two rested enough to continue?”

You shook your head. “Mrs. Leona, um I think it’s probably time we head back to Mrs. Hillside’s office,” you suggested. “It’s erm, late and I hurt my elbow, so…”

Mrs. Leona nodded understandingly. “Yes, of course, I forgot how much time had passed. You two work so well together, I might as well keep you guys in my class!” You laughed nervously before grabbing your things and waving goodbye. You didn’t bother looking back at Reggie. There was nothing left to say.

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

A Cumbersome and Heavy Body

Chapter Seven: Safe To Shore

You're gone, gone, gone away; I watched you disappear All that's left is a ghost of you Now we're torn, torn, torn apart; there's nothing we can do Just let me go, we'll meet again soon

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word Count: 6680

Author’s Note: I am... so sorry

Derek Morgan walks into the hospital with no rushed agency. A simple leisure stroll guiding him through the hospital and the winding halls. He keeps his eyes cast to the book he’s reading as he works his way to the elevator. No need to watch too carefully when he knows where he’s going. These halls are kept clear of spectators and everyone’s got an agenda so there’s rarely the chance to run into someone’s conversation. His right thumb sits wedged into the spine, holding it open as he eats an apple with the left. He’s not sure he could tear himself away from the pages if he wanted to-- this shit is enrapturing.

His feet carry him on autopilot, making turns he’s memorized without so much as parting his eyes from the words on the page. “How are you holding up, old man?” he doesn’t knock as he steps into Hotch’s room. Not much of a point in it anyways aside from letting Hotch know someone’s coming. The only thing he does worth hiding these days is moving places he shouldn’t be without help. Which, when the fancy strikes, he’s a real fiend for. But he’s in bed, propped up by pillows and half watching Judge Judy and trying to succumb to the drugs pulling him back down for another nap.

Hotch turns his head in the direction of the noise, already knowing from the loud entrance that it’s Morgan. Which eliminates any performative pieces he’d need to throw on to look healthier or to prepare for another round of being poked at and moved about. He lets his eyes slide shut, too tired to engage in conversation and past the point of caring if that looks disrespectful or cold. A shiver escapes him, his skin is broken out in painful goosebumps with his arms bare in the room. Any attempt to curl into himself, turning his shoulder into the bed, is met with sharp pain from the chest-tube.

A nurse had come in not that long ago and moved him around enough to disturb his blankets, even pulling that dreadful mask back up over his face. She’d tucked the blankets around his hips and upped his medicine enough to subdue him. Leaving him too tired, too fogged to piece together the words and tell anyone that he’s cold and wants another blanket. He’s not really there when they give him all the drugs and he hates his inability to communicate. Even opening his jaw requires so much careful thought that he knows any speech he can produce will be slurred to the point of incomprehension.

He looks over to Derek, pleading that in some way the other man has acquired the ability to read his mind. It’s overwhelming but all he can manage is a scratchy hum in reply and a sloppy, “ ‘m fine.” It leaves his mouth poorly, tongue hardly able to move to enunciate what he wants to say. But there are some benefits to having known someone as long as Derek has known Hotch.

Derek noticed the shiver and the pained wince, immediately. Seen the wheels turning over in Hotch’s head and the way he’d sunk deep within himself, disappointed when he was unable to produce it on his own. Derek can’t imagine what it must be like to forfeit so much independence and he knows he’d hate it every bit as much as Hotch must. Only a year ago, Hotch had stood looming over them all giving out orders and the first person they all run to when shit gets bad. JJ’s right hand no matter if she needed him to be her “bad” guy and yell at misogynists or to just be her similar ear when fleshing out theories. Now she’s his defender.

Placing his book and apple down on the visitor’s chair, he moves first to the tangled mess of blankets around Hotch’s legs. Pulling the blankets back and moving them so they sit laid across his body, actually providing him with the comfort and the warmth he wants. Tugging them up until Hotch’s arms are covered with the thick blankets and only his head peaks out. “Better now?” Derek asks, softly. He stays standing, taking Hotch’s hand and watching for Aaron to peel his eyes back open and nod his head. “Good.”

Derek sits back down and, though Hotch has closed his eyes and is just hardly awake, cracks his book open. “You must be on some next level drugs to recommend me this fucking book,” he says. Glancing just in time to see Hotch hide a smirk. “Nah, don’t play with me right now. I’m in an emotionally vulnerable place. You told me it was good and it’s not, it's sad. I’m sad all the time. I’m only sad. Why would you tell me to read this book?”

Hotch smirks, “didn’t think you’d listen… never did before.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “what does that even mean? Of course, I listen to you sometimes.” He just wishes he’d thought a little more about taking on this book. The stupid thing is breaking his heart. He’s getting comfortable again when his phone goes off, ringing and not just another text from Garcia. The one at the door had requested he tell Hotch that she loves him and he would if it was pressing but she’s about ten minutes away and can tell him herself when she gets here. But it’s not Garcia. “Hello?” he stands again, glancing at Hotch and not bothering to excuse himself when he sees Hotch doesn’t even open his eyes to see what it is.

“Is this Derek Morgan?”

Morgan glances back around as he steps out into the hall, feeling off about leaving Hotch alone in that big room. “Yeah,” Derek mumbles. “I mean, yeah, I’m Derek Morgan.”

The person on the other line hums, “I’m calling about Dr. Spencer Reid. I have his medical files here and you’re listed as his power of attorney?”

Derek freezes, “yeah. Yeah, I’m his-- I”m his power of attorney.” It had bounced around between them over the years. Jason and Hotch and now Morgan. Though the point of keeping that amidst the team was so when they went into the hospital it would be easy to get information from the hospital. You can never control what happens in the field.

“I regret to inform you that today Dr. Reid was in an automobile--”

They’re all learning the hard way the field isn’t the only place where they relinquish control.

Derek laughs. Tears sting his eyes and he laughs. For the last month-- no God since fucking January, it’s supposed to be Hotch. He had a suit tailored to fit him because of all the weight he’s lost. Clothes picked out and a tie he and Emily and Garcia fight over at least once a week. Hotch refuses the one Emily likes and Garcia hates it when Emily argues that Hotch will be dead so what does he even care. There’s a Will they’ve been over at least a dozen times and contingency plans for Jack. Derek hasn’t planned and overthought every word he’s said to Hotch in the last year afraid something stupid will be the last for it to be…

“Yeah-- yeah I hear you.”

“Again, I’m very sorry.”

“Yeah,” Derek breathes. “Okay.” He stands there with the phone pressed to his ear long after the line dies. He just stares. Unable to comprehend what just happened. What is happening? It’s just really not their year. Emily never shuts up about how close they are, just over the hill or some bullshit equivalent metaphor. But she’s not the one forcing herself back together knowing that if Hotch suspects Derek’s hiding anything it’ll kill him. He’ll stress himself out trying to figure out what it is and if he does figure it out or even if he doesn’t… it will kill him. He steps back into the room, double-checking that Hotch won’t see that he’s just cried. “Hey--” he stops right there at the door.

Hotch is sitting up with his eyes vacantly cast to the blank wall in front of him. His shoulders pull up to expand his lungs but he can’t get enough air. “Hotch?” Derek looks around the room, to the monitors picking up speed as his heart rate rockets and his blood pressure drops. “Hotch, you okay?”

Hotch looks over to Morgan and then back at the wall. “I can’t breathe,” he pulls at the gown loosely holding onto his shoulders. “Something--” his face pinches, a hushed cry of pain leaving his lips as he folds into himself. “It won’t-- Somethings-- Somethings wrong.”

Derek moves to step in but he freezes as the room is filled with the sound of very, very angry sounding machines. He stumbles back, watching Hotch fall back onto the bed. Kicking and writhing as he tries to breathe. He’s not even sure what to do. His mind is fogged with the news about-- God, how’s he supposed to tell Hotch? Garcia’s coming, he’ll have to tell her. And Dave and Emily and JJ. They can’t handle this. They won’t make it.

“Excuse me,” a nurse steps past Derek and he stumbles back. He hits the wall behind him, jumping hard at the sudden jarring hit. Derek looks back at Hotch one more time, watching his legs slide back down to the bed. His frantic wheezing gets softer. And Derek walks away. He runs away. He can’t be there.

----------------------------

Mid-February

Emily looks down at the comforter, playing with the soft material rather than looking at him. He is laying down, stretched out beside her. It’s the first time she’s seen him vulnerable-- the first time she sees the way that he has no control over what his body decides to do anymore. Ice pack over his head, trying to soothe his headache, and a bloodied tissue in the other as he awaits the next nose bleed. They’re close enough to touch despite having a whole bed to layout on. His leg against her side, her arm near his hip.

“I’m sorry,” he offers nasally. Turning his head to look over at her, she winces at the sight of his bloodied face. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

She looks down at her lap, scratching at her pants so that she doesn’t have to look at him. It is a lot to ask. It’s a job she’s had before and for a long time. After Foyet he asked her to be his power of attorney because Haley wouldn’t be able to while in protective custody and as they stood she was the only person who could stand to be around him. She’d agreed, so long as he’d be hers that way she could get her mother off the list. They’d done the paperwork together.

“I don’t want Dave--” he chokes himself up. Holding his hand over his mouth as he averts his eyes away, trying to hide just how upset the idea makes him. “He, ugh, I don’t want to… He had a son, you know? A-- A baby and I don’t mean to say I’m, you know, but I don’t want something to happen and force him to…”

Dave cares very deeply for all of them but it’s no secret that he has a special little attachment to Aaron and Emily. A bond that is a little more pronounced, he just knows how to deal with them. Something about that reckless nature of theirs that he knows all too well. Emily knows what Hotch means even if he can’t bring himself to say it. Before making Dave his power of attorney was a matter of convenience. Now he has to think, far more than before, about who he knows will make the right decisions.

“Aaron,” she squeezes his hand. “I’ll do it.” Her heart hurts just to think about the worst-case scenarios. Imagines doctors asking way too many questions and his lifeless body spread out on a stretcher waiting for her to tell them they can pull life-support. Will she find herself in charge of a zombie, hovering between life and death, and all he has is her by his side and her voice to go by. To tell the doctors they can try shocking his stilled heart one more time or if they can stop dumping chemo into his unresponsive veins. What is she getting herself into?

“One condition.” she barters. “You be mine again. Old times sake.”

He’d caved because he knew it was the only way to win.

In another hospital on a metal tray in the E.R. soaked in blood and screen cracked, Emily Prentiss’ phone sits idle. The decision to make him her medical proxy was a whim but there was an air of urgency in making her his. To him, they were playing with time and he hates waiting for the inevitable. She’d just wanted things to go back to the way that they were before. Coming home because she misses them and maybe working in the BAU or at least within the FBI again. She gets to be his right-hand man again and she and Dave and Hotch get to spend afternoons drinking in Hotch’s office.

It wasn’t supposed to mean this.

This was never supposed to happen.

David Rossi picks up the unknown call, agitated to be bothered while he’s driving. “This is he.” He gets onto the high-way and grimaces at the carnage of mangled and warped metal sitting on the side. Waving the man in the fireman’s suit who directs him into an adjacent lane but he’s not spared the sight of the crimson pools of blood baking under the sun. He shakes his head, sighing sadly.

He nearly causes another wreck.

“Are-- Are you sure you have the right… I mean, I just it’s hard to believe because--”

“Yes, sir. Ms. Prentiss’ I.D. was found on her person at the scene. We’ll have to have someone come to identify the body but yes--”

The body.

He just opened the text she sent. Urging him to go to the hospital sooner because she was leaving to go get Reid and didn’t want Hotch sitting there alone any longer than he had to. She’s always thinking about that, covering them in ways they hadn’t thought of. Sending them articles about cancer and never seeming to have to ask Hotch anything just knowing. There were two texts, one that was distinctly her and the other Reid. Too much grammatical rule-following to be Emily who texts by shortening every word she can and miss-spelling the other half.

If Emily’s dead… where’s Reid?

He has no choice but to keep driving to execute this one thing that’s been asked of him. He’s going to go sit with Aaron until someone else comes and he’ll keep this all under wraps. Just a few years ago Aaron pulled off the opposite, convincing them Emily was dead. Let them bury her and work through their grief assessments all while knowing she was alive. Dave can manage this.

But Aaron hadn’t fooled Dave.

And Dave doesn’t fool Aaron for a second.

“Where is she, David?”

David. No one else is there when he arrives and no amount of water he splashes across his face can wash away the deep red agony of the mourning he feels in his bones. To lose a child… He can’t protect any of them. Another painful reminder to hit him like a kick as he steps into Aaron’s hospital room. Watching as the staff around Aaron plunge drugs into his forever thinning body. Even though he knows there’s nothing to be done now, it’s a futile fight.

The weight of his body in that visitor’s chair is unwelcomed, wrong.

Aaron’s body might fail him every chance it gets but he’s been a profiler his whole life. It’s the only way to survive and now is no exception. No amount of Dave’s soft diversion will distract him from the red swelling around Dave’s eyes. From the wet rings around his sleeves where he didn’t push his sleeves up high enough before splashing water onto his face. And he pieces his own truth together through what Dave won’t tell him.

Until he knows.

“Don’t lie to me,” he asks softly. They’d tried to intubate him just after Derek left but he’d refused it. Fought between heaving breaths until they left him alone. Gave him the steroids and left him to his own devices. He didn’t care right in that moment or even now as his chest burns from the exertion. No more, he’s decided. He’s tired and in pain. No more cuts and tubes and hospitals. The sort of thing that he’s expecting to scream and fight with Emily about. Only the papers are on their way, waiting to be signed by his trembling hand, and she’s not here. “Please, Dave. Don’t lie to me.”

David Rossi is a bad man. Not so much a coward as just his morals askew, the things he’s willing to do and the things that he does do… Though for all the bad things he’s done, he knows that Emily and Aaron keep turning back around expecting Dave to be there. Needing him to come into their chaotic as all hell lives as if he has a place at that table. But his place is there, the plate set. Aaron is looking back at him, asking just a simple thing of Dave. It’s right there and the truth will kill him but a lie will shatter all that they have.

“She’s dead, Aaron.”

Dave continues on as Aaron chokes, turning his face away from Dave.

“Derek thinks it was the snow. She and Reid… there was just so much snow and when she--”

“No!” he doesn’t want to hear it. “No, please leave me alone.” The panic builds up like the fluid in his lungs. Until he’s choking on both and can hardly breathe. He doesn't want to hear anything. Doesn’t want to know that it happened.

“Aaron?” Dave stands from his chair, trying to reach out to him but Aaron pulls his hand away.

“Please,” he wheezes, fingers wound into his gown. “Please, Dave, please go.”

A nurse steps into the room and Dave looks back at and then to Aaron and he listens. For once in his life he listens to Aaron’s pained cries and he relents. He steps out of the room, pushing hot tears off his cheeks with his fists. He’s losing them. Lost them. It’s far too late now. What was Aaron holding on to before? The idea of living was only entertaining with the prospect of getting to work with Emily again-- being on the team. Aaron’s been convinced for far too long now that Jack would be better off with Jessica and the past few months, in his mind, have only proven that. The team functions without him, they’ve been sent off on cases without him. Morgan taking charge. It’s not the first time Morgan's taken charge.

So, what does that leave?

His mess has been cleaned up. He doesn’t have to pretend to be strong for Reid. Doesn't have to stay for Emily. Derek will take care of the team. Jessica will raise Jack. It’s better this way. Garcia and JJ don’t need him, they never have. Dave’s always saying how he needs friends his own age. This puts them on a new path. A new leg. They’ll be okay.

It’s better this way. It really is.

“Sir?”

Hotch signs the papers-- all of them. A DNR that Emily had once rolled her eyes at him for even considering. She wouldn’t let it get that bad, she’d promised with a chuckle. He’s not dying on her. Funny how just a little snow changes everything. He signs himself out of the hospital and realizes that he doesn’t have anyone to come get him. A nurse tries to talk to him, to comfort or console but he’s consumed by his grief. Shaking as his silent sobs shake his thin body. She’s nearly afraid he’ll kill himself like this, crying so hard that he can’t breathe.

He takes a taxi home. Forehead leaning against the cool glass and thankful that the man driving doesn’t even bother to pretend to be interested in him. No one’s at the house but she’s everywhere. Her coat on the floor where it had fallen off the rack. A pair of her shoes right in front of the door, he nearly trips over them. A mug she left out on the counter. A book left she’ll never finish on the couch. A sweatshirt thrown over a chair.

His feet carry him on autopilot, body too tired to fight but he can’t make it back to his room. If she were here-- he’d still be in the hospital-- she’d bully him back onto his feet. Rolling her eyes and keeping him in motion. She always seems to know when to push and when to cave and he doesn’t. He can’t tell the difference between pain that he can push through and pain that’s going to kill him.

Well… maybe it’s pain that is killing him now.

The couch is cold but the blankets are kept in a chest too far away. Across the living room just far enough away that he knows he might be able to get to it but he won’t be able to get back to the couch. All he can do is look over at it.

He already misses her. The way she buzzes about everywhere or how she’d probably force him to sit up and watch some shitty sitcom with her. He’s gotten used to her invading his personal space and demanding his attention. Talking all the time even if he doesn’t respond.

He’s alone again.

How did he ever set out thinking he could do this in the first place without her?

----------------------------

He gets worse, quick.

The pneumonia is what’s hurting him the worst, the cancer spreads slowly but the pneumonia settles deep in his lungs. Breathing is taxing, consumes far too much of his energy. Once, maybe a few weeks ago, he would have assured them that he would be fine. There’s no need to worry. It’s hard to lie about something like that when he needs Derek’s help to stand, when he can’t sit up on his own without being propped up by pillows.

They argue where he can’t hear them, not that it matters anymore.

He wants to go to the funerals but it’s still cold out. How are they supposed to make that happen? Derke hates the idea, tells JJ to just abdon whatever plan she’s come up with because he’s not going. He’s still convinced they can force life back into him, go back and fix everything. He’s living in some world where there is no cancer or car accident and Emily’s in London and Reid’s in Las Vegas visiting his mother.

JJ goes on. She picks out a suit and finds his best jacket. Hunts down a nice blanket and takes the wheelchair the hospital offered them. She smiles and tells Garcia that she’s an angel when she knits him a black hat to pull down over his head, beaming when she produces a matching scarf. “It’s got a little blue in it,” Garcia says, showing her the dark blue accenting the ends. “That’s his favorite color.”

JJ squats down beside the bed, pulling her dress up so her knees can bend, and she can move how she’d like. Gently, afraid touch alone will unravel him, she places her hand on his shoulder. She doesn’t shake him, she just rubs her hand over his arm until his eyes crack open. “You’re still sure you want to do this?” she asks as he slowly places himself. A weary, bone-tired weight settling over his face as he looks back at her processing what she’s asked.

He glances at his nightstand to the alarm clock sitting to his right. They’ve given him an hour, which is more time than he’d normally need, but they’re not moving at his normal pace. They’re moving at their own pace, how quickly they can work him into clothes. With a nod, he sets them into motion. There used to be a time when he could be picky about these sorts of things-- who saw him naked and who he allowed to help him. Now he can’t go to the bathroom unless someone helps him drag his stiff bones there. Can’t stand unless he’s leaning into someone else’s strength.

He’s folded into JJ, going where she pulls him into her chest, so that Derek can slide in behind him and help her work his unwilling arms and legs into pants and a shirt. The day isn’t altogether that weary just a little cold. Considering the weight he’s lost, it makes things easier for them to layer his clothes. He lets JJ pull a long-sleeved t-shirt over his head, slowly working his arms into the sleeves while she finds his white button-up and the black sweater Morgan laid out to go underneath it. It takes her no time to attack the buttons on his shirt. He gets no real warning from Derek as the black sweater is tugged down and he hears a soft, pleased huff of a half-laugh that Derek gets out of his surprised grunt.

JJ frowns at Derek, unamused with him. She squats down by Aaron’s legs, JJ cups his cheek, tilting his head up so she can look into his eyes. Stroking her thumb across his cheek, “you don’t have to come, Hotch. No one will--”

“I do,” he whispers. “I can’t-- I won’t forgive myself if…”

So he goes and she’s glad he’s there because she doesn’t want to be alone. There’s something still grounding about him being there, sitting there beside them. Squeezing their hands to comfort them, offering Garcia a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. It’s like… It’s nearly like he’s himself for a day. Holding JJ to his chest and rubbing her back until she can stand and give the eulogy she’d written. He’s talking softly to Morgan, the two of them taking charge of the day and Derek is just relieved to be told what to do again. To have a plan of action that he doesn’t have to come up with.

Jack stays glued to him, sitting in his lap or holding tight to Hotch’s sleeve.

Hotch is Hotch. He stifles his coughs and sits up straight. Pretending is exhausting and by the end of the day, the other’s flooding his dining room with the thick scent of food and soft sniffles as they cry and laugh, he settles into the couch. Listening to Derek tell the story about the time he took Spencer hiking and the kid twisted his ankle half-way to the top, didn’t tell Derek, and he had to carry him all the way back down. It was like listening to a podcast, Spencer telling them all kinds of things about every little thing they passed. At the time he was annoyed but now...

Jack stops at the end of the couch, sniffling as he uses his sweatshirt’s sleeve to wipe his nose. It’s obvious he’s been crying no matter how hard he’s tried to cover it up. His eyes get red and the skin around his eyebrows very pale, he gets that from Haley. Neither of them has ever been able to hide their tears. They’re cryers, Hotch knows, Jessica is too. He finds it terribly endearing and he’s always adored their ability to be so sensitive. He’s glad Jack never lost it… he hopes he never loses it.

“Don’t wipe your nose on your sleeve,” Hotch says as well as he can. It’s hard to breathe around the fluid in his lungs but he can manage anything for Jack. He’ll do anything for him. “That’s gross.”

Jack giggles because he’s young and boogers on his sleeve are something to laugh about. Hiding his face by looking down at the floor he stumbles over to the couch. Sinking down onto his knees with a little thunk and folding over the cushions until he can press his face into the stack of blankets over his father’s body. He turns his head, looking up at his father, and smiles again. Closing his eyes when Hotch puts his hand over Jack’s cheek, stroking back the overgrown hairs. “Daddy?” Jack doesn’t know the word for the way that he feels but it’s anxiety. He’s terrified and he’s anxious because losing Haley had been quick and he hadn’t even known it was happening.

Losing his father is… everywhere he looks.

“What is it, buddy?” Hotch strokes the soft blonde strands back behind Jack’s ear. Lost to the simple soothing motion.

Jack turns his face into the blankets, relieved to smell something homely. From what feels like so long ago. It doesn’t smell like Jessica’s house or like the hospital. It just smells like his dad and home and like everything that has been happening is one great big old lie. He doesn’t want to cry but no matter how hard he wipes at his tears they keep coming.

“Okay, okay.” Hotch can’t lift Jack but he still manages to catch one of Jack’s furiously rubbing hands. His grip isn’t strong and Jack could pull free but he doesn’t. “Buddy--”

“You’re gonna die, aren’t you?”

He put off this conversation far too long but it still hits like a MACK truck. “Bud--” he swallows thickly, wincing at the stab of pain across his chest. Right, he’s reminded, have to stay still. And Jack sees it. No matter how hard they’ve all tried to protect him he sees Hotch freeze as the pain overwhelms him. Unable to speak, just has to keep forcing air in and out of his failing lungs. It is only a minute but Jack watches frozen in horror as Hotch slowly comes back. “Sorry,” he whispers, unable to make his voice any louder.

Jack is holding his hand, hiccuping softly. “Mommy probably misses you,” he whispers, tentatively.

Hotch smiles but doubts that. Tears swell and he can’t even wipe them away. “I’m so sorry Jack.” He’s making an orphan out of his son. He’s just a baby. Someone else will teach him how to shave and someone else will sit with him when he opens his acceptance letters to all kinds of great colleges. Hotch will never get to see him graduate-- not even from elementary school. He’ll never struggle to piece together what to say when Jack gets his first heart-break or to find out if he’s into men or women or likes to wear nail polish or if he’s a coffee fiend like him or hates it like Haley.

He won’t be there.

“I’ll still talk to you,” Jack offers. “I promise. I’ll tell you anything and everything--” there are tears pouring down his little face. Frantic now and Hotch isn’t sure which of them he’s trying to console. “And-- and--” Jack’s lower lip curls under the other and lets out a choked sob. He tries to hide it but it comes out he sits up, pushing himself as close as he can get to Hotch. “I don’t want you to die. I don’t want you to be with Mommy. I want you. Why can’t you stay with me?”

It’s not the first time Jack felt anger towards his mother but it’s the first of many times he hates both his parents. His mother for not being here and father for being weak because that’s all Jack can understand. That cancer is a battle and his father, the man he thought invincible, is losing. So he must not be fighting hard enough. Why can’t he just fight harder? Why isn’t Jack enough?

Why aren’t any of them?

Garcia knits him thick winter hats but he’ll never make it long enough to see the next snowfall and need them. He takes the hats she brings him and lets her start new ones even though he knows he’ll never see their completion. Jack draws pictures, endless in supply, and they go up all around Hotch. JJ takes the time to pin each one someplace he can see it.

His awareness goes first. The confusion that sets in… it’s hard to know what to say. They never know what to do.

He asks about work. JJ takes his hand and talks him through old cases. Tries to settle on the good ones and he lets her. Smiling comes easy when there’s winning and she reminds him of the children they did save. Of the goods things.

He tells them that he’s not in any pain but he’ll get confused a few moments later and with tears streaming down the sides of his face ask them why it hurts. Trembling and looking so desperate, choking in pain and shuddering as he fights it. “Why?” he asks. He doesn’t honestly know why it hurts or why they won’t help. “Everything-- Everything hurts--” And sometimes he can’t even speak. Just has this hazy glow to his eyes as he shakes and coughs. And there’s nothing they can do for him.

The worst is that he won’t stop asking for Emily. They come up with so many lies and sometimes they can get little smiles out of him by telling him something clever if it feels right and like something silly she would do. It’s hard to be so positive in the face of that very fresh wound but it’s so much worse when he does remember. When he asks and then hardens and whispers, “no… no, it’s okay. I remember.” He looks so much happier when he doesn’t.

He stops eating two days before he gives up drinking.

“Just a sip,” Garcia begs, crying and knowing what this means.

Hotch just looks back at her but he’s not there.

“Leave him alone, baby girl.” And Derek pulls her out of the room as she cries, sobbing and screaming because she can’t stand to lose anymore. Emily and Reid and now he’s going too. It’s too late she knows to tell him the things that she needs to. What if he doesn’t know that she loves him? He might stay if he knew that, right? He wouldn’t leave her. She’d ask Derek to promise he won’t leave but Hotch did that too once. Crotched down in front of her office chair and took her hand and promised that all she needed him he’d be here.

Well, she still needs him, okay? So…

Now it’s borrowed time.

“Let’s go outside, old man.” Derek has to stop, turning his head to the side when Hotch smirks at the way he says ‘old man’. A tear falls down the side of his face and rubs it away, harder than necessary. It’s a practiced maneuver, he lifts Hotch and puts him in the wheelchair. He’s careful, wrapping Hotch in as many blankets as he finds within arm’s reach, propping his sides up with pillows. Suddenly, overcome by just the way Hotch’s bed looks. Two years ago it was empty, only ever occupied by him. Now they sleep here with him every night, trying to make sure that if he goes in his sleep he’s not alone. So that they can have the comfort of knowing they were here and they did do everything they could.

“Jack,” Hotch rasps as they approach the door.

“Can you hear him?” Derek asks, opening the back door and closing his eyes against the sun he feels on his skin. “Look at him,” Derek says, “ out here running around like a heathen.” Jack doesn’t notice them and neither does Henry. The two loudly going on about their game dodgeball or maybe keep-away it’s hard to tell. There’s just a lot of thrilled shouting. It makes Derek smile, seeing them just be kids.

He puts Hotch in the shade and waves to Garcia and JJ already standing out there, the two of them dragging out chairs to stand in the sun. The two of them move to soak in a strangely warm day. After all the snow, all of which still hasn’t melted, a random nearly sixty degree day with a bright hot sun feels like spring. “You okay here?” Derek asks, setting the brakes.

Hotch nods, smiling softly as he watches Derek join Dave and the boys in the yard. He watches them play, hears Jack scream with pure joy when Derek throws him up into the air and when JJ fusses with all four of them for even thinking about taking off their jackets. They go on and on and he gets tired just watching them. Resting his head against the wheelchair he does his best to keep his coughs soft, undetectable to the others. He’s cold but he doesn’t want to go inside just yet and though it’s hard to breathe he doesn’t want anything. He just wants to watch a little longer.

Just a little longer.

Derek isn’t sure what it is, something churning in his stomach, but he looks up. Eyes moving across the lawn-- Garcia knitting under the safety of her large brimmed hat and JJ stretched out on a chair trying to read. Jack has Henry pinned, the two of them going on wrestling with or without Derek now that he’s distracted.

“Hotch?” Derek steps closer. Derek feels it crawl up his throat, a rabid animal clawing and ripping him to shreds. He wants to rush over, fights the urge to run over and shake him but he already knows. He glances over to Dave, listens to the older man chuckle and shove at Henry who tries to overpower him. Sees JJ smile at something on her page and Garcia frown and undo a piece she’s messed up.

For a moment, he’s the only one that knows and he isn’t sure what to do. How to shield Jack from this or who he’s supposed to call.

“Uncle Derek!” Henry screams, begging to be released from where Dave has him pinned to the ground mercilessly tickling his sides.

Derek looks back at Hotch one more time, forcing himself not to cry. This is what he wanted, right? Not in a hospital or hooked up to machines. He was sitting in his yard and listening to what’s left of his family enjoy a warm sunny day.

“I’m coming buddy,” he finally manages, smiling at Jack when he comes running up. Hoping that for just a few more minutes Derek can preserve something of his youth. Remind him how much fun he had today. That these parts be what he remembers.

“Uncle Derek?” Jack asks, once Derek pulls him up into his arms. “I think we should go get ice cream. Don’t you? I’ll get strawberry and I’ll even share with daddy. Henry will be good too! Please?”

Derek nods and smiles, “why don’t you get Uncle Dave to take you, huh?” He nods to Dave, “take these heathens to get some ice cream.”

And Derek Morgan stands all by himself as he ushers them away, tells them to go on that he and Hotch will be fine. Go, go, and don’t come back without a cone for him. Waits until he can’t see the car anymore and he allows himself to cry. Sucking in choked breathes as he walks back to the yard. Pulling up the breaks. “Come on,” he whispers to Hotch. “One last time, old man.” He’s almost expecting that lazy smile. To hear Hotch grumble his name in that exasperated tone Derek loves so much. Only to be met with silence.

Nothing.

They didn’t say goodbye.

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan, @lazyhater

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction

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percywinchester27 · 4 years

Text

A lot like ‘Us’

Word count: 3.8K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Fluff

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

Warnings: None for this chapter

A/N: I am so excited to share this story. I am really loving it <3 This is also written for @sdavid09 ‘s Tale Teller’s 2020 Bingo Challenge.

Beta: My amazing girls @deanssweetheart23 and @anathewierdo Thank you!! I love you both <3

Finally the last of the boxes had been pushed up the five stories of stairs and into your living room. The guy from the movers quickly accepted the payment and disappeared before you could even utter “thanks.” You didn’t blame him. Anyone would be over eager to leave after hauling boxes up the stairs given that the lift randomly stopped working.

You were just relieved that none of his men got stuck inside. That would have been awful. He complained about the sort of shitshows the rental buildings in the locality were, but all things considered, he had been pretty nice about the untimely disaster.

You closed the door behind and slid to the floor, glad that you didn’t have to smile for strangers anymore.

The lift might have been a shitshow, but the flat you were renting was really nice. It had two bedrooms, a living room and a small kitchenette. The flat had only one bathroom, but the grand balcony on the other side of the living room all but made up for it. You got off the floor and made your way towards the balcony. It overlooked a small meadow of sorts, and the entry wall beyond it was high and covered with thick vines. Right in the middle, was a small fountain in the shape of a mermaid, carved out of what must have been once pristine white marble. The mermaid had a mysterious look on her face, like she knew your secret, and was contemplating if it would fetch a good gossip. In her hand, she held a beautifully carved flask, from which the water fell into the basin below.

It was like being in your own space, enclosed in this beautiful Caribbean meadow. That was until a voice called your attention.

“Hey!”

You looked sideways to find an Asian guy who couldn’t have been more than 20 waving at buy. You waved back awkwardly.

“So, I see you’ve met judgy Judy!”

“Who?”

He tilted his head towards the mermaid. “That’s judgy Judy.” he said, smiling. “If you happen to walk past her after 12 in the night, you are bestowed upon the judgiest of looks. And if you’re drunk…” he let out his breath in whoosh.

You laughed, then were surprised at the sound of it. You didn’t laugh this easily.

“My name’s Kevin,” the boy said. “Kevin Tran. Aren’t you the new girl renting 502? Meg?”

You shook your head. “I’m Y/N, actually. Meg won’t be here until Wednesday.”

You knew nothing about your roommate except that she loved her privacy. That was her only demand in the advert. That she was looking for someone who knew of basic hygiene and didn’t poke their nose in her business. You couldn’t argue with that.

He smiled, “So what brings you here, Y/N?”

Before you could answer, Kevin put out his hands excitedly. “Wait! let me guess. You’re a pastry chef, looking to start your own little bakery in this quaint little town.”

You rolled your eyes. That was about as far as he could get from why you were here.

He caught on. “No… no… you’re an artist? Looking for inspiration?”

You pursed your lips, trying not to smile. “I’m actually starting the year at the Law school.”

Kevin whistled. “Law school, huh?” Then added, “Hey, what do I know? I’m just an engineer!”

You sized him up. He looked too young to be a professional.

He raised his hands up, “I know, I know what you’re thinking,” he said and you instantly felt guilty about judging anyone by their looks. Judgy Judy would be proud.

“You’re thinking why would I live out of the city,” he said and you breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s ‘cause San Francisco is boring. Besides, I get to work from home a lot, and it’s an hours drive anyway.”

“Seems fair,” you said. He didn’t ask you why you weren’t staying in the official campus dorms. Maybe he had already done the mental math and figured out that the Law building was less than a ten minute walk from here. Besides, most of Stanford was a student town anyway. This building was closer to the college than even the Faculty residence.

“Hey, Y/N,” Kevin said genially, “Why don’t you join us for dinner? It’s just me and my roommate Jack. We can order some pizza and pop some beers. It’ll be cool. That way you don’t have to worry about cooking in the middle of all that unpacking.”

It was starting to get chilly outside, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, “I’m not much a drinker.”

“That’s fine,” he said, unfazed. “We have soda, if you want.”

You hesitated, “Thanks, Kevin, really. Maybe some other time.”

You waved at his somewhat confused face and stepped inside, closing the glass doors of the balcony behind you.

If Kevin thought you were weird, he’d get used to it like everyone in your life. He would get used to not talking, stealing glances and the fact that you weren’t exactly the sort of person people wanted around in fun times. He’d learn to ignore you like everyone else.

Most of the weekend was spent trying to put your room together. There really wasn’t much to your belongings except books and some clothes, which you arranged as neatly as you could. If the blaring music on your speakers disturbed Kevin and his roommate, neither of them complained.

On Monday, you attended orientation lectures by a few alumni and the Dean. It all seemed like a dream to you. On Tuesday, they had a pre-law show you around in groups, the grand campus that was Stanford University. By the end, you were biased about the Law building being the best, maybe because you had dreamt of being here day and night for as long as you could remember. The Law school wasn’t a grand facade. It was functional and built in a pale beige sandstone which had weathered wonderfully over the years. The corridors were breezy and opened on to landscaped spill out spaces … and the building itself seemed to breathe through the tactfully placed fenestrations.

The pre-law showing your group around the campus talked and talked and talked, while you followed her dumbfounded at the expanse of it all. One day, you’d get used to this, you knew that… but that day was nowhere near close. In fact, it had barely even registered that you had done it! That you had actually been accepted into Stanford and that you were going to be a lawyer!

Stanford had twenty libraries. Twenty. The place that you absolutely fell in love with was the Cecil H. Green library. The high, vaulted ceiling made you feel like you had stepped right into the Victorian era. The rows and rows of shelves absolutely boggled your mind. You could live here and it still wouldn’t be enough.

You touched the richly colored mahogany table in the library and unwillingly, like it was the most inevitable thing in the world, you thought of him. The look in his eyes when he talked about this very place. “Y/N,” he’d say “You’re gonna fall in love with the smell of those books!”

You immediately yanked your hand from the table, as if a current had passed through your body. The girl next to you, looked over. “Everything alright?” she asked kindly.

You nodded and moved away from the piece of furniture. You couldn’t think about him now, not here. So, you took a couple of deep breaths and closed your eyes, focussing on the things around you, the long shelves, the smooth tables. And it eased some, you could feel your chest constrict a little.

Meanwhile, the guide talked on.

“Water?” The girl next to you offered as you all stepped out of the library. You needed it, but that meant talking to her, and you weren’t sure you were up for that.

“C’mon, take it,” she insisted, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You took the bottle and splashed some water on your face, then took two gulps, feeling better immediately. The water tasted funny, but in a refreshing way.

You looked at what was inside.

The girl laughed. “It’s cucumber water,” she said. “I figured we’d be doing a lot of walking today and this is a saviour.”

“Thanks,” you said, actually looking at her properly. She had a slim build, with dark brown hair and eyes. Despite knowing that they would be walking a lot, she was dressed in a black pencil skirt and a flowy baby blue blouse, with matching heels. She was carrying all that effortlessly without breaking a sweat, while you were wearing your most worn pair of comfortable jeans, a sweater and sneakers. You did notice that she looked really pretty and when she smiled, it reached her eyes.

“Better?” She asked

“Much. Thank you.”

She put her hand forward. “I’m Madison. Madison Maxwell.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You shook her hand.

The others had already gone ahead while she had waited for you to catch your breath and drink water. You started walking together.

“So, excited for the classes to begin?” She asked peppily and you nodded.

You figured that Madison was the sort to fill every silence with words. After a while, she was going to be really disappointed in you for your lack of responses or initiating a conversation.

As you walked, Madison told you everything that she could about herself in the span of the couple minutes it took you to reach the rest of the group. She was born and brought up in Pasadena, to a lawyer dad and a socialite mom. “I feel like my mom was born as a socialite! Her first words were probably, ‘well, hullo, Dahling!”

You laughed, and encouraged by your reaction she continued. She was a pre-grad in sociology from USC, where she was voted the most likely to charm people with her smile (seemed fair). She had two older brothers both lawyers in their Dad’s bigass firm, and they lived in this huge house overlooking a hugeass swimming pool. Her words, not yours.

The fact she was rich was pretty much in your face, from the gucci bottle filled with cucumber water to the Prada shoes, but it wasn’t because she was pushing it… she was just used to it.

“What about you?” She asked as you reached the group. “Where are you from?”

“Kansas,” you said.

“And?” She coaxed good naturedly.

“And I did my pre-law from University in Texas.”

“That’s nice. What about your parents?”

You looked down. “They died in a car crash when I was little.”

“Oh no!” Madison gasped. She looked like she was about to tear up.

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, offering her a smile. “I’ve made my peace with it.” It was true. You’d had twenty odd years to adjust to it. It was a way of life now.

Madison still gave you an apologetic smile, but thankfully, for the rest of the tour she didn’t talk much. It wasn’t that Madison wasn’t charming, but everyone charming usually expected the same from you… and you weren’t. Why pitch her up for disappointment?

“So, see you tomorrow, Y/N?” She asked, tentatively.

Poor girl, you thought. “See you,” you said. “It was nice meeting you, Madison.”

“Likewise,” she said brightly.

You watched her walk over to another group of girls, all dressed fancily,who squealed when they saw Madison. You shook your head, smiling to yourself that Madison had found some kindred spirits.

It didn’t explain why she had been so nice to you all day though. If she already had friends, she didn’t have to care about you, right?

It took you a while to figure out which was your exit. Roaming around in the campus as it was dark, was anxiety inducing. Yet, a voice in the back of your head kept telling you how the Oval was at the centre of the campus, and the Law building was just to the south east. You didn’t want to hear the voice, hell you didn’t even want to think about whom the voice belonged to, but slowly and surely it guided you back to the gate closest to your flat. Once you reached it, you made a run for it, not stopping till you were inside the tall building gate and into the meadow. You ran into Kevin.

“Y/N!” He said, “I didn’t see you there.” Next to him was another boy, dirty blonde hair and a smiling face. “This is Jack. Remember, I told you about him?”

Jack took one look at you and concern rippled across his face, “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just tired,” you whispered.

Before any of them could say another word, you dashed up the stairs.

“The lift is working again!” Kevin called after you, but you bolted into your room without halting. Once you were inside, you locked the door behind and you rolled into a ball on your unmade bed, finally letting the tears make their way.

You knew this was coming, you knew it the moment you set foot in this town that it would remind you of him… the way he smiled, the way he ran his hand through his hair when he was nervous… the way you loved him. Over the years you had trained yourself to snap out of it whenever your thoughts even inched towards him. You could shut it off and just stop thinking. It had taken years and years of practice, but finally you could lock him in the darkest part of your mind and not look at it. Not feel anything for him. In return, you barely felt anything at all. About anything, about anyone.

In the long run, you preferred that bargain, though. The numbness.

And after spending so much time in it, the numbness felt homely. It cushioned you against the pain and the memories. So what if it cushioned you against feeling anything at all, too? At least this way you were functional. You could get through the day and be productive. Besides, who did you have to live for except yourself, anyway? So it was okay to just survive. To just feel enough for you to feel human. At one point even that had felt like an impossible feat.

You tried not to remember the days and nights wishing for the endless pain to end, wishing to just give up on everything, on life. At least now you didn’t feel that way. You had re-learned to aspire, to work hard. You didn’t feel hopeful anymore, but you had a goal set in mind and you were willing to work as hard as you could to fulfill it.

Most of the time, you managed to block out all unwanted noise in your head and outside, and just concentrate on surviving. It will have to suffice till one day you could actually start living.

But once in a while the box cracked, like today, and all the memories came spinning out. In the library, somehow Madison’s prattling had kept you from spiralling. Now, there was no one to help. The thoughts simply overwhelmed you and you shut your ears, rolling into a smaller ball, as flashes of light from that night flared behind your closed eyes, the rain pouring down on you and all the blood. The thing you remembered most clearly was the cold. The skin-numbing, bone chilling cold as the water soaked through you.

You woke up to the blaring alarm. It was 7:15 in the morning.

“Shit!”

You jumped out of bed and then immediately slipped, landing on the floor with the thud. You cursed again as you got to your feet and rushed into the bathroom. Not only had you overslept, but last night you hadn’t even gone through your schedule of classes and lectures. The plan had been to wake up at 6, and go through the schedule once more, which you should have had studied last night, wear the perfect first day clothes that you should have picked out last night, and reach early to the classroom which you should have already figured out before 8 in the morning.

At 8 in the morning, however, you were still trying to shimmy yourself into the only formal skirt you owned. You quickly threw on the first decent shirt that you could find and tied your hair in a ponytail, then made your way out of the apartment without breakfast. Your bag was threatening to spill out the laptop and notebook you carried as you all but ran across the street to get to the campus.

By some extreme luck, you remembered the building perfectly. With a quick look through the schedule and the help of a very offended senior, you finally made your way to the class, completely out of breath by 8:20. Even though your hair was falling out of the ponytail, you were covered in sweat and your shoes were permanently damaged, you were miraculously ten minutes early.

The classroom was huge and circular. It was stepped upwards, with desks curving around to focus downwards on the podium at centre, right underneath the big projecting screen mounted on the opposite wall. If you had entered the normal way, you would have probably entered through one of the two doors at the top of the class, but with your luck, you had obviously entered through the one door at the bottom, presumably which the faculty used. This way you had to climb up all the way to an empty spot with over a hundred people staring down at you in your hassled state.

“Smooth,” a blonde guy from the third row muttered as you began climbing.

“Y/N! Hey, Y/N,” a voice called. “Over here!”

You saw Madison waving at you from the corner seat on one of the top rows. A few people were looking at where the commotion was coming from. To avoid more of it, you hurried towards her.

“Saved you a seat!” she said, moving her books from the seat next to her, to make space.

“Thank you,” you said gratefully. The three girls seated on the other side of her, gave you a curious look. The sort that is given to old cheese, wondering if it has gone stale.

“Girls,” Madison said, “This is Y/N. Y/N, these are Lacey, Meredith and Rebecca.” In your harrowed state, you only remembered that the brunette with long hair was Lacey.

“Aren’t you excited?” Madison asked, smelling like she had stepped straight out of a beautiful orchard, while you were sweating bullets.

“Mhmm,” you said. Madison went on to talk about how excited she was for this particular lecture, while you hurriedly set out your laptop, and readied your papers.

“He’s just so dreamy and hot,” Madison gushed and the other girls nodded in agreement. “I can’t believe we have him for the first lecture.”

“How are we supposed to concentrate?” One of the girls wailed.

Like that was really a problem.

“Civil Procedure,” you read from the time table, quickly going through the syllabus, not even looking at the professor’s name the girls were raving about. In your experience, the content mattered, not who was teaching it.

There was a sudden ruffling, and everyone quieted at once.

“Sorry, I’m a little late,” an apologetic voice said.

It was 8:32, you thought absentmindedly, as you looked up from the papers, that was hardly late. That voice felt like long forgotten music.

The professor was facing the board, printing “Civil Procedure.”

When he turned, the floor dropped from under your feet.

He wore a light grey suit, with a striped tie and a white button up shirt, and stood tall against the black board. His soft brown hair was long and silky, curling slightly at his collar, and even though from this far you couldn’t see the colour, his hazel eyes were warm and slightly abashed.

“My name’s Sam Winchester,” he said, the words each felt like a separate stab to your gut. “I'll be taking the Civil Procedure Module for this semester and the next. And, I’m usually never late… especially in the courtroom.”

Some laughter ran around the room. He gave it a minute acknowledging it with a smile, then opened his laptop, and a tech hurried over to set it up.

“While Paul here is helping me with the wires, let me introduce myself more fully,” he said, leaning against the table. “I did my pre-law from right here at Stanford, so I’m still your senior. You all better be respectful.” More laughter rang around. “Then, I went to Yale for law school. I’ve practiced in New York for two years before moving to California, and practicing in LA for a few more. I currently work as the Senior Associate at Acton Griswold in San Francisco. You guys heard of it?”

“Is he kidding?” Lacey whispered. “Who hasn’t heard of Acton Griswold?”

“You’re even paying attention to what he’s saying?,” said the girl next to Lacey. “I can’t get over the way he looks. What is he? 30? Hot damn!”

“I have to impress him,” Madison muttered, though her voice had become softer. “I need that internship at Acton Griswold.”

On the podium Paul was done setting up the laptop, and Sam walked over to it opening the presentation. He pulled out frameless glasses from the box and slid them up his long pointed nose.

“Damn!” Lacey said again.

Your vision was tunneling in, and the room was spinning around you. Nothing made sense anymore. Not where you were, not what you were doing. Nothing mattered except the fact that he was standing there, right in front of you.

You could hear the rustling of papers, and the tap-tap of fingers hitting keys. while you just sat there numbly, not knowing what to do, not caring what was happening, or how long it had been.

“Y/N? Y/N?” Madison was calling your name. “Are you okay? You look really clammy.”

Maybe she had been calling you for a while because a few people ahead of you turned to look, visibly annoyed. and it was in slow motion, almost reluctantly, as if to seek the source of disturbance that Sam’s eyes found you.

A second passed and you could see them widen, then freeze in absolute shock. Unadulterated and profound shock.

“I’m sorry, I need to go,” You muttered, then grabbed your laptop and your bag and rushed out of the door at the top, without caring about the papers you had spilt… and bolted across the corridor, without a sense of direction till you found yourself in a toilet cubicle, locked and in hysterics.

This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not ever.

You had closed that chapter of your life, fled as far away as you could and yet, and yet he was right here. Sam was so close to you, how had your heart not known?

***************************************

A lot like ‘Us’ Masterlist

A/N 2: SO WHAT DO YOU GUYS THINK? Are we off with a good start?

PLEASE PLEASE please let me know?

If you want be tagged, you can send me an ask or add yourself to the taglist here.

Or here’s my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.

ALLU taglist:

@feelmyroarrrr @gabavaldman @im-a-light-child @cosicas-cuquis @bllyjianne @hoboal87 @i-is-for-inspiring @daughterleftbehind @wackiekebab @mylovelydame21 @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba @superbadassnatural @bellastellaluna @babypink224221 @badlittlehabit99 @anathewierdo @sams-bubblegum-bitch

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader fluff #reader x sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester fluff #lawyer!Sam #professor!Sam #Ana writes allu #anawrites #anawritesspn #q

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stereksecretsanta · 3 years

Text

Merry Christmas, yorit1!

For @yorit1. I hope you enjoy this little Christmas gift.

I made a playlist to accompany the fic: listen here

Read On AO3

*****

Make the Yule-tide Gay

"We should get a tree.”

Stiles blinks down at his half-eaten sandwich, unsure if he heard that right, before looking up at his father. The sheriff, clad in his uniform, sits opposite him by the breakfast table with his eyes firmly in the newspaper. It’s an innocent statement on its own, but Stiles knows it’s not. They haven’t had a tree in six years. There’s less than a week until Christmas Day and there’s not even an errant bauble to be found in the Stilinski household.

“Seriously?” Stiles asks.

“Seriously,” his dad confirms. “It’s time. I’ll dig out your mom’s decorations from the attic later.”

There’s a thick lump in Stiles’s throat and he swallows around it, forces his next words through it.

“You have an early shift Friday, right? Maybe we could go pick one up after school.”

His dad looks up from his newspaper then and his smile is as wobbly as Stiles's.

“Sounds great, kid.”

---

The parking lot in front of the Christmas tree sale is absolutely crowded. The sheriff finds an empty spot to squeeze the cruiser into at the edge of the lot and Stiles has to shimmy out from the passenger seat not to scratch the car next to them. While he had approached this day with careful anticipation, he could feel the excitement surge with every step closer to the trees. His dad seems to notice as much, because he chuckles and throws an arm over Stiles’s shoulders, squeezing him lightly.

It feels like reclaiming something once lost.

The fresh scent of the trees is nearly overwhelming. There must be hundreds of them, ranging from tabletop trees to some that Stiles would estimate are more than twice his own height. People mill through the trees, chatting and surveying the supply. A couple of excited kids nearly run both Stiles and the sheriff down in their game of chase through the trees.

“Alright, remember, no taller than 7 feet or so or we'll have to saw a hole through the ceiling,” his dad says and Stiles nods.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

They’re just about to make their way into the trees when someone calls out for the sheriff. They both turn in time to see Deputy Parrish make their way towards them. At any other time, Stiles would be over the moon for a chance to make googly eyes at Deputy Parrish, but right now he feels like he’ll vibrate out of his own skin at any second. His dad squeezes his shoulder again before letting go.

“Go pick out a good one,” he says, smiling. “I’ll join you in a sec.”

Stiles shoots his dad a blinding grin before saluting a rather puzzled Parrish and darting into the trees.

There’s a loudspeaker system set up across the lot that’s currently blasting out Tony Bennett’s Winter Wonderland. While Stiles has never seen snow in real life, the afternoon is uncharacteristically chilly for December in California and it adds to the atmosphere. He can nearly imagine the cold biting his cheeks.

He makes his way down the rows of trees, letting his fingers skim across the needles, occasionally feeling them prick at this skin. He stops in front of an impressively sized balsam fir, lips falling open in awe as he tilts his head back to look it up and down. It’s far too big for their living room, but if he was a wealthy oil magnate with a mansion, this would one hundred percent be the tree for him. Stiles is so enamoured by the tree that he doesn’t notice someone approaching until they speak.

“Do you need any help?”

Stiles will never admit to yelping, but in reality that is his reaction. As if appearing out of nothing, like an angelic Christmas spirit, there’s Derek Hale. Senior, captain of the basketball team, prom king Derek Hale. In a green vest and Santa hat. Stiles doesn’t know when he fell into a portal leading to another dimension where Derek Hale works at a Christmas tree sale, but here he is.

Derek squints at him and Stiles realises he’s been staring.

“Oh, uh, yeah! Do you have like… this tree, but in a more pleb size? Ya know, for the commoners.”

Derek’s lips twitch ever so slightly in what could be amusement and Stiles feels such an immense sense of accomplishment that he nearly goes lightheaded.

“We’ve got a couple of smaller balsam firs in another section,” Derek replies and nods to the left. “Follow me.”

Winter Wonderland has turned into Ella Fitzgerald’s Sleigh Ride and Stiles’s legs have turned to jelly. They stumble over themselves in their hurry to follow Derek through the next three rows. He thinks this might be the longest time he’s ever spent in High School King Hale’s presence and it’s thrilling and daunting all at once.

“You go to Beacon Hills High, right?” Derek asks and Stiles jumps to attention at his side.

“Uh yeah. I’m a sophomore.”

“Thought I recognized you. Aren’t you on the lacrosse team?”

Stiles squirms, hand flying up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“ Technically, I guess. I’m more of a bench warmer,” he admits, a splotchy blush creeping up his cheeks. He’s far from the physical wonder that is Derek Hale. It looks like Derek’s pectorals are trying their very best to bust out of that hideous green vest.

“Why? You look fit enough,” Derek replies, his eyes flicking down Stiles’s gangly limbs and Stiles would take it for a joke, he really would, if Derek’s face didn’t show anything but complete seriousness. He stops so suddenly that Stiles nearly bounces off his thick bicep.

“Complete lack of coordination, as you clearly can see,” Stiles says, hiding his embarrassment behind a grin.

The hand Derek places on his shoulder, to steady him, is so warm it seeps through his jacket immediately. Jelly legs once more, even though Derek removes his hand quickly.

“This row has pleb-sized balsam firs,” he explains and gestures down the row. “Want help picking one out?”

“Yes!” Stiles exclaims, too quickly and too loudly considering the concerned looks thrown their way by an elderly couple passing by. “I mean, you’re a professional, and we haven’t had a tree for years, so it needs to be a good one.”

Derek’s lips twitch again and this time Stiles is sure it’s with amusement. It makes Stiles’s heart flutter.

“Alright then. Do you prefer a long one or a girthy one?” Derek replies and that makes Stiles’s heart race instead and judging by the face Derek makes, he’s completely aware of it.

“Are those two mutually exclusive?” Stiles replies before his brain has the time to catch up with him and Derek grins, blindingly, beautifully, absolutely devastatingly.

“I’m sure we’ll find something to satisfy your needs,” Derek replies and it sounds like a promise.

---

Somewhere between Let It Snow and Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas , between Stiles dubbing a particularly thick tree as pure quali-tree and Derek breaking into laughter, Stiles finds himself between a solid brick wall and another solid brick wall called Derek’s chest. He’s grateful for it too, considering that the hot, soft press of Derek’s lips against his own has brought on the return of the jelly legs. He’s not sure that he would be able to stand up on his own, not without his arms wrapped around the back of Derek’s neck for stability. Derek’s hands, so warm and steady, are placed on his hips. His pinky, clearly a weapon of mass destruction, has found its way beneath layers of flannel to rub against Stiles’s sensitive skin and it feels like he’s being branded.

“Make the Yule-tide gay, fuck, Judy Garland really knew what Christmas is all about,” Stiles gasps while Derek trails kisses down his cheek and neck, stays there when laughter bubbles almost involuntarily from his lips.

His shoulders shake with it and Stiles clings to him tighter still, breathless and giggling too. They’re hidden away behind a majestic Colorado Blue Spruce, as secluded as it could possibly be at a Christmas tree sale.

“I’m Stiles, by the way,” Stiles adds, as an afterthought and it makes Derek pull up from his hiding space by Stiles’s neck. He immediately misses the feel of Derek’s warm breath against his skin.

Derek’s Santa hat is lopsided now and Stiles reaches up to right it.

“I know,” Derek replies, brushing his nose against Stiles’s.

“You know?” Stiles exclaims in disbelief, eyes widening, but his lips seeking Derek’s like a moth to a flame.

“‘Course. The cutest benchwarmer Beacon Hills High has to offer.”

Stiles didn’t know that he was capable of blushing harder than he already was, but apparently he could.

“I know who you are too,” he says, in lieu of anything else, since the idea of prom king Derek knowing who he is is so ludicrous.

Derek shrugs.

“Everyone knows who I am.”

It’s so arrogant, so conceited and so absolutely true that Stiles has to push on his rock hard chest in protest.

“Oh my god, you did not just say that,” Stiles says, but he’s laughing and so is Derek when he stumbles back a step. “Asshole.”

“Dick,” Derek replies and it sounds like a term of affection.

“Yeah, but you’re into it,” Stiles bites back and Derek looks as if he’ll reply, but they’re interrupted by the sheriff’s voice.

“Stiles? Are you here?”

Immediately on high alert, Stiles pushes on Derek’s chest until they both stumble out from behind the spruce tree. Stiles notices that he has needles stuck in his hair. The sheriff stops, eyes narrowing at the sight of them both, flushed and panting.

“Did you find a tree?” He asks, despite looking like he wants to ask something else entirely.

“Uh, yeah! Derek here uh, helped.”

“Mm, I’m sure he did.”

“It’s a balsam fir,” Derek supplies.

“Yeah, a balsam fir, very… girthy,” Stiles adds, because if there’s something he excels in, it’s digging his own grave deeper.

The sheriff rolls his eyes so hard Stiles fears he might suffer permanent damage.

“Let’s just pay and go home,” he says and pulls his wallet out of his jacket.

---

Stiles’s dad pays and Derek helps them carry the netted balsam fir across the parking lot to the corner spot they had parked the cruiser in. Once the tree is safely tied to the roof, Derek turns to Stiles and the sheriff pretends valiantly to busy himself with inspecting the tied rope.

“Give me your phone,” Derek commands and Stiles hands it over readily. Derek taps on it for maybe half a minute before returning it, his fingers lingering against Stiles’s. “Text me next time you’re warming the bench.”

Stiles can’t do anything but nod eagerly as Derek backs away. It’s not until he’s halfway across the parking lot that Stiles finds the words he’s looking for.

“You have a tree-mendous Christmas!” He yells.

Derek’s shaking shoulders is reward enough.

“Alright, Romeo,” the sheriff sighs good-naturedly. “Let’s go home.”

Stiles can’t stop his silly smile as he climbs into the cruiser, clutching his cellphone tight in his hand. The sheriff turns the key and puts the cruiser in reverse. The radio plays It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas and Stiles can’t help but agree.

#yorit1 #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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kitweewoos · 3 years

Note

Huntingbird + “I took NyQuil instead of DayQuil and I’m about to pass out” please?

I love this prompt, it’s got a vibe to it. Here you go, nonny!

I took NyQuil instead of DayQuil and I’m about to pass out

Hunter was a notoriously bad patient. He was bad at sitting still and resting, so he didn’t. He’d gotten the flu, despite Bobbi’s express instructions not t. She knew it wasn’t exactly his fault but him refusing to stay in the hotel and get better was his fault.

“You look terrible,” she said as they walked down the boardwalk. He was pale, there was no color in his lips, and he was shivering even while wearing a thick jacket.

“Gee, I love you, too, Bob,” he grumbled.

“You should be in bed, Hunter. You look like you’re the walking dewad.”

“I feel fine.”

“I highly doubt that. Have you at least taken some medicine to make you feel better?”

“I don’t need it.”

“Yes, you do. There’s a pharmacy up ahead. Let’s get you some Dayquil and Nyquil so if you’re not going to stay home, at least you’re not miserable.”

“Aww, you care about me,” Hunter cooed.

“Of course, I care about you. We’re married,” she replied with a laugh.

“Yeah, but historically, that means nothing for our marriage.”

“I’ve always cared about you, Hunter, even if I hated you, especially when I hated you. You were always in my heart.”

He smiled, and took her hand. He was clammy and warm to the touch.

“I love you, too,” he teased, and she rolled her eyes.

“Come here, Typhoid. In.”

She led him into the pharmacy, and to the cold and flu medicine aisle. His voice was scratchy as well so she grabbed cough drops. Then she grabbed a bottle each of Dayquil and Nyquil.

“Ugh, gross,” he muttered, taking the items as she shoved them into his arms. “This just seems excessive.”

“Your face seems excessive,” she replied immediately.

“Wow. I’m sick and you want to be rude to me! That is a terrible bedside manner, Doctor Morse.”

“You know I’m not a medical doctor, Hunter.”

“Good. You’d be terrible. I wouldn’t come to see you.”

“You’re a mean patient. I’m just trying to help you, you know. I don’t have to put up with this.”

He stuck out his tongue at her, and she turned to leave without him, which wasn’t hard because of how stumbly he was. She left him in the pharmacy to finish up, and stepped outside into the salty ocean air. He’d been like this before, usually when he was hurt. He didn’t like to feel bad, which was understandable, of course, but he took it out on the people around him instead of sucking it up like an adult.

Men really were big babies when they were sick. She hadn’t really met a man who wasn’t. Even Mack, though less so than others, had a tendency to whine more when he was sick.

Outside, she leaned against the railing between the boardwalk and the beach, watching the way the waves came and went against the sand. Hunter came out with his bag, sucking on a cough drop with apologetic eyes. He held out a caramel cream to her as a peace offering.

“I’m sorry. You’d make an excellent doctor, and I’m a wretched patient. I’m sorry for what I said, Bob.”

She let him snuggle in to her side, and she kissed his forehead. They started walking again, hand in hand, the bag rustling occasionally. Although, Hunter was starting to lag.

“What’s the matter? Is it not working?” she asked.

“No. Uh. I took Nyquil instead of Dayquil and I’m about to pass out.”

That made her laugh.

“Let’s go back to the hotel. We’ll order in, and you can get a nap. Maybe Judge Judy will be on.”

#agents of shield #huntingbird #lance hunter #bobbi morse #prompt tag #hey nonny nonny

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memescomicswriting · 5 years

Text

The Man That Got Away

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Leaving the most wonderful woman Bucky’s ever met was the biggest regret of his life and he never expected to see her again. But magic tends to have a mind of its own.

A/N: This is for #SherrysFallIntoYouChallenge ( @sherrybaby14 ) and yes I know “The Man that Got Away” was released in 1954 with A Star is Born (ft. Judy Garland and you should watch it), but we’re going to pretend it was released nine years earlier so this story makes sense. Okay? Okay. Also, I finished this in a caffeine haze so judge me.

My Masterlist

...

The street lamps of the city seemed to radiate a cheerful glow now that the war was over. Couples started roaming the streets again. It wasn't like the mayhem of victory, but the steady normalcy that existed before. It all seemed like a blurry dream to Bucky; familiar but odd. Foggy as the dream was, the city's air had alluring magic in the air tonight which pushed Bucky towards his destination. He hoped he was heading in the right direction. Steve hastily wrote the note and slipped it under Bucky's door during his morning jog. It listed the party, the address, and instructions on how to get there. Bucky hadn't attended many parties since his return home, but for Steve, he'd make an appearance. Besides, it was Halloween and for the new Shield group. If not now, then when? The bar was along a street with other bars and clubs in Brooklyn. Like the rest, it was decked for Halloween. The fuzzy illumination of the sign obscured the readability but Bucky made out the name Enchanted; how fitting for the season. Caricatures of witches, cats, ghosts, and ghouls decorated the outside. When he stepped in, it was just as seasoned. Jackolanterns lined the carpet entrance. The club's atmosphere was dimmed by lights covered in red and orange shades. Along with the fog and smoke, it created a mystic and romantic feel. The smell of smoke was thick but cut with the crisp scent of fall every time the door opened. This was the kind of place Bucky would take his dream girl; if he had her.

A hostess caught his attention and took his coat. On his request, she directed him to Steve, who was off chatting with Peggy and some men from the government agency. They were all friends, not bureaucrats. They faced away from the stage and the Bing Crosby cover artist who occupied the stage. The night's host came into the light, but Bucky paid no attention to entertainment. He quietly joined the group and after the hellos, pats on the back, and a hug from Steve, Bucky molded into the background of the group. The next singer was announced and the group began shifting and looking over as the host began chatting up the entertainer. They wanted to watch the performance so they slowly migrated away from the bar and to a booth with a view. The host raised his hand in the direction of the circular spotlight. "Ladies and gentlemen, please show your love to the bewitching Ms. Y/N!" Bucky's throat knotted. Outstepped the most gorgeous woman alive. She dawned a form-fitting black dress that could have come from the set of "I Married a Witch." Like Veronica Lake, it slinked over her body like water. Though it was long-sleeved and touched the floor, the fit and the cuts in the chest and leg left little to the imagination. When she moved, the fabric caught the light and moved on its own. It matched the headband that sported a small witches hat, fitting for the vixen. Her hair was curled in long waves which framed her face well. It brought out her sparkling eyes and bright red lips. She dripped magic even before she began to sing. Y/N was the femme fatal. The grand piano struck chords like lightening and the band followed. It was a dragging jazz symphony with independent saxophones. The band gave a condensed version of the melody before she began to sing. But oh, when she did Bucky was lost. *** Bucky was in a coma for a month following his fall. When he woke up, he heard Steve saved the East Coast. Along with the rest of the Hollowing Comandos, he was closing in on Berlin. The war would be over in weeks, but Bucky was missing all the action while stuck in his hospital bed. Three days after waking up, he was moved into a common room filled with fellow casualties. Granted, miraculously, all Bucky had was a rapidly healing but torn up arm. He insisted to the deaf ears of his doctors, that he was fine. He could be moved to processing so he could return to his buddies. The moment he felt he had the strength, he surged out of bed. He hadn't realized a month in a coma would leave his legs limp. He tumbled over and onto the floor; causing a small scene to all those around. The most beautiful woman rushed to his aid. She was dolled up in a dignified trench coat and khaki dress. It was governmental in look, but she wore no colors. Her makeup was done, unlike other female army officials. She had cherry red lips, that in spite of Bucky's foolishness, curled most fondly. Her hair was curled in the modern, starlit fashion. If he put her against the wall, she'd look like a pin-up. The British soldier she was previously conversing with was annoyed, and despite the obvious flush of embarrassment on Bucky's cheeks, he didn't regret the fool he made out of himself. Once her hands touched his chest and back in support, a jolt of electricity ran through his body. There was a tingling sensation creeping into his body from the spots her hands met his skin and it livened his body. He felt warm for the first time in weeks and without the need of help, but the eager acceptance of it, Bucky got up and sat down in his little nook. "What's the rush soldier?" She elegantly placed herself next to Bucky on his cot. He didn't know that sitting could be so gracefull, especially while supporting a goofy soldier. She held onto him until she was sure he was alright. "The war's not missing ya." Her voice was light but not too chipper. She was soft and alluring with a voice that dripped like running honey. Bucky huffed. She was clever and he had a difficult time with a clever woman. "I'm sure the war isn't, but my buddies might be." He bit the inside of his cheek, punishing himself for sounding so brash. "Aha, well America's finest has written some letters. Maybe if you weren't as stubborn as an ass, you'd notice them in your table drawer." She leaned over and snatched them. She handed them over with a wink and her hand brushed Bucky's. It was so soft but electric. Bucky opened his mouth to speak but quickly pinched his lips together. He already looked like a fool, he didn't need his words to confirm it, again. He turned over each envelope. There were three, all unopened, and all from Steve. "He's glad you're getting well." She patted his hand with the envelopes. Bucky blinked and shifted his glance to the mystery woman in front of him. "You know Steve?" She chuckled a melodic chuckle with her head tilted back. She acted like everything was so obvious, even a child could figure it out. It didn't make Bucky feel too confident and he blushed. "Oh love," She placed a gentle hand on his. "I'm a girl with a way about her." "Ain't that the damn truth." He thought to himself. With that, she stood up. Bucky followed the sway of her hips as she moved around his bed, habitually tidying it a bit. "Get some rest and catch up with Captain Rogers. You'll be back to your reckless choices in no time." The light her smile radiated dimmed the further she walked. Down the long line of cots, the specific charms of her faded, but she still lingered like a candle flame in the dark. She waved and joked with other men she passed. All their attitudes brightened as she passed; more so than they would for any other woman passing by. She was more than the nurses to them. Eventually, she was a blimp in the background but Bucky could see her stop at another soldier's bed. It was odd. The only females allowed around soldiers were nurses. He wasn't in a stateside infirmary, otherwise family could visit. Yet here was a goddess amongst a string of injured wolves, but she had no fear. She roamed the lines of cots like she owned the damn place. Bucky rolled his shoulders back thinking they were sore but to his surprise, they weren't nearly as bad as they'd been the day before. He chalked it up to the schoolboy rush he felt. Within minutes, that enchantress had her claim on Bucky's heart. *** Some couples swayed in dance. It was a good song to get close to a dame, but Bucky remained on the outside with Steve. Surprisingly, he wasn't out there with Peggy. They could hardly keep their hands to themselves these days. "And all because of the man that got away. No more his eager call. The writings on the wall..." Her voice was strained and pulling in the emphasis of her despair. Despite the pain, the song glossed over the crowd like a siren's melody. It pulled the couples closer and made the singles itch for someone to touch. A spell had been cast over the crowd. "Isn't she great?" Steve whispered in Bucky's ear, which made him jump from his enchantment. Steve snickered but continued. "She's Peggy's friend; known her since the start of the war. They've got a long backstory." Bucky nodded along with Steve but maintained his distant guard. "Yeah, she's someth'n man." *** The rolling hills of the Normandy hospital were breathtaking. He imagined if the roles were reversed, Steve might enjoy his stay. He could recover while drawing and painting the landscape. Instead, Bucky was trapped with little to do other than listen to grumbling Brits and Americans complain about being bedridden like him. Though they were seeking to be sent home, not back into the thick of it like him. He was called out of his solitude by an overly amused voice. "If your intent was hiding, you need to work on your hiding places." In a poof of fabric, the girl from a week ago sat down next to Bucky. She took to nature like she was a part of it. The sun gleamed off of her like the ancient statues he saw in Greece. Her fingers wove into the grass like tree roots. Her whole body relaxed. "If anything, I'm looking for a means of escape." He quipped, looking over her with a raised brow. She was the most curious creature he'd ever encountered, and he'd met a lot of women. "Now Sergent Barnes," She warned playfully. "The boys aren't that bad." Bucky snorted. "You're not stuck with them all day and night." Then he paused, frowning in thought. "How do you know who I am?" "I deliver your mail." As if on cue, she chucked another letter from Steve over to him. He carried on. "And how do you know Steve?" "Mutual friends." She replied as if it were just that obvious. "You know, girls aren't usually allowed in the infirmary with the soldiers." He teased, looking to stir a reaction. She nudged him with her shoulder. "Well, I'm not any girl." Then she looked around for any nearby person and leaned in like she was going to share top-secret information. "I'm a woman." Bucky's face deadpanned, looking straight at her. She combusted into a laughing fit and fell back onto the grass. It took her a minute to calm herself enough to prop her head upon her elbow. "You're impossible." Bucky huffed again. "Quite the contrary Sergent Barnes." She flashed him a Chesire grin. "I'm very easy if you just ask." He nearly choked on his own spit and she was sent into another laughing fit. "I can see why you're popular amongst the other soldiers." With her head back on the grass and gaze on the clouds, she sighed. "I'm popular because I'm a woman who's attention is on them and not their temperature or blood pressure. I see them and they appreciate it. I don't need to be so flamboyant with them to gain their attention." She turned her head to look up at him with thick lashes. Her hair draped over her chin and veiled her lips. All Bucky could think of for a moment was pushing her hair back and smoothing a finger over her lips. "So you do go out of your way for me?" He met her eyes and tilted his head in question. "I was asked to check in on you, but you don't exactly make it easy." She sighed, but her cheeks raised with a growing smile. "D'Steve ask you too?" His accent thickened with the idea of his Brooklyn pal. She began playing with the grass, continuing the conversation in her own little world with Bucky. "No, I've actually never had the pleasure of meeting Captain Rogers or corresponding with him. A mutual friend asked on his behalf. She was concerned about him." "Peggy?" He asked. She hummed a yes in response. He went on to ask."And how do you know Peggy?" "Peggy knows all the spies of course, and when I retired from my spying because I was no longer needed- thanks to your Captain, I turned my war efforts to helping the soldiers where I could." Then she shrugged, trying to conceal her disappointment. "I may not be allowed to fight, but I can give comfort." "Mmm.." Bucky thought on that. "So what? You travel around infirmaries and comfort the wounded?" "About that." She nodded her head in agreement. "Between stops, I'll do shows for nearby camps. That's what I did before I became a spy." Bucky was puzzled. She was a performer, but he didn't recognize her. At least, he didn't recognize her at first. Then it began to piece together. The lips and the trending fashion, her quirky cheerfulness, being a performer- she was Y/N, the ex-patriot Hollywood starlit. All the tabloids said she was lost to the war, but here she was in front of him. Bucky groaned at himself and his stupidity. "I'm an idiot." "Well yes," She said bluntly. "But I don't mind it. You make up for it in your good looks." His eyes shot wide and to her. No other dame he'd encountered been as forward as her. First, he thought it was her fame, but none of the tabloids talked about any other female celebrity's brazen attitude. "Beg your pardon?" He chocked on his words as they came out. "Called you handsome, soldier." Her brows peaked, but not in annoyance, but questioning. "What has the war taken away your ability to flirt with a woman?" "No." He quickly shook his head. "You're just something else. You're...wonderful." *** She crooned on. Every sentiment, she made eye contact with another person, pouring her emotions into them. "The man that won you has run off and undone you. That great beginning has seen the final inning. Don't know what happened. It's all a crazy game" Howard came up next to Bucky and patted him on the back. "God, isn't she the greatest performer that you've ever seen?" He straightened his tie up and smoothed over his suit. Bucky knew that attitude. Stark was looking to bag her. Bucky swallowed back his annoyance with the first drink he spotted. He wanted to ring Stark out for pursuing Y/N, but he had no justifiable reason to even stop Stark's advances. *** There was a town less than a mile away from the hospital. Even though it lacked many of the goods it had before wartime, Y/N always made her way back from the small but growing market with treats for the boys. For some it was cigarettes that didn't taste like government-issued cardboard, others bake goods, and some asked for little gifts or pressed flowers to send home to their girls or families. She went twice a week so everyone who needed or wanted something got it within two weeks. For Bucky, whatever he asked for, he got that day. Once he asked for playing cards because the decks belonging to the other soldiers were either incomplete or rigged. If he had to pass time, he might as well do it with something semi-entertaining. To his amazement, she came back that day with a beautifully printed deck of cards. "Where the hell did you swipe something as good as this?" Bucky went off without thought as he was caught up in the cards. "Not hell," Her signature Cheshire grin crept onto her face. This time, it was illuminated by the sunset dying on the horizon and the candle on Bucky's bedside table. Her eyes dazzled in the glow like they were lights themselves. "That's for sure. I have my ways. A little bit of magic." It was light-hearted, but Bucky's gaze shifted to her suspiciously. "You know..." He began. "My shoulder's gotten a lot better over the past few weeks. I'd say it's back to what it was before my fall and I have complete dexterity throughout my hand." "That's great Sarg." Her voice swayed like sweet garden charms. Maybe the bells from the town sounded off as well, but he could have sworn he heard layers to her voice. "That means the doctors are doing their job and all the rest I'm forcing you to get is working." "Yeah, maybe you're right. My sleeping has impr-" He caught himself as his train of thought moved without him. Suspicious, he eyed her but not out of mistrust but genuine curiosity. She was already a compilation of mystery and he was trying to solve one layer. "Ever since you came into my life, my health's improved. It's like you're a lucky charm or someth'n." He could have sworn he heard her say "or something," but her lips didn't move. She batted her lashes a few times and her smile shifted from cheeky to sincere. "I do think I've helped you get better, by kicking your sorry butt into gear so you'd listen to your doctors and rest." Bucky snorted at her suggestion. Man was she one powerful woman, and in all fairness, she had kicked his butt into shape despite himself. "Yeah, some magic your foot's got there. One powerful kick." She chuckled at his insinuation. Her hand landed on his knee and again a bolt of contagious electricity shot through him. Suddenly, he was laughing with her. "Oh Barnes, kicking boys like you around is what I do best." There was a mutually shared exchange of fondness between them that was magnetic. If there weren't so many prying eyes around he would have taken her into his arms there and kissed all the air out of her. He'd save that for later that night when they could sneak off to their own little corner of the world. Then she shook her head and pulled herself out of the moment. Her throat cleared and it pulled Bucky back to the world around them. "I'm gonna go drop off the other goodies. When I get back, I'll kick your butt again, but in poker." Bucky grinned as he already began shuffling the cards through his fingers. "I'd like that." He smiled up at her an eager smile. *** "Good riddance, goodbye. Every trick of his you're on to, but, fools will be fools. And where's he gone to?" She cried out. Pain and agony morphed into bitter confusion but no one other than Bucky seemed to notice the song was more than a song. It was a release. He noticed Peggy shift her eyes to him. Maybe she saw it for what it was aswell. Yet, in her eyes, pure confusion turned into confused acceptance. She could see Bucky's attachment. He shrugged her off as he was pulled back into the song. He could swear there was something otherworldly to it. Knowing Y/N, maybe there was. What was clear, was the distress in the performance. There was a call to it of "Someone notices me. Someone really notice me." *** Immediately following the war, Y/N was sent to DC. Peggy, Steve, Stark, and other war leaders were called to DC. Bucky, being healthy enough to travel could follow Y/N and join Steve with the other Howling Commandos. Y/N acquired one of the few passenger planes running from Europe to the US. She preferred that over traveling with a bunch of caged up soldiers who hadn't seen a woman in months. Bucky traveled with her and they arrived in DC together a day before the meetings began. They had private time together in Normandy, but nothing like the freedom of DC. They didn't have to sneak out and sneak around officers to be alone. In DC, they can walk down the street holding hands and go out to dinner. They were a magical fifteen hours and Bucky knew it was all too good to be true. A telegram arrived at Bucky's hotel room the night before the meetings. The army rerouted a post intended for Europe to Bucky. The original letter was addressed to one of his camps from many months prior. Steve moved the Commandos around so it was normal to receive letters later than the stationed boys. This was nearly three months late. He read the emotionless typewriter font despite the confusion and then, despite the denial. He hadn't seen Dot since the holiday relieve Steve was able to acquire for him. He wanted to assure his Ma that he was alright. Unsurprisingly, he saw Dot; or rather, Dot found him. Upon hearing of his stay over, Dot appeared on his doorstep. And well... he was a man after all and he hadn't seen a dame that spoke English in over a year. So yeah, they slept together. Now Dot was pregnant, with his child. Bucky's gaze shifted to Y/N who patiently got herself ready for bed while waiting on Bucky to join her. She had her second stocking midway down her leg and even though she was undoing herself for the night, the intimacy of it all was the sexiest thing Bucky had ever seen. He was entirely and happily bewitched by her. But it was because he loved her, that he had to break her heart. God knows he didn't want to. He wanted to burn the letter and never think about Dot again. He hadn't thought of Dot since the second he laid eyes on Y/N, but his mom would box his ears in and Steve would kill him for leaving a child without a father. "Y/N?" He cooed softly from his place by the door. "Hmm?" She replied from her place at the vanity. She peered up at him through thick lashes, bent over, taking care of her stockings. The slight actions were mesmerizing. Bucky's throat croaked with the hard gulp he made at the sight, but it pulled him out of the moment. "Y/N sweetie." He strode over to the bed's edge by the vanity and plopped down. Noticing that something was off, mainly that Bucky hadn't pounced her yet, her confused eyes searched and landed on the telegram. "What's wrong?" Her brows knitted together as her concerned gaze met Bucky's somber eyes. "I received a well-delayed message from New York." His hand scratched the growing locks near his neck that Y/N loved to toy with so much. There would be no sweet sentiments now. Suddenly, Bucky popped up and began quickly pacing the floor. "I just, I don't understand. It was one time and I was so careful. In all the letters nothing is mentioned...even ends things!" He swiftly turns back to Y/N, exasperated. "But this one, the one that comes late, that's the kicker!" He dramatically huffs and collapses on the bed. Y/N crawled up next to him and sat on her knees facing him. She looked over him worried and pulled his head into her lap. "James," Her voice was smooth and hushed. A wave of focussing calm washed over Bucky. "what's the matter?" "Dot's pregnant." He admitted blatantly. When Y/N's hands retracted and she began to move away, Bucky propped himself up to catch her. "I'm so sorry Y/N. I'm so, so sorry to do this to you. If I had known I never would have..." She shot him a wicked warning of a glance and he shut up. "Never would have started something with me. I know your character Bucky. You're not like that. It's why I allowed myself to grow fond of you." Fond. Not love, but fond. Already she began detaching herself and it scared Bucky. Desperately, he clasped her hands in his. He was upright now and kneeling with Y/N. "Say the word and I won't go. I won't leave you and we can run away from our responsibilities. We can go out west for your career and I'll never step foot in Brooklyn again." Her hands slipped from his grasp and against his best efforts, he couldn't chase after her as she left the bed. "We both know that if I let you do that, you'll hate yourself for the rest of your life. I can't let that happen." Quickly, she began stuffing her stockings and the other attachments she had taken off in her bag. She had her own room with the rest of her things. "The pain'll be worth it though," He declared meekly. "If I got you." His eyes were tear-filled as were Y/N's. He was a man pleading on his knees for his sugar girl, dynamite, enchantress to stay. She dashed back to him and for an instant Bucky had hope. Her soft lips planted on his forehead like they were imparting a seal to send away. He knew then that it was over. "And my pain will be worth it if you keep your soul." She then pulled away and wiped the tear streams from her cheeks. "You're going to go home and live a wonderful life Bucky. You may be afraid and angry at first but that'll all change when you meet your child. Yes, it'll hurt but you'll find someone else who makes you just as happy if not more. And everything will be magical again." She leaned over and gave his lips the sweetest kiss; filled with passion, love, and starlight. With only mere seconds of touch, he was out of breath. "This," She whispered against his lips. "I promise." Bucky couldn't fight for her as she walked out. He was frozen in place and forced to watch the most amazing creature walk out of his life. Once the door closed, he pounced. Able to free his limbs from their slumber spell he darted out the door but Y/N was nowhere to be seen. He spent a few hours pleading and pounding on her door. Eventually, security gave him the option of going back to his room or being kicked out. He chose his room. He had hoped Y/N would still participate in the post-war meetings, but as he suspected, she was gone. When he broke the news to Steve, he was uncharacteristically silent. Though the conversation was between the two men, word got back to Peggy. Knowing Steve, he probably blabbed without any pressure. He couldn't keep a damn thing from that woman. For the rest of DC Peggy did everything but smile in Bucky's direction. Hell, if she wasn't surrounded by higher-ranking officials she may have shot him. He did deserve it. *** Bucky shook himself out of the fog of memories when Steve elbowed him in the ribs. "Straighten up Buck and be a gentleman. Peggy's com'n back with her friend." "Gentlemen," Peggy nodded to Steve, Bucky, and Howard who all clumped together in a semicircle. "I'd like you to meet the best spy the Allies I had." Outstepped Y/N from behind Peggy. Before Y/N could speak, Howard jumped at the chance to take her hand. "Miss Y/N, after hearing all about you it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Howard Stark, the best contractor the Allies had. What a coincidence to have to of the best assets to the Allies in one room." After a kiss, Howard allowed Y/N to take her hand back. Only Bucky could see the sparkle of amusement in Y/N's eye that masked her desire to burst into a laughing fit at Howard's antics. "Yes, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stark. And Steve!" Her attention enthusiastically shifted to Steve. "I'm so glad to finally meet you after the storm Peg's talked up about you." Steve side-eyed Peggy as slyly as he could. "Is that so? And what has she said? She's a mystery to me some days and I'd love a few clues." Peggy blushed and after playfully swatting him, linked their arms together. Y/N's smirk was feline as she shifted her focus to Peggy and then back to Steve. "That you're the sweetest and most handsome idiot this side of the Atlantic. Steve's jaw dropped in astonishment as the rest of the group burst into chuckles, snorts, and giggles. Before Steve could give a retort or anyone else comment, Y/N shifted her attention to Bucky. "Hello Sarg," Her rich voice washed over Bucky's ears like another melody. She was poised with one hand on her hip and leg bent. "It's good to see you again." Steve's jaw closed and he cocked his head to the side. "You know'r Bucky?" It was directed towards Bucky but his gaze was fixed on Y/N. Peggy frowned up at Steve. He was the biggest idiot this side of the Atlantic. "Yeah," Bucky nodded slowly in agreement. However, he was too transfixed with Y/N to turn in Steve's direction. " Y/N delivered mail to all the boys in my hospital. She did a bang-up job at keeping all our spirits up." "Some were easier than others." Y/N fondly grinned while talking to Steve. "Your pal overhear was a difficult nut to crack." "I wasn't exactly the happiest patient until I had something more important than getting back to my pals." He nodded in agreement. Noticing that he had no chance of getting anywhere and feeling coerced into silence for long enough, Howard interjected. "Well, I'm going to go get a drink." "I think I'm in the mood for a Manhattan." Peggy seconded the drink idea and nudged Steve along. Bucky and Y/N could hear Steve grumble. "But you already got a Brooklyn." As he was dragged away. The exit wasn't all too smooth. Y/N's and Bucky's attention slowly drifted back together. "How's it been soldier?" "Y/N-" Bucky began to plead but she stopped him. "How's the baby?" She followed up. "Baby?" Bucky's thoughts were lost for a minute in Y/N but he was suddenly hurled to the reason why they were parted. "Oh, the baby! He's fine, healthy, and better yet with his parents." Y/N gave him a quizzical look so he continued. "Dot and her husband have a house on Statin Island. They're there with the baby." "Bucky," She warned. "You didn't?" "I have blue eyes, Dot has blue eyes, and the baby has brown eyes. As cute as the kid is, he's not mine." Bucky shrugged nonchalantly like the entire ordeal hadn't ruined his life. "Dot slept with another officer right before I returned home. Some Italian commander and he's a good guy, and when she called him up with the news he came and took my place." For the first time since he met Y/N, she was silent from a lack of words. A million thoughts raced across her face. The disbelief lasted the longest, then a wave of anger that calmed into acceptance. "I need a drink." She blurted out. "A strong one." She mumbled to herself as she strode away from Bucky and to the nearest bar. "Gin tonic. Light on the tonic." She nodded to the nearest bartender who nodded in response. Bucky snuck up behind her. "Make it two." He stood behind one of the bar stools and his arm draped across the gap Y/N was standing in and rested on the other stool. She was trapped by him. Y/N narrowed her eyes in a disapproving manner but Bucky didn't allow it to crawl under his skin. "What?" He asked casually. "Bucky," She warned. "We shouldn't be doing this." Her arms folded over her chest and though it was meant to show her caveat, it didn't help with how it pressed her breasts up. "What?" He questioned again with pretend naiveness. "Two old friends getting a drink?" "We're no friends." She quickly corrected. Bucky looked down with a suggestive smirk. "You're right, we're not." Y/N huffed in increasing annoyance. "God I wish I could turn you into a dog. It'd fit how you're acting." Bucky snorted. "You wouldn't." Then he took one over hands in his and his expression morphed into something sincere. "Even if I have a lot of begging to do." "Bucky..." Y/N began warning him but her resolve had weakened. "I know it's selfish to ask, because I hurt you so much, but do you think you could forgive me one day? I know it won't be today or even tomorrow, but hopefully one day you can see past how much of a punk I am and let me love you again." The club suddenly felt empty to Y/N. Despite the crowds pushing around it was just her and Bucky in the entire place. For someone who always knew what to say and when, her voice was locked away. Her head hung low from trying to conceal her expression. Bucky brought his free hand to cradle her chin between his large fingers. He tilted her chin up so he could look in her eyes. Now, he could clearly see the agonizing mix of emotions that were masked by the stage lights. "I can't have my heart broken again." Her eyes wouldn't meet his and he pleaded. "Y/N." He cooed and her eyes glanced over his before settling. "I won't hurt you ever again. It'll be you and me like it was always meant to be. No war, no baby, no interruptions. I promise." "How can I let my heart trust you again?" She wondered allowed. Her eyes sparkled in the dim lights of the club. Rays of color reflected off the tears in her eyes. "I don't know." He replied earnestly and honestly. "But I'm willing to do whatever you need so you can let me back in." Y/N reached up and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. There was nearly no resolve left, and when he turned into her touch all of it was gone. She knew how to play with fire, but this was hellfire. Accepting his touch was scorching her to the bone but the thought of his love was an aching sweet relief. She wasn't certain who leaned into who and who initiated the kiss, but soon they were in a searing lip lock. They didn't need the roaming of hands or intertwining of limbs, yet, to feel the reverent passion held for one another. The kiss said it all. Eventually, Bucky parted from her. His lips were a swollen red from the kiss and his cheeks deeply flushed. Y/N however, looked as manicured as before. Her lipstick remained unsmudged despite the fearsome lovemaking. Bucky cleared his throat once he had enough air. "We... we-ah should go somewhere where we can talk." "Talk," Y/N smiled mischievously and pushed Bucky stumbling back so she could walk free from his trap. She snatched his beefy hand in her dainty one and pulled him along with her. "Sure, soldier. Let's go talk." Together, they made their way past prying eyes and to the coat check by the entrance. Bucky helped Y/N put on her dazzling designer number before he shrugged his on. He may be kiss whipped, but he was still a gentleman. Then they made their way out the exit of the club. The chill of the night air didn't seep into his bones anymore and Y/N appeared to thrive off of it. The autumn moon and the walloping gusts of wind softened around the couple just like magic. They were like any other couple walking down the illuminated street. They both were bundled up in layers except for their hands which were interlocked. The warmth that this generated radiated enough to keep them warm. Occasionally, Bucky would twirl her around in a little romantic dance or pull her flush against him and give her a quick peck on the lips that lingered into a full-blown kiss. "You know I could have taken us home. My rides flying around here somewhere." Turning from Bucky's embrace, Y/N searched the night sky for a dark outline. With a booming whistle, a broom came soaring down from the sky and into Y/N's outstretched hand. Bucky's chest erupted into a booming laugh and it reverberated against Y/N. At seeing her confusion, he kissed her nose and twirled her out of his hold and back into a walking position. "Not tonight dear, let's enjoy the leisurely stroll in your witching weather." Bucky didn't have to look at Y/N to know the secretive smile which she tried to hide with the press of her lips. He did catch the smooth movements of her fingers that were quickly followed by a gust of wind wrapping them up and pushing them together for a kiss once again.

...

Happy Halloween!

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amnachil · 4 years

Text

The College Society Chapter 4 Part 1

And here we go !

This is the last chapter of Liam’s 1st year at the university. It’s a long one, so be ready ;)

A new pov will replace Barbara starting now, I hope you’ll like it.

Damian-Nicholas Smith Carrey Friday March 8, in France

When people said him that he could write a book about his life, he never imagined what kind of book it would be. But now, he had quite an accurate idea. He would call it : 'How to change from the most famous hunter to a stupid and naive man in love'. He had gone through step one for a long time now : have a fucking ridiculous teenage crush. And now, he started step two : be in a relationship with your so-called crush. Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey wasn't someone easily flustered. At least on paper. But when it come to the baboon, it was a true disaster. He must have left his pride back in the US.

"What do you think ? Isn't this one better ?" asked Liam.

The junior looked at him, his brows furrowed. They were doing shopping for souvenir. Well, the baboon searched little things for his siblings and Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey tagged along.

"I dunno. There are the same to me."

One was a key chain with the eiffel tower, the other with the Arc de Triomphe. Both were low quality products anyway. But the baboon finally picked one, and they went out of the store.

"Where are we going next ?" asked the blond lad. "There is plenty of time before our departure..."

"I bought everything I wanted." replied his boyfriend. "So I thought we could hum... take some time for us ?"

He blushed when he said the last word, which made Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey blush too, and then they both blushed even more. This is an endless circle of pathetic shyness. I mean, I eat ass every other day, so why am I so prude right now ?

"Fine." he agreed anyway. "Lead the way."

They honestly had a good time. It was fucking weird to enjoy this at much as sex. Maybe even more. They went for walk the length of the Seine. Liam ate a box of pastries along the way and they talked about this and that. This is the end of my damned life. I'm having a silly conversation with someone. It must be the first time since... I don't even fucking remember. They were on their way back when Liam sighed.

"I'm happy to have you Dami." he whispered.

All this romantic bullshit was so embarrassing. Do I like it or not ? Just get a grip dude ! Not only he was having a damn date with his boyfriend, but he also looked like the flustered one here ! No one must ever know it happened. The baboon took his hand.

"I'm serious you know ?" he continued. "I mean, I'm still very worried about a lot of stuff... Nate is my main concern, but I'm also still preoccupied by my father. And I can't deny my story with Kilian is giving me an headache. But I'm really happy to know you're here."

"First of all baboon, it doesn't suit you to be so serious." replied Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey while trying to regain composure. "Secondly, there is nothing in what you said that can't wait tomorrow. You've the right to enjoy a little time for yourself with someone you love."

Liam blushed. He kissed his boyfriend to thank him. Holy crap. I'm getting good at the cheesy stuff too. Well, it wasn't surprising : Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey was good at everything.

This evening on the plane, the junior felt a weird dread through his whole body. Suddenly, he stressed about his relationship. But there is nothing new... I mean, we already were a couple before. So what is different ? He quickly put his finger on it. I said to the baboon I loved him. I confessed my weakness. The hunters shall never know. Nobody in the university, for that matter. There are already too many fucking people aware of our relationship. I don't trust anyone about this.

"Hey dude."

Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey glared at the sophomore who hailed him. It was the dipshit called Matthew, Theo's heir.

"What the hell are you doing here ?" he asked. "Want to suck my prick ?"

The cocky lad (it was obvious this guy was an arrogant bastard) smiled.

"Maybe another time. I just wanted to say D.R sent me the contract regarding Barbara. She has to stay away from Colton and all his friends starting now. So you won't see her again much."

"Don't give me that crap, idiot. I don't care about the roach. You can fuck her, so go on. Isn't it what you wanted since the beginning ?"

Matthew's smile grew larger. I can definitely see the ressemblance with this shitty Theophile now.

"Just go away, moron." he concluded.

Liam Sunday March 10 back in the US

"This trip has done some damage..."

The young lad bite his lips. I knew I had indulged a lot but that's quite a change...

"Do you dislike it ?" asked Nate, while slumping on his bed.

"Not really..."

He had been ages since the last time Liam had looked properly at his reflection. He was pleased with his general body shape. His face was finely chiseled. He had strong biceps and triceps. His legs were robust but thick just like his chest. His pecs were nicely standing out. Even his back was kind of burly. But where three month ago he had a blossoming six pack, he had now a modest amount of squishy flab. His bulging waistline was easily noticeable since he was only in briefs. But he wasn't dissatisfied.

"I think I like myself." Liam whispered.

"And that's a good thing." mumbled his bestfriend, his eyes closed. "You have nothing to be ashamed about, trust me."

The chesnut lad outlined a smile. I'm glad to see Nate is talking more and more. He was also pretty sure Dami won't judge him for a little bulk.

"I mean..." resumed the other lad. "You're even well-endowed."

It made Liam blush like hell. (Not that he didn't take the compliment.) (Who could blame him ?).

The freshman expected things to improve since they came back from France. After all, Nate was getting better, Nick was actually making some progress at swimming and Dami literally confessed his feelings. It looked like the unicorns were finally powerful enough to repel the forces of evil. (After all, he had been feeding them with his dreams for months now !). So when a girl went to talk to him during his training this afternoon, he completely ignored her. (Not on purpose of course !). He was just so happy that he couldn't focus on anything. He went throught weight lifting and then legs exercises without noticing the many people who accosted him. He left campus without taking note of the lustful looks around him. I think I'm happy. The talk with Kilian had freed him. He was so glad to know the force of evils failed to take his ex-boyfriend. Anyhow, he finally went to work. As soon as he arrived, Judy came to him.

"Oh god Liam here you are ! I was so worried !" she shouted.

He blinked, not sure to have heard right. (Not that he often didn't heard people or anything...). What was she worried about ? Did he forget something important ? Something life-saving ? Maybe the aliens were gonna attack soon ?

"Liam focus ! I'm trying to have a conversation here !"

Judy clicked her fingers right under his eyes, breaking his thoughts.

"Are you alright ? Did someone do something to you ?"

"What ? No." he replied, surprised. "Why ?"

She frowned.

"Are you and Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey still a couple ?" she eventually asked.

Liam blushed. I think I'm supposed to keep it a secret but... He could trust Judy, right ?

"We are." he replied. "But what is your point ?"

"Be prudent when you're not with him okay ? I never thought I would say that one day, but I think you're safer with him around. Even if I still bet he'll hurt you in the end, like he did with everyone else."

Liam nodded. Their boss was calling them. I'm not sure I understand what she meant... However, he was certain Dami wouldn't said "I love you" so lightly. I'm special to him, I'm at least sure of that.

When he arrived at their flat tonight, Nick announced Nate wasn't there. Apparently, he had left for a talk with Archibald. It reminded Liam there were still things he wanted to improve in his life. My bestfriend and my poor family situation should be my priorities. He had no doubt the unicorns would agree on this. Besides, everything was linked to the forces of evil anyway. He grabbed a slice of pie in the fridge and joined his roommate. (Of course a pie made by Dami. Now that he had tasted his boyfriend's pastries, it was very hard to eat anything else to be honest.). (Once you visited heaven, you wouldn't come back, right ?).

"I can tell he's doing better." said Nick while staring at the screen of his console. "But I also can tell he went through something very disturbing. What do you think they're talking about so often ?"

"I don't know." admitted Liam. "But Dami assured me Archibald was a good guy so I trust him."

Of course, the chestnut lad wanted to help. And yes, I want to know what happened. (Curiosity is not a sin). (Glutonny is, but Liam didn't think much about it).

"Yeah well, until now we can say whatever he's doing is working." agreed Nick. "You should go to sleep... Wait, are you snacking ?"

Liam took a mouthful of his pie and chewed happily.

"This is just too good." he explained.

"You were sooooo against food at the beginning of the year." laughed his roommate. "I never imagined you were such a foodie."

Well... Seems like I changed my mind.

Nicolas Monday March 11 – Tuesday March 12

< Imagenius : yo what's up ? >

< TheSavior : long story short it sucked. I m better looking at my screen and playin'. Wht abut you pal ? >

< Imagenius : long story short my roommate is fuckin' loud while talkin' with her new friends. I hate people with actual life you know ? They remind me I'm a loser >

< TheSavior : won't say I know the feeling cuz I dont. >

< Imagenius : lol becuz right youre so popular >

< TheSavior : at least i hav friends outside a lame chat bruh >

< Imagenius : bruh >

< Abeautifulwomen : guys I do to. >

< Imagenius : as if a man who claims to be a girl could. Anyway Sav can you send us another pic of this cute roommate of yours ? Pretty please ? >

< Abeautifulwomen : Same. But hey Ima are ya gay ? >

< Imagenius : Joker ? >

< TheSavior : need 2g. I'll turn the chat off. I don't hav any another pic >

* Abeautifulwoman is offline *

* Imagenius is offline *

* TheSavior is offline *

Nick sighed and looked at the clock. Almost midnight. Nice. I can still play. He slowly stood up and headed to the kitchen. First of all, he needed supplies. The raven-haired boy opened the fridge and grabbed a slice of pie and a beer. Two beers. He knew Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey had cooked it for Liam but whatever. His friend wouldn't mind. Nick came back to his room and turned his console on. A sligh whine came from his roommate's bedroom. Nate was having a nightmare again, he guessed. It was happening every other day. Not like if I could just ask what's wrong. If he doesn't talk to Liam, he won't talk to me. The lad drank his beer and started to play. He was good at it at least. He finished the level rather quickly, only to notice he had already ate the pie and emptied the beers. Again, he stood up and headed to the kitchen. Not that he was hungry, but he liked to play while chewing something. This time, he opted for ice cream. And beer of course. Then, he took his playing up again. One hour later, he was done with two more level. And he had devoured the ice cream. So once more, he stood up and headed to the kitchen. No wonder I'm fat. He put his snacks on the counter and patted his belly. When he had entered college he had been a twig. But the sudden freedom allowed him to indulge without his parents constant nagging. Maybe he had enjoyed it a bit too much. When he had come back at home for the christmas holidays they weren't very happy about his changes. Himself had been surprised to discover he had already hit the freshman 15. Now this limit was beyond him. I checked when we came back from France. I weight 89 kg (196 pounds) now. Almost 200. Nick shrugged. He didn't really care. He took his snack and continued to play.

The next morning, he got ready quickly. Unlike Liam, he wasn't dozy on the morning. Well, Liam was dozy all the time so bad comparison. They left together for the first lecture. When they arrived, the first thing Nick noticed was Barbara. The girl hated him for some absurd reason. She was so obnoxious. Then, he glimpsed Rebecca. Another one he couldn't understand at all.

"And to think I've been interested in her..." he mumbled.

Liam didn't hear him. That was the good thing with this dude. I could've been screaming, he wouldn't notice. They joined Colton who greeted them warmly. Nick turned on his gameboy but he wasn't paying attention to the screen. He knew the game by heart since middleschool anyway. Instead, he looked at his friends. He often did that without them noticing. Everyone assumed he was just another nerd but he was an observant nerd. Their trip in France had took a toll on Liam waistline aswell. If I'm looking closely enough, I'm sure even Colton's ever slim frame must've softened a bit. Nick was pretty sure this one would lost it in one day or two. As for his dreamy roommate... I think he will keep it on purpose. He seems to like it. Well, both of them were handsome anyway. The raven-haired boy didn't have this luck. He heard someone laugh behind him. The person whispered something about pokemon being a lame game. Another talked about his little bathing in the Seine. Not a day I want to remember. Seriously, classes were so boring...

Noon eventually came. Nick hit the buffet of the cafeteria like a ravenous beast. He needed his daily amount of junkfood to functiun properly.

"What do you think about the math assignment ?" asked Colton. "Shall we work on it tonight ?"

"I finished it already." he revealed. "But I'm sure Liam would be glad to do it with you."

Of course, his roommate wasn't listening. He was looking away while munching on home-made cookies. And new thing, he was crooning. I know some very weird people but they can't hold a candle to him. Nick discreetly kicked him under the table.

"Uh... What ?"

"Welcome back to earth." he said. "Colton wanted to ask you something."

Nick didn't listen to their conservation. He had glimpsed Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey in the crowd. Another strange dude. Since I came here, I met too many real character. He looks pissed. I mean, more than usual. He was talking to a girl. Well, probably insulting the girl to be fair.

"... Swimming tonight ?"

The raven-haired lad turned his attention towards Colton.

"No thanks." he replied when he had guessed the question. "I'm not very... at ease when there are so many people watching me."

His friend smiled.

"Of course."

* TheSavior is online *

* Abeautifulwomen is online *

* Imagenius is online *

< Imagenius : yo ! Day was booooring. How was yours ? >

< TheSavior : Same as usual. Couldn't wait to be back in my flat >

< Abeautifulwomen : Mine was fine. I don't actually leav my flat. Lucky me ! >

< Imagenius : Btw guys there is something up in my college. I heard ppl sayin a big hunt started. Don't know what that meant but they were very excited. Apparently, the prey is one of a kind ! >

< Abeautifulwomen : Funny. Do you think they hunt human ? >

< TheSavior : I'm sure they're talkin abut a treasure hunt or smthg. We shuld play. >

< Imagenius : Nah Sav it was about a real person. They want him but idk why. Maybe he did something wrong. Beauty yu didnt hear anythg from your boss friend ? >

< Abeautifulwomen : He doesnt control every college in the country duh. Last time he called he was very very very very very angry :3 I got a dick pick thanks to that ! >

< Imagenius : You really are gay. >

< Abeautifulwomen : I told yu im a girl >

< TheSavior : Come play and stop the chichat. Wdc abut a fke hunt nor ur fke dick pick >

< Imagenius : Aye sir >

< Abeautifulwomen : Aye sir >

To be continued

Tadaa. Something is going on in the community, but what could it be ?! I can only tell you Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey will have a lot of work to do. Liam is in a happy bubble, but you know me, it won’t last long.

And welcome Nick. He has been a steady presence in the background since the beginning, so he earned his own pov. He’s on a group chat with two other people... Maybe you’ll be able to guess who they are ;)

#the college society #cs #Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey #Liam #Nick #weight gain #stuffing #mention of beer #A lot of food #Some strangers #What is happening ?#Chapter 4 #Part 1

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